Dangerous Legacy Read online

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  Bess snorted. “Warn me if you ever decide to say that to his face, okay? I wanna be far, far away.”

  Far away? Been there, done that, Flint thought, and look what it got me. The loving old couple who kept me from going wrong as a teenager are failing, the farm is in ruin and Maggie has made a new life without me.

  Not that it made sense to think the love of his life would have waited for him. Their families had both been dead set against their romance, so what could he expect?

  That introspection brought him to ask something else that had been bothering him. “You know just about everybody in town over the age of thirty. Do you think Missy and Sonny Dodd could be dangerous?”

  Bess smirked. “Well, Missy might talk a body to death, but otherwise they’re mostly blowin’ smoke.”

  “What about Elwood Witherspoon?”

  Her fingers pressed over her lips, and her eyes widened. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering. My captain mentioned Elwood. Other wardens have come up against him—when they can find him—and they say he’s a real piece of work.”

  “I haven’t seen Elwood to speak to for years. Sorry.”

  Frowning, Flint studied her expression. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.”

  If she hadn’t been casting worried glances through the door into the living room and looking as if she were about to pass out, Flint might have accepted her statement without reservations. He wasn’t quite through eating but started to rise when she did. “Want me to help you clean up?”

  “No, no. I’m used to doin’ kitchen chores. You finish your sandwich, then go back and tinker with that old tractor. In spite of what Ira says, I know this place needs a lot of TLC.”

  “Have you ever thought of moving, maybe into assisted living?” Flint ventured.

  Bess fumbled a plate and it shattered against the edge of the sink. “Mercy, no. Whatever gave you such a crazy idea?”

  “It would make your life much easier. Here. Let me help you clean that up.”

  She flapped her hands as if shooing a pesky fly. “No need. I can handle my own kitchen, and your grandpa can take care of this farm, okay?”

  “Okay. Sorry I mentioned it.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “If you need me I’ll be in the barn.”

  He’d donned a jacket and was easing the back door closed behind him when he heard his great-grandmother gasp. Ira’s raised voice carried. “See? What’d I tell you. He wants our farm. Him and that hussy who’s got him all befuddled again.”

  “That’s pure nonsense.”

  Flint was torn between a desire to barge in and refute the claim and the knowledge that his best recourse would be to let his actions prove him innocent. He loved those two old people more than anything. Their health was deteriorating. It was natural for them to worry about their future and to want to cling to the past, to try to maintain the same lifestyle they’d enjoyed for so many years.

  He eased the door shut all the way. There was a lot to be said for a good old-fashioned rut. At this point in his life Flint felt more like an outsider than ever. He’d been fatherless for as long as he could remember, neglected and then orphaned, and had failed to find direction or purpose in the military. If he hadn’t gotten Bess’s letter begging for his help, he didn’t know where he’d have ended up. Certainly not in Serenity, where past mistakes kept staring him in the face.

  That was the crux of his unrest, he decided. There were too many memories, too many disappointments, lurking around every corner. And speaking of lurking, he hadn’t heard a word from the sheriff in days. It was time to check with him for an update and dig deeper into reports of Elwood’s poaching.

  Flint palmed his cell phone and stared at it. Phoning Sheriff Allgood was the sensible thing to do. But if he called Maggie he could get her input, as well. Besides, he admitted with a wry smile, he wanted to hear her voice again. To have her personally assure him she was all right.

  He punched in the number of the sanctuary. Nobody picked up. He left a brief message on Maggie’s answering machine, promising himself he’d try again later, then went back to work in the barn.

  After supper, Flint tried to phone her for the fifth time. Still no answer. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. As far as he knew, Maggie had no hired help, relying on volunteer labor in order to keep costs down. Therefore, she should be home. Even if she’d left the compound to run errands, she was bound to check her answering machine occasionally.

  So, now what? He was getting more and more worried. If he failed to reach her soon, he’d have to either contact the sheriff and ask him to send someone to investigate, or make the trip to Maggie’s himself. Alerting law enforcement for nothing wasn’t a good idea. Then again, neither was showing up at her place repeatedly with the excuse of looking for her uncle.

  Disgusted, Flint accepted the inevitable. He had to be the one to go have a look-see. If things went well, it might not be necessary to let anyone else know he was even slightly concerned.

  He grabbed his jacket and handgun on his way to the door and called to his grandmother, “I have to go out. Be back soon.”

  If she replied before the door slammed, Flint didn’t hear. He was loping toward the AGFC truck, and the faster he moved, the more his heart kept pace.

  “I’ll feel really stupid if I get there and Maggie’s fine,” he told himself. That warning did nothing to slow him. He’d much rather be thought a fool than find out later that Maggie wasn’t fine.

  * * *

  Sunset had brought with it a sense of impending winter. Maggie shivered. The air was damp and chilly, the last brown leaves barely clinging to myriad oaks, sycamores and other native floras. Only the cedars remained green.

  She’d left Mark in the house with Wolfie while she tended to her evening chores right outside. Given the dropping temperatures, it was necessary to provide extra bedding for her larger patients and perhaps move some of the smaller cages under better cover.

  The niggling sense that she was being watched made Maggie’s skin prickle. She kept looking over her shoulder as she worked, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, yet convinced she wasn’t alone.

  Pulling off flakes of bedding hay, she piled them on a yard cart. Wind whipped loose stem fragments from the pile and swirled them high. Maggie sneezed once, twice, then drew breath to repeat. With her chin lifted she had a different view of her surroundings and thought she saw something moving in the forest.

  “Of course I did,” she muttered. “Achoo! Stuff out there blows around just like my hay.” Which was not entirely true. Any lightweight vegetation would still be soggy from the recent rain. Her stored hay, on the other hand, was dry and more easily disturbed.

  Most of the outdoor pens were adjacent to the house, while the smallest cages found protection in the barn. Maggie was passing a window that was low enough to let her peek in to check on Mark, so she paused. He and the dog were playing catch. That wasn’t an approved activity for inside, but they were quiet and happy. As long as the boy remembered to keep his tosses low, she wasn’t going to interfere.

  A deep, distant howl stood the hairs on Maggie’s neck on end. She whirled, facing the direction of the sound just in time to hear an answering echo about twenty degrees east of the first. Listening intently, she held her breath. Higher-pitched yips joined the elongated cries that were so intense, so primal, they infiltrated her most basic senses. Adults and pups. Only not coyotes. What was a wolf pack doing in the Ozarks?

  Instinct made Maggie spin back around. For an instant she forgot she’d been watching her son, so when she came practically nose-to-nose with Wolfie on the other side of the glass, she almost screamed.

  The dog pawed at the window, panting until it was steamy. “You hear them, too, don’t you?” His ears perked. He cocked hi
s head. “Take it easy. It’s okay, boy.”

  The howls seemed to be getting closer. Maggie cast around for a defensive weapon. The only thing handy was a pitchfork. She reached for the handle. Stumbled over a wheel of the yard cart. Felt herself falling.

  She missed catching hold of anything to break her fall and went down hard. In the midst of her useless flailing, she finally did scream.

  Glass cracked and broke above her. Maggie covered her head with her arms, letting her jacket take most of the punishment from the falling shards.

  There had been no shots this time. She was certain of it. So what...?

  Something landed beside her with a soft thud and she knew instantly what had happened. This was the second time Wolfie had breached a closed window. The first time had been when Mark was a toddler and there had been a stray dog in the yard.

  Maggie levered herself up just in time to see her enormous dog bound over the cart and disappear into the thick forest. “Wolfie! No!

  “Wolfie, come.” She started to get to her feet. Looked down at her hands. And saw blood.

  SIX

  The first thing Flint noticed as he slowly pulled into Maggie’s driveway was her. She was pacing the porch and looked beside herself. Her eyes were wide, her hair flyaway. When she ran straight to him instead of holding her ground, he knew something was terribly wrong. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Did you leave it in the house again?”

  She latched on to the sleeve of his jacket as soon as he stepped out of the truck. “You have to help me.”

  “Okay. What’s wrong?”

  Gesturing wildly, she indicated the woods at the edge of the compound. “Wolves. I heard them.”

  “Did they approach? Menace you in any way?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then go back in the house. I’ll check your pens.”

  “It’s not that.”

  As her grip tightened, Flint glanced down. Was that a trace of blood on the cuff of her jacket? His breath caught. “Are you hurt?”

  “No. Not me, Wolfie. He crashed through a window and ran off. If the pack spots him, they’ll kill him. He won’t be able to fight them all.”

  Flint took a step forward. “Okay. I’ll radio a report and board up your window while we wait for more help.”

  The noise she made was half exasperation, half anger. As soon as he was through contacting his partner, she said, “I nailed a board over the window myself. I called the sheriff, too, but he said there was nothing he could do about a runaway dog.”

  “Why didn’t you call Game and Fish?”

  When Maggie rolled her eyes, he had his answer.

  “I get it. You’d rather have your dog die than ask me for anything.”

  “No! I never said that. I left a message on the answering machine at your office.”

  Flint was penitent. “Right. It’s Saturday. Sorry.” He eyed the porch. “Why don’t we go wait inside?”

  Her “No!” was so forceful he stepped back, hands raised as if he were being robbed at gunpoint. “Okay, okay. I’ll look around out here and listen for more howling after I call and ask somebody to bring me an ATV.” He studied her. “Will that do?”

  “I guess it’ll have to.”

  They stepped off the porch together. He’d dealt with plenty of anxious people in the course of his duties, but Maggie’s case was extreme. Maybe if he could distract her she’d be more tractable. “Is your kid at your mother’s today?”

  She stopped in her tracks. “No. Why?”

  “Because that’s where he was when you had that wreck,” Flint said.

  “Only because we were being shot at when he got out of school,” she countered. “I take good care of him.”

  “I’m sure you do.” He took time to rephrase his query. “I was asking because I wanted to know if you were free to help me start to trail your dog instead of waiting for wheels.”

  “Oh.” Maggie cast a brief glance at the house. “No. That’s why I needed help. I can’t leave Mark here all by himself.”

  “Understood.” Flint was grabbing gear out of his truck and loading a small backpack. “Okay. Point me in the right direction.”

  “This way.”

  As he followed her across the yard and past the broken window, he was listening intently. Except for the occasional birdcall and rustling of squirrels among the dry leaves aloft, nothing broke the rural silence.

  Maggie stopped at the edge of the cleared land and pointed. “He went through here, on the deer trail. After that I have no idea.”

  Crouching, Flint touched a fingertip to a darker spot on the ground. Wolfie was leaving a trail. Of blood. All the more reason for wolves to attack him.

  As he stood, Flint realized from Maggie’s expression that she had come to the same disturbing conclusion.

  “I’ll do my best to track him down for you,” he promised. “When my partner gets here, point him in this direction. He can use GPS to find me.”

  “I will.”

  The clenching of her slim fingers made him want to cover her clasped hands with his and offer more tangible comfort. He refrained. All he had to do to convince himself it was a bad idea was to remember the awkwardness after her accident. The adverse effect of that closeness, although innocent, lingered. And when she’d grabbed his forearm a few minutes ago, every one of his nerves tingled.

  Nevertheless, Flint stood stock-still. Staring into her eyes. Drowning in their blue-water depths.

  Maggie didn’t move, either. Time stopped.

  Finally, Flint shouldered his pack, turned and started into the forest without another word. He didn’t look back until he heard Maggie call, “I’ll pray for you.”

  Was that something new or had she remembered him in prayer while he was away, too? He had often prayed for her during the time they were apart, at least when he wasn’t being distracted by the fight to stay alive. Every time he lost a comrade in combat, it magnified how alone he really was.

  Now he was back with the remnant of his family and the folks he’d known while growing up, yet there were times when he felt more alone now than he had when he was half a world away.

  Sighing, he slowed to check the trail of intermittent blood drops, then straightened and paused to listen, expecting howling. Instead, he heard a distant shout. Maggie? His heart threatened to pound right out of his chest until his radio crackled. The ATV had arrived already and was being unloaded.

  Gathering himself so he wouldn’t sound breathless, he keyed his mic. “This is Crawford. Wait for me at the house. I’ll be right back.”

  That decision would probably displease Maggie, but it couldn’t be helped. Better to have wheels and make good time than to fail because of darkness. The headlights on the four-wheel-drive vehicle would help a lot as the sun set.

  Flint grabbed the shoulder straps of the pack and began to jog. The chances that Maggie would have taken his advice and gone into the house were slim to none. She was bound to be waiting, ready to chew him out for not finding her injured dog.

  He broke from the woods and kept going. There she was. And more beautiful than ever, with a wildness about her that made her seem a part of the mountains they both loved. She’d pulled her jacket tightly around her and was facing into the wind, her hair lifting on the breeze.

  Flint slowed to a brisk walk and approached. His jaw muscles clenched as he assessed his errant feelings. Above all, it was imperative he squelch any emotional links to Maggie Morgan.

  He’d been rejected by her once.

  Once was enough.

  * * *

  Maggie had immediately recognized Warden Samson when he pulled up. Cautioning Mark to stay inside while she went to brief the warden, she’d hurried down the porch steps.

  “Flint—I mean Warden Crawf
ord—went after my dog.”

  The dark-haired young agent frowned at her. “Yeah. I know. He contacted me.”

  “Did he find him?” Her hopes soared until the warden shook his head. “I heard a pack of wolves.”

  “Aren’t any wolves in Arkansas,” Samson countered, putting out ramps and unloading the ATV from the back of his pickup. “Only thing I’ve seen around here that looked like one is that dog of yours.” He smiled. “Maybe he’s lookin’ for kin.”

  “Better his than mine,” she said wryly. “Crawford’s on foot. He said to use GPS to meet up with him.”

  “No need.” Samson gestured with his chin. “Here he comes.”

  Before she could speak, Flint began to explain. “I followed the dog as far as Lick Creek. I’ll drive back and pick up the trail where I left off.”

  “Want me to hang around here?” the other warden asked.

  “Not unless you feel like getting in trouble, too.”

  Samson grinned. “We could call it public service.”

  Maggie suddenly understood what the men were saying. Flint was out there on his own time, with borrowed equipment, looking for a domestic animal, when that wasn’t included in his regular duties. Involving a partner just made the infraction worse.

  “He was bleeding,” Maggie offered, so thankful she didn’t know how to express it. “Is that how you tracked him?”

  “Partly. It’s hard to tell how badly he’s hurt without knowing how fast he’s traveling. At least he was still on the move when he got to the creek.”

  “Maybe he’ll lay up in the water and you’ll find him soon.”

  “Maybe.” Flint glanced at the sky. “Gotta go. I’m losing daylight.”

  The other warden waved and climbed into his own truck as Flint gunned the ATV engine and sped off.

  “Please, God,” Maggie whispered. “Help him.”

  She was familiar enough with injured animals to know they would “go to ground” if they felt unable to continue. The icy creek water would help Wolfie slow his bleeding if it was out of control. The downside was the chance that he’d chill his body too much and go into hypothermia. That could kill him, too, if he wasn’t found in time.