Dangerous Legacy Read online

  “He wasn’t.”

  “Not then. What about the next time?”

  “I can take care of my family.”

  “Our family,” Flint insisted. “Mark is my son, too.”

  “Get out!” Maggie ordered.

  Calm on the outside, stomach roiling, Flint faced her. “If you make me take you to court and sue for my parental rights, I will.”

  “I said, get out.” She pointed with her whole arm. “We have nothing more to talk about.”

  “Yes, we do. Think, Maggie. You love the boy. I know you do. So let’s work together to keep him safe.” If that sensible suggestion didn’t get through to her, he didn’t know what would.

  “There was no trouble around here until you showed up again,” Maggie insisted with a raised voice. “Whatever is wrong, you’re the cause.”

  He reached for her hand, tried to grasp it, but she yanked away. “Think,” he said. “We’re both victims and stuck between two warring sides. You and I didn’t cause the feud. We want nothing to do with it. But we’re still in somebody’s crosshairs. Until we get to the bottom of the problem, nobody is safe, especially not Mark.”

  “Leave him out of this. He’s my responsibility and I’ll send him away if I see fit. You have no say in the matter.”

  “It wasn’t enough to hide him from me for five years?”

  The contrition Flint had expected to see did not appear. Instead, Maggie flung open the back door and shouted, “I would have been delighted if you’d never met him. My father was right. You’re trouble with a capital T. I want you out of my life.”

  Flint knew lingering was useless. Once tempers flared, logic went out the window. If Maggie wouldn’t plan with him, he’d take steps to guard his son on his own. True, the boy wasn’t up to his neck in the feud—yet. But let one of the old-timers like Elwood decide Mark was a true Crawford and everything could change.

  In the blink of an eye.

  * * *

  Maggie was so angry she wanted to throw her coffee cup across the room, preferably at Flint’s head. Fortunately, he was through the door before she could decide to act.

  “This is exactly what I was afraid of,” she grumbled.

  A small voice answered, “What’s wrong, Mama?”

  And this, Maggie added silently, bending to kiss the top of Mark’s head and ruffle his hair. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m sorry if I woke you.” She glanced past him. “How’s Wolfie? Is he leaving his bandage alone this time?”

  “Uh-huh.” Mark peered into the kitchen. “Where did the man go?”

  “You mean the veterinarian?”

  “No. The nice one. The one who found Wolfie and brought him back.”

  “You were awake when the warden left, honey. Remember?”

  Mark shook his head. “Uh-uh. He came back. I saw him. I was hoping he’d like me and stay.”

  “Everybody likes you. You know that.”

  “Yeah.” He scuffed the toe of his slipper on the floor. “’Cept Johnny and Kyle. They said I was a ba—”

  Maggie clamped her hand over the child’s mouth before he could finish. “Don’t ever say that again. Understand? You’re just as good as they are. God made you special and He doesn’t make mistakes.”

  “Then why did Wolfie get hurt?”

  The first answer that came to Maggie involved Flint, so she rejected it. “Sometimes we do things we shouldn’t and we get hurt. That’s all.”

  “Like what?”

  His little face was upturned, his expression one of abject trust. Maggie yearned to confide in him, and would have, if he’d been a few years older. Someday the whole truth would be clear to Mark and he could then decide if he wanted to connect with his father. But in the meantime, Flint Crawford was not going to get his hands on her baby. Not as long as there was breath in her body.

  Which reminded her of the recent close calls Flint had cited. Okay, maybe he did have a point. She could see wisdom in breaking up her routine and being less predictable, not to mention letting her son spend more time at Faye’s. While Mark was in town with his granny, he was also much closer to the police station and among friends, rather than being isolated out at the compound with her.

  Tomorrow she’d see what her mother thought of having a temporary houseguest. Given the way Faye loved the little boy, Maggie knew there would be no problem leaving them together a bit more. And she’d worry about Mark a lot less if he was in a familiar place than if she allowed Flint to interfere.

  It didn’t matter what his so-called plans were. She wanted nothing to do with them.

  “It’s past your bedtime, Mark, honey. You need to go to sleep.”

  “Can I sleep with Wolfie some more?”

  Maggie smiled at the sweet remembrance. “How about if I take him to your room and help him up on the bed with you? That way you’ll know if he’s being a good boy and leaving his bandages alone.”

  “Wolfie can sleep with me? Yeah!”

  “Only for a few nights. Just until he gets better and it’s safe to let him walk around by himself. Dr. Greg said we should be able to take off the bandage soon.”

  Grinning at his youthful enthusiasm, she followed him to where the dog was dozing. Medication had left the enormous canine in somewhat of a stupor, but he managed to rouse himself enough to stand, with Maggie’s help.

  She encircled the massive chest and lifted to keep weight off his sore paw. His rear end hobbled along, Mark pretending to support his bushy tail. “I’m helping.”

  “I can see that.” Maggie would have doubled up laughing if she hadn’t been straining to transport a half-limp dog bigger than a German shepherd and hairier than Sasquatch.

  She heaved Wolfie’s front end onto the coverlet on Mark’s bed, then quickly grabbed his waist to lift the rear. To her relief he stayed where she put him, panting and already starting to close his eyes again.

  “Okay, Mark. You have my permission to move your pillow and cuddle up with him if you want. I’ll get an extra quilt and cover both of you.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” he said sweetly, already curled up beside his best pal and patting the massive rib cage.

  As Maggie laid more covers over them both and smiled tenderly, she wondered if she’d ever seen a more charming picture of pure love.

  The easy answer sobered her. “Yes,” she whispered, looking for words to describe the images of Mark abruptly hugging Flint and the man’s compassionate response.

  Only then, as she replayed the scene, did she realize that when Flint had pressed his face to the child’s shoulder, there were unshed tears glistening in his emerald eyes.

  She’d been so worried about Mark’s possible rejection she hadn’t paid much attention to other details and wondered if she was imagining raw emotions because hers were in such a state.

  Padding off to bed, Maggie let her mind replay the evening in its entirety. If she’d kept a diary, there wouldn’t have been enough blank pages to list every fact, let alone mention how she’d felt as the scene unfolded.

  Thankfully, that trial was over. For now. And although she was still anxious about the future, she figured she was weary enough to go to sleep despite her concerns.

  The house was dark except for the bluish glow of a tiny night-light in the bathroom. Sighing, she closed her eyes and snuggled into her pillow.

  The next thing Maggie knew, something woke her. A sound? She’d been dreaming so vividly she wasn’t sure. Had there been a faint squeak of hinges?

  She sat up in bed. All the unexpected company had disrupted her usual nighttime schedule. She knew she’d snapped the dead bolt on the kitchen door after Flint left, but what about the front? Picturing Flint entering for the second time, she failed to see herself passing him in order to secure that lock.

  Eyes wide and tr
ying to adjust to the lack of light, Maggie held her breath. The house was as silent as an old structure ever was. Changes in temperature and humidity made the boards groan and sometimes make popping noises, but that was normal.

  The blue glow from the hallway remained steady. Undisturbed. Nevertheless, she had a strong urge to check on her “boys.” All she had to do was gather enough courage to leave the sanctuary of her own room. A strong maternal instinct made that easier. Being unarmed was the only aspect that gave her pause.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and put on a robe and slippers while she cast around for some kind of weapon. The only solid object nearby was a small bedside lamp. Pulling the plug, she gripped it like a baseball bat and started down the hall.

  A shadow flickered. Or did it? Maggie froze. Braced herself. Waited for what seemed like an eternity.

  Nothing more happened. There were no strange sounds, no changes in the night-light’s glow.

  Feeling a bit silly, she began to relax. The lamp held lower, she proceeded to tiptoe toward Mark’s room.

  Just as she reached the doorway, she heard Wolfie growl. Assuming he was reacting to her stealthy approach, Maggie spoke soothingly. “It’s okay, boy. It’s just me.”

  His barking erupted as if he’d just spotted an archenemy. Startled, Maggie was about to reassure him again when she was unexpectedly shoved aside. All she saw was the blurred passage of a dark figure.

  The lamp hit the floor. Its bulb shattered. Acting on instinct, she pivoted into the boy’s bedroom, slammed the door shut and jammed her shoulder against it to keep it closed.

  Maggie slid to the floor, her back pressing against the door.

  As she opened her arms to embrace her two frightened companions, she realized that, like it or not, Flint had been right. She could not protect Mark adequately by herself.

  NINE

  Maggie’s heartbeats thudded in her ears. They were safe for the moment. At least she hoped so. Wolfie was panting and licking tears from Mark’s face while the child clung to her and sobbed with fright.

  They needed help. Reinforcements. The police. But how was she going to notify anybody when her phone was outside this room? What might happen if she dared open the door to go fetch it?

  Just then the thin glass of the broken lightbulb crunched. Someone was walking across it! Maggie didn’t dream she could get more tense, but she did.

  After that, however, there was nothing else audible. No steps, no pounding knock, no voiced threats.

  Straining to listen, she prayed she’d hear something more definitive. Something that would tell her that the prowler had fled—an engine, fading footsteps, anything.

  Darkness enfolded her, pressing in to smother. Long minutes passed with no sign that their enemy still lurked.

  “That doesn’t mean he’s gone,” Maggie muttered. She gently unwound Mark’s arms from her neck and pulled him into her lap, where she stroked his silky hair.

  Her pulse was starting to slow. Words of comfort were getting easier. “It’s okay, honey. Whoever scared us isn’t making noise anymore.”

  She felt his nod against her shoulder. “I need to get my phone so I can call the sheriff.”

  Mark gripped her again. “No!”

  “It’ll be okay. I promise.” Maggie studied the familiar room and made a strategic decision. “Tell you what. While I’m gone, you and Wolfie can make a special camp in the closet, just the two of you.”

  “I wanna stay with you.”

  “I know you do.” Maggie managed to swallow past the lump of emotion in her throat. It was crazy to bide her time and wait for the prowler to return, perhaps with reinforcements, yet did it make any more sense to venture out when he might be hiding in wait for her? Neither choice made much sense. She figured she could either muster her courage, hope no one was waiting to ambush her and go for the cell phone, or sit there helpless all night. Action seemed the most logical course.

  “Where’s the little flashlight I gave you?” she asked her son.

  “Over there.”

  “See if you can find it and take it with you in case you need it in your new camp.”

  “Okay.” He left and returned in moments.

  Maggie covered the beam with her fingers as she tested the light. In the glow that escaped she could see Mark’s worried expression. Moreover, they both noticed that Wolfie’s paw was bleeding through his bandage.

  “Mama, look!”

  “I see it, honey. Don’t worry about that now. It’s not bad enough to hurt him,” Maggie said, forcing herself to mimic being calm when she wanted to shriek.

  She grabbed a blanket off the bed and tossed it on the floor for their temporary comfort. “There you go. Into the closet with you both.”

  As soon as they were settled with Mark hugging the big dog’s neck, she held out the flashlight. “Here. Just don’t turn it on unless you really have to. We don’t want anybody to see the light and figure out where you are.”

  “You said the bad guy was gone.” Mark’s voice was reedy, quavering.

  “I’m just being very careful, that’s all. Promise you’ll stay right there with Wolfie?”

  He nodded. “I promise.”

  “Okay.” Easing the closet door shut, Maggie whispered, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Mama.”

  She closed her eyes long enough to add, “Please, God, keep him safe,” then started for the hall.

  Once again the blue glow illuminated her path. She paused to listen, to muster the necessary bravery to proceed. From now on she was going to sleep with her cell phone, even if she had to sew a zippered pocket onto her pajamas.

  Hands fisted, she skirted the broken glass and pieces of ceramic lamp base. Each step after that came faster until she was running. She dove for her purse, carried it across her rumpled bed with her and began a frantic search in its depths.

  The moment her hand tightened on the cell phone she felt some relief, but that was nothing compared to how glad she was when the 911 operator answered.

  * * *

  As far as Flint was concerned, his conversations with Maggie had only just begun. Yes, he was angry. But more than that he was disappointed. And extremely worried.

  It had occurred to him that his return to Serenity might have been the catalyst for the trouble she’d been having—that they’d both been having, counting the wild shots he’d dodged. If his own safety had been the only consideration, he’d have been okay with it. Lots of folks weren’t fans of Game and Fish wardens. Or of laws. He’d been threatened before.

  But everything had changed the moment Flint saw Mark. Everything. It really didn’t matter what he did at this point, because it was too late to turn back the clock. Not only was it clear to plenty of people how much he and the boy looked alike, but it was clear to him. There was no returning to the bliss of ignorance. His and Maggie’s genes had created a wondrous child. Their child. And whether she liked it or not, he intended to look out for both mother and son.

  What Flint would have loved to do was confide in his great-grandparents the way he used to as a teenager. Sadly, Ira was likely to erupt in senseless anger and Bess would support whatever her husband wanted. Right now the old couple needed his help around the farm, and the fewer waves he made in their established routines, the better it would be for all concerned.

  That left a buddy from the service whose number was still packed away with his discharge papers, or the town sheriff. Harlan had made him feel more welcome than anyone else. Flint checked the time. It was far too late to phone, but maybe a text would be okay.

  All he typed was R U up? Not expecting any answer until morning, he put his cell aside and lay back in bed. When it beeped a minute later he jumped to grab it.

  Why? Harlan had texted.

 
Need to talk.

  About?

  Flint hesitated, then spelled Maggie and waited for a typed reply. Instead, his phone rang. It was the sheriff.

  “How did you find out?” Harlan asked without saying hello.

  Flint gripped the instrument tighter, his heartbeats picking up speed. “Find out what?”

  “She thought she had a prowler tonight. The kid said he saw a moving shadow, but I didn’t find any sign of a break in.”

  “But she’s okay?”

  “Yes. She’s sure that dog of hers messed up his foot again chasin’ some guy off. Other than that, everything’s under control.”

  “Are you still out at her place?” Flint asked, trying to dress one-handed.

  “Sittin’ in her driveway. Just about to call it quits unless there’s more trouble. You plannin’ on comin’ over?”

  “Yes. Wait for me?”

  “Sure, son. The night’s shot anyway. Might as well stay up for breakfast.”

  The only parts of his regular uniform Flint donned were his boots. And his gun.

  * * *

  Once Harlan had pronounced Maggie’s home prowler free and she’d rechecked all the locks the way she usually did before retiring, she cleaned up the mess and settled herself in Mark’s room. She’d have preferred to bring in the firewood chopping ax for their protection, but given the danger of the sharp blade, she’d opted for a hoe with a strong handle instead.

  “I’m not sleepy,” Mark whined.

  “Me, either. We need to hold still just the same so Wolfie doesn’t jump around on his sore foot.”

  “Is it bleedin’ again?” He rolled over and bounced on his knees on the mattress.

  “It will be if you keep that up,” Maggie warned. “We need to be very nice to him for scaring that bad guy away.”

  “Yeah. He was real ugly,” Mark offered.

  That took Maggie aback. “You saw his face?”

  The boy shrugged, then threw himself onto his back with a whoosh. “Kinda.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”