Kitabı oku: «Hideaway», sayfa 5

Chapter Nine

“I didn’t shoot him, I sprayed him.”

“This is Dane!” Blaze’s voice barely reached through the curtain of fire that scorched Dane’s face and eyes. “This is the director of the ranch, how could you do that?”

“I’m sorry, we can—”

“He wasn’t hurting anybody, he was just coming to find me and take me home. Dane, it’s okay, we’re going to get you help. Just hold on!”

Dane groaned a response, writhing in agony on the concrete.

“Help me get him to water,” the woman said. “Quickly! It’s pepper mace. If we can get to water, we can dilute the pain. Where’s the nearest—”

“Get away, I’ll take care of him myself! You just get back.” Gentle hands urged Dane to his feet. “Come on, let’s get you to the lake, it’s just down the hill. I can’t believe that crazy woman did this to you.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman said again. “I didn’t know—”

“I said get back, just leave him alone! Haven’t you done enough? It’s okay, Dane, we’re going to take care of it right now,” came the tender voice Blaze used with injured or frightened animals. “Just walk with me. No, not you, lady. You just stay right here and keep that gun in its holster.”

“I need the water too, if you don’t mind,” the woman snapped. “I caught the spray in my face. It isn’t as if I do this kind of thing every day. I didn’t know it attacked everything in a five-foot—ouch!”

“Watch that hole,” Blaze said.

“Thanks.”

The cloud of pain stalked Dane as he allowed himself to be guided across the yard. His groans persisted as if as if he had no control over his voice. When they finally reached the lake, Blaze told him to kneel, then splashed the frigid water into his face.

The relief was sweeter than anything Dane had ever felt in his life. He bent forward and plunged his whole head beneath the lake’s surface, held his breath until his lungs threatened to burst, then emerged only long enough to inhale, then plunge again.

Several moments later, after the burn began to subside, he realized Blaze had gone silent. The only sound he heard was splashing.

“Blaze?”

The splashing stopped. “He left,” came the mellow feminine voice of his attacker. “Are you okay?”

“Much better. You?”

“I’m fine, but you took the brunt of it.” She didn’t sound like a mad mace sprayer. She sounded like a reasonable human being.

He dashed the water from his hair and beard with his hands and glanced up at her shadow in the darkness. “Wow. I can’t believe the difference a lakeful of water can make.”

“It’s pretty dramatic.” She switched on her flashlight, illuminating her drenched face, hair, red flannel jacket. “Come on, let’s get to the house before we freeze. Your ranch hand already excused himself.”

“You mean he went back to the ranch?”

“No, up to the house, I think. I wasn’t paying much attention at the time.”

“I can’t believe he just took off like that. It isn’t like him.” Dane pulled out his own flashlight and joined her.

“You must have been underwater when he said he was leaving. He’s pretty upset with me.”

“He has a lot to learn about women.”

“Oh, really.” There was an edgy pause as they walked side by side up the steep slope of the yard, shoes crackling the overgrown grass. “I take it you’ve been maced before.”

Ah, yes, that mellow voice sharpened nicely. In spite of his recent shock, he felt his lips twitch with a smile that was probably unwise at the moment. “What I meant was that he needs to understand that any woman in her right mind would have done the same thing, accosted by two strange men out in the middle of nowhere.”

There was another pause as she glanced sideways at him, as if to determine his sincerity. “Good save.”

“Thank you.” The smile would not behave. He knew it was a reaction to the relief he’d just experienced, but he’d learned long ago to look for the humor in any situation. He could enjoy a slapstick comedy routine on occasion—and this was definitely that. “I apologize for frightening you, and when I hunt Blaze down, I’ll beat an apology out of him, too.”

Too late, he realized how that must sound. He felt her disquieted gaze. “Figure of speech,” he said. “I don’t beat my boys.”

“You called him Blaze?”

“It’s his nickname, and believe me, it isn’t a slur. He chose the name himself.” He glanced at her. She had an expressive face that revealed her continued concern. Dark eyes that seemed warm, intelligent. She was only three or four inches shorter than his six-foot frame, with straight black hair, now heavy with lake water, that fell in layers across her neck and forehead.

She took the porch steps with athletic grace, then turned to him. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this.”

He stepped into the beam of her flashlight. “I know it’s a little late for the amenities, but I’m Dane Gideon. I run the boys’ ranch across the lake.”

“So I gathered from Gavin. I’m Cheyenne Allison. A friend of mine inherited this place, and I’m on…I’ll be staying here for a while. Does Gavin have a habit of wandering away from the ranch in the middle of the night?”

“On occasion. He’s accustomed to more solitude than he gets with us. I’d like to keep him at the ranch more consistently, but I’ve decided to use my own discretion about discipline with this kid, instead of going strictly by the rules. Until now, Blaze hasn’t let me down.” He opened the screen door and held it for her.

She hesitated, thoughtful eyes focusing intently on him.

Right. She was less confident about the situation than she appeared. “Actually, I don’t need to go inside,” he said. “I just need to collect Blaze and take him home. I’m not sure what it is about this place that draws him, except that it’s peaceful here. Its previous inhabitants were very kind people, and they took good care of the house.” Why was he chattering all of a sudden? Perhaps it was the superastute gaze of those dark eyes.

“Come on in,” she said at last, stepping over the threshold. “Gavin doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to go back to the ranch. Do you know anything about Austin Barlow calling the sheriff about him?”

As she passed, Dane caught a faint scent of vanilla. “I don’t think Austin would do that. He has no reason to.”

Blaze wasn’t in the living room.

“Maybe he bolted again,” she said.

“He wouldn’t,” Dane replied. What was Blaze up to? He glanced around the room. “Obviously you don’t have electricity yet. Did you just get here?”

She nodded, looking around the barely furnished room—complete with cobwebs—with an expression of dismay.

“You know, there’s a cozy bed-and-breakfast about a mile from here, on the lakeshore,” Dane said. “I’d be glad to call Shatzi and see if there’s a room available for the remainder of the night.” He would negotiate a good price for her—it was the least he could do after terrorizing her tonight. “There’s usually a vacancy this time of year. That way you could have a nice hot breakfast before you come back out here to finish unloading your car and put everything in order.” He was talking too much again.

She gave him an enigmatic smile. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. The owner will have the power turned on first thing in the morning—she just didn’t expect me to arrive so early.” She raised her voice. “Gavin, are you in here?”

They heard a thump and a mutter of unintelligible words through the door at the western end of the room.

Dane opened the door and stepped through. “Blaze? We need to go home now, son.” He aimed the beam of his light around the plain, paneled bedroom, which contained a twin-size bed and small dresser in the southwest corner. There was a brown mess of stains in the center of the bare mattress. Something stank.

A grunt drew his light to the closet, where a denim-covered derriere presented itself to them. “Blaze.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, you want to let me in on the little mystery?” Dane asked. He felt the victim of tonight’s onslaught step up behind him. He turned to her. “I’m sorry about all this, really. Crazy as it seems, Blaze usually has a reason for behaving the way he…does. Blaze, we see your photogenic side, now would you show us your face and try hard to explain why you’re hiding in a closet in a stranger’s house?”

“Not hiding,” Blaze muttered. “Seeking. Come here, little darling.”

Dane could almost feel Cheyenne Allison’s alarm. She must think he ran a ranch filled with lunatics.

“Aha!” Blaze said. “There you are, you little fighter. Come here, let me take you to some milk. I bet you’re starved half to death. Where’s the rest of your family?”

Dane cleared his throat. “Blaze.”

“Ah, gotcha!” Blaze backed out of the closet, cuddling four mewling balls of golden kitten fluff beneath his chin. “Finally found them. You know the cat that was executed Saturday? I’m pretty sure these are her babies.”

Cheyenne caught her breath. “Somebody executed a cat?”

“We have a repeat offender who likes to vandalize the community every so often, “Dane explained. “Blaze, how did you—”

“I was hoping I could do this without getting in trouble.” Blaze nuzzled one of the kittens, then wrinkled his nose. “Phew, you stink. Didn’t Mama teach you how to use the kitty litter?”

“Blaze.”

“Okay, okay, but you’re not going to write me up over this, are you?”

“I’m not sure I—”

“I heard them crying the first time I came over here a couple weeks ago.” Blaze untangled one kitten from two of his dreadlocks and squatted to place them all on the floor. “I couldn’t tell what the sound was, and before I could find out, Cook caught me and made me go home, then ratted me out to you.”

“But of course you had to come back and investigate,” Dane said.

“Not for a few days, and that was when I saw Mrs. Potts’s cat coming in through the window. I only did it then because—”

“I know, you were afraid there was some animal trapped in here.” Dane strolled over to the bed and studied the stains. “Apparently, she gave birth to them in the bed.” He glanced at Cheyenne. “Sorry. It’s a mess.”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight.”

“The babies have been without food at least since Friday night sometime,” Blaze said. “We need to get them fed. Can we keep them in the house tonight?”

“Nope. Barn.”

“Oh, come on, Dane, they don’t need to be alone tonight.”

“They won’t be alone. You know the rule about animals in the house.”

“But we kept the racing pigs in there last week.”

“That’s different. Cook isn’t allergic to pigs.”

Still grumbling, Blaze went to the other room. “Fine, I’ll just get the bag and close the bathroom window.”

Cheyenne picked up one of the kittens that had wandered from its siblings. The kid was right, these kittens needed to be fed soon.

She looked up and studied Dane Gideon’s face more carefully in the dim glow from their flashlights. The hair wasn’t Santa Claus white, it was more silver-blond, and carefully trimmed. Dane’s silhouette was craggy, with intense green eyes, slightly prominent nose and firm chin outlined by the short silver-blond beard.

Gavin’s words finally sank in, and Cheyenne frowned when he reentered the room with the bag. “Racing pigs?”

Dane and Gavin looked at her as if she should know exactly what they were talking about.

“You race pigs?” Had she just stumbled onto the SciFi cable channel?

“Sure, Dane told me they do it at the September festival every year,” Gavin said. “We brought ours into the house when the old sow got cantankerous and started hurting them.”

“And you kept them in the house?”

“Lady, don’t you know nothing about farm life?”

“Apparently not.”

“Blaze,” Dane warned. “You’re in enough trouble already. Count your blessings that I’ve decided not to write you up about tonight. Now let’s leave Cheyenne in peace.”

Cheyenne found herself intrigued by this man. Though he had a tough appearance, there was a gentleness in his voice, in the way he handled Gavin-Blaze.

She handed off the kitten to the teenager. “Do you mind if I ask why the nickname? Why Blaze?”

“It’s my reputation.” He eased the kitten into the cloth bag. All four of the felines protested their new environment. “Hush up, we’ll get you dinner soon.”

“Reputation?” Cheyenne asked.

“I accidentally set fire to a house. It’s why I’m here.”

“Accidentally?”

“I was building a fire in my mom’s fireplace, and it got away from me. Burned half the house.” He peered into the bag to check on his foster kittens. “I got in big trouble for that, and then there was a fire the next week at school. They tried to blame me for that, too.”

“It didn’t work,” Dane explained to Cheyenne. “They weren’t able to pin the blame on him for that one, because he had an alibi.”

“It worked, all right,” Gavin said. “My mother got me out of the way, didn’t she?”

“It worked for us at the ranch.” Dane placed an arm over Blaze’s shoulders. “We’ve practically got a veterinarian living under our roof—whenever he decides to stay home.”

Gavin grinned at him. “How else are you going to get your exercise if you don’t go chasing all over the county after me?”

Cheyenne could sense the kid’s affection for Dane, and once again she felt ashamed for panicking and spraying him.

“Let’s get these babies to the ranch and get out of Cheyenne’s hair,” Dane said, nudging Blaze toward the door.

The teenager stopped in front of Cheyenne. “Sorry about tonight.”

“Thanks, Gavin. Apology accepted.”

“I’m Blaze.”

“Why would you want to be?” she said. “It sounds like you’re admitting you’re guilty of the arson.”

Cradling the burlap bag in his arms, he shrugged. “By the time the townsfolk get ahold of you tomorrow, you’ll believe them instead of me, anyway.”

“I don’t intend for any townsfolk to get ahold of me,” she protested.

Dane and Gavin said good-night and let themselves out the front door.

“They’ll be good milk cats, soon as they’re big enough.” Gavin’s voice drifted through the still night air, fading as they walked toward the dock.

When all sound died from outside except for the singing tree frogs, Cheyenne pulled the hook of the screen door into the corresponding eye in the threshold. “Racing pigs in the house…hedge apples under the house…I’ve fallen into a psych ward, lockup division.” She sank onto the sofa and wrapped herself up with the comforter, then gazed out the large front window into the brilliant moonlight that kissed the earth with silver. “But maybe a psych ward is where I belong for coming here in the first place. Ardis, what have you gotten me into?”

Chapter Ten

“Suppose they ain’t up yet?”

“’Course they will be. Sun’s been up an hour.”

The murmuring voices penetrated Cheyenne’s sleep and dragged her eyes open. For a moment she thought she was back at the hospital, snoozing in the call room after a wild shift.

But if she was in the call room, that marshmallow they called a bed had been replaced by a…sofa

With a groan, she rolled over on her side and threw off the comforter. Its weight wasn’t nearly as heavy as the oppression that dragged her down when she remembered. She always remembered when she first woke up. Susan…

A sudden movement in the far corner of the room startled her, then a mouse scuttled out of sight.

She picked up the comforter and folded it, recalling how Susan had always panicked, screaming and jumping onto the nearest piece of furniture, whenever she heard a telltale squeak or saw a small furry body racing across the room. She’d always called on big sister to come and chase it away. That had been when they were growing up, when Dad was off on a business trip and Mom was working late at the office.

Cheyenne’s throat constricted. Would it always cripple her like this when she allowed herself to think? Would she always have to battle this horrible, gnawing guilt when she thought of Susan?

The voices reached her from outside again.

“Don’t let her eat the flowers!”

“What now?” Cheyenne tossed the comforter over the sofa, combing her fingers through tangled hair. This was supposed to be Ozark wilderness, where she could hide out and not see anybody for weeks at a time. So far, if she counted the mice skittering around the living room half the night and the howl of coyotes that had awakened her sometime in the darkness, she’d had very little solitude.

She drew the lacy curtain from the window and looked out.

Three wizened faces peered at her over the ledge of the three-foot-tall concrete wall around the porch. One was an older woman, at least in her eighties, with pure white hair framing her face. An even older man hovered next to her. He was bald with white tufts sticking out around his pink head, and age spots covering his face. Most startling was the third face—that of a mottled brown goat.

As Cheyenne’s lips parted in surprise the man’s smile widened in a toothless grin. He nodded sagely as she backed away from the window.

Cheyenne took a sustaining breath and pulled the door open. Three heads bobbed as the visitors filed to the steps.

The man smiled again, and the woman turned to look at him. She stopped, placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. “Oh, honey, you went off and forgot your teeth again. What’s she gonna think?”

The man leaned forward. “What’s that?”

“Your teeth! You forgot your teeth!”

“Oh.” The man dashed his hand over his mouth, caught sight of Cheyenne watching him and gave her an embarrassed smile.

The woman sighed and turned toward Cheyenne. “Mornin’.” Her strong, hearty voice held the warmth and spice of hot apple cider. “Heard you’d moved in here. I’m Bertie Meyer, this here’s my husband, Red and the one with the teeth is Mildred.” She pointed to the goat.

Cheyenne blinked at Mildred. The animal blinked back.

“Don’t worry, she don’t butt no more,” Bertie assured her. “Used to, but I broke her of it. Told her I’d trade her off for one of the ranch racing pigs.”

Cheyenne groaned inwardly. Racing pigs and pet goats. If she had any sense, she’d load all her things back and get out of here. She could go stay with her aunt Sarah in Sikeston. Nobody would visit her there. Or she could just buy a tent, drive to the nearest park and camp out for the next few years. Come to think of it, New York City probably wasn’t as populated as Hideaway.

She realized that her visitors were watching her expectantly. “My name’s Cheyenne Allison.” She stepped onto the porch as she glanced at the goat. Mildred?

Red took an unsteady step up one of the concrete steps, tottered on the edge until Cheyenne was sure he would fall backward, then gained his balance and found his smile once more. “We’re Red and Bertie Meyer. What’s your name?”

“She told you, silly goose!” Bertie shouted at her husband. “Name’s Cheyenne!”

“Hmph. You mean she’s too shy to tell us her name?” he shouted back.

Bertie shook her head at Cheyenne. “Don’t mind him, he’s deaf as a flowerpot. We just came over to see if you needed any help settling in. This is a good ol’ house, in spite of what some thinks. Knew this place’d sell someday. You and your husband planning to farm it?”

“Not at this point.” Why bother to explain the whole situation?

“Knew the Jarvises. They lived here until a couple of years ago, did a little farming.”

While Bertie talked, Mildred stepped daintily up onto the porch and sniffed Cheyenne’s leg. She darted a glance down at the goat, who gazed up at her with an air of innocence, then took the leg of her jeans in her mouth and tugged. No one else seemed to notice.

“Tell her about the Jarvises,” Red instructed his wife.

Bertie grimaced and shook her head conspiratorially at Cheyenne. “Okay, Red, I will!” She lowered her voice. “It helps to humor him. He gets mad if he thinks you’re ignoring him. Lizzie Barlow called me this morning to warn me they saw lights out here last night, and that there was probably vandals messing up the place.”

Cheyenne tugged the hem of her jeans out of Mildred’s mouth. “Lizzie?”

“Austin Barlow’s mother. He’s the mayor of Hideaway. Lizzie hears everything that goes on around here.” Bertie snorted. “You have to watch her. Sometimes she gets ahead of herself. Not that she likes to pass judgment on people, but…well…any ways, don’t tell her anything you don’t want the whole town to know. Would you listen to me? Now I’m doing it. Anyways, around here, everybody knows everybody else’s business. You’ll be needing a cat.”

Mildred took another tug at Cheyenne’s jeans, and Cheyenne jerked back. “A cat?”

“For mice, unless you want to share a bed with ’em.”

Cheyenne nudged the goat out from between her legs.

“Our cat’s a good mouser, and you’re in luck. We’ve got some almost grown kittens that’ll do you fine. I’ll bring one over.”

“No, thanks, I don’t need a cat.”

Bertie blinked up at her.

“I mean…I’m not moved in yet.” Cheyenne hesitated, looking at the three expectant faces. “I’m only here temporarily. I won’t be staying.”

Bertie’s shoulders drooped slightly. “Don’t you worry, those cats’ll be with us awhile. No hurry on that.” She turned to Red. “Guess we’d better be going. We got the goats to milk yet this morning, and I need to work in the garden this afternoon.” She patted Mildred’s behind and nudged her off the porch, then herded Red along behind the goat.

Red nodded smilingly at Cheyenne again. “Nice to meet you, young lady. You come and see us real soon.” He turned to his wife as he stepped to the ground. “I bet she could use one of those kittens for the mice around here.”

Bertie chuckled. “I bet she could, too.” She turned to Cheyenne and said, “If you need us for anything, we’re the next house on the road south from your gate.”

As they strolled back toward the gate, Cheyenne called out, “Why don’t I drive you there?”

“Thanks, but Mildred wouldn’t appreciate us cuttin’ her walk short,” Bertie called over her shoulder as they continued down to the rocky driveway.

Cheyenne chided herself for her lack of hospitality. They were just two harmless senior citizens…and a goat who liked to chew on pant legs.

She went down the steps and strolled around the yard, surveying the place that would be her home for the next few weeks…months?

Seven cedar trees congregated at the center of a grassy knoll twenty-some yards south of the house. New leaves sprinkled bright green across the tops of the otherwise naked gray-and-brown oaks in a forest that formed a natural barrier between this property and the rest of the world, except for the shoreline. Jonquils bloomed in splashes of yellow where the woods met fields.

The house sat on the crest of a hill that overlooked Table Rock Lake, and across the lake she saw a big red barn. The boys’ ranch, no doubt.

Judging by the position and lack of warmth of the sun, it was probably about six or seven o’clock in the morning, but Cheyenne had no way of knowing. She had purposely left all clocks and watches back in her apartment. Someday, perhaps, she would rejoin the human race, but now she wanted to forget.

Behind the house she found a small barn within a fenced corral, with two other outbuildings, apparently in good condition. One outbuilding was the well house, built of whitewashed blocks. The other looked like a chicken shed.

Chickens…mousing cats…milk goats. She’d never lived on a farm, though she’d often thought it might be interesting.

So far, she could definitely call this experience interesting.

Before she stayed here another day, she would need some supplies. Maybe Hideaway, small as it was, would carry what she needed. She’d finish unloading the car, then take a short drive to town.

Dane loved the smell of freshly cooked bacon, even if it was poison to arteries. He especially got a craving for it on Monday mornings, when he had a whole week of work to face. This morning, Cook had also made biscuits, fried eggs and potatoes with onions, and whipped up a batch of cream gravy that could tempt a man to sin.

Snatching a strip of bacon from the platter on the warming tray, Dane nodded good-morning to Cook. “Where’s your kitchen help this morning?”

“I sent him to town.” Cook grabbed an oven mitt and opened the oven door. “Our hens are getting a little carried away lately, and they were low on eggs at the store.”

Dane paused with the bacon halfway to his mouth. He checked the schedule on the side of the refrigerator. Gavin Farmer.

“How long ago did he leave?”

Cook stirred the potatoes and onions, then peered at Dane over the rims of his reading glasses. “About thirty minutes ago. Something wrong?”

“I hope not. It doesn’t take that long to go over and back.” The dock was barely a block from the store. After the hullabaloo this weekend…but searching for problems never did anybody any good. Dane crunched the bacon.

“You know how Blaze likes to hang around and shoot the breeze with ol’ Cecil when there’s time,” Cook said. “He got the milking done early and already had the potatoes shredded when I got down here. He was just underfoot, driving me nuts. I figured—”

“It’s okay,” Dane said. “He’ll be back anytime, I’m sure.” He strolled to the back door and peered out the window.

“You worry about that kid too much,” Cook said, stepping up behind him.

“And you don’t?”

“He’s a piece of work, all right. Charmer. He got Bertie Meyer to bake him a batch of her chocolate black-walnut cookies last week, then he traded half of them to Willy to do his chores one morning so he could sleep in.”

“Well, if he doesn’t get back soon, he’s going to be eating the rest of them for breakfast. We’re not waiting around if he’s late.”

Brightly colored houses graced the narrow, roughly paved road into Hideaway. The peridot green of budding springtime gave the morning a crisp, fresh feel, the multitude of pink-and-white dogwood trees providing a splash of elegance to a progression of postage-stamp-size yards. Larger, more elegant brick and stone homes graced the cliff line across the lake. Other houses were set deeply into the hillsides above the road.

As Cheyenne entered Hideaway proper, she realized that the whole community was built on a peninsula, surrounded on three sides by Table Rock Lake, with docks situated along the shore the way parking lots were situated within the vicinity of retail shops back home in Columbia. The downtown area of Hideaway, which at first appeared to be a one-block-long succession of brick-front shops, was actually an inverted town square, with shops along a four-square block that faced a street encompassing them. It seemed the inhabitants of Hideaway traveled via boat as often as they did by automobile in this town that focused itself along the shore.

Cheyenne drove around the large square, three sides of which overlooked the lake that was glittering in the sun. A substantial community boat dock extended well out into the lake, providing slips for perhaps twenty-five vessels, and docking space for at least twenty more. A total of six boats occupied slips. A canoe was parked onshore. This place must really rock in the summertime.

The view across the lake made her catch her breath. The morning sunlight was reflected from the cliffs in splashes of red and orange, bordered by green and inset by yellow jonquils. She knew from casual research that Table Rock Lake squiggled across this part of the state from Branson to the Missouri-Arkansas border. Somehow, the squiggles on the page didn’t do justice to the reality.

Before she realized it, she had driven through town and found herself approaching the bed-and-breakfast Dane had mentioned to her last night. She turned the car around in front of a bright-yellow gazebo and was headed back toward the brick-face street square when she caught a glimpse of movement from the near end of the community dock.

Two young men stood facing each other on the grassy shore, arms stiff, bodies radiating the tension of apparent conflict. One of them had dark skin and dreadlocks. As Cheyenne drew closer, she recognized Gavin Farmer. His forehead gleamed with bright-red blood.

She stomped on the brake and pulled to the edge of the pavement, then shoved the gearshift into park as the two young men tangled—or rather, the blond-haired kid shoved Gavin toward the dock. Gavin didn’t retaliate.

Cheyenne got out of the car and ran down the grassy slope. “What’s going on down here? Stop it!”

The blonde glared over his shoulder at her. “This is none of your business, get back!”

Gavin stepped away from him. “Look, I don’t want to fight you, I just want to get to my boat and—”

“You just want to find your next victim, but it ain’t gonna happen.” The kid rounded on him again, shoving him toward the water, an angry red suffusing his face. “How many people you gonna hurt around here before they haul you off and lock you up?” His foot shot forward and hit Gavin in the side of the knee. “It’s stoppin’, right here, right now.”

“Look,” Cheyenne said, reaching for the bully’s arm, “this isn’t going to settle any—”

The kid drew his arm back. Hard. The force of his movement shoved his elbow into Cheyenne’s eye socket and the pain of a thousand needles shot through her head. The sky spun to black as she felt herself hitting the ground on her back, the breath forced from her lungs.

Shouting male voices surrounded her. “You’re a real loser, Short. You know that, don’t you? You think you can beat up on a helpless woman just because she gets in your way?”

“I didn’t do it on pur—”

“Get away from her!” There was a scuffle of feet. “You’re just a bully, you’re not so big and brave—”

“I don’t set a stranger’s boat on fire, or shoot cats.”

“Somebody does, and it seems someone who would smack a woman in the face wouldn’t mind stooping to shooting some poor animal. Cheyenne? You okay?” A hand touched her arm.