CHAPTER 14
Blake felt a fire in his gut. He knew he would be at this point eventually, but didn’t think it would happen so quickly, and with such circumstantial evidence surrounding the situation. His hands were tied, and he needed more time to figure this out.
“Well, shall we take a look? You boys strapped?” he asked Dawson and Colton.
Dawson grabbed a weapon from a shoulder harness under his open flannel, while Colton grabbed his from his holster at his waist, just under the hem of his shirt.
Jessie grabbed a gun that had been lodged in her waistband behind her back. “Let’s go!” she said.
Blake grabbed her arm, pulling her back, “Like hell you are.”
“Not this shit again. Puffing out your chest and beating it like an overprotective ape doesn’t impress me.” She pulled her arm from his grasp, shaking off the feel of him touching her. She cocked her hip, and raised an eyebrow before saying, “And you know I’m a better shot, quicker, than these two.” She waved her empty hand in front of her, indicating Dawson and Colton. They took the insult well, remembering the last time they were facing danger and Jessie schooled the men with her precision and might.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” he fired back.
“Me? Wanted to make sure Morgie was okay – and check in on…Dunny.” Colten opened his mouth to speak, but Jessie shot him down and shut him up with a single look.
She wanted Blake to chew on the idea she was there for Dunny. She’d never admit the real reason that she was there – to see Blake – make sure he came out of this twisted bullshit unscathed. No, she’d never admit that and she’d break the legs of anyone that interfered with her game.
Even under the veil of night, a deep shade of red could be seen, washing over Blake’s pissed off face while every angry vein in his body swelled, especially the one on his right temple. “Let’s go.”
The group made it back to the house, hands just as empty as they were when they took to the trees, in search of a trigger happy stalker. Standing, on the front porch still, the group reconvened.
“We didn’t find anything, “Blake offered. “Whoever was out there, they’re gone.”
Dawson stepped forward, “We can come back out in the morning, look again for anything they may have left behind with daylight.”
Blake nodded, happy to have the help. McKenzie Ridge had a police force, but the area they covered was expansive, and resources limited. He didn’t want to pull anyone off duty. Their group made up the Search and Rescue team, were well trained, and all emergency response professionals by trade – it made sense for their small tourist town.
“Sounds like it’s just a hunter,” Dunny chimed in, trying to offer an explanation. “Woods people, maybe.”
His confidence wasn’t missed, he was trying to sell an idea and Blake had to wonder why. Dunny hadn’t been himself of late, his presence and timing convenient, his offered rationalization – the woods people
– desperate and convenient.
“What? Woods people?” Doc Charles was surprised by the idea. “They may be simple, living off the grid, living off the land, but they are not criminals. They just as soon stay hidden and left alone.”
“I have to agree,” Dawson added, with Colton nodding in agreement beside him, “We’re out there every week, making rounds, taking supplies. Doc joins us twice a month. They’re humble, reserved, maybe a little skittish. They appreciate the small effort we make, but they can take care of themselves, always have. I don’t see them for this.”
“Anyone more stand offish? Extra introverted?” Blake asked, trying to rule this potential theory in or out.
The woods people
were those that lived off the land, away from society, hidden in the woods. Many lived without electricity or even indoor plumbing. It was as if time stood still out in those woods, for those people.
The idea that one, or more, was threatening anyone in the community was far-fetched. They’d rather stay off the radar than attract the attention of outsiders into their forest, their home. But, that life was hard, and finding shortcuts by tapping into modern lifestyles seemed a possibility.
“I just don’t see it,” Doc Charles said, “besides, there isn’t anyone this high on the ridge, and trekking up a mountain, on foot, at night for a chicken or something? More trouble than it’s worth.”
“Well, I’m just sayin’ it’s possible. Remember someone did shoot that horse, and some other livestock out there.”
Dunny’s comment sparked something in Guy. His mind wandered to the now deceased horse, and memories of that horrific gun shot that ended the pain it was in, ricocheted in his mind, haunting him now as it had in his nightmares. The gun sounding earlier, the wounded dog had the same effect on him.
“Guy, you okay?” Morgan asked, planting her hand on his shoulder.
“Oh, fine, just thinking.” He smiled.
He was thinking alright. He felt like he was missing something, like he had the missing piece to the puzzle but just couldn’t remember what it was. He had been content with his lack of memory, until now. Now he was frustrated by a nagging feeling he couldn’t quite explain that was aggravated by a gunshot on replay over and over, in his mind.
Somehow, Guy felt like he
was the missing piece needed to complete the big picture. But how? His thoughts were interrupted by Doc Bain, joining the group. He was removing his sterile gloves, and unrolling his long sleeves that had been rolled to his elbows while working on the injured dog.
“Bow is going to be just fine,” he offered. “The bullet didn’t penetrate, just a deep gash. I put a few stitches in to help it heal and stay clean, but other than that, just watch it – stitches can come out in about ten days.”
“Oh good!” Morgan sighed with relief.
“Good to hear,” Doc Charles chimed, “Not sure this guy is quite that lucky.” He patted an agitated Dunny’s shoulder. “I’m taking him in for a scan, and observation. It’s a break, but not sure we can just let him heal as is.”
Dunny sent a cautionary scowl, not hiding his dislike for Guy in the least. “I’ll be right back, Doc. Need to grab a clean shirt.”
As he walked away, removing his shirt as he went, a reflection of sorts gleamed from his back waistband, catching the night’s light. A gun.
“Hold it,” Blake shouted, causing everyone to pause, as he quickly placed his hand over his holstered weapon.
Dunny obliged quickly raising both hands in the air, bloodied shirt in his right hand above his head. He slowly turned to face the group. He knew exactly why Blake was stopping him.
“It’s legal, Coop,” he said, acknowledging Blake by his last name, a nickname in fact, as if appealing to him in a hey we go way back
manner. “Registered. I’m a concealed permit holder – you know that.”
Blake was fully aware of the weapons credentials Dunny maintained; half the town had concealed weapons permits. He knew every single one, it was his
town, and it was his job to know. As Blake stood silent, grazing over Dunny with an edgy glower, his suspicion was obvious.
Dunny added, “I heard gun shots, man. I heard gun shots.”
The calm in his voice and attempt at sincerity was Oscar worthy, but the ever so slight shift in his stance and lack of eye contact left Blake less than sold on the idea that he came out of nowhere. Still, what did he really have on the guy? Again, it was all circumstantial.
He needed something that would stick if Dunny really was behind the mysterious happenings around the ranch. Although he knew Dunny was guilty of something, the gritty hair raising sensation he had, told him there was more. Much more. Blake nodded his head, dismissing Dunny who dropped his arms and fled into the darkness before anymore fingers pointed at him.
“I’m keeping him overnight,” Doc Charles offered. “I’m his ride and his doctor tonight. I’ll buy you time.”
“You really think it’s him?” Morgan questioned, still in disbelief that her lifelong friend and confidant could really put her and her home in such jeopardy.
“Well, if you’d like my two-cents, from a veterinarian’s point of view,” Doc Bain chimed, nodding his head in the direction of the house where Arrow was. “That there dog doesn’t trust him. I’ve never known Arrow to be hostile. I tend to trust animals more than people. Their intuition on such matters is pretty keen. I’ll see you in about ten days, Morgan; call me if you need me before then.”
Doc Bain patted Morgan on the shoulder, and gave the rest of the group a friendly nod as he stepped away, leading off to his vehicle and left.
Guy turned to Blake, “I can be available any time you need tomorrow. Just tell me what to do, what I’m looking for, I’ll search all day if I have to.” His arm rested over Morgan’s shoulders, pulling her firmly against him when the cool night air, tangled with fear, cast a shiver that coursed through her.
She accepted his comforting embrace, leaning into him, laying her head against him. A row of raised eyebrows and surprised grins stood before the twosome as they each acknowledged the silent signal their embrace was sending. They were a couple – he was going to protect his girl and she would let him.
“I’ll be out first thing then,” Blake replied, just as anxious to get whatever the hell they were chasing out of his town and away from his people.
“Pick me up on the way…” Dawson said before Morgan pulled away from Guy to hug Dawson goodbye.
“Count me in,” Colton added, following suit with a hug. “You know the girls will be calling bright and early, right?” he finished with an amused look, his eyes shifting between Morgan and Guy.
Warning them was the right thing to do because the minute these men walked in the door, of their respective homes, to their women – the distinct smell of juicy gossip would cling to the men’s clothing driving their women straight to a game of telephone.
“Yeah, I know,” she laughed, “I halfway expect them to show up with you guys in the morning.”
Jessie walked to the car with Dawson and Colton, turning briefly to say, “Make extra bacon – I already texted everyone.”
She gave a mischievous wink and chuckle before climbing in the vehicle, “See ya in the morning!” It wouldn’t be Jessie if she didn’t climb into the vehicle making a vulgar sexual gesture aimed at her friend and the budding new relationship.
“Classy!” Blake hollered earning him a middle finger as she disappeared into the confines of Dawson’s truck.
He shook his head, turning his attention back to Morgan, “You okay…with this?” With his arms crossed, he lifted a pointed thumb toward where Guy and Doc Charles were standing, chatting.
“Guy? What do you mean?” her crooked smile a failed attempt at deflecting the well-meaning interrogation by her partner.
A dramatic sigh and eye roll began the do you remember who you’re talking to
stare down.
“Okay! Yes! More than okay. He’s…special.” She watched Guy from where she stood, recounting all that made him so special, and how freeing it felt to admit she had feelings for him, feelings that were reciprocated.
“Save the details for the girls,” he grumped. “I know I don’t need to tell you to watch your back. You’re a good cop, good instincts. But I will say…be careful. You got me on that?”
A warm smile crossed her face in response to Blake’s genuine concern. Blake was a cold, emotionless, background type that rarely cracked a grin, much less reveal he had feelings
. But, every now and again, he set his macho protective edge aside and let them see his heart. She knew exactly what he meant by be careful
.
He was protecting her heart, from breaking any more than it already had. Blake was like the big brother she never had, but always wanted. Morgan stood on her tip toes, stretching her arms around his neck, and pulled him in for a rare hug – something he typically reserved for the children that provoked the few smiles and laughs he shared.
His body went rigid in surprise, his arms hung at his sides briefly as if unsure what he should do in return. After an ever so brief stall, his large muscular arms folded around her in an awkward embrace, affectionately squeezing her in return and relaxing as he did. The hug was over as quickly as it had occurred.
Morgan received an annoyed look of ruffled brow and squinting eyes that matched his crooked sneer as Blake turned to walk away. “Oh…” he paused, reaching into his pocket, “thought you might want this back. Got a sewing kit?”
Confused by the quick shift in his new diverted demeanor, Morgan looked down at her upward facing palm to see what Blake had handed her. A moment had passed while she evaluated the rumpled pile in her hand. Her torn, satin, underwear.
Closing her eyes, jaw hanging wide in embarrassment, she quickly placed the reminder of her evening’s pleasantries in her dress pocket while a not so flattering shade of red flooded her face. Thank God it was dark outside.
Guy made his way back to Morgan, sitting at the bottom of the porch steps, after seeing off their friends. Their friends
. Those words danced through his mind, leaving him with that same sense of belonging he had experienced before. He felt complete.
Joy and pride took over when his eyes locked with Morgan’s. Despite the activities that transpired the past few hours, he was happy. Happy felt foreign for some reason, but he greedily accepted it. She made him happy and neither Dunny, nor any other menacing factor could hinder that.
He would take as many nights as he could and keep her safe from anything that tried to get in the way. Even if that thing was him. Something happened earlier in the night, something that had happened before and haunted his sleep.
At the sound of gun fire he saw a flash accompanied with a shocking strike of fear. It was ever so brief, but frightened him just the same. He had not been able to recall what shook him each night, upon waking from these episodes. The minute it struck, whatever it was, it was gone, leaving him with only the unease and terror.
Tonight it was clear, or clearer, though he didn’t know what it meant. He had the same experience when the horse was put down. At the sound of gunfire, he experienced something he was only just able to decipher this night. An image of a horse rearing on its hind legs, jerking its head left, with a wooded background flashed in his mind. No sound, other than the gunfire, and it was quickly chased by the same cold sweat that accompanied his fear.
It was the dead horse – his horse. First from his nightmares, and now wide awake, this had him on edge. He briefed Doc Charles, seeking help in decoding the mystery. Doc thought it might be a clue – a piece of his memory trying to return only to be hampered by his fear, forcing it back to wherever it came from. A place where he couldn’t recall these flashes of memories voluntarily. He was afraid to remember.
As much as he wanted Morgan safe, and as much as this could provide safety – he couldn’t face his role in whatever this memory was. The fright was that mighty, he wasn’t brave enough to face it. What if he didn’t like what he had done, whatever that may be?
No, he would cling to joy, and happiness. That is what she was to him and he wouldn’t compromise that. Just the idea of losing her was painful and lonely – familiar even. There were answers out there; he would find them without facing that empty demon trying to reach him through his living nightmare.
He would protect her, shield her, cover her in love because he was sure this is what that beautiful joy was – love.