Protecting the Widow's Heart. Lorraine Beatty
mother’s words triggered more tears. “I will, Mom. Love you, too. I’m running low on minutes, so I’d better go. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Sweetheart, I wish I could help you. I wish I had some money to send you but...”
“It’s okay, Mom. We’ve met a nice couple who are helping us out. We’ll be fine. Don’t worry about us.”
But worry was all she could do as she hung up, moved to the bathroom and prepared for bed. Rinsing the cleanser from her face, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked pale as a ghost and tired. She couldn’t remember looking any other way. Maybe, once she got to Spring Valley, she could spend a little time on herself. A stray lock of hair fell against her cheek. With an irritated grunt she grabbed a clip and fastened it in place. She’d tried everything to keep that cowlick at her temple under control. Cutting it off only made it stick out more. Curling and straightening never lasted more than an hour. As a result, it was forever hanging over her ear and brushing her cheek. Tugging it out of the way had developed into a habit. A professional stylist could probably help, but who could afford that?
Slipping between the covers, she turned her mind to getting some rest. The firm bed, with fresh sheets smelling like pine, wrapped her in comfort. The soothing combination beckoned her to let go of her fears and sleep. She could hear her son’s steady breathing from across the hall. At least he would get some rest. She had too much on her mind. Such as how she was going to pay for car repairs, how she’d get to her mother’s in time to take the much-needed job and how she was going to repay the owner of this cabin for using it. The Coopers had assured her there was no need, but Ginger knew firsthand the crushing burden of debt, and she refused to be indebted to anyone ever again.
Please, God. If You’re listening this time, all I’m asking is to get to Mom’s, so we can find a nice, safe place to start over.
* * *
The pain on his left side started at his thigh, traveled through his side and up to his neck. Tyler Durrant shifted his weight in the driver’s seat and peered into the distance. The sign for Shiloh Lake was a few yards up ahead. He was almost at the cabin. He should have stopped and stretched his tired body hours ago, but he’d been too intent on getting to his sanctuary. He’d left Dallas on impulse late this afternoon and driven straight through with only a quick stop for gas and a package of cookies.
Slowing, he made the turn onto the narrow gravel road winding behind the twenty or so cabins lining the shores of the lake. What had once been a few remote fishing camps had grown into a small community of weekend cabins positioned close enough to keep residents from feeling isolated but far enough apart that you didn’t feel your neighbor’s eyes prying into your business. It was the perfect place for Ty to hide out and think things through.
A twinge of guilt pricked his conscience as he steered his car toward his cabin. He hadn’t told his family he was coming back to Dover. He had a hard enough time with all his well-meaning fellow officers in Dallas. His family would be hovering and worrying, and he needed peace and quiet—time to figure out his future and make what could be the most important decision of his life. The cabin his uncle had left him was the perfect place. Quiet, private and peaceful. If he couldn’t find his answers here, there were no answers to be found.
His medical leave was up at the end of the month. He had to decide if he would remain in law enforcement or look for work elsewhere. He knew what he wanted. He liked being a detective for the Dallas Police Department. But being shot had left him filled with doubts about his ability to do the job and stolen the sense of invincibility a police officer needed to function. He hadn’t been able to pick up his service weapon since. What kind of cop could he be if he was too scared to use his gun?
Pressing his foot on the brake, he eased his SUV into the parking area beneath the cabin and stopped. Hands gripping the wheel, he sent up a quick prayer. Lord, I need Your help sorting this out. I can’t do it without You. Show me the future I should choose.
His body protested as he pulled himself out of the car and retrieved his bag from the backseat. His thigh burned as he climbed the steps, the scar tissue pulling and stinging with each step. He inhaled a sharp breath. His wounds had healed completely, but overuse or lack of sleep brought back the aches and discomfort.
The fear and guilt, however, were always with him. He’d been over that night four months ago when he and his partner, Pete Steele, had made a follow-up call on a homicide case. The interview had taken an odd turn, so Pete had called for backup. But on the way to the car, a gunman had appeared around the side of the house, catching him by surprise. He’d hesitated, taking rounds to his thigh, his side and his neck. Pete had taken one to the chest and died. A death that Ty could have prevented if he’d acted more quickly.
On the broad deck, he paused a moment to select the cabin key from the assortment on his key ring, stealing a glance at the lake and the ribbon of light slashing across the water from the full moon. First thing in the morning he’d come out here with his coffee, or better yet, to the pier and soak up the quiet.
With one quick movement he unlocked the door and stepped through, and came face-to-face with a bat-wielding woman standing three feet in front of him.
“Stop right there. Don’t take another step.”
Ty stared a moment, then glanced around the cabin. It was his place. But he had no idea who this woman was. His surprise shifted abruptly to irritation. He dropped his duffel bag onto the floor. “Who are you and what are you doing in my cabin?”
“I have permission. And it’s not your cabin.”
Ty frowned and took a step toward the woman. She pulled back on the bat as if ready to swing it at his head. He held up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know what you’re doing here.”
“I told you. I have permission from the owner.”
“I’m the owner, and I didn’t give anyone permission to stay here.” His neck throbbed. He rubbed it with his fingers, trying to ease the stinging.
“Ha! That’s not true. The owner lives out of state.”
“Yeah. I live in Dallas.” Ty took a closer look at the intruder. She was wrapped in a purple robe with baggy sleeves and tied at the waist. Her dark hair was trapped beneath the thick collar as if she’d tossed the robe on in haste. He guessed she was about five-eight, maybe thirty years old, but it was hard to tell when she had a bat poised over her head. For the first time, Ty was aware of the fear in the woman’s eyes and the tense, protective curve of her shoulders. He took a step forward only to have her squeal and retreat against the wall, pulling a cell phone from her pocket.
“I’m calling the police.” She punched in some numbers, all the while keeping a wary eye on him.
Ty lifted his hands in surrender and moved to the leather recliner, dropping down into it with a heavy sigh. His body was grateful for the softness. “Good. Chief Reynolds is a friend. He’ll have this sorted out in a heartbeat, though I don’t think he’ll be too happy about you waking him up in the middle of the night.”
The woman held the small phone to her ear, bat at the ready. “This is Mrs.... Uh, I need help at the cabin at the lake. The one next door to the Coopers. There’s an intruder.”
Ty held back the smile that found its way to his lips. That should bring the local law enforcement running. The ache in his side forced him up out of the chair. There was no place comfortable. He needed to stretch out on the bed. Fast. “Look, lady...”
A loud knock on the door interrupted him.
“Ty. Is that you?” Nelson Cooper peeked in the door, quickly coming inside when he saw what was happening. “Whoa. Mrs. Sloan, it’s okay. Ty owns this cabin.” Nels held up his hands, placing himself between them. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you.”
Ty watched the fear in the woman’s eyes fade as she lowered the bat, clutching the phone in her other hand. “I came home on a whim. Sorry. I didn’t expect guests.”