Night Prey. Sharon Dunn
“I don’t suppose you know anything about people shooting at eagles around here?” Jenna asked.
Keith shook his head. “Grandpa has a rifle, not a shotgun.” He narrowed his eyes. “He wouldn’t shoot at a bird anyway.”
He seemed protective of his grandfather. She hadn’t intended to accuse. “That means you have trespassers.”
“Trespassers?” He rubbed the five-o’clock shadow on his jaw. “You mean other than you, Jenna Murphy?” His tone lightened; all the suspicion she had heard earlier was gone.
Jenna’s breath caught. Something in the way he had said her name made her think he did remember her more than he was letting on. Was her perception of their friendship so much different than his? True, he had been two years older than she was, but she had felt such a special bond with him until that disastrous summer when he’d changed so much.
What had happened between then and now?
SHARON DUNN
has always loved writing, but didn’t decide to write for publication until she was expecting her first baby. Pregnancy makes you do crazy things. Three kids, many articles and two mystery series later, she still hasn’t found her sanity. Her books have won awards, including a Book of the Year award from American Christian Fiction Writers. She was also a finalist for an RT Book Reviews Inspirational Book of the Year award.
Sharon has performed in theater and church productions, gotten degrees in film production and history and worked for many years as a college tutor and instructor. Despite the fact that her résumé looks as if she couldn’t decide what she wanted to be when she grew up, all the education and experience have played a part in helping her write good stories.
When she isn’t writing or taking her kids to activities, she reads, plays board games and contemplates organizing her closet. In addition to her three kids, Sharon lives with her husband of twenty-two years, three cats and lots of dust bunnies. You can reach Sharon through her website at www.sharondunnbooks.com.
Night Prey
Sharon Dunn
He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge;
His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
—Psalms 91:4
A special thanks to Becky and Kyla for showing me around the local raptor rescue center and to all the dedicated people across the country who rescue and care for these awe-inspiring birds.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
LETTER TO READER
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
“What are you doing on this land?” The male voice pelted Jenna Murphy’s back like a hard rain.
She dropped the empty pet carrier and raised her hands slowly, not wanting to spook whoever had called out to her. Most of the locals knew her, but a lot of strangers were moving in and buying ranches. If she had stumbled on an overzealous landowner with a rifle, the situation could get sticky. Her skills lay in soothing birds, not people.
“Please, I can explain.” She struggled to get the words out, already winded from running up and down hills.
“Explain away.” The silky smooth quality of the voice behind her did nothing to diminish the threatening tone.
Chances were, she was trespassing. When she got focused on something, she tended to space out everything else. Whose land had she wandered onto anyway? She’d been too busy trying to catch an injured hawk to notice if she had crossed boundaries. She had started her chase out on the King Ranch.
A glance at the mountain range to her left helped her orient herself. She was still on Norman and Etta King’s ranch. Both of them were getting up in age. Maybe they had hired some help. The man’s voice had a distant familiarity to it. If he wasn’t barking orders, she might be able to place it.
His voice softened. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You can put your hands down and turn around.”
Jenna pivoted. She studied the man in front of her. He didn’t have a gun. Instead he held a tool that was used for digging fence posts. His forehead glistened and the front of his shirt was stained with sweat. So the Kings had hired help…or had they? She looked closer.
“Keith? Is that you?”
Twelve years of her life fell away. He had changed quite a bit, but there was enough of the old Keith Roland for her to know this was her childhood friend and the Kings’ grandson. The gray eyes that appeared blue in intense light were the same. “It’s Jenna Murphy,” she added when he didn’t respond. “We used to play together when you spent summers with your grandparents, remember?”
The man standing in front of her bore little resemblance to the boy she had rafted the river with. Together, they had built a tree house that attracted a neighborhood of kids, summer after summer. His features were the same, though his muscular frame was a sharp contrast from the skinny kid she remembered. Keith’s wavy brown hair now fell past his ears. The long-sleeved shirt he wore was a little out of place considering what a hot summer day it was. The almond shaped eyes still held the same gentleness, but something about this man seemed…haunted.
Keith blinked as if she had stunned him. He shook his head and furrowed his brow. “Sorry.”
Did he really not remember her? Jenna’s spirits sank. Funny, he had been such an important part of her childhood, the highlight of her summer. Yet, she hadn’t even been a blip on his radar. Maybe she had just been the scraggly little tagalong kid to him. Somehow, she couldn’t believe that. She touched her palm to her chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack when you shouted at me like that.”
“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His voice held a warm quality. “We had a trespasser yesterday, too. I was concerned Gramps’s place had become Grand Central Station.”
Jenna laughed. Now she understood why he had been so quick to confront her. “That was probably me you saw. I’m the director of the Birds of Prey Rescue Center up Hillcrest Road.” When she got a call on an injured bird, there usually wasn’t time to inform landowners. All the locals knew if they saw her on their land, she was probably just taking care of a bird. She always dressed in bright colors, so she could be spotted from a distance.
“So that was you I saw tromping around yesterday when I was mending fence. Do you make a habit of trespassing?”
“The bird I rescued yesterday was an eagle with buckshot in her wing.” Finding that bird flapping its flightless wings had broken her heart. Hopefully, she had gotten to the bird quickly enough to prevent infection but only time would