fell. Most of the horses had calmed down except for Bluebell, a black Arabian. Once at the other end of the stable, Morgan pushed open the barn door and stepped out, shining the light in all directions. No Alex. Her heart skipped a beat.
Her voice cracked when she called for him. He was innocent in all this. It wasn’t right that he should be hurt in any way. Maybe she had been foolish to move out here, to think she could build some kind of life with this threat hanging over her. The last thing she wanted was someone to get hurt because of the danger she faced.
She heard footsteps and turned just as a body barreled into her. She saw a flash of a plaid material right before she was pushed to the ground. She lay on her back with the wind knocked out of her. Terror raged through her as memories from the attack in Mexico flooded her mind.
Alex called her name from a distance. Her assailant let go of her and retreated into the darkness, probably scared away by Alex’s voice.
Alex came around the corner and fell to his knees when he saw her on the ground. His voice filled with concern. “Hey, what happened?”
Morgan blinked. Pain shot through her back. “He knocked me over.” Why hadn’t the man simply killed her? Maybe Alex had been too close and the thug didn’t want witnesses. “He got scared when he heard you yelling.”
Alex reached out his hand to help her to her feet. “I saw one of them run off in the other direction. This is a little more serious if they are going to start hurting people. Last time this happened, it was some teenagers going from farm to farm, running through the property.”
So there was more than one of them. “Do you think you’ll call the police?” Not that that would help her. There was a part of her that really hoped it was just teenagers, but she couldn’t take chances. If there was the smallest chance she’d been found, the U.S. Marshals would need to move her.
His hand cupped underneath her elbow. “I might have to if we can’t get to the bottom of this.” He leaned a little closer to her. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
She winced and touched her bruised back muscles. “Guess I hit the ground pretty hard.” Alex’s concern for her warmed her heart.
“Why don’t you come back to the guesthouse? I’ll fix you a cup of tea and get you an ice pack. You probably don’t have much in the way of supplies for the cottage yet.”
“I will, but could you give me a minute? Bluebell sounds really stirred up in there. I’ll make sure everything is locked up tight.” She didn’t want Alex to see how badly she was shaking.
He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Morgan, this really frightened you.”
The warmth of his touch permeated her thin cotton shirt. She nodded but didn’t say anything, afraid she wouldn’t be able to keep the emotion out of her voice. Let him think it was just teenagers. She knew better.
“I’ll lock up while you calm down Bluebell.” His voice filled with compassion. “We’ll go back to the house together.”
They entered the stable. Bluebell stepped side to side in her stall. Morgan slipped into the stall, stroking her hands over the horse’s neck and back. She leaned close so her side rested against the horse’s front flank. She looked into Bluebell’s coal dark eyes.
We’re both afraid, aren’t we?
“It’ll be all right.” Bluebell let out a heavy snort. Her stomping subsided. Morgan leaned in close and buried her face in the horse’s mane. Her eyes warmed with tears.
She had no idea how they’d found her. She had complied with the witness protection rules of not talking about her past or contacting anyone she knew in her former life. It seemed odd, though, that the assailant hadn’t killed her outright. One thing was certain. She couldn’t stay here.
She’d have to pack her things and call the marshals as soon as she could get a cell phone signal.
* * *
“You ready to go?” Alex closed and latched the stable door. He pulled out his ring of keys to lock the door on the other end from the outside. They lived far enough away from the city that crime wasn’t a huge issue. All the same, he should have remembered to lock the doors.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
Morgan didn’t turn to him. Her hand went up to her face. When she did turn around, it looked to him as if she’d been crying. Clearly, she didn’t want him to notice, so he didn’t mention it.
In the few days she’d been working there, he’d concluded that Morgan Smith was not easy to get to know. She was friendly and connecting with clients but very closed down when it came to talking about herself.
Morgan gave the horse one final pat on the neck before climbing out of the stall. Alex had to hand it to her—she was good with the horses. He wasn’t in the habit of hiring someone without references, but the day she’d arrived for the interview, she’d talked an uppity horse into taking the weight of a saddle and calmed the frightened kid who’d been dealing with that same horse.
She gazed at him, her dark brown eyes holding a world of mystery. She rubbed her lower back and winced. “That ice pack sounds really nice right now.” She wore her long dark hair in a ponytail. Her cheeks flushed with color—maybe from the cold, maybe from the scare she’d just had.
They walked through the stable and out into the darkness. Only two windows in the guesthouse glowed with golden light. It was a weekday, so they only had one guest. On the weekends, all six rooms were usually full. Clients who lived in the city drove up and stayed for two or three days of riding. They were two hours outside of Des Moines in Iowa farmland. The Stables boarded horses and owned some to provide lessons. Alex’s favorite part of his job was the therapeutic riding program for disabled and underprivileged children.
Morgan and Alex walked side by side onto the expansive porch of the guesthouse. He led her through an open sitting room furnished with leather couches and rough pine end tables into a large kitchen. Only he and Morgan lived on the property. He had private quarters in the guesthouse and she had the caretaker’s cottage. Mrs. Stovall, who supervised the cooking for guests and cleaning of the rooms, drove in from Kirkwood, a tiny town five miles up the road. She hung up her apron promptly at seven every night.
Morgan glanced around the kitchen while he put a kettle on. “This is really homey.”
He detected emotion in her voice, longing perhaps. After grabbing an ice pack from the freezer, he turned to face her. “Oh, does it remind you of a kitchen you grew up in?”
Her face blanched and she looked off to the side. “No, I just think it looks very...welcoming.” Her tone was defensive.
Even that tiny bit of probing about her past scared her. She exuded confidence around the horses, but in many ways she was like a frightened little bird. What was she hiding? Everything else about her seemed honest and forthright. But still, there was a guarded quality to their interaction, as if she’d built walls around herself.
He set two mugs on the counter and pulled out the tea bags. “Mrs. Stovall’s rules remain even when she’s not here. We have access to everything in the kitchen, but we have to clean up after ourselves, same as the guests.”
She picked up the tea bag and placed it in her cup and then pressed the ice pack against
