while his back was to her, she acted on impulse and latched on to the garden shovel that, luckily, was at her fingertips. Then she raised her weapon and brought it down on his skull.
She didn’t know which emotion was more exhilarating—horror or relief—as he dropped to his knees, then fell facedown in the dirt.
Three
Tiffany stared wild-eyed at the hunk of humanity sprawled in front of her. Who was he? And what was he doing on the Davis property? Was he homeless, perhaps looking for a place to sleep? Even though she couldn’t tell much about him, the latter somehow didn’t ring true. From what she could see of him, he wasn’t dressed like a vagrant. He had on a pair of okay-looking jeans, a casual shirt and boots.
He was tall and thin, too thin to suit her taste. That . aside, he could have passed for any Texas cowboy on any given day—only this cowboy wasn’t moving.
Making tiny mewing sounds against the hand she was holding across her mouth, Tiffany backed up, never taking her eyes off him. What had she done? Had she killed him?
OhmyGodohmyGod, she chanted silently, until she backed into the door frame. Then, on legs that seemed to have a will of their own, she turned and tore off toward the house. By the time she reached the back porch, she was so weak and sick to her stomach that she had to catch a post and hold on to it, reaching deep inside herself for a decent breath.
Dear Lord, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life behind bars, which might be what would happen if she’d actually hit him hard enough to kill him. And she was very much afraid that she had. She’d seen the blood trickling down the side of his head. Her stomach did another flip-flop. and it was all she could do not to give in to the desire to lean over and throw up.
But she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. Regardless of who he was—rapist, thief, or vagrant—she had to get help. As it was, she’d wasted enough time. She crossed to the door and flung it open.
Taylor was sitting on the couch with the TV blaring, laughing at the show she was watching. When she saw Tiffany, she seemed to sense that something was wrong.
“Are you sick?” she asked with childlike bluntness.
Tiffany threw her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but she knew she’d failed. Taylor looked almost as terrified as she felt herself.
“I have to call 911.”
“We don’t have 911.”
“Damn,” Tiffany muttered. Of course this one-horse community wouldn’t have such a sophisticated system.
“That’s a naughty word. My mommy said you’re not supposed to say it.”
“What?”
“Damn.”
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Tiffany would have laughed. But the situation was serious, and now was not the time to deal with the issue of whether she’d said something she shouldn’t have.
“Forget I said that, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll have to call the sheriff,” Tiffany said, more to herself than for Taylor’s benefit. Noticing that the number she sought was posted by the phone, she snatched up the receiver and dialed.
Moments later, the terse conversation was behind her, but still she couldn’t seem to move or to think rationally. Only after Taylor jumped off the couch and stared at her as if she had just landed from another planet did she react.
She’d said as little as possible, so as not to frighten the child more than she had to. “It’s going to be all right,” Tiffany said now, in what she prayed was a calm and rational tone.
Taylor’s lower lip trembled. “I want my daddy and mommy.”
“So do I, kiddo, but unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.”
Tears flooded the child’s eyes, and Tiffany felt like an inept idiot. She placed her arms around Taylor’s shoulders and held her close.
She couldn’t believe this was happening. Had she actually whacked another human over the head so hard that she might have taken his life?
No! Now that she was safely in the house, away from the eerie barn, she wouldn’t think like that Surely she hadn’t done that much damage to his head. She didn’t have that much strength. Or did she? Maybe she’d cracked him in just the right place. Again the sick feeling washed over her, and she saw herself being handcuffed, then put in the sheriffs car.
Tiffany swallowed the panic that rose up the back of her throat just as she heard the siren.
Taylor twisted out of her arms and rushed to the window. “Sheriff Wright’s getting out of the car.”
Tiffany didn’t wait for him to knock. She headed for the door herself, Taylor on her heels. “Uh-uh, young lady. You stay put right here.”
Taylor’s face bunched into a frown. “I don’t want to. ”
“Nevertheless, you’re going to.” Then, softening her words, Tiffany added, “As soon as I know what’s going on, I’ll be back.”
Taylor jutted her chin and averted her face. Tiffany hated knowing that the child was upset, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that at the moment. There was enough trauma going on in Taylor’s life without her seeing a man who might be—
Shutting down that thought, Tiffany raced out the door just as the sheriff walked onto the porch. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. “I’m Porter Wright.”
It wasn’t that he was tall and lean to the point of gauntness, or that he wore a Fu Manchu mustache, that made her wince inwardly, but rather the smell that surrounded him—as if he’d just stepped in a patty of cow manure.
Unwittingly, she lowered her head, and sure enough, he had. His boots were caked with it. This time it was all Tiffany could do to hold her already queasy stomach in check.
“I’m Tiffany Russell,” she said at last.
“Suppose you take me to where this fellow is.”
“He’s...he’s in the barn.”
“Let’s go have a look-see.”
“Do I have to go with you?”
The sheriff removed his hat and scratched his head. “I don’t suppose so.”
“Never mind, I’ll come. I have to face the music sooner or later.”
Porter Wright gave her a strange look before commenting, “Most likely you’re in the clear, whoever this person is. Folks around here get real nervous when someone invades their privacy. You did the right thing, I’m sure.”
“Taylor, honey, I’ll be right back,” Tiffany called into the house. “You’ll be fine.”
Although it
