She had returned to the family ranch in Dry Creek, Montana, to get her old life back, not start a new one. “They should know I’m not going to take a chance on marriage again.”
Suddenly, a flicker of light shone briefly through the window above the sink.
Gracie blinked before realizing it had to be the headlights of a vehicle driving over the small rise in the lane that led to her house. She figured she might as well put the teakettle back on the burner. As she stood up, she wondered which of her three sons had looked out his window in the middle of the night and noticed that her light was on. Each lived with his newlywed wife on the ranch property, their individual houses just far apart enough to need separate driveways.
Gracie reached up to the cupboard for another mug. She would appreciate the company tonight even if she had to listen to another lecture on the virtues of matrimony. Rusty seemed to agree. He’d gotten to his feet and was running in circles around the table, barking as he went.
“Hush now,” she said. The dog was always excited to see her sons.
Just then, she heard the sound of the engine stopping. Shortly thereafter she heard a faint knock on her kitchen door.
She paused, the mug still in her hand. She hadn’t heard footsteps on the porch, and all of her sons wore cowboy boots that beat a loud rhythm as they pounded up those old wooden steps. Rusty usually didn’t carry on for this long when they came, either.
“Just a minute,” she called as she set the cup down on the counter and tightened the sash on her robe. Her feet were bare, but that couldn’t be helped. At least she was wearing an old T-shirt and sweatpants under her robe.
She stepped over to the sink and looked through the window. The porch was around the corner, but she could see a small car, its headlights still on, parked in her driveway. She didn’t recognize the vehicle, but then none of the neighbors would be knocking at her door at this time of night without phoning first anyway.
“Yes?” she said as she walked closer to the door.
Her youngest son, Tyler, had called a few hours ago to make sure she had locked both doors before going to bed, and she was glad she had followed his advice. The October night was darker than usual, so she assumed the clouds were still overhead. The stars were hidden and winter was forecast to come early this year. Tonight was already cold.
She didn’t hear anything for a minute. Rusty had stopped barking, but he walked over to the door and growled low in his throat.
“I need—” a woman started, her voice so soft Gracie couldn’t hear more than that even though she had been leaning close to the door.
Gracie breathed a sigh of relief. The robberies had been committed by two men in black ski masks. There’d been no mention of a woman. Rusty’s growl faded, and that meant he was satisfied with whoever was on the other side of the door.
Still, Gracie figured she needed to show some caution.
“Where are you headed?” she asked. Anyone who was lost on these gravel roads wouldn’t be able to find their way in the dark; that much she knew. Half of these old roads weren’t even marked. And there were no lights, of course.
“Calen Gray,” the woman said, her voice falling with each syllable as though her strength was draining away.
“Calen?” Gracie repeated in surprise. He was the foreman of the nearby Elkton Ranch and was in church most Sundays, even though she seldom greeted him. She never knew what to say; he’d seen her and her late husband at their worst years ago, and there were some things she preferred to forget. She expected he felt the same way.
Gracie was reaching for the doorknob when she heard a soft thud.
Dear Lord, what is wrong? She prayed for guidance as she turned the lock. She opened the door slowly and stared into the darkness. The light from her kitchen was weak. The headlights from the car lit up the yard, but the partially-enclosed porch stayed in shadows.
Gracie heard a moan and looked down to her right. The woman must have tried to steady herself on the wooden cabinet before crumpling to the slatted floor next to it. Rusty had slipped out of the house and was sniffing around her.
“Are you all right?” Gracie asked softly as she knelt down and motioned for Rusty to back away. The young woman’s denim-clad legs were at an awkward angle. Her skin was clammy as Gracie touched her face. There was not even a murmur in response. Gracie looked closer and brushed aside the woman’s brown hair. That’s when she saw a dark bruise above the woman’s eye. Another faded one showed on her cheek.
Gracie recognized discolorations like that, and her lips tightened. Someone had hit this young woman recently and not for the first time.
“She might not even be out of high school,” Gracie looked up and muttered to Rusty. He looked over in sympathy, but obediently kept to the edge of the steps.
Fortunately, the new wall phone her sons had installed was close to the door, and Gracie only needed to stand and reach through the opening to pull the phone to her. She called Tyler, since he’d had some medical training in the military.
“I need your help,” Gracie said when her son answered. “A woman passed out on the porch and she’s—”
“I’ll be right there,” he said. Then he hung up.
Gracie nodded even though Tyler couldn’t see her. He kept a first aid bag near his back door and he’d bring it along.
The woman stirred again. Gracie thought maybe Rusty made her uncomfortable, but when the woman opened her eyes and glanced around frantically, she didn’t even pause as she glanced at the dog. Gracie knew it was more than that.
“It’s just my son coming over,” Gracie murmured, but that didn’t seem to soothe the woman. “He’s one of the good guys. You’re safe here. No one will hurt you.”
So it was a man she feared, Gracie thought to herself.
The woman’s eyes closed again, although her breath was still ragged.
Gracie realized she continued to hold the phone in her hand. She punched in another number, one she had memorized years ago when she’d thought she might need this kind of help herself. She’d longed for a friend back then almost as much as she did now. Her husband had kept her so isolated. But she’d never called the number until now.
“Calen?”
She had no sooner said his name than she realized she did not know him well enough these days to trust him. He’d given her that number almost twenty years ago. He might go to church now, but she didn’t really know that he was safe.
“Gracie?”
“I’m sorry—I—”
The woman moaned.
“I dialed the wrong number,” Gracie said, even though she knew it made no sense. She disconnected the call and set the phone down on the floor of the porch. It had been so long since she’d been in an abusive relationship that she had forgotten the first rule of protection. Never assume that a man is innocent just because he seems nice on the surface. No one, except her teenage sons, had known her husband was severely beating her all those years ago.
She
