Dangerous Legacy by Valerie Hansen

shadow, but I didn’t find any sign of a break in.”
    “But she’s okay?”
    “Yes. She’s sure that dog of hers messed up his foot again chasin’ some guy off. Other than that, everything’s under control.”
    “Are you still out at her place?” Flint asked, trying to dress one-handed.
    “Sittin’ in her driveway. Just about to call it quits unless there’s more trouble. You plannin’ on comin’ over?”
    “Yes. Wait for me?”
    “Sure, son. The night’s shot anyway. Might as well stay up for breakfast.”
    The only parts of his regular uniform Flint donned were his boots. And his gun.
    * * *
    Once Harlan had pronounced Maggie’s home prowler free and she’d rechecked all the locks the way she usually did before retiring, she cleaned up the mess and settled herself in Mark’s room. She’d have preferred to bring in the firewood chopping ax for their protection, but given the danger of the sharp blade, she’d opted for a hoe with a strong handle instead.
    “I’m not sleepy,” Mark whined.
    “Me, either. We need to hold still just the same so Wolfie doesn’t jump around on his sore foot.”
    “Is it bleedin’ again?” He rolled over and bounced on his knees on the mattress.
    “It will be if you keep that up,” Maggie warned. “We need to be very nice to him for scaring that bad guy away.”
    “Yeah. He was real ugly,” Mark offered.
    That took Maggie aback. “You saw his face?”
    The boy shrugged, then threw himself onto his back with a whoosh. “Kinda.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
    “I dunno.”
    “Mark...” She drew out his name. “If you know something that I don’t, you need to tell me. It’s important. The sheriff needs to know stuff like that.”
    “’Cause he has a badge?”
    “That’s right.” Maggie kept monitoring the dog’s paw, thankful to see no more seepage.
    “The game warden has a badge, too.”
    “Yes, he does.” She was beginning to see where the clever boy was going with his questions. “But it’s the sheriff who checks on people. Game wardens look after animals.”
    “People, too. I heard you tell Mamaw.”
    Maggie sighed in resignation. “You weren’t supposed to be listening.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because it was grown-up talk.”
    “What’s the difference?” he asked with an impish grin.
    Maggie had to chuckle. “Good question. How about from now on I tell you when you’re not supposed to be listening? Will that help?”
    “Sure,” he said. The twinkle in his Crawford-green eyes said otherwise.
    Laughing softly, Maggie tucked covers around her son and herself, taking care to include as much of the dog as possible while leaving his cut paw sticking out. As soon as they both settled down she’d go outside and bring Harlan up to speed about the prowler being “ugly.” If he’d left by then she’d phone him in the morning. Being ugly was hardly a useful description.
    After about ten minutes she heard a motor and saw twin beams of light sweep across the bedroom ceiling. If the car had been the sheriff, leaving, his headlights would not have hit the house.
    “Rats. More company,” she whispered, hoping Mark was too drowsy to pay attention. Apparently, he and the dog both were, because neither of them stirred when she slid from beneath their shared blankets.
    One peek through her front windows told her that not only was the sheriff’s patrol car still there, but a silver state truck was now parked beside it, nose to tail, so the drivers could easily converse.
    Maggie wasn’t positive that Harlan had called Flint, but she had her suspicions. If it turned out that he was keeping the warden informed about her, she intended to raise the roof. There was no reason for Game and Fish to be notified if the Dodd Sanctuary was not directly involved. No reason at all. At least nothing valid.
    She stormed into her room and pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt before stuffing her feet into boots. It was time to put a stop to this good-old-boy