Saving Laurel Springs by Lin Stepp Page A

until he met the Deans’ drive. After walking a short distance down Dean Road, he turned right on an old settlers’ road, following it through the woods to a pathway angling left beside an old fence line.
    Usually he turned at this point to follow the grassy, rutted lane below Low Ridge that led over to the Layman farm. But tonight he hesitated. He checked his watch. He’d tucked Taylor and Beau in bed, both worn out, before he left for Rhea’s. He could take time to climb up Low Ridge to the old Costner ruins—and he wanted more time alone to think.
    A full moon helped light his way, and Carter quickly found the crumbling stone walls and big rock chimney of the old Costner house, built long ago by early settlers to the mountains. Smiling at the familiar sight, Carter climbed over the foundation to the chimney. He sat down on the old hearth, leaned his back against the chimney, and savored his recent memories of being with Rhea.
    He lifted his shirttail against his face. The scent of her still lingered—that citrusy, sweet smell unique to her. Even after his walk, the excitement from being with her still stirred his body. No one had ever affected him as Rhea Dean.
    After they’d fallen in love, they used to sit here, at the Costner cabin ruins or higher on Rocky Knob, and plan their future. Carter wondered if he still had a chance to make those dreams come true. He wasn’t sure.
    Rhea held just cause not to want him back. But she hadn’t married through the years. Carter learned tonight she’d not been with anyone in intimacy since he left either. He grinned in the dark. She hated the fact she’d revealed this piece of information to him.
    Carter shifted against the fireplace to kick a pinecone into the night in irritation. That dang, stubborn pride of hers always reared up. He shook his head. He’d have his work cut out for him getting past that.
    Behind him, Carter heard an unexpected noise. He sat up—alert, listening. It might just be a raccoon or night creature scurrying in the brush. But an uncomfortable premonition caused him to stand, trying to see more clearly in the darkness around him. All the talk of vandals probably made him prickly.
    Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him. Before he could turn, a hard blow whacked the back of his head, dropping him to his knees. As searing pain lanced through his consciousness, Carter struggled to lift his head. He glimpsed the dark shape of a man retreating into the night shadows just before darkness enveloped him.
    A short time later, he surfaced to find Jinx, his Airedale mix, licking his face and barking out a happy greeting. He tried to focus his thoughts. Where had the dog come from? Carter felt momentarily confused as he felt the rough ground beneath his head and wondered where he was. Then he remembered being hit from behind. He must have passed out.
    Carter reached out a hand to pet the dog and then saw his father and grandfather climbing over the rock wall toward him.
    â€œAre you all right, Son?” his father asked with concern, squatting beside him.
    Carter struggled to sit up. “I think so. Someone hit me from behind.”
    Wes Layman examined the back of his head. “That’s a right nasty blow. Looks like you got hit with a good-sized stick or something. Who did this?”
    He shook his head, feeling a little dizzy when he did. “I don’t know. Whoever it was sneaked up on me. I only saw a shadow of the person retreating before I fell.”
    â€œWell, here’s the weapon.” Grampa Layman brought a thick stick over for them to examine. A little blood still decorated the side of it.
    Wes held a finger in front of Carter and began to move it back and forth. “Can you follow this, Carter?”
    Carter nodded.
    Grampa chimed in. “What’s your full name, your date of birth, and where you went to school?”
    Carter grinned, knowing they were checking him for signs of