Wolf Creek Widow (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 4) by Penny Richards Page B

stand her ground, she aimed in the general direction of the chicken house and pulled the other trigger.
    “Stop shooting!”
    The man’s voice was hoarse with fright. He didn’t sound threatening at all. Meg stood rooted to the spot at the bottom of the steps, her bare toes digging into the damp ground, her thoughts tumbling round and round like Teddy turning somersaults down the hill. Why hadn’t she aimed better on that last shot? Did she have time to reload? Could she really shoot him if he meant her harm?
    Finally, a sense of self-preservation kicked in. She would not be a victim again. Determined to stand and fight, she turned and ran up the steps, gripping the shotgun with both hands.
    “Meg!”
    The low command stopped her halfway to the door. Recognizing the voice, she turned slowly, new questions bubbling up inside her. Ace was striding across the yard. What on earth was he doing here in the middle of the night? He stopped at the bottom of the steps.
    “Wh-what are you doing here?”
    “Trying to protect the chickens and not doing a very good job of it,” he said.
    “You stayed to protect the chickens?” she asked in disbelief. He was there to guard the chickens without telling her? What on earth was he thinking after everything she’d been through?
    I shot at him.
I could have killed him.
    A new kind of anxiety filled her. “Well, that’s a silly thing to do.” Her voice gained strength with every angry word she flung at him.
    “Why?” he asked. “I know you need the chickens, and it may be a day or two before I get around to fixing the fence and that little hole in the house I saw today.”
    “You almost scared me to death!” she yelled, losing all semblance of control. “I thought Jones had broken out of jail again and come...come back for me.”
    The break in her voice was like throwing kerosene on her fury. She was tired of being the prey. She held the gun tightly. She wouldn’t let a man make a fool of her again. Any man. Not even one who claimed he was only helping.
    “If you planned on staying, why didn’t you say something?” she demanded. “Do you realize I might have killed you?”
    “Believe me, I’m well aware of that fact.”
    He moved up another step. Meg stood at the edge of the porch. They were almost eye to eye. He reached out to take the weapon from her, and though uncertainty raced through her, she made no move to stop him. She let him pull the shotgun from her grasp and unload it and then watched him prop it against a nearby post.
    There was a glint in his eyes that looked very much like enjoyment. “Are you
laughing
at me?” she cried.
    “No,” he was quick to reply. “I’d never, ever laugh at you, Meg.”
    Oddly enough, she believed him. He was a man who’d been teased and ridiculed and laughed at all his life. He understood too well the pain it could cause.
    “I thought that if you’d stop being mad and recognized the humor of this little escapade, you might laugh with me,” he added as her gaze searched his.
    What a strange man. What did that mean?
    “I have a confession to make,” he told her, but he didn’t really look too contrite.
    Her eyes widened.
    “I wasn’t really here to watch out for the chickens. Not exactly.”
    Something in her chest tightened. She didn’t want any more secrets, couldn’t stand any more surprises. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.
What?
What are you keeping from me?
    “I’ve been staying here every night since you came home. Gabe and Rachel wanted to make sure you were all right.”
    “Why would I not be?” she asked, even though she knew the answer to that was pretty obvious.
    “Rachel was afraid that if you spent too much time alone, especially at night, you might start thinking about things and it might be too much. She wanted someone close by in case you needed...reassurance.”
    That sounded like Rachel.
    “So you’ve been leaving every night and then coming back when you finish the chores at