Page 8 of The Way Back Home
“Now, Miss Mona, this ain’t none of your concern. Go on back in the house and let me do my job.”
“Don’t you use that tone of voice with me,” Mona chastised. “I used to change your diapers. You can’t just come around, hassling my employees. You tell me what this is all about.”
Mona’s intervention was the best distraction Teagan was going to get. She’d barely taken a step when the sheriff reached for the gun at his hip.
Teagan froze.
“Get back in the house, Mona,” the sheriff said in warning.
Even across the paddock, Teagan could hear Mona’s gasp. Could see Mona reaching out for his arm as she pleaded, “Bill,stop. You can’t do this.”
Clearly, the sheriff didn’t agree. And since Teagan wasn’t about to stick around to find out why he wanted to talk to her, she did the only thing she could do—she bolted.
“Stop!” the sheriff yelled, shoving Mona out of the way and beginning his pursuit.
Teagan vaulted over the railing, the sleeve of her oversize shirt catching on a nail. She flipped, hitting the ground hard. Screaming pain tore through her shoulder like white-hot lightning, but she rolled with the momentum, shoving it to the back of her mind. Back on her feet, she ran full tilt toward the woods, no longer caring about trying to remain hidden. The only thing that mattered now was speed and putting as much distance between her and the cop as possible.
She broke through the tree line without hesitationand headed for the creek. She could hear the sheriff’s pounding feet behind her, growing closer every second. A fine sheen of perspiration broke out on her forehead as the pain battered against her mental shields.
It’s just pain, she told herself, blocking it out.You’ve had worse.
Half a mile later, the excruciating ache in her shoulder was making her sick to her stomach. She cursed as she leaped over a fallen log, hearing her pursuer’s heavy footsteps gaining ground.
Wasn’t it just her luck to be chased by a small-town sheriff who wasn’t pudgy and middle-aged?
Her mind raced, searching for any possible advantage. Injured as she was, she couldn’t outrun him. She sure as hell couldn’t fight him; he was three times her size.
Think, Teagan. Think.
Perhaps she could use his bulk against him. Her mind seized on that, and she changed direction sharply and angled away from the creek. The abrupt change sent a fresh wave of pain through her. Her shoulder was dislocated for sure.
The juke turned out to be a smart move. The sheriff was fast on the straightaway, but not so good with quick turns. She zigzagged through the trees, glad she’d had the foresight to map these woods out beforehand.
Several sudden direction changes later, she crawled headfirst into a hole beneath a fallen tree. The old bear den was one of several potential hidey-holes she’d discovered during her nocturnal forays. The scents ofold fur, wet leaves, and dank earth wrapped around her as she shrank down and made herself as small as possible.
Luckily, no bears had claimed the space this season.
Thank God for small favors, she muttered, then remembered that she’d stopped believing in a higher power a long time ago.
She bit hard into her lower lip against the intense pain shooting up into her neck and making her stomach roil. Forcing herself to breathe deep and slow, she willed herself into silent stillness when she heard the heavy footfalls of the sheriff outside. She shrank back even further, made herself smaller, even going so far as to close her eyes, like when she was little and her stepfather was on a bender.
If I close my eyes, he can’t see me …
The sheriff walked back and forth several times, cursing under his breath. The descending nightfall and darkness of the forest worked to Teagan’s advantage. Unless he knew exactly where to look, he wouldn’t see her.
“It’s gonna be a long, cold night,” Bill said, his voice clear in the crisp night air. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
The lack of footsteps told Teagan he had stopped. Thankfully, he was at least twenty yards away from the den, so Teagan allowed herself a slow, quiet exhale of relief.
“I know you’re hurt,” he said. “Come on out, and we’ll get you fixed up. I just want to talk.”
Teagan wondered if he fingered his gun every timehe was looking for a friendly chat and decided to pass on his offer. Given the shape she was in, she wouldn’t have a prayer of escaping him if he got hold of her now.
“Suit yourself,” Bill said. “I’ll be up at the ranch, waiting in Mona’s nice, warm kitchen and drinking some of her special cocoa. You can join me when you’re ready.” He paused, then added, “I wouldn’t take too long if I were you.”
She made silent but liberal use of the F-word. She would have hit her head against the hard ceiling of the den if she didn’t think it would give away her position. She’d known the past few weeks had been too good to last. Worse, now that she’d been discovered, her presence put Mona—and everyone else at Hopewell—in danger.
A stray tear coursed down her cheek, surprising her. She didn’t cry anymore. Hadn’t in a long, long time. Shedding tears did nothing but deplete her body of water that could be put to better use elsewhere.
