Peggy’s anger dissipated as suddenly as it had evolved. She smiled down at her children and lifted T.J. into her arms. “I think,” she murmured to both of them, “that dry diapers and a midnight snack will make you feel much better.”
Unconvinced, Virginia continued to fuss and flail her tiny fists while Peggy tended her brother. The changing process went efficiently, if not expertly. Still, Peggy was pleased. After all, she’d never changed a diaper in her life until this morning. Or was it yesterday morning? She glanced at her watch. Well after midnight, so technically it was Tuesday. She’d lost track of time.
She was a mother. Peggy could still hardly believe it.
“In less than twelve hours, you’ll be exactly three days old,” She told T.J., who didn’t seem impressed by the revelation. She tidied his gown, then repeated the changing process for his sister, who was immediately calmed by her mother’s touch. Peggy took a deep breath, smiling down at her precious babies. “There. Not bad for a rookie, hmm?”
The question so excited T.J. that he flung his fists, hit himself in the nose and let out a wail that was instantly matched by the howl of his startled sister.
Peggy’s confidence crumbled. “Sh, it’s all right, sweeties, Mommy’s here. Mommy’s—” she winced as they hiked up the volume “—here,” she finished lamely.
Clearly, the situation called for considerably more than her esteemed presence in the room. They were hungry. Both of them. At the same time.
Responding to her infants’ cries, Peggy’s breasts became engorged, painful. Two breasts. Two hungry babes. Fortuitous enough, but the thought of simultaneously juggling two feeding infants made her break out in a cold sweat.
She sighed, scooping up T.J. while Virginia thrashed with righteous indignation and struggled to focus newborn eyes. “Sorry, sweetie,” she murmured to her wailing daughter. “You’ll have to wait a few minutes. Your brother asked first.”
* * *
By a quarter of two, both infants had drifted into a satisfied slumber, and their exhausted mother returned to the sanctuary of her own tiny room. Peggy’s shoulders ached. Her head throbbed, and she was so tired she wobbled when she walked.
Her bed, invitingly tousled by her abrupt departure, beckoned like a lover. She sighed, crossed the room and glanced out the window. Something struck her as odd. She stopped, lifted a blind slat for a better look and saw a strange vehicle parked at the front curb behind her car.
A nervous skitter slipped down her spine. The full moon splashed the vehicle’s hood, providing enough illumination to confirm that Peggy had never seen it before, and she was certain it had no legitimate reason to be there.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow duck around the side of the duplex. A large shadow. A man’s shadow. Someone was out there, a sinister presence creeping beneath her bedroom window. Peggy had never been more terrified in her life.
Chapter Six
The cat’s eyes gleamed feral in the moonlight. Back arched, the animal froze for a split second, then shot past the fence into the shadowed safety of the woods.
Crouched beside the porch, Travis flipped off his trusty penlight, blew on the lens, then spun it like a bone-handled revolver and tucked it into his jeans pocket. He sat back on his boot heels, rubbing his stiff neck. The startled cat was the third varmint he’d chased off since midnight, none of them two-legged.
Which suited Travis fine. A puny penlight was enough to frighten off raccoons and pussycats, but it wouldn’t provide much protection against an armed felon. If it came to that, Travis would rely on the element of surprise. The way he figured it, criminals were gutless cowards who preyed on the weak and would wet themselves if confronted by someone their own size.
At least, that was his fervent hope. Heroism wasn’t really Travis’s thing. He much preferred leaving valor to those whose palms didn’t sweat at swaying tree shadows. But a cowboy’s got to do what a cowboy’s got to do.
He stood slowly, bones creaking as he stifled a yawn. When he turned toward the street, light erupted all around him, a blinding brilliance that made his eyes water.
“Freeze. Police!” The command boomed from the core of the radiance. “Get down! Down on the ground. Get down now!”
Startled and confused, Travis raised a forearm to shade his eyes. Something leapt out of the light, grabbed his wrist and twisted him around.
It was a chaos of grasping hands, bellowing voices, an unintelligible din of pandemonium. Before he could take a second breath, he’d been flipped over the freshly chopped tree stump, bounced off the newly stacked woodpile and was sprawled on the ground, sucking dirt. His sore ribs shrieked at the indignity. Someone yanked an arm behind his back, shoved his wrist up to his shoulder blades. A knee bludgeoned his spine. A rock bit into his cheek. Rough hands dug through his pockets, emptied them. Cold metal wrapped his wrists, clicked tight.
Then, as quickly as the swarm had descended, it rose up, leaving Travis flat on his belly, winded, bulldogged and tethered like a thrown steer.
“Find a gun?”
“Nah, just his wallet and this.”
Twisting his head, Travis saw a uniformed police officer displaying the penlight to someone beyond his view. He felt the vibration of feet around his prone form, saw several pairs of shoes and estimated that he was surrounded by at least three, possibly four officers.
A moment later, two of the cops flanked him and hauled him to his feet. He swayed there, spitting grass, and cast a woeful glance at his beloved Stetson, which lay on the ground dangerously close to a pair of tromping feet. “My hat,” he managed to mutter. “Don’t step on my danged hat.”
The officer on his right gave his manacled arm a jarring jerk. “You won’t be needing it, pal.”
Not need his hat? Travis blinked up, alarmed by the heresy. Why, a cowboy without his hat was like, well, like a cop without a badge. He cleared his throat, tried to speak rationally despite a distracting film of wet grit on his tongue. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t doing whatever it is you think I was doing.”
The policeman who was grasping his shackled wrist shot him a cynical stare.
Travis tried again, more succinctly this time. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Sure, buddy, sure.” Clearly unimpressed, the policeman squinted toward the front porch, then turned toward a fellow officer who was using a massive flashlight to search the yard, presumably for evidence. “Hey, Charlie. Is that the RP?”
Charlie glanced toward the duplex. “Yeah, I imagine. Dispatch said the prowler report came directly from the resident.”
Travis frowned, followed the policeman’s gaze and saw Peggy Saxon’s horrified face peering out the front window. His heart sank halfway to his boots.
A moment later, the porch light flashed on and she dashed out, clutching her robe at the throat. “Travis?” Her eyes were huge. “Ohmigosh, Travis, is that you?”
He tried to smile, but his lips stuck to his teeth. “You oughtn’t be out here, ma’am. You’ll catch a chill.”
Peggy’s jaw drooped like a gate with a broken hinge.
Officer Charlie stepped forward. “Mrs. Saxon?” She closed her mouth, managing to nod. “You know this fellow?”
For a moment, she simply stared at Travis, stunned. Then her eyes narrowed into mean green slits. “It would serve you right if I told them that I’d never seen you before in my life,” she snapped.
Travis hung his head. “Yes’m.”
“What