Maggie whipped into her mother’s driveway and waited, more than ready to face down Flint and send him on his way if he stopped. When both drivers cruised on past, however, she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Yes, she was glad for an armed escort. No, she was not happy that Flint had tagged along behind. Yes, she appreciated the sheriff’s concern. And no, she...
Maggie chewed on her lower lip. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t felt normal since her first glimpse of Warden Crawford, and things were getting more complicated by the minute.
Faye threw open her front door, flooding the yard with light. “Maggie? Are you all right?”
“Fine, Mom. Shut the door. I’ll be right in.”
When her mother didn’t listen, Maggie shouted, “I said, shut the door.”
Faye stood, silhouetted in the backlight as if making herself an intentional target. Worse, Mark had joined her. The maternal instinct in Maggie spurred her to make a dash for the porch, scoop up her son and rush everyone back inside. The last thing to pass through before the door slammed was Wolfie’s tail.
“What in the world is going on?” Faye asked.
“Sorry I yelled at you.”
“Never mind that. Why is your face as pale as my legs after a long winter?”
Despite her mother’s attempt at humor, Maggie knew she sensed trouble. “It’s complicated.” Putting Mark down, she kissed his cheek before saying, “Why don’t you take Wolfie and go play, honey?”
“Mamaw said I could have ice cream when you came.”
“After supper. Now go. Wolfie gets bored when you’re at school. He misses you.”
“I miss him, too.” With that, the child took off, his furry friend trotting along beside him.
“Let’s go in the kitchen while I reheat the food and you can tell me all about what’s been going on,” Faye said.
Nodding, Maggie followed, plopping into her favorite place at the table and raking trembling fingers through her hair. “It’s a long story.”
“We have time. I already fed Mark.” She poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of her weary daughter. “Why don’t you start with your first call to me this afternoon? Why did I need to pick up my grandson?”
“Because somebody was shooting near my place.” Maggie wrapped her hands around the warm mug.
“Surely not at you!”
“I think the shots were meant to scare off the game warden.”
“That’s silly. Why would anybody bother a warden out there? They’re always around.”
“Not this guy,” Maggie said, steeling her nerves for the predictable reaction when she added, “This warden was new. It was Flint Crawford.”
Faye choked and sputtered. Maggie patted her back until she stopped coughing enough to ask, “Who?”
“You heard me. I didn’t get a chance to ask him much, but he did say he’s left the military and gone into law enforcement.” She made a face. “Isn’t that special?”
“What are we going to do?”
“Nothing, for the present. I actually thought the shooter might be Uncle Elwood when it first happened. You know how he hates wardens and Crawfords.”
“What changed your mind?”
With a deep sigh, Maggie told her, “Somebody ran me off the road tonight.”
Faye grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“But what happened? Where? How?”
As Maggie began to cite details, she managed to omit Flint’s part in her rescue. Anyone could have tracked her. He just happened to be handy, that’s all.
And why was that? she asked herself. Of all the possibilities, why would God—or the sheriff—send the one man she desperately wanted to avoid? Moreover, why would Flint volunteer? There were lots of men who knew the area better than he did, particularly since he’d been away for six years.
High-pitched, childish laughter drifted from the living room. Mark was happy. Contented. Safe. Was that about to change?
Maggie rose and refilled both coffee mugs. “So, what are your thoughts? Do you think Elwood heard Flint was back and tracked him down at my place? Would he be angry enough to shoot around me when I might accidentally be hit?”
“I don’t know. I’d hoped he’d mellowed in his old age.”
“He was worse in the past?” She was astounded. “That’s a surprise.”
“It wouldn’t be if you knew the whole story. It’s what actually started the feud between my people, the Witherspoons, and the Crawford family.”
“Go on.”
Sighing, Faye complied. “I didn’t see any of this firsthand, of course, but the story hasn’t changed much since the beginning. Elwood, his dad and his brother were all drafted. Ira Crawford was—”
“Flint’s grandfather Ira?”
“Actually, his great-grandfather. As the youngest, Ira was about the same age as Elwood even though they were technically a generation apart. People had big families in those days and sometimes aunts and uncles were as young as their own nieces and nephews. Anyway, Ira’s leg had been damaged in a logging accident, so he wasn’t called up like the other men were.”
“They were jealous? That seems like a pretty lame reason for a feud—no pun intended.”
“No, no. That wasn’t the problem. The Witherspoons asked Ira to look after their farm, since the properties were adjoining and they’d been friends for years. They trusted him.”
“Ooookay.” Maggie could tell that her mother was struggling to present the tale accurately and having difficulty keeping her account unbiased. “I knew Elwood always had a chip on his shoulder. Was it because he didn’t think Ira did a good enough job?”
“Oh, no. Ira did a great job. In more ways than one. Unfortunately, his choices benefited himself, not his former friends.”
Losing patience, Maggie wanted to insist that her mom get to the core of the problems and had to struggle to keep from interrupting.
“Elwood was the only man in his immediate family to survive combat,” Faye said sadly. “He never lost hope of returning to his waiting bride. She’d wanted to get married before he shipped out, but the family had resisted because she was so young.”
Pausing, Faye sipped her coffee, then cleared her throat. “Here’s where it gets complicated. While Elwood was gone, his best friend, Ira, took care of his farm by straightening some crooked fences and claiming a water source that generations of Witherspoons had counted on.”
“That’s terrible. No wonder Elwood was upset.”
“Oh, it gets worse. The land wasn’t the only thing Ira stole. He courted and married Elwood’s intended. She became Bess Crawford, Flint’s great-grandmother.”
“Oh, my...” Maggie’s hand covered her mouth. “Bess and Elwood? That seems awfully far-fetched.”
“Now maybe. Not back then. Elwood was a handsome young man. But Ira had two advantages. He was injured, so he could play on her sympathies, and he was here, on the spot, while Elwood was overseas, perhaps dying in battle the way his kin had. By the time the dust settled, Ira was a prosperous