Return To Falcon Ridge. Rita Herron

to escape Deke Falcon, she hadn’t stopped to shop.

      “Yes, a…a biscuit and sausage.

      “Coming right up.”

      She dug in her purse and handed him a twenty. With a toothless grin, he dropped the change into her hand, then shoved the food toward her.

      She placed the paper bag on the seat beside her, taking a small sip of her coffee as she pulled away from the window. Still shaken, she parked in the corner and tried to calm herself before she headed back to Wildcat Manor.

      She’d come too far to turn back now. Her destiny was here, she knew it.

      Her breathing rattled in the quiet as she started back up the mountain a few minutes later. Dawn broke the sky, but dark storm clouds obliterated the light. When she pulled up to the manor, her heart clenched. Could she really face her demons?

      Yes, she had to or she’d be hiding out the rest of her life. And she didn’t want to hide out. She wanted a life.

      She took a deep breath, circled her hand around the mace in her purse, grabbed the food and coffee and climbed out, scanning the woods and property as she neared the porch. The forest seemed ominous, shadows clinging to the thick rows of trees, but she saw no one. Her heart racing, she slowly walked up the steps, listening for sounds that her attacker had returned.

      Suddenly a man stepped from the shadows.

      Deke Falcon. Tall. Imposing. His dark expression was hooded. But his eyes flared with questions.

      He squared those broad shoulders, making him look even more intimidating. So he had followed her to Wildcat. Did he know about her past?

      A shudder splintered through her.

      Was he the man who’d attacked her?

      “ELSIE?”

      “What are you doing here?” she said, although her voice came out a mere whisper, fading in the wind.

      “I have to talk to you.” He narrowed his eyes, wondering why in the hell she was outside, had been driving, in her pajamas. His gaze fell to her feet, and he grimaced. She had to be freezing. Her toes were red, the sharp sting of cold flushing her face, and she was trembling.

      “Were you in my house earlier?”

      He shook his head. “No, why do you ask?”

      She shrugged, her teeth chattering, the coffee cup in her hand wavering.

      “Come inside and get warmed up,” he said in a gruff voice. “I swear, I’m not here to hurt you.”

      Her chin jerked up, a wariness there that cut him to the bone. Women had been scared of him before. His family history. His size, his brusque manner, his frown—he knew he looked cold, that women found him imposing. It had never bothered him before.

      But Elsie looked like a small kitten, and he felt like an ogre knowing that he’d frightened her. What had happened to make her so distrustful?

      “You followed me,” she said in an accusatory voice, making no attempt to go inside or come near him. “I want to know why.”

      “I’ll explain when we get inside.” He removed his faded leather jacket, then lifted it in offering to her. She shook her head, and anger hit him.

      “For God’s sake, Elsie, I’m not going to hurt you. I came here to help you.” His mouth clenched when she backed away. But he managed to catch her, then slid the coat around her trembling shoulders. “Come on. I refuse to stand out here and watch you freeze. Your feet are going to be frostbitten.”

      Her mouth parted in a small strangled sound, but he ignored it and coaxed her up the steps and inside. The interior was dark, and she set the bag and coffee down, then grabbed a lantern. He took it from her and lit it.

      “Is the power off?”

      “I’ll have it connected today.”

      “I’ll build a fire then.”

      She hesitated, but he ignored her as he glanced around to find the den or parlor, whatever they called it in this monstrosity. Old dusty furniture, macabre paintings and cobwebs made the place feel dreary. And a collection of stuffed wildlife including a hawk, a mountain lion and a raccoon occupied the corner near the fireplace. Anger surged through him at the sight. He wondered how she’d stayed here the night before. Or ever.

      A stack of wood by a fireplace in the room to the right drew his eyes, and he strode toward it. Within seconds, he’d built a fire. The warmth from the blaze lit the room, knocking off the worst of the bitter chill.

      Elsie moved near the heat, keeping a safe distance, but shrugged off his coat. She quickly grabbed a blanket off the sofa and wrapped it around her, still hugging the coffee to her, but curling within it as if the blanket and fire offered her protection.

      “Why were you out in your pajamas?” he asked.

      “I…someone broke in and attacked me this morning,” she said in a faint whisper. “W-was it you?”

      He swallowed hard. He’d never been good with women, but the fact that she thought he might have attacked her made his gut churn. Still, he lowered his voice, containing his emotions. “No, Elsie. I stayed at the inn down the road. Mountain Man’s Lodge. You can call and ask Homer if you want.” He cleared his throat, more alert. “Did he hurt you?”

      “No…I’m okay.” She rubbed at her neck and his gaze fell to her pale skin. Bruises marked the edge of her collarbone and neck.

      He gritted his jaw. “Did you call the police?”

      “No.”

      Panic tightened her face, and he frowned. He reached for the cell phone clipped to his belt. “Do you want me to call them?”

      She stared down into her coffee. “No…please don’t.”

      “Why not?”

      She self-consciously tried to hide the bruise with her hand. “I just don’t trust them,” she whispered.

      He gave her a clipped nod, although her fear of the police raised his suspicions. Why wouldn’t she report the attack? Was she in trouble with the cops?

      “Would you tell me if you had broken in?” she asked quietly.

      “I’m not a liar,” he said in a gruff voice. “And I’m going to search the house to make sure he isn’t still here.”

      Her eyes widened when he bent over and retrieved his gun from the strap beneath his jeans. “What is that for?”

      “Protection. I don’t intend to meet an intruder unarmed.” Ignoring the fear on her face, he stalked through the rooms, his senses on alert. First the drab kitchen, then the dining area, then the master suite. There was no evidence that Elsie had stayed in the room, making him curious. But the dark furnishings, lack of natural light and old-fashioned furnace reminded him of Falcon Ridge when he was growing up. Now, Rex had renovated the place and updated it, it had a homey feeling, not as daunting as the stone walls that their mother had hated.

      Slowly he padded up the stairs, pausing every few steps to listen. He’d half expected Elsie to follow, but she must have decided she was safer in the den away from him, close to the front door so she could run if she needed to. The realization stung, but he ignored it. Why did he care what Elsie Timmons thought of him?

      He veered to the left and found a wing composed of two large bedrooms that appeared to be dorm rooms for the orphans. Several small cots lined each pea green wall, the faded gold spreads and dusty furniture a sign that the place had been deserted for some time. The walls were scarred, a threadbare ratty yellow curtain hung askew, and a battered wooden toy box sat in one corner. An image of lonely children locked in the glum rooms brought a flash of sympathy. Had the toy chest ever held toys? Had the children celebrated Christmases and birthdays and gotten presents?

      Had Elsie been