Protecting the Widow's Heart

A twinge of guilt pricked his conscience as he steered his car toward his cabin. He hadn’t told his family he was coming back to Dover. He had a hard enough time with all his well-meaning fellow officers in Dallas. His family would be hovering and worrying, and he needed peace and quiet—time to figure out his future and make what could be the most important decision of his life. The cabin his uncle had left him was the perfect place. Quiet, private and peaceful. If he couldn’t find his answers here, there were no answers to be found.

His medical leave was up at the end of the month. He had to decide if he would remain in law enforcement or look for work elsewhere. He knew what he wanted. He liked being a detective for the Dallas Police Department. But being shot had left him filled with doubts about his ability to do the job and stolen the sense of invincibility a police officer needed to function. He hadn’t been able to pick up his service weapon since. What kind of cop could he be if he was too scared to use his gun?

Pressing his foot on the brake, he eased his SUV into the parking area beneath the cabin and stopped. Hands gripping the wheel, he sent up a quick prayer. Lord, I need Your help sorting this out. I can’t do it without You. Show me the future I should choose.

His body protested as he pulled himself out of the car and retrieved his bag from the backseat. His thigh burned as he climbed the steps, the scar tissue pulling and stinging with each step. He inhaled a sharp breath. His wounds had healed completely, but overuse or lack of sleep brought back the aches and discomfort.

The fear and guilt, however, were always with him. He’d been over that night four months ago when he and his partner, Pete Steele, had made a follow-up call on a homicide case. The interview had taken an odd turn, so Pete had called for backup. But on the way to the car, a gunman had appeared around the side of the house, catching him by surprise. He’d hesitated, taking rounds to his thigh, his side and his neck. Pete had taken one to the chest and died. A death that Ty could have prevented if he’d acted more quickly.

On the broad deck, he paused a moment to select the cabin key from the assortment on his key ring, stealing a glance at the lake and the ribbon of light slashing across the water from the full moon. First thing in the morning he’d come out here with his coffee, or better yet, to the pier and soak up the quiet.

With one quick movement he unlocked the door and stepped through, and came face-to-face with a bat-wielding woman standing three feet in front of him.

“Stop right there. Don’t take another step.”

Ty stared a moment, then glanced around the cabin. It was his place. But he had no idea who this woman was. His surprise shifted abruptly to irritation. He dropped his duffel bag onto the floor. “Who are you and what are you doing in my cabin?”

“I have permission. And it’s not your cabin.”

Ty frowned and took a step toward the woman. She pulled back on the bat as if ready to swing it at his head. He held up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know what you’re doing here.”

“I told you. I have permission from the owner.”

“I’m the owner, and I didn’t give anyone permission to stay here.” His neck throbbed. He rubbed it with his fingers, trying to ease the stinging.

“Ha! That’s not true. The owner lives out of state.”

“Yeah. I live in Dallas.” Ty took a closer look at the intruder. She was wrapped in a purple robe with baggy sleeves and tied at the waist. Her dark hair was trapped beneath the thick collar as if she’d tossed the robe on in haste. He guessed she was about five-eight, maybe thirty years old, but it was hard to tell when she had a bat poised over her head. For the first time, Ty was aware of the fear in the woman’s eyes and the tense, protective curve of her shoulders. He took a step forward only to have her squeal and retreat against the wall, pulling a cell phone from her pocket.

“I’m calling the police.” She punched in some numbers, all the while keeping a wary eye on him.

Ty lifted his hands in surrender and moved to the leather recliner, dropping down into it with a heavy sigh. His body was grateful for the softness. “Good. Chief Reynolds is a friend. He’ll have this sorted out in a heartbeat, though I don’t think he’ll be too happy about you waking him up in the middle of the night.”

The woman held the small phone to her ear, bat at the ready. “This is Mrs.... Uh, I need help at the cabin at the lake. The one next door to the Coopers. There’s an intruder.”

Ty held back the smile that found its way to his lips. That should bring the local law enforcement running. The ache in his side forced him up out of the chair. There was no place comfortable. He needed to stretch out on the bed. Fast. “Look, lady...”

A loud knock on the door interrupted him.

“Ty. Is that you?” Nelson Cooper peeked in the door, quickly coming inside when he saw what was happening. “Whoa. Mrs. Sloan, it’s okay. Ty owns this cabin.” Nels held up his hands, placing himself between them. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you.”

Ty watched the fear in the woman’s eyes fade as she lowered the bat, clutching the phone in her other hand. “I came home on a whim. Sorry. I didn’t expect guests.”

Nels shook Ty’s hand, then moved to the woman, gently touching her arm. “This is Ginger Sloan. Her car broke down tonight, and she needed a place to stay. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Normally I wouldn’t. But I’m afraid we’ll have to make other arrangements.” The woman’s eyes, which he saw now were a dark green and covered with thick lashes, widened with worry. No. Desperation. Before he could speak, a small boy hurried toward them from the back, stopping at his mother’s side, his eyes peeking over her protective arm.

“Mom?” His simple word held a boatload of questions.

“It’s all right, Elliot. Don’t worry.”

“Do we have to leave? I like it here.”

Ty glanced at his watch. It was nearly midnight, too late to make other arrangements. But he needed sleep. “Look, this is all a misunderstanding that we can sort out in the morning.”

“We can sleep in the car.” The woman raised her chin and met his gaze full-on.

He frowned. Did she think he was going to throw them out? “No need. You stay put. I’ll bunk down at the boathouse. We’ll talk tomorrow after we’re all rested and calmer.” He glanced at the boy, who he guessed to be a little older than his six-year-old nephew, Kenny. “Are you sleeping in the fish room?” A smiled moved the child’s lips, bringing a light to his dark eyes. He nodded. “Good choice. That was always my favorite room. Watch out for Barney, though.”

“Who’s Barney?”

“Barney Brim. He’s that fish on a stick sitting on the dresser. He likes to wander around the cabin sometimes. I can’t keep him in one place.” The boy eyed him a moment, then smiled timidly. Picking up his duffel, Ty started for the door. Nelson spoke quietly to the woman.

“I’m so sorry for the confusion, Mrs. Sloan. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine in the morning. You have my word.”

Ty waited until Nels stepped outside before facing the woman again. “Don’t worry about any further intrusions. I’ll be down at the boathouse, and I promise I won’t bother you. You’re safe here.”

For whatever reason, the woman’s eyes lightened. “Thank you.”

He started to leave, then turned back. “Uh, you wouldn’t happen to have anything to eat in the house, would you?”

She nodded. “Nels and Mae brought enough food to feed an army. Take what you need.”

Her expression had softened, but her defensive stance hadn’t. She still held her son close to her side, as if protecting him from danger. Ty pulled a drink and a package of bologna from the fridge, then grabbed a bag of chips and the loaf of bread. “I’ll bring this back in the morning.”

At the door he stopped, taking one last look at the woman and her child. Those wide green eyes still held a wary shadow, but the boy wiggled his fingers and smiled.

By the time he said good-night to Nels and crossed the yard to the boathouse at the water’s edge, he’d collected enough questions to keep him up all night. What was the woman’s story? Why was she so frightened? And why had he wanted to pull her and the child into his arms and comfort them? Fatigue. It was the only explanation.

After a change into his sweats, he ate a quick bite, downed his meds and went to bed.

Lord, I need rest. I need peace. I can’t have strangers in my life right now.

Closing his eyes, he drifted off, only to find a pair of pretty green eyes filled with worry and fear chasing him into sleep.

Chapter Two

The smell of fresh coffee permeated the cabin. Ginger had awakened rested and fortified to face the day ahead. It had been a long time since she’d had a good night’s sleep, but last night she’d slept like a log, waking way later than her normal time. Maybe it was the profound quiet of the lakeside cabin, free from sirens and backfiring cars and all the unknown sounds that came with living in a low-rent apartment complex.

She poured a cup of coffee and spooned in a little cream and sugar. Elliot was still asleep, which gave her a rare and welcome quiet time to think and plan her next move. Moving to the expansive windows, she gazed out at the lake, now sparkling with sunlight. The old oak trees with their gnarled limbs, heavy with Spanish moss, painted a picture of serenity that beckoned her weary soul.

Grabbing a throw from the sofa, she headed out to the deck, removed the plastic covers from the wooden rockers and curled up, draping the throw across her lap. The air was chilly, but the knitted cover provided plenty of warmth. January in Mississippi was something she could get used to.

Another sip of coffee relaxed her enough to let go of her worries for a moment and take in the view. Below the deck the lawn sloped down to the water’s edge. A long, sturdy pier stretched out into the lake. Trees hid the Coopers’ cabin from view on one side. It was easy to imagine she was all alone on the lake. As her gaze traveled to the opposite side of the property, she saw the covered boat slip and the small shed attached. Was that the boathouse the owner had mentioned? It was tiny, too small to house a bed, she was sure.

The man—Durrant—was a good six feet tall. He must have been cramped in the little shed. He’d be eager to sleep in his own bed tonight, and she couldn’t blame him. She and Elliot would have to find another place to go. Someplace cheap. But that still left the question of car repairs. She hoped it would be something simple like a battery or fan belt. Anything more she couldn’t afford. Her gaze drifted back to the view, allowing her worries to slip into the back of her mind once more. Her soul craved peace like a thirsty sponge. She needed to fill up while she had the opportunity.

Movement near the water’s edge drew her attention. Mr. Durrant was seated in one of the Adirondack chairs tucked between the trees. He stood, rolling his shoulders backward a couple of times, then reaching down to rub the side of one leg. Picking up a thick book from the arm of the chair, he started up the yard toward the cabin. He moved with a fluid, athletic grace, his long stride propelling him forward, but with a slight limp that piqued her curiosity and her compassion.