Return To Falcon Ridge

Inside, an old-timer with gray hair, overalls and a hearing aid lifted his frail hand in a wave. “I’m Homer. You ain’t from around these parts, are you?”

He shook his head no. “I need a room for tonight.”

“Just passin’ through?”

“I’m not sure how long I’ll be here.”

Homer handed him a key to room nine, then looked him up and down. “You never been to Wildcat before?”

“No. What can you tell me about the town?”

The old man huffed. “Don’t many people that come through here ever come back.” A chortle rumbled from his thin chest. “Fact is, some of ’em never leave, either.”

“You mean they like it so much, they settle?” Deke asked.

“Not hardly.” Homer gestured out the window to a small white chapel at the foot of the hills. “See that cemetery? That’s where they end up. Damned just like the town.”

Deke frowned, wondering if the man’s comment had been a warning. Then again, Homer didn’t look dangerous.

“The devil lives in those woods along with wildcats as big as tigers, some of ’em half-human,” Homer continued. “Call ’em werecats. They feed off animals and humans.”

Homer must be senile. “Then why are you still here?”

He pointed out the window toward the hills. “Buried my wife, Bessie, a few years back. Cancer got her. We were together forty-five years. Can’t bear to leave her here alone.”

Deke frowned. He had no idea love and devotion like that existed anymore. Of course, his parents had weathered their own terrible storm and wound up back together. “I passed a place called Wildcat Manor coming in,” he said, putting his personal thoughts aside. “It used to be an orphanage?”

The man’s thin skin stretched over his bony jaws as he frowned. “Yep, but they closed it down ten years ago. Bunch of troublemakers lived there, didn’t associate with the townsfolk. Strange things went on in that manor. Stories about young girl runaways. The old man was crazy.”

“What happened to him?”

“Died in the fire that destroyed the basement of the building. The orphanage was disbanded then. Reckon his wife, Hattie Mae, was too scared of the hellions they put with her.” He wheezed a breath. “Rumors said one of the girls set the fire.”

“What happened to Hattie Mae?”

“She died a few weeks ago.”

“Did you know a woman…a girl actually, named Elsie Timmons? Was she one of the orphans?”

“Didn’t know any of them by name,” the man said. “Hodges never let the girls come into town, thought they’d stir up too much trouble with the decent young boys.” He scratched his chin. “To tell the truth, most of ’em were troubled, had been sent there by the law or cause their families didn’t want ’em. The town sure as hell didn’t.”

Anger sparked in Deke’s chest. How could the people in town have been so cruel to homeless kids? To Elsie?

And someone had wanted her—her mother. Only Elsie might never have known.

The tragedy of his own lost years with his dad rushed back, yet somehow Elsie’s situation seemed worse. He had to convince Elsie that her mother wanted to see her. He would go tomorrow.

His mind set, he accepted the key from Homer, retrieved his bag and let himself into the small motel room. The furnishings were minimal, the furniture old, the drapes and spread faded. He didn’t care.

He stepped outside, ignoring the brutal weather as he slipped into the dark wooded mountains. He’d see Elsie tomorrow. Find out why she was running. Tell her about Deanna.

Tonight he had to regroup. He couldn’t let Elsie’s sad story get to him. He was a loner. A falconer who needed no one. Who could not afford emotion. He had his own rituals. His own secrets.

Nature called his name, begging him to return to the wild where he belonged. He had to answer.

SOMEONE WAS IN Wildcat Manor.

A young woman. He had watched her enter from the safety of his woods, and wondered if she was a stranger or if she might be one of the lost girls who’d finally come home. He’d figured that some day one of them might return. Looking for Hattie Mae.

Wanting answers.

Or revenge.

The abject fury in the thought sent a burning pain through his hunched shoulders. Wind whipped through the thin layer of his jacket and clawed at his aching bones.

He had vowed to Hattie Mae that he would keep the secrets of Wildcat Manor safe. That no one would ever find out about her weakness. And if this girl had come to snoop around or expose them, he wouldn’t hesitate to stop her.

No matter the consequences.

Forcing himself to remain in the shadows of Hattie Mae’s life had been torture, yet she had always known he was there. That if she needed him, all she had to do was whisper his name. That she was never far from his mind or his watchful eye.

This girl would learn that she wasn’t welcome.

Now. It was almost dawn. Time of the awakening.

A smile slid onto his wind-parched face as his boots sank into the thick snow. Slipping through the back gate came easily—he had done it a thousand times. Even sought refuge from the cold behind those monumental stone walls. Tonight would be no different.

Clenching his jaw, he eased his way through the basement, his eyes automatically adjusting to the darkness, the sounds and smells of the dank space and the rituals that had been performed there rushing back as if time had stood still. He could still see the young girls pleading for their lives. The children who had been turned by the devil. The sinners who had to pay.

Hattie Mae watching in horror.

It was her fault, though. Hers and the bad children.

Pungent odors filled his nostrils, and warmth slowly seeped into his freezing body. He ascended the steps, remembering the night Howard Hodges had died. It had been a night just like this. Bitter cold. Complete darkness.

The wooden rungs squeaked, the sound of a mouse skittering beneath the furnace causing him to grin as he opened the door leading to the main hallway. Like a cavern, the house was completely void of light, but the scent of freshly lit kerosene wafted from above, and he realized the woman had found the lanterns. How had she known where they would be?

She had been here before. It was the logical explanation.

So which one of the pretty children had returned to the lair?

He slowly padded up the steps, his hand shaking as he focused on his plan, his mind spinning with the names of the orphans who’d stayed at Wildcat Manor, with the sounds of their cries and pleas, with the vulgar truth of their pasts. With their tempting eyes….

The dim glow of the lantern drew him closer to the bedroom, and he paused to listen, then heard sheets rustling and a whimpering sound as if a child had returned, not a woman. Pulling his cloak around his face and over his arms, he moved to the doorway and watched.

Her long dark hair was curly and lay across the pillow. So erotic. It had been a long damn time since he’d held a woman. She thrashed from side to side as if in the throes of a nightmare.

A chuckle threatened to erupt but he tamped it down. Didn’t she know that by coming here her nightmare had just begun? Like a voyeur, he hid in the shadows and watched her struggle for sleep, but no peace came. She muttered nonsensical panicked sounds, clutching the sheets with clenched fingers, perspiration trickling down her honey-lit skin.