Page 54 of Unforgiven

Chance whined again.

She couldn’t leave the dog alone in the hall. “I’m here,” she said.

When she finally released the lock and opened the door, a waft of fresh, cooler air greeted her. She breathed in deep.

Chance pawed at her leg.

“I’m sorry, Chance,” she said. “I don’t seem to be myself. Are you all right?”

The hund looked up at her, his brown eyes full of compassion. His tail wagged.

She knelt down and ran her hand along his back. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You are a gut dog.”

Unable to help herself, she crept through the house. It was silent. She found the keys on the floor and realized the dog had probably nosed them off the table when he sniffed the yarn. After returning them to the table, she went to the front door and turned the deadbolt. And looked again at the skein of yarn and note that Leon had left for her to find.

Goose bumps formed on her arms.

She hurried to the kitchen, opened the drawer, and pulled out her cell phone. With Chance pressed close to her legs, she scanned through her very short list of contacts and then pressed the one for the sheriff’s office.

A man answered on the first ring. “Sheriff’s Office. This is Deputy Junior Ernst.”

Fighting the urge to hang up, she spoke. “H-hello. This is Tabitha Yoder.”

“Who?”

“Tabitha Yoder. I usually talk to Sheriff Johnson.”

“Oh. Sure. The other day, he told me you were here and why. How may I help you, Ms. Yoder?”

“My ex-husband was here. I . . . I have a restraining order against him. He shouldn’t be here.”

Deputy Ernst’s voice turned far more serious. “No, ma’am, he sure shouldn’t be. Are you okay? Is he still there?”

“I . . . I don’t think so. I left for a couple of hours, but when I came home, I found a skein of yarn and a note that he left for me.”

“Where was it?”

“On my front steps. I’m scared, Deputy. Could I please speak to Sheriff Johnson?”

“I’m sorry. He’s out on a call, but I’ll be right there. Do you need any medical attention, ma’am?”

“No, I’m okay. Just please hurry if you can? I’m afraid he’s still here. What if he’s still here?”

“Are you inside?”

“Jah.”

“Stay inside and keep the doors locked. I’m getting in my vehicle now. I’ll be there within fifteen.”

Fifteen minutes. It sounded like an eternity, but if she just took one moment at a time, she could handle it. Hopefully. “Are you sure you’re on your way?”

“Yep. I promise. Keep your phone with you, Tabitha. I’ll call when I’m close.”

“Okay,” she said. Then realized he’d already hung up.

Outside, the wind picked up. Glad that she had one or two flashlights in every room, Tabitha reached for the biggest one in the kitchen. It was a camping light and could rest on a table or floor and deliver a sizable beam onto the ceiling. The house had been so dark when she arrived.

Once again, she wished she’d had enough money to wire the house with electricity. Having lights on a timer like some of the English homes did would be wonderful—and a bright house would seem less scary.

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