Page 62 of Unforgiven

Only when Seth was out of sight did she move away from the window. Turning around, she analyzed the space. The living room was neat as a pin. There was no trace of either Deputy Ernst or Seth ever being there. No, the only sign of her circumstances having changed was the bright light shining on the table. The other one currently shining in her bedroom. She needed those flashlights. Anything to feel safer.

But it was a false sense of security. She was alone.

Nerves shot through her again, clenching her stomach and tightening her throat. Like a woman possessed, she checked the deadbolt on the front door again. Then she rushed to the kitchen and double-checked the lock on the back door. Then checked every single window, already imagining Leon watching and waiting from the woods. One by one, she visited every windowpane, securing locks that were already secure. Pulling down shades that were already down.

Chance watched her. Perhaps sensing her fear, he whimpered.

“It’ll be okay, Chance,” she said.

He whimpered again, and she knew the dog didn’t believe her words any more than she did.

After brushing her teeth and hair and washing her face, she changed into her nightgown. Finally, she lay down on her bed and curled up in a ball on her side, exhausted. Wrapped her arms around herself again. Just like she used to do when she was hurting so bad.

Just like she still did when she was scared.

She closed her eyes. The memory of Seth holding her rushed forward. The way he’d been so solid and steady. The way he’d promised her that she was going to be all right.

And for one split second, she’d believed him.

Until she’d pushed him away.

Over and over she reviewed their conversation, hating that they’d fought before his departure. Hating that she hadn’t asked him to call her when he got home safe. He’d dropped everything when she’d called and then spent hours by her side. In return, she’d sent him on his way in the dark. She hadn’t even offered to let him borrow a flashlight.

At a quarter to one in the morning, she allowed the tears to fall. They soaked her skin and her pillowcase and the neckline of her nightgown. Come morning, she’d likely need to wash everything.

It didn’t matter, though. She’d still be all alone.

22

The pounding at the door was unceasing. With Seth still groggy, the knocking rivaled the continuous hammering inside his head. He had fallen asleep in the chair next to the fireplace. The evening before had had him so spun up, he’d lit a small fire and sat down next to it, hoping the flickering warmth would soothe his spirit. Instead, it had reminded him of Tabitha, and he’d wondered if she had brought enough wood inside.

“Seth?”

It was his sister. “Mel, stop pounding. I’ll be right there.” He got up and headed for the door.

“Hurry. It’s cold out here.”

He rolled his eyes and moved his neck from side to side. It did little to ease his headache or the tension in his neck and shoulders. He needed some pain reliever and a hot shower. And coffee.

When he opened the front door, the bright morning sun was blinding. “Come on in.”

“Danke,” she said as he closed the door behind her. “Gut matin.”

“Whatever. I need coffee.” He went into the kitchen, leaving Melonie to divest herself of her cloak and hang it on the hook by the door. His house was small but wide open, so he could easily see the front door from the kitchen.

After he turned on the coffee maker that he’d thankfully prepped the evening before, he listened to it drip as he took in the sight of his little sister. Today she had on a cranberry-colored dress and black tights. Her kapp was as neat and clean as always, and for once she didn’t have a single wayward blond curl out of place. The only thing that marred her perfection was a worried frown.

“Seth, what took you so long to open the door?” she asked as she joined him in the kitchen in her stocking feet. “I must have knocked on it for five minutes.”

“I was asleep.” Still groggy, he peered at her. “How did you get here anyway?”

“I rode my bike.” Staring at him like she had something important to say, she added, “It’s ten o’clock, Seth.”

“Is it? Hmm.” He hadn’t bothered to look at the clock. Her stare practically pierced his bones as he filled a cup with strong, black coffee.

“You look like you slept in those clothes.”

“That’s because I did.” He closed his eyes as he savored his first sip. The taste of fresh, hot coffee never got old. He certainly never took it for granted. Not since his release from prison. Feeling his body slowly relax, he took another sip.

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