Page 28 of Running to the Mountain Man

“What do you mean?”

“My whole life was planned out and ordered. I always knew what was expected of me. I knew who I could trust. You trusted people, and they betrayed you. I’m sorry for that.”

Barrett’s throat bobs.

“They forced you to get married to a man with six other wives, Goldie. Remember that part?”

I shrug. “They did a lot worse. They shunned our brothers and friends. My brother Theo was shunned a while back, and I hope to find him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks. I sort of turned inward after that happened. I buried myself deep into my hobbies and ignored everybody else except for my best friends, Olivia and Louisa. A certain faction of the sister wives spread rumors that I was a witch. I was told that if I skipped church again to work in the greenhouse, I would be shunned. But I knew it would never happen. The younger sister wives always come to me for help with their little ones. Obviously, I’m not a doctor, but I knew enough to offer relief for the endless ear and sinus infections among the little ones. And the sick and the elderly valued me for helping them with pain management in small ways. I did what I could.”

“I’m happy you left. But they’re going to suffer without you.”

I laugh. “One of my siblings by another mother, Georgie, has been helping me in the greenhouse. She came to me a while ago and said she wanted to learn from me. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, and she’s got all my notes. She’s more organized than me, so she’s probably got everything alphabetized and cross-referenced by now. Plus, they won’t miss me. Georgie’s a better person than me, so she won’t get up to any mischief by poisoning anybody.”

“You did what you had to do,” Barrett reminds me.

“Not always. Sometimes I just liked to cause chaos,” I say sheepishly, sipping my coffee.

“What do you mean?”

Goodness, I’ve never met a man half this interested in listening to me when I speak.

I admit, “The elders would come to me on the down low to ask if I had anything to help them get it up.”

Barrett snorts. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Not kidding. I gave ’em all chamomile, told ’em it would make it last all night.”

Barrett laughs so hard it feels like the whole house shakes. “Instead, you put them to sleep.”

“Night night, creeps,” I say, sipping my coffee.

“You’re crazy.”

The sun lights up his eyes, glinting off his honey-colored lashes—lashes that are too, too perfect for a man. The way he’s looking at me, I can tell there’s much more he wants to say. I feel the need to stop him before he makes us both uncomfortable.

“Barrett, I?—”

Suddenly, his face changes ferociously.

“Get in the house.”

“Um, what?”

“Goldie, get in the fucking house.” He doesn’t yell, but his tone is so lethal that I know I’d better listen and not try to ask any more questions.

As I run inside, I turn to glimpse what it is that has Barrett spooked.

The cops are here.

Shit.

This is my fault.

I slam the door behind me, my heart racing. I pace around the great room and try to think.

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