Page 13 of A Twist of Faith
The apple pie turned bitter in his mouth. “Now Mama, you know I—”
“Or make the crust?
“That has nothin’ to do with—”
“You realize I put six sour apples in there? Six? And they were sourrr.” She drew out the word and winced. “But it don’t taste sour, does it? All that good ol’ sugar sweetens up them apples. Makes the pie worth its sass.”
“Are you sayin’ you want me to make her a pie?”
Rainey burst out laughing and hit him with a dishtowel. “How on earth did you ever manage to get a master’s degree from Virginia Tech?” She sighed as if his ignorance caused her pain. “Be kind to her and your kindness will rub off, idiot. But heaven help us if you speak more than three sentences to the poor woman. She might realize what a big job she has ahead of her and quit on the spot.”
His mama shoved another piece of apple pie into his mouth before he could reply to Rainey’s unwanted comments. “Kindness don’t take no words.” She nodded toward the door. “Sometimes, you can speak more when you don’t say nothin’.”
Reece growled while he chewed. Ganged up on by the womenfolk. He should have been used to it by now, but it stung every time—probably because they were usually right.
“Son, there’s no tellin’ what Dee’s past has been like. No knowin’ if she’s had a lovin’ family or struggled for long years to make it where she is. Sounds like there’s a lot more goin’ on than we can see. Usually is.” She pushed a tall glass of milk to him. “Time and gentle stirrin’ brings the cream to the top.”
Reese closed his eyes so Mama didn’t spy his thoughts. She believed everybody could change for the better with a spoonful of sweetness, but it wasn’t so. His wife never fit in that ‘everybody’ category, and she was just as much a city girl as Adelina Roseland.
“Gonna git cold tomorrow. I think our new neighbor might need some firewood.”
He glanced from his Mom to the door. The homestead and an unwanted lesson in humility stood just beyond the tree line. A grin twitched below his moustache as he caught sight of a four-legged gray hound dog running across the field toward the scattered row of trees. Knowing Haus was on his way back lessened the irritation of going to ask for Dee’s help … a little.
A crash outsidejerked Dee from her dreamless sleep. She slid to the end of her bed and pulled her robe about her as she stumbled to the window, forcing her drowsy eyes wide. She’d chosen to use the only bedroom downstairs for now. It made the house feel smaller and not quite as empty, but chills trembled across her skin at the thought of someone on the other side of the wall. Moonlight afforded little answer to the cause of the noise, but another crash followed and the rim of a trashcan rolled into view. Her breath eked out in a tight stream.
Something lurked outside the garage. She slipped into the hall. A pale glow filtered through the windows and haloed the room in ghostly white. Her muscles tensed. She edged across the cold floor on tiptoe, as if the intruder could hear her noiseless footfall. The culprits were probably some mangy raccoons—the kinds that chew through wire or steal the stuffing from inside the seats of people’s cars. As she stepped through the kitchen to the back door, she took a frying pan from the stovetop and gripped it like a baseball bat. Whatever it was, it would end up with a concussion if she got a clear shot. She’d never liked furry bandits.
The door slid open without a sound, evidence of some good care to the hinges. Dee kept her body against the open door. One quick move would put her back in the house with locked door between her and whatever spilled the garbage cans. The forest crept in from all sides, shadowed and strange, highlighted by a cascade of ghostly moonlight. She’d forgotten how dark it was in the country. Dark and lonely.
Another crash shook her from the top step and she stumbled forward, the back door slamming behind her. She teetered on the edge of the porch step, suspended in time and moonbeams, like a ballerina on stage. Unlike the ballerina, though, her poise only lasted a second before she lost her balance and tripped with a bump to the ground. Her cast iron weapon thudded to the grass in a rather anti-climactic thump beside of her.
A shuffling sound drew her attention to the shadow beyond the wrecked trashcan. Four legs, and definitely too big for a raccoon. Maybe raccoons weren’t such mangy creatures after all. Actually, they were cute. Funny, even. And much smaller than the animal walking toward her.
Coyote.A chill settled across her skin and she froze.
It had been a long time since she’d seen a coyote, but one thing she remembered from her dad. They traveled in packs, or at least pairs. Her breath thickened with dread. Which meant she was already outnumbered. Another shadow prowled from her left, confirming her fear. Two.
She slid her hand across the ground to grip the handle of the frying pan and the coyotes responded with guttural growls. Icicles of fear tingled over her skin and the frantic pulse in her ears added a soundtrack.
“Get out of here.” Her words, meant to command, sputtered out on a whisper, like trying to scream in a nightmare. Nothing. She pushed herself up to her knees and lifted the pan in front of her, pointing it from one mangy beast to the other. “Get out.”
Even though her voice gathered volume, the sound only halted the animals’ approach for a moment before they stalked closer. Their eyes glowed like spectral orbs in the night, fueling the tremor running through her hard enough to shake her knees. How had it come to this? Dying in backwoods Appalachia in the jaws of coyotes? The thought straightened her spine and she stood, daring the canines to get closer.
“Listen here. There is no way I’m going to die in the middle of nowhere before I get my chance at tenure.” The frying pan shook at the same tempo as her words. “So if you want a fight, then bring it on.”
The closest coyote crouched to the ground readied to jump. Maybe she’d been a little overconfident. She gripped the frying pan tighter and lifted it up in the air, when all of a sudden another shadow charged from the darkness toward her.
She tried to scream, but her vocal folds didn’t even flutter.
Reese Mitchell’s grinning dog leapt forward.
He planted himself between her and the coyotes, teeth bared for battle. Her black protector looked bigger than he had this afternoon, stronger—his fur lifted at his neck and ears flattened against the sides of his head. Haus! Haus was his name.
The closest coyote backed away a few inches, but kept his growl as warning. Haus didn’t appear fazed. In fact, his vicious snarl grew into an impressive bark. She and the coyotes both flinched. There was a big difference between his smile and his snarl. Big.
One coyote backed further away, still staring for a few more moments before he turned on his heels and ran toward the forest, followed by his companion.
Haus’ growl rumbled low until the coyotes disappeared from sight. Just in time for all the strength to leave Dee’s weakened legs. She collapsed on the porch steps, body shaking so hard she dropped the pan back into the grass. Haus moved toward her. He kept his head low, as if he knew the creepy smile on his face wouldn’t win any favors. Smart dog.
