He'd finally be free.
A thump at his back door startled him out of his thoughts.
What was that?
Occasionally, a possum or raccoon or some other critter tried to get into his trash cans. But they were all the way around the side of the house, and he hadn't had problems since he'd taken to leaving a cement block on top of the lids.
He listened for several moments, but all he could hear was the water bubbling in the kettle. Another minute, and the whistle would blow.
Nothing from outside.
He ripped open the envelope and placed the tea bag in his mug, carefully draping the thread and tag over the edge. Before it could whistle, he removed the kettle from the burner, turned it off, and poured the hot water.
Fragrant steam rose, and he breathed it in. Tried to push away all the uncomfortable thoughts crowding his brain.
Whatever nebulous sense of peace he'd been reaching for dissipated as something scraped along the boards of his porch.
Something was out there.
Maybe he hadn't been born a farm boy, but he'd lived out here long enough to know whatever kind of critter it was, it was best left alone. He'd go out in the morning and check things out.
Except he heard a meow.
Not a kitten's meow.
A tiny human voice saying, "Meow."
He strode through the minuscule mud room and pulled open the door, half expecting to feel a cat brush by his calves and run inside.
But it was a child who tumbled over the threshold and landed on his bare feet.
His temper flared and then sputtered when he reached down, expecting a boy of ten or twelve. But when his hand connected with a shoulder, it was a much smaller one. And the weight on his feet was too slight to be one of the boys.
This had to be Lindsey.
She was shivering. He registered what felt like pajamas under his palm, not the winter coat she needed on a night like tonight.
"What are you doing over here?"This late. No way Jilly knew she was in his house.
The girl didn't make a peep.
Had he read things wrong? Was she cowering at his feet? So scared of him that she was trembling?
Something ugly settled in the pit of his stomach.
He worked to gentle his voice. "Is everything okay at your house—at Jilly's house?"
He didn't smell any hint of smoke, though fire was only one of the disasters that ran through his mind.
The girl still didn't speak, and he tried to tamp down his frustration at the limitations of his blindness. Was she completely terrified of him?
"I can't see you," he told her. "You're going to have to give me something here."
"Meow."
Had she—?
She'd just meowed at him.
