“I won’t let Poppy drive Patrick away. We need to get Poppy on our side, and frankly, it won’t be that hard. Ask for her help learning croquet. Praise her skills. She’ll like that.”
“I’d rather beat her with a croquet mallet than ask for her help with it.”
“Too bad. We both owe Patrick, and it’s time to start delivering.”
They cut across the dunes on their way toward Poppy. Trudging across the sandy dunes was slowgoing because Liam still had to move gingerly. In the past few days, it had been easy to forget how far he’d come in healing from the stab wound, but it was still tender. Even with Poppy’s slow, ponderous gait, it took them a while to catch up to her.
“Yo! Poppy, wait up,” Liam called as they drew close.
Poppy turned to look at them. With her wide-brimmed straw bonnet, she looked like a Gainsborough portrait as she watched them approach on the path through the long grasses. The cattails were chest high and swayed in the stiff breeze, brushing against Gwen’s skirts as they walked.
The path was only wide enough for two people, so Gwen dropped behind, watching in approval how Liam offered his arm to Poppy, letting the pregnant woman accept his help as they walked along the scrabbly path.
“I liked the way you beat Edwin at croquet,” Liam said, and Poppy preened.
“I won five dollars from him, and that’s not easy,” Poppy said. “Edwin takes sports very seriously.”
“I was hoping maybe you could give me some advice on the game. I hear you’re a champ when it comes to croquet.”
“You came to the right place,” Poppy said in satisfaction.
“Maybe you can help Patrick too,” Liam said. “Patrick is a good man, and you were pretty tough on him back there.”
“I had to be,” Poppy said. “Gwen is consorting with the help, and it’s tacky. I can’t imagine why Frederick doesn’t put his foot down.”
“You know that I can hear every word you say,” Gwen called.
Poppy tossed her a condescending glance over her shoulder. “Darling, I’m saying it for your own good. Patrick isn’t comfortable here. Everyone can see it. Poor Liam can’t help what happened to him, but he’s one of us and will blend into the fold eventually. Patrick never will. Oh look, wild blackberries.” She stepped in front of Liam toward a tangle of blackberry vines.
A loud crack and a bang echoed across the dunes. Gwen startled at the noise. “That sounded like a gunshot!”
Liam cursed. Poppy had fallen and started screaming.
“Hit the dirt,” Liam yelled. He grabbed Gwen’s arm, tugging her down.
It was a gunshot. Blood was all over Poppy’s bodice, and she continued a ghastly wail.
“Shut up, Poppy,” Liam ordered. “Tell me where you’re hit.”
The edges of Gwen’s vision dimmed in shock as another loud crack echoed over the dunes. Poppy clutched her upper arm, where blood pulsed from between her fingers. Liam grabbed a handkerchief and mashed it onto her wound, making Poppy scream.
Had a hunter accidentally shot at them? Sometimes men hunted wild turkeys on the island, but it would be hard to mistake them for turkeys.
Liam peeked above the cattails for a split second. “Stop that blasted shooting,” he hollered. “There are people walking here!”
A third shot rang out, triggering another round of screams from Poppy, but Liam clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Shut up,” he hissed. “They meant to shoot us, and screaming is giving our location away. Be quiet, and let’s move.”
Gwen cowered beneath the screen of cattails, and Liam helped Poppy roll onto her knees to crawl toward a cluster of oak trees, where they could take shelter. It was hard to stay low enough to remain hidden by the cattails. Sand kicked into her face from Liam’s boots as they crawled.
“Are you okay?” she whispered to Liam.
“I’m fine. You?”
“Fine.”
Except for the terror streaking through her. Whoever was shooting at them had probably aimed for Liam but accidentally hit Poppy when she stepped in front of him for the blackberries.
