“Yeah, well, she’s not talking about it. And George will do me bodily harm if I mention anything to Abby, which—”
“She has to get better,” Luc cut in.
“Everybody agrees on that point. Problem is, while she’s healing here, you’ve got Armageddon on that mountain.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Stanek. There are dozens of ’em, for Christ’s sake.”
Breathing out a hard huff of frustration, Luc looked out over his vineyard, wondering what the hell to do next.
After a pause, Navarro asked, “You considered coming back into town? Camping out here till things blow over? It’ll give me time to put together a team that can actually handle the kind of clusterfuck you’ve got brewing up there.”
“And return to a devastated vineyard? No. No, I’ll stay here and make sure they don’t do any more damage.”
“How you planning on handling that?”
“I’ll stand guard every fucking night if I have to. I’ll sleep out here and—”
“Look, I’ll pay ’em a visit, all right?” Navarro cursed under his breath and went on. “Nothing confrontational, ’cause I can’t prove a thing, but it’ll at least tell them you’ve been in touch. Got the law on your side.”
Luc barely held back a cynical laugh.
“But you stay put,” Navarro continued. “Don’t go over there. Don’t talk to ’em. Donotengage. You got that?”
After a pause, Luc answered. “Yes. Fine. No engaging.”
“Anything happens, you give me a call. I’ll be right up. Top of my list. Got it?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Sheriff.”
“Call me Clay.”
“All right. Thank you, Clay.”
“Not everyone would have done what you did for her.”
This time, a small, choked laugh came out. Nothing he’d done had felt like it was for her, he thought before ending the call. Everything had felt selfish.
All day, Luc thought of those people, his anger not dissipating, although after hours of watching over his vineyard, weapon close by at all times, he wondered if perhaps they’d done their worst.
And he thought of Abby. In his house, in the barn, while clearing the newest patch of land. He thought of her in the evening while he carved his hunk of wood into what turned out to be her arm and neck and her back, the skin perfectly clear of brands.
During that second long, lonely night, he thought of her in his arms. He could feel her there, even with the power back on and the sheets washed and the smell of her gone.
She was safe at least, if not gone for good.
And whose fault was that? She’d be long gone if he hadn’t handed Sammy back to the cult.
Over and over again, he beat himself up about returning that kid to that hell. Sammy. Poor Sammy.
After another uneventful day, he even started to wonder if he’d dreamed it all—the night watch and the threats, and maybe the chickens had fallen victim to a fox after all. Or coyotes. Were there wolves around here?
After everything that had happened, how could he possibly go back to his wine and vines and dog-eared issues ofVigneronmagazine by the fire? With the tension tight in his neck, he spent every waking hour working hard, wishing thoughts of her and the fucking neighbors out of his brain and out of his life.
The craziest thing of all was how bored he was.Bored, for Christ’s sake. Today, after working himself raw clearing the new vineyard, he set off for his cabin, where the choices of activities were limited—something that had never bothered him before. Because boredom just wasn’t part of his makeup. Before Abby, he’d been content to sink his hands into soil and just exist. He’d been happy when his back ached and his body was sore, happy to think about nothing but the weather conditions, always alone.
I miss her.
