Page 48 of North

“Everything okay, sugar?” Josephine’s voice. “Brought you some fresh tea. I’m still trying to find a working charger.”

Selah snugged up the bathrobe and went to the door. “Come in.”

Josephine entered with a tea tray, complete with cookies and tiny sandwiches. She set it on the bedside table, next to the open Bible. “Thought you might be hungry. It’s been quite a day.”

That was one way to put it. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Your man’s settled in down the hall. Said to tell you he’ll be checking the vehicle, making sure it’s ready for morning.” Josephine straightened a quilt corner.

“He’s not my man. He’s a stranger I met on the train.”

Okay, that sounded unkind. James had turned into more than that, really. A friend she met on the train? A criminal she met on the train?

“Well, he’s certainly looking after you.”

Yes, he was.

“Sleep well.” Josephine’s eyes held something like concern.

The door clicked shut. Selah sank onto the bed.

Outside, gravel crunched under tires. She moved to the window. James stood in the shadows beside the ATV, opening up the seat cargo area.

And then he tucked the container into the seat compartment. Wait—what?

As if he had heard her thoughts, James glanced up at her window, face unreadable in the dark.

She pulled away, her heart hammering.

Calm. Down.

Still. What was going on?

Through the floor, she heard James’s footfalls on the stairs. The tea grew cold on the bedside table. Isaiah’s words about perfect peace stared up from the open Bible.

Then she got up, went to the door, and turned the lock.

* * *

The scream lifted North out of his body and back to the soggy night.

Or rather, barn.

Hay poked through the horse blanket he’d found after crawling into the space to get out of the downpour, and his body screamed from the fall off his formerly trusty steed.

A girl stood frozen in the barn doorway, maybe six or seven years old, her blonde hair caught in a braid. She held a flashlight, now trained on him. He lifted a hand to protect his eyes.

“Amy!” A woman came into the barn. “Don’t scream. I’m sure that cat’s somewhere—oh my.”

Maybe early seventies, although he really couldn’t make her out in the dim light, the woman gathered Amy close to her.

“Ma’am—”

“Frank!” She stepped back, glanced toward the house. “Frank—there’s another one!”

Another one?

North fought to his feet, failed. “I’m not here to hurt⁠—”