Chapter Seventeen
Spring spent the first two days after Garrett’s departure feeling sad and miserable. The nonstop rain only added more gloom to her mood. Being able to leave the house might have helped her not think about him so much, but because she was stuck inside, his presence came to mind relentlessly. She thought about him at breakfast, when she had her coffee, changing the bedding in his room, and of course every time her eyes settled on her sofa.
On day three, she woke up to sunshine and shouted for joy. Deciding she’d go up to the ridge and maybe do some fishing, she hitched Lady to the wagon and swung by Colt’s place first to speak with Regan. She was hoping her sister-in-law had advice on how to stop thinking about Garrett McCray.
Regan greeted her arrival with a smile.
Not seeing her nephew, Spring asked, “Is Colt Fontaine asleep?”
“No. He’s in the baby jail.”
Spring stared then laughed. “The what?”
“Baby jail. Come see.”
In the parlor on the floor was a fairly large polished wooden box with slats on the sides. It looked like a fancy crate. Strung across the open top was a length of ribbon. Dangling from it were colorful tops, little wooden horses, and other small toys. Inside, lying on his back atop a thick pallet was the smiling giggling baby. “My sister, Portia, sent it. It’s really called a playpen but she calls it a baby jail. Keeps them in one spot while you get things done. Best gift she ever sent.” She turned from the jail to ask, “So how did your night with Garrett go? Did you hurt him so bad that he’s still in bed?”
“It went well until he mentioned wanting freeborn babies.”
Regan’s humor faded. “Oh dear.”
“I told him the truth. I don’t want children. He didn’t have much to say after that. The next morning I went up to the ridge before he got up, so I didn’t have to say goodbye. I couldn’t, Regan.”
“I’m so sorry, Spring.”
Spring shrugged. “Not happy with this falling-in-love thing. It hurts. Any idea how to make it stop or to stop thinking about him?”
Regan shook her head. “No. Did he say he wasn’t coming back?”
“No.” Spring didn’t mention the note. The wording was too personal to share, even with Regan. “I didn’t think there’d be a magic solution but I wanted to check with you just to make sure.”
“Only time passing will heal things.”
“While I wait for that, I’m going fishing. Do you want some if I catch any?”
“Yes, please. That would be wonderful.”
“Okay.” Spring walked over to the baby jail and reached down to give her nephew an affectionate auntie cheek pinch. “No breaking out, you hear?”
He giggled and waved his chubby little arms and legs. Spring smiled in response before turning to Regan. “I’ll be back later.”
“Okay.”
Spring caught a mess of fish. After stringing them to a line, she thought she’d make a quick climb up the ridge to take a look at her place. As old and broken down as it was it held nothing of value—there wasn’t even a sleeping bag inside,but she hadn’t been up there in a while, and wanted to make sure no vermin or varmints had taken up residence. She took the fish with her because if she left the string on the wagon, the local eagles would treat it as a free meal and fly off with them. She had a barrel to put them in but if any nosy bears came around, they’d see it as a free meal, too. With the fish in tow, she took the narrow trail up the mountain. It was heavily wooded on both sides with a variety of old-growth trees, chest-high shrubs, and tree roots the size of her grandfather’s arms. Maybe when she inherited Ben’s gifts, she’d get someone to build her a real hunting cabin to take the place of her old ramshackle one.
When she reached the listing place with its partially missing roof, she opened the door and met the smug eyes of Matt Ketchum and the business end of a Colt pointed her way. “Well, well, well. I wondered how long I’d have to wait for you to show up.”
She immediately threw the string of fish at him, and as he fumbled, she ran outside and slammed the door. Bullets rang out, shattering the old wood. Bent low, she kept moving. If she could make it back down the hill to her wagon, she might stand a chance.
“Get back here, you bitch!”
Another bullet cracked loud. Squawking birds took flight while she did her best not to trip over tree roots or lose an eye to the low-hanging branches whipping against her face as she ran. A quick touch to her face showed blood on her fingers. She kept running. He was crashing through the vegetation behind her. All the noise and commotion would draw curious predators; bears, cats, wolves, but the two-legged one was her main concern. Heart pumping, she slid on her butt down the rest of the hill and upon hitting flat ground, increased her speed to get to the wagon. It was a risky move, because he’d have a clear shot now, but if she could reach the wagon and use it for cover she could return fire. She drew her gun out of her holster but before she could turn, her leg exploded. She cried out in pain, clutched the leg just long enough to confirm she’d been shot.
“Drop the gun or I’ll put a bullet in your other leg.”
She glanced up to see him closing the distance between them. He was only a few feet away, still coming and grinning.
“Drop the gun! Now!”