This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

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Deborah Grace Staley

P. O. Box 672

Vonore, TN 37885

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Copyright © 2011 Deborah Grace Staley

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All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

Visit the author's website at www.deborahgracestaley. Look for other Fast Break Romances© coming soon.

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Cover design: Deborah Smith

Credits: Photograph of couple and car - © Pavel Losevsky - Fotolia.com

Interior Design: Deborah Grace Staley

The Wedding Quilt

By

Deborah Grace Staley

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A Fast Break Romance

The Wedding Quilt

She sat alone on the front porch, rocking. The mountain rising up in the distance, taller than the rest, went in and out of focus in time with the movement. Funny how life works that way, too. Sometimes things are clear and make sense, and then everything goes all fuzzy.

She fingered the old, worn quit tucked around her legs, finding comfort in the feel of it. An old mountain superstition told when an unattached woman slept under a new quilt, she'd dream of the man she'd marry. Mae reckoned that had been true enough. She pulled the thin, faded quilt closer, remembering.

For her sixteenth birthday, the women of Bluff Springs had gifted her with the wedding quilt. Made of brightly colored calico squares formed into the wedding ring pattern, she'd never seen anything so colorful or so beautiful. She ran her hand over it feeling the love, hope and promise in every stitch. With all the men gone off to fight in the war in Europe, she feared her time to be a bride would have to wait. This quilt she held in her hands wasn't just hope of the life she dreamed of, it was a sacred promise.

"Granny Mae? You doin' all right out here? It's a mite chilly this mornin'."

Bessie Lynn hovered; always checking on her. She'd been looking after herself for near on ninety years, and the last thirty of 'em alone. It'd take more than a fire to change that. She might be out of her home, but she weren't out of her mind. The rocking chair creaking out a beat was the only sound that interrupted the morning--that and her great-granddaughter's voice.

"Well, I'll be just inside. Call if you need anything."

The screen door banged shut. Mae rocked back in her chair and closed her eyes, letting the rhythm soothe and take her back to a happier day.

There'd been a big party at the church with just women attending, all the young girls, the married women, young and old, and the widows. Her mama had baked a white cake with fine white icing. White sugar and flour were dear what with the war and all, but no expense had been spared for her only daughter's sixteenth birthday party. There'd even been sixteen thick, white candles for blowing out and wish making.

There'd been several gifts from the ladies and her girlfriends: a new petticoat trimmed in hand-tatted lace, hair ribbons and hair pins (now that she was a woman, she'd be wearing her long, black hair up more), and a new pink church dress ordered from the Sears & Roebuck catalog with new black shoes that had a two-inch heel. She'd never seen such riches in all her days. She was stumbling over words of thanks when Aunt Sarie carried out a large parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. Aunt Sarie was the mountain's granny woman. She knew when someone would die of a fever and when a baby was gonna be borned dead. She knew how to cure a fever and stitch up a deep cut and fix it so infection wouldn't set in. She also knew all the quilt patterns and saw that all the younger generations learned them so they wouldn't die with her. She'd been old as long as Mae could remember. Most of the men feared her and steered clear of her old cabin that stood off to itself back in its little holler, but all the women respected her wisdom and valued her help and knowledge. Why, she'd birthed near everybody that lived on the mountain and a right smart number of others besides.

When she held out the parcel to me, I took it with reverent hands, knowing what the package held. Then Aunt Sarie repeated the sacred words,

Sweet sixteen and never been kissed,

bits and pieces of dresses, ours and yourn,

to make the wedding ring design.

Each stitch was placed by many a woman

whose heart and wisdom, they sewed in.

She who sleeps under it will surely dream of her beloved,

and it'll keep her and him and the family they'll make

safe and secure all the long years of their marriage.

Mae took the words into her heart and reverently untied the string, then pulled back the edges of the paper. What lay inside took her breath clean away. All white, with the colorful interwoven loops of the wedding rings binding all the pieces together.

"It's so beautiful. Thank you," I'd said.

The women milled about and some cleaned, while Mae stroked the soft quilt wondering, would she really dream of the man she'd marry when she slept under it tonight? Later, she gathered all her gifts, and she and her mama walked back to the cabin. The air hung heavy on the mountain on this hot July night. It hadn't rained in weeks. No matter. That'd just make the air even more thick.

After all her chores was done, she'd climbed up into the loft and pulled off her dress. After washing, she slipped on her worn nightgown and spread the quilt out on her bed. He was bigger than her narrow bed and hung down the sides to the floor. It stood out like fresh snow on the brown grass of the yard against all the gray weathered wood of the cabin. She blew out her candle and slid under the quilt, waiting for its magic to sweep her away to dreams. But sleep wouldn't come, for the night was hot and the quilt too warm.

So, she folded the wedding quilt and draped it over her arm, climbed down the ladder, and stepped out into the night. She'd walk up to Katy's Bald and wrap herself in the wedding quilt there. The hint of a midnight breeze always stirred the pines on the bald. After the short walk, she wrapped herself up and lay down, hoping for the dream of her future's promise. The scent of wildflowers and tall sweet grass pleased her senses, but sleep still wouldn't come.

She stared up at the night sky, dotted with so many stars, and made a wish on the brightest of them. Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight . . .

The wind picked up, leaves rustled, grass swayed, and then all settled into stillness. Even the crickets and tree frogs hushed their singing.

"Hello, beautiful."

Mae sat up, pulling the quilt close about her. A man, tall and thin with broad shoulders, filled her vision.

"I don't know which is more beautiful, you or that quilt you're tucked into."

He paused a moment. Mae didn't speak. She hardly drew a breath.

"Whatcha doin' out here all alone in the dead o' night?"

"Who're you to be a peltin' me with questions and flatterin' words? Do I know you?" Mae squinted and looked closer. Was he leaning on a crutch? Lord a mercy! A strange man out on the bald in the middle of the night couldn't mean nothin' good. She tried to scramble to her feet, but fell backward when her feet got tangled in the folds of the blanket.

"Jimmy Wright's the name, ma'am. I apologize if I've offended or frightened you."

He offered a hand to help her stand, but she got untangled and up on her own. Wright, Mae said to herself, her mouth pulled into a straight line. Things were not working out at all the way she'd planned. She'd come up here to sleep under her new quilt and dream about her future husband, and she finds a man whose name is Mr. Wright? Maybe she had to fallen asleep, and this was some crazy out of focus dream.

"Who are you?" the dream was asking. A dream that looked and sounded mighty real.

"Mae Ella Collins."

"Collins?"

Mae held her peace. She knew what he was thinking.

"You're from Eagle Ridge, then?"

Mae hitched up the quilt and stood. She barely came to his shoulder. "I ain't no spook. That's just a old wives tale."

"Your eyes shine, even in the moonlight. What color are they?"

"Not that it signifies, but they're blue."

"They look clear."

He stared at her a long moment and she stared right back. "One thing they say's true. Malungeon women are heartbreakin' beautiful."

"Heartbreakin' cause you'd never take a woman like me home to meet your mama?"

He took a halting step closer, leaning heavy on his crutch. "I'd be proud to take you anywhere you'd care to go."

His statement, made softly and matter of fact, pulled her up short and softened her towards him. Moonlight shimmered in his fair hair, and his dark eyes held mysteries. Mae mostly wondered why he was so thin and pale and how he'd got hurt. "What happened to you?" She looked at the crutch and his bad leg. It still filled out his pant leg. She'd heard of many a man who'd lost legs and arms in the war.

"Grenade shattered my kneecap."

"Does it hurt?"

"All the time."

"Where'd it happen?"

"France."

France . . . he'd walked on dirt her feet would never touch and instead of living some grand adventure serving his country, he'd come back the worse for it. Lord only knew how long the fighting would go on.

"Well, it got you home."

He didn't comment, but again, his eyes spoke for him. He'd seen and done things that would haunt him for the rest of his days, but he'd probably go back in a heartbeat if he could.

"Why you out here in the middle of the night?" she asked.

"Same as you, I suppose. Too hot to sleep. There's usually a pleasin' breeze up here. I always thought this'd be a nice spot for a house."

Mae had always thought the same.

"Where you from?"

"Gate City."

"That's a far piece from here. You didn't walk all that way on a bum leg, did you?"

"Naw. My old nag's tied to that tree over yonder. I'm a campin'. Lookin' for some sulfur springs I heard was nearby."

"They'd be a help to your leg."

"You know where they are, then?"

What did he think? She was stupid or something? Hadn't she told him she grew up here? "Course I know where they are. Everybody around here does."

"Perhaps you'd show me, then. Maybe tomorrow?"

"I might. But I'll tell you this right now. I'm a proper, God-fearin' woman despite what you might have heard about my kind."

"I never thought nothin' of the sort," he said earnestly. He toed the dirt and didn't look at her when he said, "So, you ain't got a man, then?"

Mae shook her head, shyness pullin' her gaze towards the ground, too. "Ain't no men to be had. They's all off to war."

"All but the old men and the cripples."

His softly spoken words had her looking at him again. "You're still standin', ain't you? That's more'n some can say."

A long look passed between them. One that said he could accept who she was and she'd be proud to have him for what he was--a survivor.

After a moment, he nodded, an appealing grin transforming his gaunt features. "My mama always said, 'If wishes was pennies, we'd all be rich'."

Mae giggled. "You sayin' you ain't rich, then?"

He chuckled, too. "I reckon not."

"Not much to recommend you, huh?"

"I didn't say that."

Mae turned and tucked the quilt up high around her shoulders so it wouldn't drag the ground and get dirty. "I live in the house just down this path," she said over her shoulder as she walked away. "Come by tomorrow and ask my daddy proper, and I might take you to them springs you're a lookin' for."

"Is tomorrow mornin' too soon?"

"That'll be just fine."

"I'm much obliged, Miss Mae."

Mae smiled all the way back to her cabin. She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, and she dreamed of a tall, thin man with silver moonlight in his fair hair.

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The next morning right after she'd finished breakfast and had fed the chickens, she was gathering laundry to take down to the creek when she heard a knock on the door.

"Well, who in the world could that be?" Mama said.

Mae didn't say a word. Just kept gathering the laundry. Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched as her mama walked over to the window and pulled back the lace curtain--one of the few luxuries she afforded in the simple cabin.

"Well, I'll be. There's a stranger standin' on the porch, his hat in one hand and a bunch of wildflowers in the other. He's a leanin' heavy on a crutch, too."

Anxious that her mama wouldn't open the door to a stranger, Mae said, "Don't leave him standing out there. He can't mean no harm if he's carryin' flowers, and he's hurt." She wondered how he was managing the three things with only two hands.

Her mama shot her "a look," but didn't ask questions. Upon opening the door, she heard Jimmy say, "Howdy-do, ma'am. I'm Jimmy Wright."

Mama cocked a hand on her hip. "What business do you have here, mister?"

"I come to ask your husband permission for your daughter, Mae, to show me to the sulfur springs."

"What's a matter with you, boy?" she said nodding at his leg.

"I was injured in the war, ma'am."

"Well, I'll be. Come in and sit, then."

He came in, but he didn't sit. His gaze landed on Mae, and she looked her fill at him. What she couldn't see in the moonlight last night was clear now. He was a handsome man, despite his thinness. Golden blond hair that waved away from its part and fell partway across his forehead, dark brown eyes, a thin, straight nose, and full lips. Creamy smooth skin stretched across a fine strong jaw and broad shoulders filled out his white cotton shirt. Lordy, just lookin' at him near took her breath away.

He nodded in her direction. "Miss Mae."

She nodded back. Her mama shot a look between them and tried to hide a smile. As she walked over to Mae, she whispered, "That quilt sure did work quick."

"Mama," she whispered right back.

"So, you want Mae here to show you the springs?"

"Yes, ma'am. If I could speak to your husband."

"He set off early this mornin' to do a little fishin'. Won't be back till sometime this afternoon."

That was the same story she always told people, she wasn't sure she could trust, when her daddy was away working. She figured God would forgive the lie if it kept them safe. Mae's daddy was gone spring to fall working, and sometimes in the winter, too. Mae hardly knew him.

"Them flowers is for my daughter, I presume."

"Yessum."

"What's your intentions, then?"

"Honorable, ma'am."

A look of resignation settled across her face, like she knew she was about to lose her only daughter. "All right then. Mae Eller, you show him to the springs and then come straight back. If you're going to court my daughter, you'll do it here where I can chaperone you proper."

"Yes, ma'am."

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Mae opened her eyes, the mountain more out of focus now, like it was fading away, same as her life. There never was anything else said after that night about Jimmy's injury except for when the mayor pinned all those medals on him for bravery and valor in the war. Jimmy come back near every day for the next three weeks. She looked off to the right, focusing on the valley below, then closed her eyes, remembering the first time she left the mountain. Jimmy and her was going to see a preacher he knew there who could marry them, but first, he'd wanted her to meet his mama. Mae waited outside the nice, white clapboard house that was one of several in a row sitting back from a nice road the county had cut out for them. She never did see the inside of that nice house.

"Don't tell me that Jimmy. Don't come in my house and tell me you mean to marry a colored girl."

"I'm telling you I'm about to marry the woman who will be the mother of your grandchildren, Mama. And she's not a Negro."

"But she's dark-skinned."

"So am I after I've worked the fields all summer."

"Don't you sass me, boy! That's different and you know it."

"Call it what you want. We're gettin' married this afternoon down at the preacher's house. I want you to meet her. She's just outside."

"Stand where you are, Jimmy Wright. I'll not have the likes of one of them in my home."

"Don't be like this, now. We'd like you to be there--at the wedding."

"You marry this girl, and you'll not be welcome in my house ever again, Jimmy Wright."

I pulled my knees up close to my chest. Mama had warned me that mixin' with his kind would come to no good, but we were young and in love. Who he was and, more importantly, who I was, weren't concerns we cared to acknowledge. When would I see him again? What would our first kiss taste like? How could anything but the feel of his arms around me matter? Where would we live? What kind of work could he do with his injury? But even that didn't matter. Our love would be the answer to these and every other question that might come up. But this? How could love remedy this?

Mae stood and lifted her suitcase. She was a good piece towards town when she head Jimmy call her name.

"Where you goin', darlin'? Wait! You know I can't keep up with that purposeful stride of yours."

Mae kept walkin', hardly noticing the tears streaming down her cheeks that dampened the pale pink wedding dress her mama'd made special for today. It'd just have to go back in the trunk with the wedding quilt. She hadn't dreamed of Jimmy anyways. Well, she had after she'd met him that night on the bald. Stupid old wives tale. Dreams shatter. Ever body knew that.

"Mae! Wait! Don't go."

His voice seemed farther away now. Maybe the feelings would fade too, in time. People stared as she strode past. Mae held her head high, resisting the urge to pull off her new shoes and run all the way home.

Home . . . she was so far away from Bluff Springs. Jimmy had drove them to Gate City in this papa's cattle truck. It wouldn't be safe for a girl like her to hitch a ride back. She had the two dollars her mama'd given her in her purse. Maybe she could stop in at a church and ask a preacher if he knew someone trustworthy that could take her back.

She'd stopped to look around for a church spire when a truck rattled past on the road that held little traffic. Most were on foot, like her. It stopped up ahead, and Jimmy got out. Mae started walking again, but he snagged her arm, his face set.

"You heard then? What my mama said?"

"Yeah. Me and all your neighbors to boot."

"And you're leavin' me? Just like that?"

People on the sidewalks stopped to stare--those who'd been walking along and some that had come outside to witness her shame.

"Ain't you humiliated me enough, Jimmy Wright? You knew what it'd be when you brung me down here, and now you expect me to stand here in front of God and everybody to lose the rest of my dignity?" I wrenched my arm out of his grasp and got my feet moving.

"Get in the truck, then."

He held the door open and stood there lookin' at me, a world of sorrow tellin' in his deep blue eyes. My heart broke all over again. It was either get in the truck or collapse in a heap on the sidewalk, sobbing my grief out. I choked back emotion and got in. There'd be time enough for tears later.

Jimmy got in and turned to me. Before he could speak, I said, "Take me home." I stared straight ahead because I knew if I looked at him, I might lose my resolve. "Or at least get me outta this town," I added, "and I'll walk the rest of the way home."

"Can't we talk about this, Mae?"

"Way I see it, you and you're mama did the talkin', and I wasn't a part of it. I was sittin' outside on the stoop, not good enough to go inside. Now get this truck a movin', or I'm gettin' out."

A few minutes passed with him staring at me and me staring straight ahead. I had my hand on the door handle when the truck coughed to life. When we were moving down the road, Jimmy said, "You never struck me as a woman to turn tail and run at the first hint of trouble. Guess it's best to know now, before we was married."

Mae turned on him then, words tumbling out of her now. "Me? You was the one dead set on comin' here to get your mama's blessing. You had to know how people down here look on my kind."

"So, you was plannin' to spend the rest of your life hidden away on Bluff Springs."

That pulled her up short, the hurt penetrating deeper into her heart. How could he be so cruel? You know we got no other choice."

He looked at her then, his love brimming full in his eyes. "You always got a choice."

Mae looked away. "That's easy for you to say."

"Ain't nothin' about you and me joinin' ourselves that's going to be easy, Mae Ella, "and you may as well know that now. I got a job offer in Kingsport. Maybe things would go a mite easier for us there, if we was further away from Bluff Springs."

"Leave the mountain?"

"We'd need to let a place at first. Until then, I got a brother down there we could stay with."

"What about us building a place on the bald?"

"That'll have to wait till later, when we've got a car and have put some money back."

"That could be years."

He nodded.

"Why are you just now tellin' me this? About the job and us movin' away?"

A muscle worked along his jaw. He didn't speak.

"You weren't gonna tell me till we was married, was you?"

"I had to get you off the mountain. You needed to see what life with me'd be like."

"You mean what life would be because of who I am. It ain't nothin' to do with you."

"It's the same difference if we're married."

She paused, considering. "It don't have to be this way. We can stay on the mountain."

"We got no money and no transportation. Nowhere to live. I don't want to have to leave you there with your mama while I go away to work. I want us to be together."

"It's what my daddy does."

"Is that what you want? To have your husband gone for months at a time and for our children to grow up without their daddy?"

The tears came again, and Mae didn't try to stop them. Jimmy reached over and squeezed her hand as he pulled off to the side of the road. He took her in his arms and held her. Everything was so simple and clear here, in his arms. He loved her. She loved him. The world didn't matter. Life began and ended in the feelings they shared right here, together. Sheltered, safe, isolated. Was it all just a fairy tale she'd dreamed up in her girlish fantasies? It felt real when he held her.

He eased back and placed a finger beneath her chin. "Darlin', we been courtin' these last weeks, focusin' on the love we have for each other, building a foundation for our life together. Sharin' a love don't mean there won't be hardships, but it does mean this love we share will make them tolerable if, at the end of the day, we have each other."

She tucked her face into his neck and let his strength and resolve shore hers up. After several long moments had passed, she whispered, "I'll go wherever you go. I promise, now and always."

His arms tightened about her as words of love flowed between them.

And just like that, they gave up everything that had been familiar to them and made a life together. They moved to Kingsport to stay with his brother, and Jimmy began his job at a book binding plant. When Jimmy had introduced her to his brother, he'd assumed she was Cherokee Indian. Since that seemed to be somewhat more tolerable than being Malungeon, Mae let him think what he would.

Before long, they were able to get their own place. Jimmy did build that house we'd always dreamed of up on Katy's Bald. It broke what was left of her heart to see that wildfire take it. Now, she was left to sit alone on her great-granddaughter's porch, wrapped in their wedding quilt that had covered their bed and kept them warm for near all the happy years of their life together. It had seen the joy and happiness of the birth of their children. It had kept Jimmy warm when he'd drawn his last breath and caught the tears she'd cried and cried the day his people took his body from their home to bury him in the Wright family plot. She stroked it lovingly, this wedding quilt, stitched with love, that had given her a dream of her future, just as her mama had said it would.

ABOUT DEBORAH GRACE STALEY

Deborah Grace Staley is a life-long resident of East Tennessee. Married to her college sweetheart, she lives with her husband and son in the Foothills of the Smoky Mountains in a circa 1867 farmhouse that has Angel's Wings in the gingerbread trim. She is the award-winning and bestselling author of The Angel Ridge Novels: Only You, A Home for Christmas, What the Heart Wants (Winner of the 2011 Holt Medallion), and her most recent release is I'll Be There.

Deborah recently received her Master of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing from Goddard College in Port Townsend, Washington. She writes full- time and teaches.

Deborah loves to hear from readers. Please contact her at:

P.O. Box 672, Vonore TN 37885 or via her website at www.deborahgracestaley.com.

Go to the next page to read an excerpt from

I'll Be There

Available September 2011

from www.bellbridgebooks.com and Amazon

Dixie's Welcome

"Hi, y'all. Welcome to Angel Ridge and what could be the worst winter on record here. Dixie Ferguson's the name, and I run Ferguson's, the finest eating establishment in town, if I do say so myself.

"You've chosen to visit us at an unusual time. Normally, I'd describe Angel Ridge as a sleepy little picturesque town that sits high on a ridge above Tellassee Lake, but things aren't always like they seem on the surface. Why, around here, the guy who wears overalls and no shirt in the summer is just as likely to be a millionaire as he is to be down on his luck. Take the newcomer who moved to town last fall. She wasn't at all like she seemed either. Why, she had family secrets even she didn't know about.

"Before I go into that, let me take a second to tell you a bit about the place I've called home for most of my life. Angel Ridge, population three hundred forty, is located in the valley of the Little Tennessee River and was established in 1785. In the early days, its first families--the McKays, the Wallaces, the Houstons, the Joneses, and the Craigs--staked their claims on hundreds of acres of the richest bottomland anyone had ever seen. They built big ol' homes near the meandering river and operated prosperous plantations. Well, all except for the Craigs. They were traders and craftsmen. Men of commerce, as it were. Meanwhile, the town developed above the river on a high ridge.

"In the early 1970's, the Flood Control Board came in and bought up most of the property along the flood prone river, and those stately homes that some called relics of a bygone era, were inundated in the name of progress. But those who built more modest Victorians near town up on the ridge? Well, their homes are still standin'. Of course, the families who lost theirs to the newly formed Tellassee Lake moved up to the ridge as well and built elaborate Victorian mansions such as this quaint little town had never seen.

"Most of the families I mentioned earlier are still around. These are hardy folks. Why, in all the time they've lived here, they've endured Indian attacks, floods, divided loyalties in the Civil War, and yes, even feuds. The older folks are still marked by the hardships of the past, but the young people of the town hope to move beyond old hurts to create a new generation made strong because of their roots, yet free of the past.

"As I said, last fall Candi Heart rented the old beauty shop across the way on Main Street and opened up a girly shop called, 'Heart's Desire' and along with it, a closet full of skeletons. Her shop's a fun place that sells a bit of everything a girl loves: flowers, candy, lingerie, clothing, perfumes and lotions. Why, she even serves tea in the back. It's a nice place where girls can get together and talk. I just love the place and Candi, but she had no idea that her coming here would rattle some old, rusty chains. Yes, trouble followed that girl to town and Jenny Thompson, who runs our newspaper, The Angel Ridge Chronicle, got tangled up in the mess.

"I've lived here most of my life, and I can't remember ever locking my doors at night, but I confess to locking up now and checking them again before I go to bed. I've even caught myself looking over my shoulder as I walk down Main for anyone that might seem suspicious. I hate feeling this way. I never thought things in Angel Ridge would come to this, but that just goes to show you that every town, even a picture-postcard one, has its troubles.

"Not much goes on around here in the winter. After Christmas, folks usually hunker down and wait for spring to come. Given recent events, I'd say people in town are understandably on edge. I guess you could say that's where our heroine, Jenny Thompson, and hero, Cord Goins, are--on edge, hunkered down and waiting. Stuck between a beginning and an ending, and both of them powerless to control the situations they've found themselves in. But that's when a person can also find themselves in uncharted territory just waiting to venture out and make their own way. I've got a feeling Jenny and Cord will find their way.

"So keep safe and warm during your visit to Angel Ridge, and if you have time, come by the diner and have yourself a cup of hot chocolate on me."

e

Jenny lay on the stiff cot staring up in the direction of the rough-hewn ceiling. What she wouldn't give for her pillow top mattress and a pile of down-filled comforters. Her idea of roughing it was the Super 8, and this cabin, miles from civilization on some no-name mountain, was just a step up from sleeping in a tent. The cold, late November wind whistled through the cracks in the wood slats that doubled for walls. The thin military-style blanket provided only meager warmth.

It had been two months since she'd been taken into "protective" custody. In that time, she'd been moved from location to location. Each time because men with guns had found where they'd tucked her away. It was like they'd planted a sub-dermal tracking device on her.

She rolled to her side and stared out the break where the curtains didn't meet. Nothing but darkness. She loved it when stars dotted the sky. She never knew that being in the middle of nowhere with no artificial light for competition allowed for viewing them as nature intended. She'd noticed that during her many sleepless nights. Nighttime was often filled with activity, so that was when she did her thinking, since there was precious little else to do.

She wondered what was going on at home. Wondered how her sister was since she'd been told that Jenny had been placed in the witness protection program. She and her parents had never been close, but she truly missed her baby sister. Their mother's main concern had been to raise her and her sister as two proper southern ladies. Jenny had never fit that mold, not that she had tried. With their father pursuing a career in politics, he'd been mostly absent and happy to leave the childrearing to his wife.

The one constant had been that she and Frannie had had each other. At night after the ballet performances Daddy had missed, again, they'd cuddle under the covers and dry each other's tears. Jenny wrapped her arms around her midsection and squeezed, wishing that it was her sister's comforting arms around her. Could anything ever fill this ache inside her? She couldn't imagine never seeing Frannie again. Who had dried her sister's tears when some faceless voice on a phone had told her she'd never see or speak to Jenny again?

Gunfire rocked the cabin, shattering the stillness of the night. Jenny rolled off her bed onto the floor just before the window over the cot became a shower of glass.

A man entered the room, a gun poised in his hand. "Come with me," he ordered, before roughly hauling her to her feet. "Keep your head down." Jenny's breath came out in a rush when she saw that he was one of the U.S. Marshals guarding her.

The ancient timbers of the tiny, old cabin vibrated with the impact of a barrage of bullets. She ought to be frightened, but instead she was good and pissed. "What the hell happened? We're on the side of a godforsaken mountain. How do they keep finding us?"

The man beside her didn't respond. Instead, he shoved a moldy rug out of the way. Dust flew in all directions burning her eyes. He flung back a door in the floor revealing a gaping hole. Cool, musty air filtered up offering an invitation she would be unable to refuse.

"Get in."

Another marshal appeared in the doorway. "I need you, Pierce. I can't hold them off on my own."

Pierce grasped her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "We talked about this when we got here. This tunnel is the only way out now." He shoved a flashlight at her and urged her down into the hole.

"How am I supposed to find some cave in the dark?"

"Go."

The rough-hewn door slammed shut and darkness surrounded her. She crouched just inside the tunnel, listening to the sounds above. The scratching of the rug being replaced, retreating footsteps, and finally the crash of a door breaking away from its frame. Then more gunfire. She clicked on the light, let instinct kick in and moved.

Slimy rocks lined the narrow, frozen path making footing treacherous. The low earthen ceiling required her to move in a crouched position. Cobwebs clung to her face and clothing. She gulped great breaths of the moist, stagnant air, but couldn't force enough into her lungs.

After weeks of changing locations in the middle of the night, she had learned to sleep prepared to run. Tonight she'd chosen sweatpants and a t-shirt with a sweatshirt tied at her waist. She'd worn shoes to bed for weeks now. She turned a corner and a rat scurried across the toe of her sneakers. A scream rose up in the back of her throat, but she pushed it down and kept moving. The passage narrowed and ended. Jenny searched for a way out, but couldn't find one. Perfect, she thought. I'm trapped in a cold, dark hole. No marshals, no assassins, just rats that can eat away her flesh while she starved. Nice.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe normally. Get hold of yourself and think. When she opened her eyes, she saw a makeshift door above her. She pushed against it, splinters bit into her palms, but nothing happened. She pushed harder, ignoring the pain, but it wouldn't budge. Squatting, she sprang upward, getting nothing but a bruised shoulder for her efforts. She surged up again, the wood tearing her thick cotton shirt. The door moved a little, so she repeated the process until she was able to wedge it open a few inches. She pushed and shoved until, finally, she had clawed her way out onto the leaf- strewn forest floor.

Standing, Jenny jumped on the door until it closed. She covered it with tree limbs and brush. And then she ran. She couldn't tell where she was going, but she had to put distance between her and the cabin. Hiding was her only objective. Her logical mind intruded telling her that if the assassins couldn't find her, would the marshals be able to? Her mind churned, but survival demanded cover. She'd worry about the rest later.

It was pitch-black tonight. The moist smell of rain or snow hung heavy in the air. She hoped to find the cave they'd scouted earlier before it came. Small tree branches bent against her progress and slapped her in the face. Tree roots tripped her, but she maintained her footing and kept going. Thank God for yoga that improved her flexibility and balance. She untied her sweatshirt from her waist and pulled it on as she jogged up the mountain, shining the flashlight in all directions searching. Forget the cave. Anything would do: a ditch, a rock--

She ran headlong into something solid. The force of the impact nearly knocked the breath from her. As she struggled to regain her footing, she realized that two strong hands held her upright. She pointed the flashlight at his face. She thought he looked familiar, but couldn't be sure. He was tall, dark, bearded. His pack declared him a hiker, but could she be sure? What if he was one of them?

"What the hell?" he mumbled.

He seemed as surprised as her, but she wasn't about to stand around and find out that he was about to murder her. If he thought Violet Jennings Thompson was going out without a fight, he was in for the shock of his life. All the anger and the months of hiding and having her life stolen from her by faceless men, who were less than scum, converged into blind fury. Adrenaline surged through her, and she pummeled and kicked, mindless in her rage. When he suddenly released her, she fell hard.

"Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you." He grabbed her flashlight and pointed it at her face. Blinded, she closed her eyes against the pain.

"You," he murmured. "I thought you were dead."

Jenny heard people thrashing their way up the mountain. She scooted away, gaining her feet. Just a few more steps and she could disappear into the dense forest. He surged forward, gripping her arm it in a vise she couldn't escape, but she struggled anyway.

"Who's following you?"

Instinct told her to answer him honestly. "I'm not sure. Either marshals or--"

The man slung her over his shoulder and ran. "Hey!" She kicked, squirmed, and pounded his back with each labored step he took.

"Be still or I'll drop you on your head so you can break your neck," he growled.

She grabbed his coat with both hands and bided her time, vowing to renew her struggles as soon as her feet touched the ground.

Within moments, he ducked into a cave and dumped her onto the cold, hard ground. Numb with fear and cold, she didn't feel a thing. She couldn't be sure if he'd brought her to the same cave she and the marshals had scouted earlier. What if he'd been lying in wait for her? What if the plan had been for his fellow thugs to force her up the mountain where he'd grab her--hide her until they could catch up?

He went back outside and pulled several tree branches across the opening to the cave, confusing the scenario. Jenny's instincts told her to run, but the darkness inside the cave was so complete, she froze with indecision. When he'd finished, he used the flashlight to find his way back to her.

"What are you going to do to me?" Jenny demanded.

He shut off the light and whispered. "Unless you're sure those are marshals out there, you might want to keep quiet."

"How do I know you're not one of the ones who are after me?"

"If I wanted to kill you, why would I hide you?"

Why indeed. She could hear her pursuers nearing and her anxiety grew. She couldn't be sure of anything. What if she was right and this was a plan? That they knew where he'd hidden her? So, she decided to reason with him.

"You'll spend the rest of your life in jail if you kill me," she said.

"It's not too late for you to do the right thing. Let me go, and I swear I won't tell anyone about you."

The man leaned in close to her. She could feel his heat, could sense his intensity. Near her ear he spoke evenly, "You're safe."

An inappropriate fission of awareness skidded up her spine, while outside, twigs snapped, leaves rustled, muffled voices grew louder. Then, something unbelievable happened. The sounds receded and stillness settled around them. Trembling and weak with relief, Jenny rested her head against knees she'd pulled up to her chest and thanked God.

Jenny jumped when she heard the man beside her move. She'd almost forgotten she wasn't alone.

He pressed something soft against her legs. "Here. It's cold and you don't have a coat."

"I'm fine."

"Take it. It'll get colder before morning." The concern lacing his words started another of those inappropriate shivers. His deep, slow southern drawl sounded so familiar. Like the accents of the people from the mountain communities who came into Angel Ridge to shop on weekends.

"Who are you?"

No response. No movement. Just his even breathing and hers, which was much more labored.

"Do I know you?" Still nothing. "You said you thought I was dead. Why?"

"We best keep quiet. They might still be nearby." He took the coat and leaned even closer. Reaching out a hand, he fumbled until he found her shoulder, then draped the coat around her. Squeezing her arm, he said, "Try to rest. I'll scout the area first light to see if it's safe to leave."

He withdrew far enough away that she could no longer feel his warmth, and Jenny felt inexplicably alone.

She'd hoped to find a safe haven. She never imagined she'd share shelter with a stranger. He was right. If he'd wanted to harm her, he could have done it already. Still, she'd stay alert and wait till morning when she'd have light and could look in his eyes. She'd made a career of trusting her instincts. They would tell her what to do.

A sound at the entrance to the cave startled them both. Her protector groped in the darkness for something. Someone moved rapidly towards them. There was a metallic clicking and then the piercing brightness of the flashlight lit the cave. Jenny blinked and a squirrel came into focus. Both man and animal stared at each other in fear for a moment. Then the rodent scurried off, retracing its steps to the forest.

The man collapsed against the wall of the cave, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Propping his elbows on bent knees, he blocked his eyes with the barrel of the flashlight and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. Jenny's breath came out in a whoosh of air.

The man jumped and pointed a gun at her, then remembering, lowered it, releasing the hammer. He must have forgotten she was there. Her body tingled as his eyes traveled the length of her body. He looked away, but Jenny searched features only partially revealed by the beam of the flashlight, surprised by the stark beauty the half-light could not mask. Dark skin, silky, long black hair and beard, mysterious eyes that refused to meet hers.

The flip of a switch on the flashlight submerged them once again in total darkness. Jenny heard him inhale deeply. "I'll keep watch. It's only a few hours to sunrise."

She had to be careful what she told him. He had protected her from immediate danger, but she had to focus on the fact that she really knew nothing about him. Pushing loose hair back towards her ponytail, she shook off the languid feelings still muddling her brain.

Weigh the facts . . . He has a gun. He could have killed you, but he didn't. He'd protected her. She would trust him for now, but as soon as opportunity presented itself, she'd run.

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