Rebecca Zanetti - Provoked

The community college had open enrollment, so even though she’d only earned the GED, she’d get in. But how would she fare in the classes?

Sure, her grandma and their small community had homeschooled her, teaching her everything from math to germ warfare. But it still wasn’t a public education. Had she learned everything the other people had? At least since it was a community college, she’d be among other twenty-five-year-olds and not a bunch of teens.

She blinked, wincing at the dust on the hand-carved dresser across the room. A member of her community had given the stunning piece to her on her sixteenth birthday, and even the dust didn’t take away from its beauty. The house definitely needed a good cleaning before Hilde came home.

The old-fashioned green phone on her nightstand rang.

She grabbed the receiver, her heart racing to life. “Hello?”

“Hi, baby girl. I got your note,” her grandmother said.

Tears sprang to Amber’s eyes. “You’re awake.” She’d known her grandma would wake up and had left a note that she was to call immediately, regardless of the time. “The doctors said your concussion was really bad.”

“What do they know?” Hilde coughed. “Though, whatever they gave me, I’m groggy as heck. There’s something I know I need to tell you, but my brain won’t kick into gear. What happened, anyway?”

“Jonsie went crazy and kicked you.” Amber shook her head. The mild old horse had never even snorted loudly before.

“Oh no. Is he okay?”

Amber smiled. Leave it to her grandma to be worried about the horse. “Jonsie is fine. After he kicked you, he smacked his nose into the wall and needed stitches. We think he must’ve been drugged.”

“By Hanson,” Hilde breathed.

“Probably. But we don’t have proof, and the sheriff is Hanson’s brother-in-law, so . . .”

“I’ll figure out something when my brain starts working again. Darn drugs.” Hilde slurred the last part.

“Okay—I’ll come down there right now.”

Hilde sighed. “No, you get some rest. I’m really tired.”

Amber nodded, relief making her voice husky. “Okay. I’ll come visit you in a few hours.”

“Visit? Come get me in a few hours. I’m coming home. ’Night.”

Amber hung up the phone and blinked away tears. Thank goodness. Hilde was the healthiest person she knew, never even getting a cold. As usual, she’d gone down to the community barn to feed the horses. When Jonsie had knocked her out, she’d looked so fragile and suddenly old, lying on the ground.

Picard jumped on the bed, purring as he settled into Amber’s side. She leaned over and flipped off the light, then curled around the rumbling cat. “Everything will be all right, baby.” Finally, she closed her eyes and slipped into sleep.

Morning came far too early. A hot shower erased the aches of the previous night before Amber threw on old jeans and a sweatshirt. After she fetched her grandmother from the hospital later in the morning, she would finally register for those college classes. Hopping downstairs, she let the dogs and cat out.

Winding into the kitchen, she glanced at the canning jars lined up on the counter. Maybe she’d take huckleberries from the freezer and make jam after retrieving her grandmother.

A knock sounded on the door, and she paused in place. “Come on in.”

The door opened and her friend Mason stomped inside, followed by two elderly ladies, Mildred and June.

“We heard you ran into some trouble on the road.” Irritation darkened Mason’s faded blue eyes as he hurried into the kitchen. He rubbed the gray whiskers on his chin, a sure sign of his agitation.

Darn Butch. The overprotective bear must’ve called when she’d had to borrow his Suburban. He, of course, had made her tell him the entire story before handing over the keys.

“I’m fine. Though we really need to talk about Hanson because he isn’t going away,” Amber said. In fact, Hanson had upped his campaign with those drunk morons to get their property significantly. The jerk wanted the land to build a high-end golf course community by the northern rocks.

Amber gently removed Mildred Mallosee’s coat from her frail body and helped the elderly woman to a chair at the table. “Grandma is awake and thinks she can come home today.”

Mason dropped into a seat with a sigh of relief. “That’s good news. The doctors weren’t hopeful she’d wake up, but I knew she’d make it.”

Yeah. The doctors had no clue how strong Hilde could be. Amber soothed her palm along the table. Hand-carved and long enough to seat their entire village of twenty people, the table bore grooves and scars showcasing family gatherings. For two decades, since Grandma Hilde and Amber had relocated to the small community farm, every community meeting had taken place at the table.

The scent of Hilde’s natural and homemade lemon cleanser hung comfortably in the air.

Matching oak cabinets held an eclectic mix of homemade tableware for the group. They had more than a couple of skilled potters in the community. Amber eyed the ancient coffeepot near the stove. “Anybody want coffee? I just bought organic beans.”

June Parrymore leaned forward from her place at the table, her unruly gray hair tucked somewhat up in a hat. She tapped a huge syringe filled with a golden liquid against her large hand. “I knew Hilde would be all right—I’ll go with you to pick her up later. But forget coffee. We need to talk about the guy who kidnapped you. Was he one of Hanson’s men?”

Kane. The mysterious, sexy-as-hell, unfortunately crazy Kane. “I don’t think so.” Amber dropped into a seat, her legs softening in relief after being on them all night. “He helped me get away from the two guys and seemed to be another lost soul. I’m sure he’s long gone at this point.”

“What if he isn’t?” June’s lips firmed into a white line. Where Mildred barely took space, June dominated it.

Amber blew out air. “If he isn’t, we’re in a world of trouble.”

“Meaning what?” Mason asked.

“Meaning, Kane didn’t seem like a guy who loses often. But I really don’t think he was with Hanson.”

June pursed her wrinkled lips. “I don’t like the sound of him.”

Yeah, but the guy could kiss. Amber shook her head. Where was her brain? She pointed to the syringe. “What’s in the vial?”

June shrugged. “Tranq. We were heading down to the southern barn to knock Jonsie out so we could take a look at his stitches.”

Amber nodded. The group all shared a love for animals. Ages mostly over forty . . . six men and fourteen women, a community who’d gathered to live together and take care of the land as much as possible. They lived off the land, protecting it.

More than ever, Amber needed Grandma Hilde home since Hanson had picked up his campaign of terror in an effort to get the northern rocks.

Mason cleared his throat. About sixty years old and honorably discharged from the military, he’d somehow become the unofficial leader of the group. Even with his gray hair to his shoulders, his bearing confirmed his military background, which was as far as he’d go in talking about his past. Everyone had learned not to ask.

He rested calloused hands on the table. “Did you call the sheriff about last night?”

“No.” Amber shook her head. Butch had argued they should call the police. “But I’ll head over there later in the morning and give some type of a report, though considering he’s related to Hanson, I don’t know what good it’ll do.” Besides, she couldn’t prove that Hanson’s men had messed with her car, so the trip didn’t seem worth the effort. Also, Kane hadn’t really kidnapped her, so why bother filing a complaint about him? But she’d promised Butch, so she’d go.