Roz Fox - More to Texas than Cowboys

She recalled having seen a rusty pitchfork lying in the barn; her mom had said it should be tossed in the trash before someone accidentally stepped on the tines and ended up with tetanus. Leave it to her mom to think in terms of worst-scenario accidents. Greer remembered her mother had carried the pitchfork up to the house, where she’d stood it by the green garbage can outside the back door.

Feeling her way like a blind woman, Greer located the pitchfork. Although she was armed now, what she really needed was a flashlight. It occurred to her to try to find one in a box of miscellaneous kitchen items she hadn’t yet unpacked. Just as she began to open the carton, the thin, almost strangled cry wavered again.

Greer dashed out the door, torn at leaving Shelby alone for however long it’d take to trek the distance to the river. When she started to walk, she quickly found a path. Greer recalled that it zigzagged across her pasture to a small stand of cypress overhanging the river. That was where it now seemed the cries were coming from. Did people boat at night? Boys she used to know went south to hunt Lord-only-knew-what at night.

Her property sloped from the house all the way to the water’s edge. If she hurried, she could get down there to see if a boater or perhaps a calf had somehow got stuck or stranded, and be back before Shelby even realized she was missing.

A desire to be a good Samaritan won out over her fears. Greer took off at a half run. By now, her eyes had adjusted to the almost starless night. All the vegetation along the path had been chewed away, probably by cattle.

It’d only been her land for seven days. One week since she’d signed the city’s contract and put her name on a two-year trial mortgage held by the Homestead Bank and Trust. The fact was, Greer had no idea when Jase Farley had abandoned his ranch. No doubt he’d owned animals he watered at the river, just as she hoped to do one day soon.

The closer she drew to the dark trees, the more tightly she gripped the rough-hewn handle of the pitchfork. So tightly her palms were sweating and her fingers ached. Greer’s mouth felt dry and she licked her lips.

The only sound she’d heard since she embarked on this fool’s errand was the rapid thunkity, thunkity, thunk of her heart. The mournful cries appeared to have stopped.

Slowing her charge into the dark trees, which could be home to any number of dangerous animals or humans, Greer glanced at her house. How stupid was she, leaving Shelby alone and unprotected?

Backing up a few steps, intending to make a mad dash back the way she’d come, Greer hit something solid and warm and—she feared—very human. She wrapped her hand firmly around her feeble mode of protection, the pitchfork. Hoping the element of surprise might at least buy her running time, she spun, ready to launch a counteroffensive.

Suddenly she was blinded by a bright stream of light that burst suddenly from an industrial-size flashlight. Greer threw up an arm to ward off what she assumed was an imminent attack. She stumbled, tripped over a bulging cypress root and fell hard on her backside. A yelp of frustration mingled with her pain.

The last thing she expected was to hear a voice she recognized. “Greer, why in heaven’s name are you tramping through the woods in the dead of night? Are you sleepwalking?”

Noah Kelley. He was behind those ghastly cries?

Greer lost no time in scrambling up. “Maybe the question should be why have you lured me down here?”

“What?” He finally pointed the light he carried at the ground, which gave them each a better chance to peruse the other.

Greer saw he had on the boots he’d worn earlier, and blue jeans somewhat less faded than the previous ones. His dark blond hair was thoroughly disheveled, and he was shirtless. His skin had turned dusky gold in the light. His chest was dusted with hair a lot darker than the wheat-blond locks draped appealingly over his forehead. She’d thought her mouth and throat were dry on the trek here; now she couldn’t have swallowed if her life depended on it. But as Noah continued to look dumbfounded, she snapped, “You obviously hoped to frighten me, with all those woman-in-distress noises.”

“That’s exactly what it sounded like. I’ve got no idea what time it was, but a high-pitched scream woke me up. At first I thought I was dreaming, but then I heard it again. Not quite as distinct, but worrisome enough to get me out of a warm bed. Since you’re the only person here, and you’re female, why wouldn’t I think you’re the one out here caterwauling at the moon, not the other way around?”

The hand not gripping Greer’s pitchfork curled into a fist. “There isn’t any moon, in case you’re too unobservant to notice. And I may be a female, but I am not the source of those cries. Admit I caught you in the act of trying to scare me into leaving my property.” She sniffed disdainfully. “I suppose you sent those letters, too.”

“Letters?” he echoed.

“For a college graduate, you certainly have a limited vocabulary.”

Noah glared at her and shook his head. He flashed his light along the ground, illuminating the soft loamy soil for a good number of yards in all four directions. “Do you see any tracks besides ours?” he asked abruptly.

“My point precisely,” she said, rattling her pitchfork under his nose.

“Stop that, you’re making me nervous. If someone made that noise as a scare tactic, name one reason why a man in my position would pull such a stunt.”

“Ha! Like father, like son maybe. That was clever of you today, acting as if the church stood ready to welcome me back with open arms. It was especially clever to do it in front of Ed Tanner. Shelby’s accident helped you add to your pretense of good works, because now Kristin Gallagher will vouch for you, too.” Greer made a few short jabs at him with the pitchfork again. Enough to send Noah into full retreat while she stomped several yards up the trail toward her home.

“I’ve got another news flash for you, Father Noah Kelley. Miranda told me your mother served on the Home Free committee. You Kelleys may think this juvenile bullshit will ensure I leave town and not contaminate your oh-so-pure congregation, but the truth is, I wouldn’t take a million bucks to set one foot in your so-called sanctuary. It’s only fair to inform you I’m not the girl who left Homestead ten years ago. I’ve toughened up. This is my land and I won’t be run off. Tomorrow I’m going to Guthrie’s Hardware, and I’ll apply to purchase a twenty-two. If you check with my former boss, he’ll verify I can cut a rattlesnake in half at twenty paces. So don’t mess with me.”

Totally bewildered by her outburst, Noah played his flashlight over Greer Bell’s stiff back as she marched up the trail.

He was really confused when it came to the remarks she’d tossed out about his mom and pop. He guessed his mom was still serving on the mayor’s committee in his father’s stead. But letters? What letters? Noah scratched his head. The other stuff about his father—it was clear Greer must have run afoul of Holden’s judgmental views. Noah understood. Raised in the Episcopal church, Noah found his dad’s over-the-top conservatism stifling, too.

Watching his neighbor disappear from sight, Noah had to smile. He was certainly willing to extend a more love-thy-neighbor policy if that was Greer’s concern. He sobered instantly, remembering the woman’s scream he and Greer had both heard. He wasn’t behind it, and he’d bet Sunday’s offering Greer wasn’t the culprit, either. Short of a ghost, which he definitely didn’t believe in, then who? Clint Gallagher? It was no secret the old so-and-so had tried to finagle getting hold of Greer’s land. Gallagher couldn’t bear the thought of having anyone closer to the Clear River than his Four Aces ranch. The drought had ended, but during the worst of it, the need to ration river water had caused contention. Noah had heard that night-siphoning had caused hard feelings among men, many once good friends who’d gone bankrupt when the K.C. Enterprises consortium failed, largely due to the long drought.