Текст книги "Loving The Highlander"
Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Eric stiffened and moved another step closer to her. Faol, apparently not liking the direction Eric had taken, stepped forward and growled again, hackles raised in warning.
“Jesus Christ,” Eric said on an indrawn breath. “Get me to my truck, Quill. Now.”
More from wanting him gone than from pity, Sadie moved around the picnic table and toward Eric’s truck. Keeping herself between him and her uninvited guests, she tried not to laugh as Eric latched onto her side like a shadow. Together they walked the short distance, and Sadie opened the truck door. Eric quickly climbed in, slammed the door shut, and locked it, then started the engine and rolled up the windows.
Only then did he turn and glare at her. Sadie smiled back, waggled her fingers in a mock wave, and stepped away just as Eric sent the truck spinning backward, sending another cloud of dust into the air and leaving a groove in the gravel an inch deep.
Brushing herself off, Sadie turned and headed back to her cabin, completely ignoring her guests. She picked up her dry bag, her pack, and her tent and carried everything to her truck. She opened the back hatch and threw the gear inside, only to turn around and nearly run into Morgan MacKeage.
“I don’t like your boss,” he said, not moving out of her way.
“Neither do I, at the moment,” she shot back, stepping around him. She went to the picnic table, grabbed her kayak, and hefted it onto her shoulder. She swung around, and Morgan barely had time to catch the nose of the boat before it hit him in the chest.
“Dammit, Mercedes,” he said, lifting the kayak off her shoulder and setting it on his. “I’
m trying to talk to you.”
“The only talk I want to hear is your reason for leaving that note on my porch this morning.”
He repositioned the kayak and grinned at her. “I can’t believe you stayed put.”
Sadie scowled at him. “Was it a test, or was there something in the woods that was dangerous?”
He sobered. “Poachers,” he told her succinctly. “Or so I thought. But, according to your boss, the two men are your competition. And that makes them even more dangerous.”
Sadie waved that away and headed for her truck again. “It’s the Dolan brothers,” she said. “Neither one of them is competent enough to tie his own shoes. They’re more a danger to themselves than to anyone else.”
She stopped at the truck and grabbed the end of her kayak, lifting it onto the roof rack.
She left Morgan to slide it into place while she moved to stand on the running board to tether it down.
“And what do you know of this competition?” she asked as she tossed one of the straps to his waiting hands. “How long were you standing there, listening to Eric and me?”
“Long enough to know that this park you’re so determined to build might not happen.”
Sadie glared across the roof at him. “It will happen. Because I’m finding that gold and giving it to the consortium. The Frank Quill Wilderness Park will be built if I have to turn over every rock in this valley.”
He stopped working and rested his arms on the roof, staring at her. “But why? Why a park, of all things, and why here?”
Sadie tightened the last buckle on her side of the boat into place. She also rested her arms on the roof and looked at him. “Because this is the valley my father loved. This is where I spent every summer, every weekend, and every vacation with him. Frank Quill’
s soul still roams these woods, searching for Jedediah’s gold.”
With a frown at her answer, Morgan finished fastening his side of the kayak down, then walked around and stood in front of her. Sadie got a good look at his face, and her toes instantly curled in reaction to what she realized was coming.
“I’m mighty impressed you stayed put this morning,” he said just as his arms came around her and his lips made contact with hers.
Sadie stiffened, kept her mouth firmly shut, and tried not to notice how nice he smelled or how his powerful body pressed so intimately against hers made her heart race. He couldn’t kiss her whenever he wanted.
But, more important, she couldn’t want him to. Responding to Morgan MacKeage’s kisses, she had learned on their date Saturday night, could very quickly lead to intimacy. And intimacy would mean getting naked.
And that could never happen.
Sadie felt herself spinning through space, and it wasn’t until her back touched the hood of her truck that she realized Morgan had just picked her up and was all but lying on top of her.
Damn. He was pure alpha male when it came to kissing.
Sadie felt the hem of her T-shirt being pulled from her pants. She tore her mouth away with a gasp, at the same time grabbing his hand to stop its advance. She gave his shoulder a mighty shove to push him away.
It was like trying to push a mountain. Sadie found herself staring into solid green eyes, as dark and as swirling as the forest during a storm.
“That’s far… I don’t… you can’t… ” Sadie snapped her mouth shut and glared at him.
Morgan simply watched her for the longest time, then threw back his head and laughed out loud. He straightened and pulled her upright to stand against him, hugging her tightly.
“Someday, lass, your mouth will catch up with your brain,” he told her, still laughing, still hugging her. He pulled on her hair to tilt her head back and kissed her soundly but briefly on the lips. “But you have my permission to postpone that day for several more years yet.”
She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t release her.
“Now, lass. Where is it we’re going in such a hurry this afternoon? Will I be needing my own boat?” He darted a look at her kayak, then back at her. “Because I’m telling you now, that’s a mighty odd craft you use, and I don’t have one like it.”
“I’m going to the Prospect and setting up camp. You’re going home and staying the hell out of my business.”
He shook his head and grinned at her. “Ah, Mercedes. Haven’t you figured it out yet?
When you stayed put today, you gave me your trust.”
“Istayed put because I had things to do.”
Sadie wiggled free, went to the hammock, and picked up the stolen diary and her own journal. She turned to find Morgan sitting on her porch, watching her. Faol was sitting beside him. The wolf’s head was cocked at an inquisitive angle, his eyes following her every movement.
And if Sadie didn’t know better, she would think the two arrogant fools were grinning at her.
She strode to her truck, ignoring the male parade that silently fell into step behind her.
She climbed in, but before she could shut the door, Morgan had one hand on the roof and one arm resting on the inside handle, effectively stopping her from leaving.
Sadie glared at him.
He grinned at her. “Until later,gràineag,” he said as he softly closed her truck door.
Sadie rolled down the window. “What does that mean?” she hollered to his retreating back.
He stopped, only turning his head, and shot her a wink. “It’s a term of endearment, lass.
And one that fits you much better than that glove you wear on your right hand.”
He walked into the woods with that nonanswer, and Sadie watched as Faol ran to catch up. The wolf stopped, though, just before he entered the forest and looked back at her.
He gave a single bark, then turned and also melted into the landscape.
Sadie heard the sound of pounding hooves traveling through the woods then, and she listened until only their fading echo remained. Morgan MacKeage and his odd band of animals were gone, disappearing as suddenly as they had arrived.
Sadie turned and stared out the windshield at the road ahead of her. “An endearment, huh?” she whispered to herself. “I’m thinking of a few of my own for you, MacKeage.
And I doubt you’ll like them any better than I like mine.”
That said, she twisted the key in the ignition and put her truck into gear. She was heading into the great woods herself, with the hope that this valley was big enough for her to avoid the Dolan brothers, her boss, the wolf, and Morgan MacKeage while she searched for Jedediah’s gold.
Chapter Eleven
The problem with lust,as Sadie saw it, was that raging hormones knew no sense of discretion. They were just as happy to target the first handsome male—suitable or not—
who had the unfortunate luck to step into their path. And it was exactly that sort of recklessness that was causing Sadie such worry now.
Because her hormones definitely liked Morgan MacKeage.
Sadie absently tossed another stick onto the dying fire and took a sip of chamomile tea as she watched the wood catch and flare into flame. The air was heavy with summer-tropical moisture, pregnant with the promise of thunderstorms. That was why she had positioned her campsite away from the threat of suddenly rising river water, towering trees that might attract lightning, and the path of falling rocks that might suddenly slip down from Fraser Mountain without warning.
The same way her heart might suddenly slip, also without warning, over the spell of Morgan’s unforgettably deep, mesmerizing, forest-green eyes.
And that was the problem. How could she casually let Morgan know that friendship was not what she wanted but that a lusty affair was more to her liking? And how could she orchestrate it all without taking her clothes off?
Her hormones didn’t seem to understand that she simply couldn’t undress and hop into bed—not if she didn’t want Morgan hopping right out and running away in horror.
Sadie set her mug of tea on a rock near the fire and slowly worked the glove off her right hand. She flexed her fingers and turned her palm up, staring at the maze of scars that patterned the smooth skin like white lines of spider silk.
Whenever she tried to look at her scars with detachment, Sadie could almost make herself believe they weren’t that ugly, nothing more than damaged skin that had done a very efficient job of healing.
She still had use of her hand. The skin, although tight and somewhat more leathery than its original version, was still nicely functioning to protect the bone and muscle and cartilage beneath it.
Sadie splayed her fingers wide. It was the romantic view of herself that made her put her glove on every morning, made her wear a body sock and long sleeves, and made her sometimes wish that her father had never reached her in time.
“Do you wear your glove so much you forget what your own hand looks like?”
Sadie fell off the log she’d been sitting on, landing on the ground with a yelp of surprise.
Her foot hit the mug of tea, sending it into the fire. The liquid hissed as it evaporated on the embers, and the plastic cup burst into colorful flames.
The laughter of a highly amused male wafted into the campsite, followed by the forms of two shadowed bodies—one impressively tall, the other short and fur-covered.
“Dammit, MacKeage. You travel these woods like a ghost.”
He laughed again and hunched down in front of her. Sadie caught her breath. He appeared more formidable than the old-growth pines that towered over these woods, more solid than the mountains, and far more wild than the river that ran in rapids just a hundred yards away.
His wavy blond hair was loose, with two thin braids holding it off his face. His shoulders were broad enough to make her heart race, his hands on his knees large enough to make her mouth dry. He wore a pack on his back, the straps pulling his shirt taut against his chest, nicely showing off every muscle a man would need to make a girl’
s head spin.
“Come on, lass. Let me help you up.”
Sadie stared at the hand he held out to her. What was it with this man, that he always insisted on taking her right hand? Ignoring his offer, a bit peeved that she was having lustful thoughts and he seemed totally oblivious, Sadie rolled over and got to her feet without his help. She immediately put some distance between them, at the same time tucking her bare right hand into her pocket.
Morgan pivoted on his haunches and sat on the log she had been occupying. He reached down, picked up her glove from the ground, and held it up to examine it in the light of the setting sun.
“It’s made of fine soft leather,” he said as he rubbed the glove between his fingers. He looked up at her. “Do you need it to protect your skin, Mercedes?”
She balled her hand in her pocket and gritted her teeth to keep from growling in frustration. “No,” she told him succinctly, lifting her chin and holding out her left hand for the glove.
He tossed it to Faol. The wolf immediately snatched it up and looked at her, the glove dangling out of his mouth like a dead rat.
“Then why do you wear it?” Morgan asked, drawing her attention again.
Sadie glared at the man. “What is it with you people? Is it a Scottish thing, this need you have for being rude? First that nosy old priest, and now you. Why I wear a glove is my business.”
He shook his head, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin. “Ever thegràineag,” he said, shrugging out of his pack and letting it fall to the ground behind him.
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll tell you if you come sit with me,” he said, patting the log beside him.
Sadie immediately became suspicious. She held her position, crossing her arms under her chest and burying her right hand in the folds of her fleece.
“What are you doing here, MacKeage?”
He picked up his pack. “I’m thinking a hunt for gold might be a nice adventure,” he said, undoing the buckles and opening the top flap. He shot her a grin. “And I’m also thinking it might be the most fun with you.”
Sadie could only gape, speechless, as he then turned his attention back to the contents of his pack. He wanted to hunt for Plum’s gold? With her? As in their traveling together, sharing a boat and meals?
And a campsite?
He pulled a bottle of wine from his pack, set it on the ground, then picked up the pot of tea she had set by the fire to keep warm. He sniffed the pot, made a face, and dumped the tea onto the ground.
Still unable to find her voice—not sure if it was from the shock of his stated intentions or from curiosity about what he was doing now—Sadie could only hug herself and watch.
He set the now empty pot on the grate over the fire, then rummaged around in his pack again, pulling out a corkscrew. He quickly opened the bottle of wine and poured nearly all of it into the pot.
Something bumped against her thigh, and Sadie flinched in surprise. She looked down to discover Faol standing beside her, her glove still in his mouth, his iridescent green eyes unblinking as he stared up at her. Sadie quickly moved away, putting several feet between them.
“He’ll not harm you, Mercedes,” Morgan said, drawing her attention again. He shot her another grin. “I’m thinking the beast has taken a liking to you.”
“And I’m thinking you think too much. You’re not hunting for Plum’s gold.” She waved to encompass her campsite. “You can’t just waltz in here and say you’re joining me. I’m not on an adventure. I’m building a park.”
“A park that will only happen if you find the gold, according to your boss. I can help.”
His grin broadened, and his already impressive chest puffed out a good six inches more.
“I’m a very good hunter.”
Sadie wanted to screech in frustration and maybe walk over and smack him on the side of the head. She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs instead. She was not sharing a campsite with him, not even for one night. She’d probably do something foolish, like throw herself on top of the man the moment he fell asleep.
“Hunting for gold is not like hunting for supper,” she explained patiently. “It’s tedious, frustrating work that depends on luck more often than skill.”
He wasn’t paying attention to her. His nose was buried in his pack again. This time, he pulled out a small silver tin, which he opened. He took a pinch of something out of it, which he tossed into the pot of now steaming wine.
“Morgan, you have to leave,” Sadie said, somewhat desperately. “You can’t come with me. And you sure as hell are not sharing my camp.”
It was Faol who answered, since Morgan was busy ignoring her, rummaging around in his pack again. The wolf, her glove still in his mouth, walked over to the back side of the fire, lay down as if settling in for the night, put his head on his paws, and closed his eyes.
Morgan pulled two tin cups from his pack.
Sadie spun on her heel and walked into the forest.
She stopped just beyond the light of the fire and let her eyes adjust to the darkness of the woods. Once she could see, she headed for the river.
They were both denser than dirt, bullying their way into her life, fraying her emotions, neither of them heeding her petition to leave her alone. Faol, apparently, had decided he liked the company of humans and was trying to worm his way into her affections. And Morgan was much too handsome and far too self-serving for her peace of mind.
That was probably why he had accepted the blind date with her in the first place.
Knowing her mother, Charlotte likely had mentioned Plum’s gold to Callum, and Callum likely had mentioned it to Morgan. So the man had dated her, kissed her senseless in hopes of worminghis way into her affections, and now he thought he could search beside her and claim his share of the gold so that she wouldn’t have enough left to fund the park he was so much against.
Sadie suddenly tripped and landed facedown in the moist dirt of the river bank. She turned into a sitting position and stared back at the dark green canoe lying keel-up on the gravel.
The boat hadn’t been there an hour ago.
Sadie crawled on her knees to the canoe for a closer look. It was an old boat, strongly built of cedar and canvas, at least twenty feet long. It was also heavy. It took all of her strength to turn the boat upright, exposing the canvas pack that had been stashed beneath it.
She immediately reached for the long, leather-sheathed sword lying beside the bag. She settled down on the gravel and rested her back against the canoe, then pulled the heavy sword across her lap. She undid the leather stays at the top and awkwardly slid the great weapon out of its sheath.
Moonlight glinted off the blade.
“Have a care, lass, not to slice open your hands.”
Sadie looked up to find Morgan standing not ten feet away, holding two steaming mugs.
He came over and sat down beside her, placing one of the mugs in her hand.
“You’re thinking a sword is a strange thing to be carrying around,” he said just before he took a sip from his own mug.
Sadie lifted her steaming cup to her nose, sniffed it, and involuntarily shuddered.
“Whew. What is this?”
“Mulled wine. Or the closest I can get to mulled wine. Drink, lass. It tastes better than it smells.”
Not wanting to hurt his feelings by refusing his gift—although she couldn’t imagine why she should care about his feelings—Sadie took a small, tentative sip. And, again, every muscle in her body uncontrollably shuddered.
Morgan chuckled and took another, heartier drink of his wine. Sadie absently fingered the blade of his sword. “It is a rather odd thing to be lugging around the woods. It’s very heavy. Why do you carry it?”
He stilled her fingers by covering her naked right hand with his own. “Because it is a very efficient weapon,” he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing the palm of it softly.
Sadie sucked in her breath and held it.
He had just kissed her scars.
She didn’t know what to do. What to say. How to act.
So, without thinking, she took another drink of her wine.
Tears immediately came to her eyes, and her throat closed up in defense of the powerful taste. It was all she could do not to break into a fit of coughing.
The man beside her chuckled again and set down his mug so that he could take her right hand in both of his. Ignoring her tug to get free, he turned her hand palm-up and traced a finger lightly over her scars.
“Will you tell me about the fire?” he asked, his voice soft and low-timbered, sending a shiver down Sadie’s spine.
“No.”
“About your sister, then. And your da.”
“No.”
He laughed softly and let go of her hand. He lifted his sword off her lap, set it on the ground beside him, and reached over to take her mug of terrible wine and set it beside his sword. And then he grabbed her by the waist and picked her up. In the blink of an eye, Sadie found herself straddling his thighs, her eyes level with his.
She stopped breathing again.
“Then, if you’re not in the mood for conversation, what should we do with the rest of our evening, lass?”
With all the hormones in her body suddenly zinging around like sparks from a wildfire, Sadie pondered her options. She was all alone in the woods with a very handsome man, miles from nowhere with nothing to disturb them, and it might be nice to feel that tingling sensation deep in her chest again.
“I’m not asking you to solve the world’s problems,” he said through a grin, giving her a squeeze. “I’m only looking for suggestions on how to occupy our time.”
We could kiss until the cows come home,she thought.
She truly did love the taste of Morgan MacKeage. She liked the way he smelled, the way he felt, and the way he made all five of her senses come alive.
But she just couldn’t work up the nerve to start something that would end with her taking off her clothes.
Morgan answered his own question, not with words but with action. He cupped the sides of her face and pulled Sadie into his kiss, canting her head to access her mouth fully.
Her resistance faltered under the siege of his sensual, enticing lips. His hands sent shivers down her spine as they wrapped around her back and pulled her against his solid body.
Sadie quit fighting—both Morgan and herself. She trailed her mouth over his jaw, tracing the edge of his beard with her lips. She felt his groan rumble through every inch of her own trembling body, felt his muscles tense, heard his indrawn breath.
She dropped her hands to his shoulders, then his chest, digging her fingers into his shirt.She groaned this time, as she followed her fingers with her mouth, kissing his neck and throat. She worked at the buttons of his shirt. One came open. The next one popped off. And God bless the rest, they retreated without a fight.
Sadie pushed his shirt aside and caught her breath again. He was magnificent. Better than she remembered.
He still wore that strange-looking object around his neck, dangling from a leather cord over his breast bone. It looked to be made of sandstone or wood, swirling lines that appeared to be in constant motion.
An illusion of the disappearing sun.
Or her own emotions, maybe.
“Why couldn’t you have been a dork?” Sadie asked with a sigh of resignation.
He pulled back and looked at her though narrowed eyes. “What is a dork?”
Sadie gave him a slow, warm grin. “It’s a term of endearment,” she whispered, curling her fingers into the mat of hair on his chest. “One that fits you better than that sword you carry around like some medieval warrior.”
So quickly that she didn’t even have time to scream, Sadie found herself flat on her back on the ground, one very unamused male lying on top of her.
“Don’t throw my words back at me, Mercedes.”
Pleased to have her brain back in charge of her hormones, Sadie gave him a huge, satisfyingly smug smile.
Morgan did not respond. He had gone suddenly tense, his face raised to the sky, his head cocked to the side as if he were listening for something.
“Do you hear that?” he whispered.
Sadie held her breath and listened, too. And she heard what he had, far off in the distance, the low rumble of an approaching storm.
“That’s thunder,” she said, turning her head to the western sky. “The front’s moving in.”
She looked back at him and smiled. “We’re in for a good soaking, judging by the heaviness of the air. Did you bring a tent?”
He still wasn’t listening to her. He released her so suddenly, and scrambled off so quickly, that Sadie couldn’t stifle a grunt of surprise. He stood over her, facing west, his hands clenched into fists and his entire countenance as fierce and foreboding as the churning sky.
Sadie scrambled to her own feet and took hold of his sleeve. “It’s just a thunderstorm, Morgan. A cold front is moving down from Canada tonight, washing away the humidity.”
He shrugged her off and took several steps back. Sadie could only stare at him. This great big bear of a man was afraid of thunderstorms? Lightning flashed on the other side of the valley, and she saw Morgan flinch violently.
She also saw his expression clearly for that one brief moment. Tightly controlled, stone-cold terror was etched into every line of his face.
“Morgan,” she said, moving toward him again.
He took another step back, holding up his hands to stop her advance. “Don’t come near me, Mercedes,” he said, his voice harsh with warning.
Lightning struck high on a mountain across the valley, sending a wave of rumbling thunder toward them. Another flash, farther north, then another, the strikes echoing like cannons along the length of the river. A west wind kicked up, pushed ahead of the arriving storm, sending a flurry of leaves into the air around them. The rain arrived with surprising force, beating more leaves from the trees and adding to the chaos.
Morgan suddenly pivoted on his heel, strode to his canoe, and picked up his sword.
Sadie ran after him.
He whirled back toward her.“Falbh!”
She stopped on the spot at the sight of that sword pointed at her.
“Begone!” he shouted, waving his weapon toward the woods. “Go back to your camp.”
She could only stare at him in shock and confusion. He suddenly slid his sword back into its sheath and settled it over his shoulders onto his back. Lightning flashed again, closer this time, sending the smell of ozone through the air as thunder shook the ground with resonating force.
Sadie blinked against the brightness of the lightning and the driving rain, then blinked again when she realized she was staring at nothing.
Morgan MacKeage was gone.
Chapter Twelve
Daar paced the length of his cabin porch,then stopped suddenly to frown at the darkening sky. Lightning flashed in the distance, creating a halo over the mountains to the west.
Another storm was visiting the valley.
There was something happening here, more than just Morgan and Mercedes’ conflict over a park being built. For eighty years the balance of good and evil in the valley had been uneven, since the death of Jedediah Plum. The restless prospector still roamed this valley, waiting for justice finally to be served. And in that time the darkness had been building, gathering strength for the inevitable confrontation.
Daar had spent the entire summer trying to learn the reason for this impending clash of powers. Why here, in Mercedes’ valley? And why now of all times, just when he was finally getting Morgan settled into a new and promising life?
Daar rubbed the back of his neck and blew out a tired sigh. As best as he could tell, the violent death of Jedediah Plum had gone unpunished, and the murderer’s spirit of greed was still alive today in his descendants. An evil had gone unavenged eighty years ago, tilting in its favor the balance of energy in this valley. The blackness Daar and Morgan had seen earlier this summer had been entrenched here since that long-ago murder.
And just recently, in this generation, Daar had learned through his spells that the darkness had gathered even more strength. Other murders, somehow connected to Jedediah Plum, had again gone unpunished.
The yellow light, which symbolized not only Mercedes but also her family, seemed to be equally involved. It was possible that Caroline Quill had been the second victim of the darkness and Frank Quill the third.
And Mercedes might be in danger of becoming the fourth.
Daar had tried many spells over the last few weeks, attempting to vanquish the blackness. But the churning powers would not be budged. It was happening here, now, and to the folly of all who stumbled into its path. The energies needed to be rebalanced.
Grievous wrongs had to be righted. A simple, lonely prospector wanted peace.
That Mercedes and Morgan were sitting smack in the middle of this war was beyond the wizard’s power to control. He had done what he could to protect them. It was now up to the warrior to unite with the woman against the darkness and lead them both safely through the coming maelstrom.
Daar’s delicate cane began to hum in his hand, and he lifted it skyward and waved it at the valley beyond. He saw the glow of a familiar green light, charged with energy, running through the forest, desperate, driven, aimlessly searching for safety.
Daar shook his head. No words of assurance could convince Morgan that he was not in danger of being sent on another journey through time. For two years the wizard had made promises to all the Highlanders, but only Greylen seemed to believe him.
Probably because Grey thought that Daar’s banished staff had left him powerless.
The humming grew louder. Insistent. Daar fought to control his staff as it pulled against the turbulence of the approaching storm. Yellow light, as bright and vibrant as the sun, sparked through the wizard’s mind.
Daar smiled. Such passion from one so innocent. Such determination and potent vigor. If anyone could capture and hold the interest of Morgan MacKeage, it was Mercedes Quill.
She was a fine match for the warrior—strong, intelligent, and possessing the courage it would take to fight by his side. And for that Daar was glad, because if he understood the signs he’d been reading these last few weeks, Mercedes Quill’s search for the gold was sending her deep into the middle of a violent war.
Morgan ran without direction save one:away from Mercedes. He had to protect her from the storm, from the terror of a journey that could send him, and possibly anyone near him, through time.
As much as he wanted to run to Mercedes, not from her—to bury himself in her soft strength and hold on tightly until the storm had passed—he could not endanger her that way.
But if he were gone, who would keep her safe from the darkness that roamed this valley now?
Morgan stopped his flight abruptly on that thought and squinted through the driving rain to get his bearings. Though it seemed like a hundred, he’d traveled less than half a mile from the river. Lightning flashed again, followed almost immediately by ground-shaking thunder. The storm surrounded him. Wind bowed the tops of the taller trees and drove the autumn-turned leaves from the branches of oak and maple and beech.
