A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(73)

“Why?” she whispered. She had a sensation of standing at the edge of a giant sinkhole. She needed to step back, but she couldn’t move. Truman moved closer, one of his hands held out as if he were approaching a skittish horse.

It was an apt analogy.

“Because I want to know more about you.” He stopped walking. He was close enough for her to see the stubble on his jaw and the sincerity in his eyes.

“Are you handling me like the Sanders parents?” She held his gaze.

“I didn’t handle them. I meant every word I said. And I mean it now. You make me want to know more.”

He’s telling the truth.

She broke eye contact. “I have a lot to do tonight.”

“I’ll help you get it done faster. Maybe you can get some decent sleep.”

Her gaze met his again, and she knew she wasn’t getting rid of him tonight. She was both relieved and disturbed by the thought.

“Show me the inside.”

She nodded, unable to speak, worried she was about to burst into tears. She wanted him close and she wanted him gone, and her emotions were about to rip her in two.

Just accept it for tonight.

She turned away. “Follow me.” She snatched a light sweater from the railing as she went up the few steps to the deck at the back of her small house. She struggled to get her arms in the twisted garment, and he grabbed the neck and a sleeve, allowing her to slip them in. His warm hands left a tingling spot where he’d touched her shoulder. The sensation persisted as she led him into her home.

“Welcome to my craziness,” she said, waving an arm with a flourish.



Mercy’s hideaway was small but well laid out. The two-story home had a wood stove in a giant rock fireplace, but the interior was cold. He wondered if she had another source of heat. Clearly she wouldn’t bother to heat it when she popped in for only a few hours each night. The walls were wood but well insulated. He knew she’d made the home as weatherproof as possible by the change in the acoustics of their voices as they entered. It was incredibly solid. Blackout shades covered every window.

I’m impressed.

She caught him looking at the shades. “Keeps anyone from seeing the interior lights at night.”

“You open them during the day, right?” The cabin had high ceilings and large windows, and a small loft for the second level. The sun and warmth streaming through the big windows must be heavenly.

“When I’m here. Most of the time I keep everything closed up. I don’t want people looking in the windows when I’m not around.”

“I doubt anyone can find this place.”

“You never know.”

“Do you have a security system?”

“I do. If it’s breached, it sends me a notice on my phone. But there’s not a lot I can do from Portland if a break-in happens. I have neighbors who watch things a bit, but they’re elderly.”

“Call me. I’ll come check.” He meant it.

She looked stunned. “Thank you.”

He scowled at her surprise. “You have friends here. Why don’t you use them?” The thought of her in the cabin alone rubbed him the wrong way. No doubt she could handle an emergency much better than I could.

She swallowed hard. “I didn’t have friends here until this week,” she whispered.

“Your family doesn’t know about this place?”

“No.”

“But isn’t one of the cornerstones of prepping to surround yourself with people who can help you? And you offer help in return? My uncle didn’t really subscribe to that belief; he tended to piss people off instead of make friends.”

“Some people prefer to just be on their own. Rely on themselves. Your uncle might have been one of them.”

“Are you?”

She paused. “I don’t have much choice.”

“You have every choice. There’s a town full of people not far from here who are learning that you’re mildly awesome. Family too, I believe.” Am I trying to convince her to spend more time here?

“I won’t divide them.”

“Divide your family? How can you do that?”

“I nearly did it once. It’s not hard.” Her jaw snapped closed, and he knew she’d said more than she liked.

He stopped prodding and took another moment to look around her home. “Is that a sewing machine?” It looked like a simple small table with some drawers, but it had a cast-iron foot pedal that reminded him of his grandmother’s machine. On top of it a laptop was open, a weather forecasting site on its screen.

“Yes. The machine hides inside the unit. Doesn’t need power. You pump the treadle with your feet.”

“A relic.”

“A useful one.”

“I feel like I’ve stepped into the nineteenth century. Do you have a washboard too?”

Her eyebrows slanted together. “No.” Her voice was icy.

He enjoyed her snarky reaction, and his fascination was piqued. Mercy wasn’t crazy; she was smart. And resourceful.

“Canning equipment?”

“Of course. And before you ask, I have solar panels, surgery instruments, a gravity-fed water system, and a greenhouse.”

“Weapons?”

“Of course. Anything else you want to know?”