A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(99)

Truman shoved his hands in his pockets as Mercy stood four feet away, her back to him. He wanted to see her face, but he knew she needed a private moment. “I can’t even see a solar panel,” he heard her softly say. She took a few steps closer, and he followed. She kicked at some burned wood and watched carefully where she placed her feet on the scarred piles. She stopped in the middle of the mess and crouched next to a pile of ash and burned boards. Picking up a small piece of wood, she started to dig.

He wanted to yank her away from the destruction, worried she’d insist on searching through the entire heap at that moment. But he stayed in place.

This is her way of mourning.

If she wanted to dig, he’d get a shovel and help her.

She dug out a plate, blew off the ash, and studied it before tossing it to the side. Truman knew the plate had been blue, but now it was scorched and unrecognizable. Mercy poked around some more, and he figured it was time to grab a shovel from the barn. Suddenly she stood and brushed the debris off something in her hand. She turned and showed him a six-inch scarred metal handle attached to a round scooped end. Her lips quirked. “I never got a chance to thank you for this.”

He studied the thing on her soot-covered palm, clueless.

She turned it over and made the motion of packing something in the round end.

It clicked. It’s from the espresso machine I bought. “I have no idea what they call that part,” he admitted. “But I’m glad you saw the machine before the fire. I’ll get you another one. When we rebuild.”

Her shoulders sagged, and she looked back at the mess. “It might be too big of a project.”

“Are you in a hurry? Because I don’t think we have anything we need to do for the next year or two.” He’d never seen her overwhelmed, and he didn’t like it. She faced every challenge head-on; she couldn’t be beaten by this one.

Could she?

This uncertain Mercy rattled him almost as much as bleeding and unconscious Mercy.

She’s broken on the inside too.

Her thigh would heal. It simply needed time and rest. But what would it take to heal this?

Truman felt as if he were flying a plane with no instructions.

All he could do was take one day at a time.

Mercy had asked Truman what she should say to a man who had killed his brother to protect her. “Just be his friend,” Truman had suggested. “He’s lost most of his family.” She’d nodded, a determined look on her face, and Truman knew she’d keep Christian close, consider him one of her growing family. That was fine with Truman. Christian had saved her life; Truman was forever indebted to him.

If Gabriel Lake hadn’t died, Truman would have hurt him very badly.

Gabriel had been punishing people for destroying his family, but his actions had hurt his own family even more. Christian had to bury his father and his brother, and Truman suspected his relationship with his mother was permanently broken. Christian had told Truman that he’d always known his mother was poison, and that Gabriel harbored a lot of anger, but he’d never dreamed it would come to murder. Her poison had amplified Gabriel’s shortcomings and created something very deadly.

Gabriel Lake had taken away Salome’s mother and Morrigan’s grandmother; their lives would never be the same. “I’ve had enough deep snow and forest for the rest of my life,” Salome had told Mercy and Truman. “I want a tiny yard and a picket fence. Morrigan will go to school like any other kid.”

“What about Antonio Ricci?” Mercy had asked. “I thought you were scared of being found.”

Salome’s eyes were distant as she answered. “I can’t live in fear anymore. It’s been like a slow cancer in my heart. We’ll find our spot, and then we are done running forever.”

“Where will you go?” asked Truman.

“I’m not sure yet.” Something in her tone had told him she knew exactly where she was going. He suspected he and Mercy would never be told, but he wished the best for her and her daughter. The past was buried; Truman’s original memory of Salome had been replaced by the one of her fight for Mercy.

Salome and Morrigan would simply disappear one day, starting fresh with new identities. No doubt Christian would know where she found a home. Truman believed the two of them had a bond that would never be broken.

The current look on Mercy’s face made him wonder if she wanted to leave and start fresh.

“Do you want to sell the land?” he asked.

Her head jerked toward him. “No!”

Finally. A spark.

“Do you still want to buy a house together?”

She sighed. “I can’t now. The deductible on the insurance for this property will take everything I’ve saved for a down payment.”

Ouch.

Another option popped in his head. “What about living here? How about building something a little bigger—”

At her skeptical look, he quickly clarified. “We wouldn’t build too big a home. We’d keep it to a manageable size in case we lost power.” He waited, hoping she would accept his help.



Mercy mulled over Truman’s suggestion. She’d planned to eventually live in the cabin. Why not now?

Because it takes forever to drive to work. Because the closest grocery store is far away.

The cabin was perfect for an imperfect future.