Leave a Trail (Signal Bend #7)(14)

Adrienne didn’t respond; she didn’t have an opinion about Shannon deciding to have a baby at forty-two. Or, forty-three, really, by the time the baby came. She did, however, have curiosity about why. But that wasn’t something she had any intention of sharing with Beth.

“Whatcha making?” A much safer topic of discussion.

“Strawberry fritters with chocolate sauce.”

“Oh, my God. That sounds amazing.”

“Oh, it is.” Beth nodded to a tray on the counter behind her. “One. Only one.”

“Thank you!” Adrienne took a fritter from the tray, poured herself a cup of Beth’s famous coffee, and found a corner to stay out of the way while she ate.



oOo



Afterward, when the breakfast rush was really underway, and Adrienne felt really underfoot, she went out onto the front porch for a minute of cool, fresh, country morning air. She’d seen a lot of the world— most of Europe, Asia, and the Caribbean, anyway—and had seen some beautiful things. An ocean so clear and blue it would have been hard to believe it was real if she hadn’t been standing in it. Sunrise glinting on Alpine snowcaps. Rolling acres of French vineyards. Seongsan Sunrise Peak. Buildings and neighborhoods and people and flora and fauna that awed and amazed her. But there was something about this place— humble as it was—that she found calming. The varied greens of the grass, fields, forest. The bright white of the fences and the gravel drive, the vivid red of the barn. The light dappling of morning mist still clinging to the ground.

The sounds of the goats bleating and the dog barking and the horses fussing…

They were all still in the barn.

More curious about why Badger hadn’t put them out yet than worried about the reception she’d receive, Adrienne stepped off the porch and crossed down the drive to the barn. She pulled the door open; it was dark.

Standing half in the gloom, her hands still wrapped around the door pull, she looked back to make sure it was Badger’s bike she’d parked next to. Yes. Of course it was.

Weasel barked again and ran up to her, his tail wagging.

“Hey, boy.” She ruffled his ear. “Badge? Are you in here?”

No response but the whinny of one of the horses and the knock of a hoof against a stall door. “Badge?”

Weasel ran halfway down the aisle and stopped to look back at her. She had a weird sense that he was trying to tell her something, so she followed, pushing the door all the way open first. It was dark in here, and she didn’t know where the lights were.

As she headed down the aisle, Weasel ran to the open office door, then turned around and barked at her.

He was definitely trying to tell her something. Now she felt a surge of anxiety, and she trotted the rest of the way. She pulled up short as she got to the door.

Badger was there. Sitting in his chair. Not sitting—passed out. He looked—God, he looked terrible. He was black and blue everywhere, and his face was misshapen, one eye swollen half shut, with several stitches through his eyebrow. But that wasn’t the worst part. Worst was how pale he was under the bruising, and the slack look of his face, his mouth open and lightly scummed with foamy saliva.

There was some kind of grainy dust on the surface of his desk, and a rolled bill in the middle of it.

Though that kind of stuff was several miles from her scene, she knew what it meant. The colors began to fill in on her heretofore incomplete image of the past few months with Badger.

“Badge! Oh, my God.” She ran to him and shook him, grabbing the leather of his kutte in her fists and trying to lift him, make him sit up, wake up. “Badger! Badge, please! Justin!” She didn’t know why she’d used his real name; she never used his real name—in fact, he’d told her it wasn’t his real name, that ‘Badger’ was. ‘Justin,’ he said, was his birth name. But he stirred a little when she did, his eyes fluttering a couple of times. He took a breath—she wasn’t sure he’d been breathing.

And then he slid off the chair to the floor. Adrienne still had him by the kutte, but she was no match for his dead weight, and she lost her grip as he landed hard on the concrete floor.

He struck his head on the base of his chair—and that somehow managed to rouse him.

“Huh? What? What?” He blinked and opened his eyes, taking another, deeper breath. Adrienne could see color returning under his bruises. She dropped to her knees and hugged him.

“Oh, thank God. Oh, thank God, Badge. I’m—hold on. I’ll be right back. I’m gonna get help.” As she began to stand, he grabbed her arms with both hands—his grip was cruelly strong despite his condition, and she cried out.

“No!” he hissed. “No! No help!”

“Badge, you’re sick! I have to get help!” She pried herself free and got up. She got out of his office and had started to run when she was yanked backwards by her hair. She screamed in shock and pain. Weasel was barking like crazy, and the horses were starting to yell, too. She had a millisecond to wonder if they could hear the commotion inside the house.

“NO HELP!” Badger had her by the hair, his face—looking like someone else completely, some madman—right in hers, so close that she felt a spray of spittle hit her face as he yelled. She could see in his eyes how sick and weak he was, but still he was strong in his fury or fear or whatever it was. “YOU’RE