A Home of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #4)(56)
Author: Brenda Novak

LUCKY WAS GLAD to see the sun finally set. This Christmas had been the longest of her life. She knew the coming week, which many still considered “the holidays,” wouldn’t move much faster, but at least the stores would be open. She could distract herself from Mike by going to the diner, getting a haircut, buying a few supplies at the hardware store so she could do some wallpapering. Even facing down Marge at the grocery store seemed preferable to sitting here by herself. The contrast between having Mike’s arms around her last night while she slept, and the certain knowledge that he wouldn’t be coming back, was too much. She couldn’t wait for Mr. Sharp to resume the repairs so she’d have the noise of his hammer or saw in the background.

Fortunately, she was tired tonight. It was barely eight o’clock but—she allowed herself a rueful grin—thanks to Mike and his insatiable old man’s appetite, she’d slept only a few solid hours when she was with him. If she went to bed, maybe she could block out everything that had happened and feel nothing for a while. She particularly didn’t want to think about her conversation with Josh and the stark realization that he was right—the relationship she longed for with Mike would cost Mike more than she ever wanted to see him lose. Especially when he had the loving, supportive, blood-is-thicker-than-water kind of family she’d always dreamed about. How could she expect him to give that up for her? The very foundation on which he’d built his life?

She crawled into bed wearing two pairs of sweats, hoping the added layer of clothing would keep her from missing his warm body. But extra sweats were a poor substitute, and she jumped up five minutes later to change the bedding. She couldn’t forget Mike when she could smell him so clearly on the sheets and pillows. She needed to make this her room again.

But her memories wouldn’t let her. So she took the bed apart and dragged the pieces, mattresses and all, into her mother’s room, where she’d be certain to remember who and what she was—and why Mike Hill was completely out of reach.

After she’d managed to put the bed back together, she finally fell asleep. But long before morning she opened her eyes wide to stare at the glowing digits of her alarm clock. 11:00 p.m.

Something had awakened her—but what?

A moment later, she knew. She heard movement on the stairs.

Someone was in the house.

The hair stood up on the back of her neck, but she took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. It had to be Mike. Who else would it be? Who else even lived in the area? “Hello?” she called.

There was no answer, but when she sat up she could see light creeping through the crack beneath the door. She’d turned off all the lights before bed….

“Who is it?” she called again.

“She’s in the master.”

“I heard her, you idiot.”

The gruff voices, voices she didn’t immediately recognize, sent needlelike chills down her spine as footsteps pounded along the hall. Her door banged open, hitting the inside wall with a crash before Lucky could scramble out of bed.

She screamed and tried to roll to her right, but the two men bursting into the bedroom reached her before she could escape. Clawing fingers grabbed and gouged, and her hands were forced above her head. Jon Small straddled her waist. Smalley hovered over Jon’s shoulder, holding a baseball bat.

“Where is it?” Jon demanded.

Breathing heavily from fear and their brief tussle, Lucky struggled to keep calm. It was the Smalls. She knew them. She didn’t think they’d bring her serious harm. But the memory of Smalley banging her head into the pay phone made it difficult to look away from the bat he slapped so menacingly against one hand. She tried to speak, but her throat was so dry she could hardly get the words out. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“You have something we want.”

Jon fairly reeked of alcohol, and the solicitous smile she’d seen him wear on earlier occasions was gone. His expression now closely mimicked the slit-eyed, thuglike menace she saw in Smalley’s face.

The Smalls were stupid, but not truly dangerous, she reminded herself. They had jobs, families, respect. Too much to lose. “Get off me,” she said, managing to put some conviction in her voice. “You’re drunk.”

“Give me the proof you told our father you’ve got, and you won’t have anything to worry about,” Jon said.

Lucky thought of her mother’s journal. She’d come to the conclusion that it wasn’t worth the paper it was written on. She couldn’t find Eugene Thompson, but she felt fairly certain he wouldn’t want to know her any more than Dave Small or Garth Holbrook did. The information in that journal had turned out to be another huge disappointment. But it could still ruin lives—lives like Garth Holbrook’s—if it fell into the wrong hands.

“Go to hell.” She’d be damned if she’d give anything to Jon and Smalley. She wouldn’t be the helpless little girl she’d once been, wouldn’t be stripped of the power she’d gained as an adult in charge of her own life.

Surprise registered on Jon’s face. He glanced back at Smalley, who cursed and smashed the bat into the bed.

The air stirred near Lucky’s ear as the wood landed with a frightening thwump only inches away.

“You want to say that again?” Smalley taunted.

The light filtering in from the hall showed Lucky how eager he was to force what he wanted out of her, but she still wouldn’t bend. When her mother was alive, she’d been too young to fight the events and circumstances that had left such a mark on her life. She hadn’t been able to make a positive difference to anything, hadn’t been able to make sure that Morris was treated as he should’ve been treated. But she was older now. She could resist whatever she had the guts to resist, and she’d had enough. The people in Dundee weren’t going to push her one more inch.

“Go to hell,” she repeated.

Jon’s grip tightened painfully on her wrists. “What now?” he demanded of his brother. “You said she’d cough it up in a heartbeat.”

Lucky flinched as Smalley hit the bed again. “Where is it?”

“What is it?” Jon asked. “We could probably find it if we knew what we were looking for.”

Lucky glared up at them and refused to say a word. Defiance lent her strength, felt oddly liberating despite her fear. They wouldn’t win. She wouldn’t let them win. Deep down she knew she couldn’t. The woman she’d become would disappear completely if she did.