Page 33 of Under an Oklahoma Sky

But for how long?

Adam had become part of their little family, but she was still afraid to ask about his long-term plans. She couldn’t decide which would be worse—knowing he’d eventually leave or having it come as a surprise one day. Of course, there was always the possibility he would stay and things would continue as they had been. Or maybe one of these days, he’d tell her he’d fallen madly in love with her, as she had with him, and wanted to make an honest woman of her.

She just wished she knew where she stood with him.

Her headlights flashed across a blur, and she slammed on the brakes as a three-point buck leaped past the hood of her truck. The back end swung wide, and she yanked the steering wheel to the right and then left, fighting to maintain control. The truck corrected itself and finally stopped.

Her heart pounded as she sucked in a lungful of air, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the buck was long gone. She’d missed the deer’s hind legs by inches. A full minute ticked by before her hands relaxed their death grip on the steering wheel. She lifted her foot off the brake and pressed the accelerator. For the next two miles, she drove ten miles below the speed limit.

By the time she reached the far end of the woods and the beginning of Davidson’s farm, with its acres of fresh vegetables growing in the Oklahoma soil, she’d almost recovered and increased her speed a little.

Three miles later, she made a right turn onto the long gravel driveway of Heaven’s Pastures Ranch. With all the recent rain, plenty of new potholes had formed, and patches of dirt showed through where the stone had worn thin. The truck rocked back and forth as she navigated them as slowly as possible. The last thing she needed was to bottom out and put a hole in the oil pan. And replenishing the gravel was another expense she couldn't afford at the moment.

That had been another reason she’d gone out tonight–to calm her aggravation. Bart Sherman had been over again with another offer to buy her property. Why the man was so insistent, she didn’t know, but it would be a cold day in hell before she sold the ranch that had been in her husband’s family for generations. Somehow, someway, she’d make it a success again.

As she approached the house, she noticed the living room light was on, but the front porch was dark.

That was strange.

She’d left it on when she’d gone out earlier, and Adam had no reason to turn it off. In fact, he’d specifically said he would leave it on for her.

Maybe the bulb had blown.

Before she could pull into her usual spot, the headlights swept across the porch, and she noticed something else was wrong. Stopping the truck, she squinted at the shadowy figure lying on the welcome mat.

It took her a moment to realize it was Benji.

But why was he lying there instead of rushing out to greet her?

Leaving the headlights on, Sage killed the engine, grabbed her purse, and opened the driver’s door. Climbing down, she called softly, “Benji? What’s wrong, boy?”

She took one, maybe two steps before a massive hand came from behind and clamped over her mouth. She was yanked backward against a brick wall of a body, her purse dropping to the ground as her heart jumped into her throat. Another hand appeared in front of her, a huge knife gripped in its fist.

The blade glinted in the headlights.

She struggled to break free and tried to scream, but the hand over her mouth muffled every sound. Then hot, alcohol-laced breath brushed her ear and cheek.

“Quiet, or I’ll break the door down and kill those brats of yours.”

Matthew flipped onto his side, trying to find a comfortable spot so he could go back to sleep, but a light shining around the edges of the window blinds fell right on his face. Blinking, he rubbed his eyes and got up. He pushed two of the slats apart, and the bright light intensified. Once his eyes adjusted, he realized it was coming from the headlights of his mom’s truck.

She must have just pulled in and was still listening to a song she loved on the radio. She did that sometimes, sitting in the driver’s seat with the doors shut and singing along until the song ended. He always pretended it embarrassed him, but deep down, he loved it. It reminded him of when she used to sing him to sleep before he grew too old for nursery rhymes. Occasionally, he’d stand outside Jenna’s door at night while Mom put his sister to bed and listen as she sang.

Letting the slats fall back into place, he was about to lie back down when something odd clicked in his brain. Taking another peek out the window, he tried to figure out what seemed wrong about the truck.

Then it hit him.

The driver’s door was wide open.

He waited, expecting his mom to climb out at any second, but she didn’t.

Maybe she was sick or hurt.

Unsure what to do, he stared at the truck, willing his mother to appear. Almost a full minute passed with no sign of her, and his worry got the best of him.

He padded barefoot across the room, opened the door, and paused to listen, but the only thing he heard was the ticking of the old cuckoo clock on the hallway wall. His mom’s bedroom door was open, and although the lights were off, the moonlight coming through the window was enough for him to see she wasn’t in bed. Across the hall, Jenna was sound asleep in her bed, her small night-light illuminating her face. She always slept with the door open a few inches, and he crept past in silence, not wanting to wake her.