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ONE
The boot prints weren’t supposed to be there.
Faith Hicks gripped the handle of the feed scoop. Chickens gathered at her feet, clucking happily as they ate the grains scattered on the ground. They were free-roaming hens, but last night’s thunderstorm and icy temperatures had driven them to take shelter in the coop. Two boot prints were encased in the mud surrounding the structure. Large. Man-sized.
A chill rippled down Faith’s spine as she glanced over her shoulder. The two-bedroom ranch house stood silent behind her. Christmas lights dangled from the eave and a Santa waved from the kitchen window. The barn, a short distance away, was closed up tight. A giant wreath hung above the main door. Water still clung to the fake greenery, ice crystals sparkling in the morning sunshine. Everything was as it should be.
Except for those boot prints. Who had been on her property?
Faith didn’t have any close neighbors. She’d inherited the farm from her grandparents, and it was over ten acres, most of it wooded. It bothered her to think of someone being so close to her house. Cutler, Texas was a small town, but bad things happened everywhere. She’d watched enough real-life crime shows to know that much.
Whoever left the boot prints had been wandering around in the early-morning hours, otherwise the rain would’ve washed the evidence away. Faith stepped closer and noticed another set of prints. These were smaller, made by a woman or a teenager. The strides were also longer, the threads similar to tennis shoes, pressed firmly in the mud. Had the person been running? Maybe.
How strange. Faith couldn’t make heads or tails of it, and indecision warred within her. Chase, her childhood friend, was an officer with the Cutler Police Department. Should she call and tell him about the impressions? Probably. Her cell phone was in the house. She’d finish her chores, take some photos, and send them to him.
Chances were, it was nothing. Her closest neighbors—the Bradleys—had a teenage daughter and a disobedient puppy. Maybe their dog had drifted too far from home this morning and they’d come onto the property to collect him. Yes, that must be it. Their daughter had chased after the puppy in a hurry and was followed by her dad.
Except…there were no puppy prints. Faith glanced over her shoulder again, her gaze skipping over the buildings. All seemed well.
Still, better to mention it to Chase anyway. Just in case. Faith had a security alarm in her house and a front-door camera. Safety wasn’t something she thought about often, but she was wise enough to recognize the risks of being a woman on her own in a rural area.
She didn’t even have a decent guard dog. Scamper was pushing old age and rarely barked. The golden Lab-mix was more likely to lick an intruder to death than bite him. As if to prove her point, he rolled in the grass nearby and sighed with contentment as the sunshine warmed his fur. Faith laughed. “Life is good, huh, Scamp?”
He barely opened his eyes. The chickens circled around him, and Scamper paid them no mind either. He’d been Faith’s constant companion since she adopted him from the shelter last year. Mellow, easy-going, and loving, Scamper had been a balm to her broken heart. She adored him.
Wintery wind rustled her ponytail, a reminder that Christmas was only a week away. A pang of sorrow washed over Faith. Her second holiday season as a widow. This was not the life she’d envisioned for herself at thirty. Family, a loving husband, and a house full of kids had always been her dream. Losing Mitch suddenly to an aneurysm had put her on a new course. A solitary one.
She had family. Her parents were warm and caring, her extended relatives a mere phone call away. She had friends who would come running if needed. But it wasn’t the same. As time worn the edges off her initial grief, the loneliness crept in, taking over quiet moments of her day. She and Mitch had been married only six months when he died. They’d barely settled into their new life together before it was ripped away.
Shaking off her morose thoughts, Faith returned the feed scoop to the shed and shut the door. A quick glance at her watch confirmed she needed to hurry or she’d be late for work. Her daycare, First Steps, was the only one in town. Faith was proud of the business she’d built from the ground up, but it took a lot of energy. Thankfully, she had ten full-time employees, including an office manager to help.
She headed for the barn. The scents of hay and horse wafted out when Faith opened the main door. Poppy swung her head over the stall door and nickered in greeting. She was brown with a white flame down the center of her nose. Mitch had bought her for Faith as a wedding present. He’d loved animals as much as she did.
Faith rubbed the horse’s nose. “Morning, girl.”
A cold chill rustled the strands of her hair, brushing them against her left cheek. She froze. Something wasn’t right…The wind was coming from the back of the barn, but that door should be closed. Faith had latched it herself to protect Poppy against the wind drummed up by the thunderstorm.
Faith abandoned the horse and moved farther into the barn. Sure enough, the rear door—big enough for a person to walk through—was open. The image of the boot prints flashed in her mind’s eye. Instinct had Faith reaching for the pitchfork leaning against the wall. Had someone been in her barn? Were they still there?
Mentally, she berated herself for leaving her cell phone in the house. But what was she going to do? Call the police and tell them someone might or might not be in her barn? Her heart pounded as scenarios from the shows she’d watched flashed through her brain. Faith mentally gave herself a shake. She was being ridiculous. Scaring herself wasn’t the answer.
Chase. She could call Chase and have him come and take a look. What was the use of having a guy as your best friend if you couldn’t occasionally ask him to kill spiders or inspect your barn for an intruder? He’d come, find nothing, and they’d have a good laugh about it. Faith would have to endure the teasing for months, but it was a small price to pay. Deep down, she knew he’d be furious if she didn’t call.
Faith tightened her grip on the pitchfork and edged backward toward the open door. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, straining to hear any noise out of the ordinary.
A mewing sound came from the tack room.
Her steps faltered. What on earth? It sounded like a kitten.
The cry came again, louder this time. Faith’s heart stuttered as recognition sank into her from years of working with children. Her own safety forgotten, she raced for the tack room, swinging the door open wide.
The room was a mess. Saddles had been toppled from their resting place. Bridles, normally hung on the wall, were scattered across the concrete floor. The wail grew in strength. Faith followed the sound to the corner of the room, her eyes not quite believing what her mind already knew was true.
A baby. A little girl, judging from the pink blanket wrapped around its small form and the matching knitted hat on her head. She was nestled in a pile of horse blankets. Her sweet face was turning pink from crying, tears leaking from her eyes to run down plump cheeks.
Shock rippled through Faith. She had dozens of questions, but the infant wasn’t going to answer them. Priorities first. Get the baby to the house and call the police.
Faith was halfway across the room, bent on scooping up the little girl, when the scuffle of a shoe against concrete came from behind her. She whirled. A man stood in the doorway, dressed in black, with a ski mask over his face. He held a lead rope for a horse in his hands. Stretched out. As if…with a sudden clarity and focus, Faith knew he meant her harm.
