wish I knew how she got involved with the Dodd Sanctuary. The first I’d heard of it was a few weeks ago.”
“It’s been keeping a low profile,” Lang told him. “I get the idea that’s partly your Maggie’s idea, since she’s running it by herself.”
“And it’s funded how?” Flint’s green eyes narrowed. He didn’t want to think of Maggie involved in anything shady, but a lot of time had passed since he last saw her. People could change.
“Abigail Dodd has more money than sense,” Lang said, “and no children. She wants to leave a legacy, so she set up the sanctuary on the old Dodd Farm and hired Ms. Morgan because she knew her.” He chuckled. “Believe you me, Abigail’s close relatives are not pleased. I hear they tried to get her declared incompetent.”
“And failed?”
“Big-time. By the time Maggie got done testifying, there was no way anybody could question the old lady’s sanity.”
“Maggie always did love the underdog and defended against injustices.” Maybe that would make it easier to get her to talk to him. It was his job as a game warden to police the forest and wildlands, making sure no laws were broken and nature was preserved in its natural state. Anybody who was hunting out of season was clearly being unfair, both to other hunters and to the animals.
Sighing in acceptance, he nodded. “Okay. Give me the file on the poaching so I can check for patterns. Is that their only crime?”
Lang handed him a manila folder. “Not by a long shot.”
The colloquial reference to aiming from a distance did not sit well with Flint. Not well at all.
* * *
Wind whipped Maggie Morgan’s long, honey-brown hair across her face as gathering clouds darkened the afternoon. Hurrying, she almost tripped over her enormous dog. “Out of the way, Wolfie. Mama has to finish her chores before the storm gets here.”
If the black-and-brown canine hadn’t bristled and begun to bark, she might not have noticed a familiar pickup truck heading up the long driveway to the sanctuary.
“Oh, hush, dog. You know the game warden. He was here just last week.”
With a friendly wave to her approaching visitor, she went back to hauling armloads of fresh straw bedding. Whatever the guy wanted could wait until she’d tended to her patients’ needs. Helpless animals always came first.
Approaching footsteps crinkled dry leaves behind her while Maggie was bent over spreading loose straw in a lean-to. She glanced through the bottom of the wire fence and saw black boots. “I’m almost done. How come you’re back so soon? Did you bring me another patient?”
The Game and Fish warden cleared his throat. “Hello, Maggie.”
That voice! Momentarily stunned, she froze. A shiver tickled her spine. It couldn’t be him. Yet she knew it was.
The injured doe in the pen with her sensed her sudden nervousness and bolted, running across the enclosure and careening off the fencing.
“Easy, girl, easy.” Maggie straightened and inched her way to the gate, slipping through and fastening it securely while steeling herself to turn and face her visitor. “Flint Crawford.”
“You remember me.”
How could she forget the man who had broken her heart and nearly ruined her life? She stalled by taking a moment to brush off her jeans and the sleeves of her denim jacket before she said, “Vaguely. What are you doing here?”
He spread his arms to display his dark green uniform and badge on an athletic body. “I work in Fulton County now. See?”
“I thought you were in the marines.”
Flint nodded. “Long story. I missed home. Deep roots, I guess.”
I don’t believe a word of it. Maggie gritted her teeth rather than chance speaking. If you had deep roots you’d have stayed here in the first place.
Scattered drops the size of dimes were beginning to dot the dry ground. She extended her hands, palms up. “It’s starting to rain.”
“Can we take cover on the porch?”
“Why?”
“Talk, maybe?”
“I have nothing to say to you.” The longer he lingered, the angrier Maggie grew. At this point she wasn’t positive she could maintain her facade of calm indifference long enough for him to leave. Being in Flint’s presence again was far more difficult than she’d imagined. Where were all the irate speeches she’d rehearsed for the past six years?
Silent, Maggie accompanied him toward his truck, the big dog at her heels. They began to circle the silver-gray pickup. Wolfie stiffened just as a deafening boom of thunder joined a blinding flash!
Everything blurred as Maggie was smacked hard on the shoulder, knocked off her feet and ended up lying in the dirt with Flint hovering over her. Wolfie was growling as he circled them.
She gave Flint a push. “Get off me!”
Instead, he supported himself on one arm and continued to keep her down. That was when she saw he’d drawn his gun. “No! Don’t shoot my dog!”
“Hush,” Flint ordered, getting to his knees. “Keep your head down.”
“What are you babbling about? We almost got hit by lightning.” The expression on his face argued otherwise. “Didn’t we?”
“No. Thunder doesn’t have a high-pitched echo. Whoever aimed at us expected the storm to mask a rifle shot.”
Maggie tensed, blinking rapidly to try to clear her head. He was right! There had been a singing reverberation amid the rumbling noise of the storm.
She reached out for Wolfie, understanding a moment too late that that was a mistake.
The dog bared his fangs, lunged, and latched on to Flint’s pant leg. Maggie screamed. Flint fell back, rolling farther behind the truck as he fought to break free.
Maggie barely registered the crack and whine of a second shot. A side window of the truck shattered. She screamed again and covered her head as glass rained down. Wolfie released his captive and made a beeline for her.
The game warden recovered enough to sit, pulled out a cell phone and called for assistance before turning to Maggie. “Help is on its way.”
“Are you hurt? Did he bite through the skin?”
“Don’t worry about me. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m not used to being a target. Now I know how these poor wild animals must feel.”
As Flint slowly reached toward her, she told herself to move away. Her knees felt welded to the ground.
His warm, strong hand cupped her cheek as scattered drops of rain continued to fall. A thumb brushed away blood. It took her a moment to realize it was hers. She jerked back and patted her face.
“You’re not shot,” Flint said. “I think a sliver of glass may have nicked you.”
“Terrific.”
She sat back on her heels. Flint’s green gaze seemed almost tender. That fit. She’d always viewed him as a caring person, which was why his abandonment had shaken her so badly. Above all, she reasoned, she must keep reminding herself of his desertion.
“We’re about to get soaked,” she said flatly.
“Better wet than dead.” Flint was rubbing his lower leg. “I hope the shooter gave up and left. Thanks to your dog I couldn’t catch a hibernating turtle right now.”
“Serves