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He clutched at the bag over his shoulder and caught himself wishing it was a gun in his hands, and not a duffel bag. Twice as they walked, Glory paused, listening carefully to the sounds of the woods through which they walked, judging what she heard against what she knew should be there. After a time, she would resume the trek without looking back, trusting that because Wyatt had come, he would still follow.

Just when he was wondering if they would walk all night, they entered a clearing. Again Glory paused, this time clutching the sleeve of his shirt as she stared through the darkness, searching for something that would feel out of place.

The instinct that had carried Wyatt safely through several tours of duty told him that all was well.

“It’s okay,” he said, and this time he took her by the hand and led the way toward the cabin on the other side of the yard.

The night could not disguise the humble quality of the tiny abode. It was no more than four walls and a slanted, shingle roof, a rock chimney that angled up from the corner of the roof, with two narrow windows at the front of the cabin that stared back at them like a pair of dark, accusing eyes.

Glory shivered apprehensively, then slipped the key from her jeans. As her fingers closed around it, she was thankful that her daddy had kept this one hidden at the cabin, or she would have been unable to get inside the night before.

Wyatt listened to the woods around them as she worked the lock, and when the door swung open with a slight, warning squeak, she took his hand and led him through with an odd little welcome.

“We’re home,” she said.

As he followed her inside, he had the oddest sensation that what she said was true.

“Don’t turn on the light.”

Wyatt’s fingers paused on the edge of the switch. The panic in her voice was too real to ignore.

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

Glory nodded, then realized that in the dark, Wyatt Hatfield couldn’t see her face.

“Yes, I’m serious. Please wait here. I have a candle.”

Wyatt did as he was told. He set down his duffel bag and then closed the door behind him, thinking that the dark in here was as thick as the woods through which they’d just walked. Moments later, he heard the rasp of a match to wood, focused on the swift flare of light and watched a wick catch and burn. And then she turned, bathed in the gentle glow of candlelight. Once again, Wyatt was struck by her fragile beauty.

“Will the pup be all right outside?”

“Yes,” Glory said. “Follow me.” Wyatt picked up his bag. “This is where you’ll sleep,” she said, and held the candle above her head, giving him a dim view of the tiny room and the single bed. “I’m just across the hall in Granny’s bed.”

“Granny?”

“My father’s mother. This was her cabin. She’s all the family I have left.” And then her face crumpled as tears shimmered in her eyes. “The only problem is, she’s ninety-one years old and in a nursing home. Half the time she doesn’t remember her name, let alone me.”

As she turned away, Wyatt set his bag inside the room and followed her across the hall, watching as she set the candle on a bedside table, then ran across the room to check the curtains, making sure that no light would be visible from outside.

“Glory?”

She stilled, then slowly turned. “What?”

“Talk to me.”

She understood his confusion, but wasn’t sure she could make him understand. With a defeated sigh, she dropped to the corner of the bed, running her fingers lightly across the stitching on the handmade quilt, drawing strength from the woman who’d sewn it, and then bent over to pull off her boots. She tugged once, then twice, and without warning, started to cry quiet tears of heartbreak.

Wyatt flinched as her misery filled the tiny space. Without thinking, he knelt at her feet. Grasping her foot, he pulled one boot off and then the other before turning back the bed upon which she sat.

“Lie down.”

The gentleness in his voice was her undoing. Glory rolled over, then into a ball, and when the weight of the covers fell upon her shoulders, she began to sob.

“He was laughing,” she whispered.

Wyatt frowned. “Who was laughing, honey?”

“My brother, J.C. One minute he was digging through the grocery sack for Twinkies and laughing at something the pup had done, and then everything exploded.” She took a deep, shaky breath, trying to talk past the sobs. “I should have been with them.”

Wyatt cursed beneath his breath. Her pain was more than he could bear. He wanted to hold her, yet the unfamiliarity of their odd connection held him back. Slowly, she rolled over, looking at him through those silver-blue eyes while the skin crawled on the back of his neck.

“I was the first female born to the Dixon family in more than five generations. They say that my eyes were open when I was born, and that when Granny laid me on my mother’s stomach, I lifted my head, looked at my mother’s face and smiled. An hour later, my mother suddenly hemorrhaged, then died, and although I was in another room, Granny says that the moment she took her last breath, I started to cry. Granny called it ‘the sight.’ I consider it more of a curse.”

Wyatt brushed the tangle of hair from her eyes, smoothing it from her forehead and off her shoulders. “It saved me,” he said quietly.

She closed her eyes. A tear slipped out of each corner and ran down her temples and into her hair.

“I know.” Her mouth twisted as she tried to talk around the pain. “But why couldn’t I save Daddy and J.C.? Why, Wyatt Hatfield? Tell me why.”

Unable to stay unattached from her pain, Wyatt slid his hands beneath her shoulders and lifted her from the covers, then into his lap. As he nestled his chin in her hair, he held her against him.

“I don’t know the whys of the world, Glory Dixon. I only know the hows. And I swear to you, I will keep you safe until they find the man responsible.”

It was the promise he made and the honesty with which it was said that gave her hope. Maybe together they could get it done.

I’m so glad he’s here, Glory thought.

“I’m glad I came, too,” Wyatt whispered.

Glory froze. Without realizing it, he’d read her thoughts and answered. And as she let herself draw from his strength, she faced the fact that she’d given more than just blood to this man. It seemed impossible, and it shouldn’t have happened, but it was the only explanation that made sense.

A dog ran across the street in front of the car as Wyatt turned a corner in Larner’s Mill, aiming for the local police department down the street. He knew where it was. He’d been there yesterday when asking directions to the Dixon home. The people were friendly enough, but he wasn’t sure if one small-town police chief and two part-time deputies were going to be up to finding a killer. When they’d driven out of the yard earlier that morning, no one had even bothered to stop them and ask why they were near the scene. On the surface, they seemed geared more toward drunks and traffic violations than tracking criminals. He hoped he was wrong. As he pulled to the curb and parked, Glory’s nervousness was impossible to ignore any longer.