Abby tried to scream; it came out as a croak. She struggled against the strong arms that held her close, senses reeling from mingled aromas of sweat, fabric softener, and something that registered as fireworks. She pushed at the man’s chest, unable to get even a millimeter of space between them. Finally she got her mouth opened wide enough to bite the offending hand.
“Abby, get a grip. Stop it.”
Abby opened her eyes and looked up into Jack’s pale blue ones. “Jack?” She blinked and stumbled as he released her.
Jack’s hand shot out and steadied her, then he stepped back. “What’s wrong? You ran into me and freaked out. Were you sleepwalking? What’re you doing out here at this time of night, eh?”
Abby bent over, rested her hands on her knees, and took several deep breaths. The barn seemed to be spinning around; she had the sense of being a spectator watching the action from someplace else. She also wanted time to decide what to tell Jack before facing him. At last her breathing steadied and her heart slowed to somewhere near normal. Her brain continued in overdrive. What just happened?
She glanced up at Jack through her lashes before standing, her eyes half-closed. His unruly white-blond hair stuck up at the back, and as she watched, he yawned and scratched his crotch, as a guy who recently got out of bed. Except for his eyes. Instead of being unfocused and red-rimmed, they were hyper-alert and intent.
“Abby, are you sure you’re okay? I’m worried about my little sister. Why are you outside at two o’clock in the morning?” He waited for a response, and getting none added, “I’ll walk you back to the house.”
“What a gentleman. I can walk back by myself, thank you.” Abby started toward the barn door and stopped. “Were you asleep when I came in? What woke you?”
Jack glanced around the barn. “I heard you and wondered if Lisa had a problem at the house and sent you to get me.”
“I didn’t make much noise. And I’m barefoot, and I didn’t call you. In fact, I didn’t even see you. I came in to get my cat.”
“That must have been it. The cat chased a mouse, and it woke me. Or maybe my cat allergy started up. Then you freaked and the rest, as they say, is history.”
Kitty poked her head out of a corner stall and strolled to Abby.
Jack sneezed. “Get that filthy animal away from me.” Before Abby could react, he kicked a boot-clad foot in her direction. Abby grabbed for the cat, but Jack’s aim was perfect. He kicked Kitty, sending her spinning out the barn door.
Abby shoved him in the chest, hard, and ran outside.
Kitty lay in the gravel, trembling, then stood on shaky paws.
“Are you okay? My sweet little Kitty.” Abby picked Kitty up and ran her hands over the cat’s legs and body, unable to find any sign of serious injury.
Kitty scratched Abby’s arm as she struggled to be released, hissing and spitting.
Back-lit by the lantern light in the barn, Jack loomed. “Shut that stupid cat up—or I will.”
Kitty scampered away into the night.
Abby turned to face Jack. Her words came out deliberate, low, a savage growl. “You–miserable–disgusting–piece–of–crap. Where do you get off hurting an innocent animal, my animal? I wish she had scratched your eyes out; you deserve it. Don’t you ever go near her again, do you hear me?”
Jack raised one eyebrow. “Careful, Cherie, you’re drooling; not your most attractive moment. You should see yourself, wild eyes, hair messed, spitting. I believe there’s a bit of untamed cat in you. I suggest you take more time to care about humans and less about animals. What about people who go to war, what about them? No one cares if they live or die; why should a cat mean anything to me?”
“You aren’t worth my time, brother or not. Does Lisa know about your tendencies toward animal cruelty?”
“By all means go tell on me. But may I remind you that you’re the one who came to the place I sleep and woke me,” Jack sneered. “Our mother might wonder what her little girl is doing out at this time of night—in her jammies. Ah, poor child, I’ll tell her. So taken with her big brother, little lamb who lost her father. She’s just looking for love, sleepwalking perhaps, not quite right in the mind. And she’s been through so much, first a crush on me, then finding out I’m the brother she didn’t know existed. Jealousy and loss, terrible things. Perhaps she needs some counseling, or time—away—to get better.”
Abby blinked. He sounded so sincere that she almost believed what he said. If he only knew she’d fallen in love with the ghost of a Civil War soldier. Although she knew—absolutely without a doubt knew—Silas to be real, everyone else would call her crazy. And after ten years with Jack, Lisa might believe anything he had to say.
She hung her head, and in doing so noticed Jack’s laced-up boots.
“So, Jack. Wear your work boots to bed all the time, or just when girls come to call?”
He shrugged.
“Lisa is my mother, too. She sees what kind of a person I am, even if we haven’t spent much time together. I don’t go out and party, my best friend is a nerd named Morton, and my idea of adventure is a two-mile bike ride to an old cemetery. Why would she believe I’ve got mental problems? She might be much more interested in why I really came outside tonight.”
“Yes, that question has yet to be answered.” Jack crossed his arms. “Do tell.”
“It’s so strange. There I was, lying in my own bed, when I heard a loud noise from the back of the barn.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “And did you discover what caused this phantom noise?”
Abby arranged her features into what her dad had called a poker face. He’d taught her to play cards, to bluff, to keep a straight face. She reached into her pocket. “I found a little souvenir out behind the barn. Maybe you want it, since it belongs to you.” She pulled out the brass cylinder, showed it to Jack, tossed it in the air, and caught it, enclosing it in her palm. “Shooting guns at the house; my mother will love that.”
“The shell casings. You found the bullet shell casings.” Jack considered Abby for a minute. “Touché, Cherie. You got me.” He grinned, a sudden metamorphosis Abby found disconcerting.
“Care to explain to me—or to Lisa?”
“It’s nothing,” Jack shrugged. “I did some target practice in the moonlight because I have insomnia. I knew I couldn’t do it during the day, too many people around and all.”
“So you went out to do target practice at night. Right. And you think I’m crazy? Why do you have a gun in the first place? Let me guess—you brought it on the bike. How stupid do you think I am?”
“This is Pennsylvania, remember?” Jack said. “Everyone hunts. Didn’t your dad go deer hunting every November?”
“No. And this isn’t about him, it’s about you.”
“I just assumed he hunted because I found a deer rifle stored in the back of the barn and decided to try it out. I’m sorry if you’re upset. And I apologize about the cat. I just lost my temper; middle of the night, allergies, you surprised me, all that.” Jack walked over and tousled her hair. “Friends?”
Abby noticed how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, as if he did it all the time. She shivered, not from cold, but due to the unfamiliar, brotherly touch—from a cruel liar.
“I’m not ready for all this,” she told him. “And I’m not sure I trust you.”
“Of course. I have a trip into town in the morning to get more shingles for the barn. Meet me for lunch at the Chinese restaurant on the corner, by the bridge, and I’ll treat. We can start over.”
Abby thought about it. “Okay, lunch. See you at noon.” She turned to go.
“Just leave those shell casings with me.” Jack held out his hand. “I’ll get rid of them.”
“That’s okay.” Abby closed her fist over them until her fingertips blanched. “I think I’ll hold onto them, since they belonged to my dad. It makes them special to me.”
Jack frowned. “Yes, of course, your father’s things are precious to you; I’m sure you want to take care of them. You must take care of yourself, as well. I’m so happy to have a sister, Cherie. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
A sudden burst of icy-cold wrapped around Abby’s heart. “Just what is that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me?”
Jack lifted both hands and shook his head. “No, no. What makes you say that? I’m not a violent person; I hate violence. I’m sorry if you think I’d hurt you. I have a lot to make up for at lunch tomorrow, eh?”
Abby watched a contrite expression creep over his face, but in the moment before he hung his head, his mouth twisted into a hard grimace. Gripped by indecision, her mind sped through the options open to her: tell Lisa, call the police, chalk it up to imagination.
She chewed on her lower lip. His word against hers; he had more experience lying.
Abby forced a smile. “You aren’t forgiven yet.”
Jack nodded. He reached out, grabbed her hand, and kissed it on the back. “Tomorrow, then. Sweet dreams, little sister.”
“Tomorrow, big brother.” She hoped he didn’t turn into her worst nightmare.