Prologue
Uneven ground slowed his approach. He dodged his way from the barn to the porch, the aroma of simmering beef drifting beyond the screen door. His fingers grasped the cool handle, the door's hinges screeched, and he froze in place, thankful the sound was masked by the rattle of the stew pot's lid.
Silently, he slipped into the house, his chest constricting as he flattened himself against the wall. Hidden by the entry's china cabinet, he watched with guarded breath as she grasped two bowls and placed them alongside the cast iron stove.
Spoons clanked against the china as they were dropped inside, and she removed her apron and tossed it across the chair. Humming, she crossed the room, opened the buffet drawer, and removed a large, serrated knife and two linen napkins. After placing the items on the buffet, she tediously folded the napkins to her satisfaction.
He dared to step further into the kitchen. A floorboard creaked, and he silently cursed the interruption. Before he could move, she closed the drawer with her hip.
"Well, I was wondering how long it would take you to smell the . . ." Shock replaced the warmth in her eyes. "Who are you? Get out. Get out of this house!"
"Not until I get my money!"
Her chin quivered as she pressed herself back against the buffet.
He stepped closer. "Where . . . is . . . my . . . money?"
"What money? I do not know what you're talking about!" Her eyes darted to the screen door.
"You expectin' someone?"
The movement of her head was nearly imperceptible. "No, no one."
For a moment, he considered her face. "You'll never make it to that door." The fear in her eyes spawned his satisfied grin. "Now, where's the money? Answer me!"
"I do not know, I mean, I have a dollar, maybe two in my reticu . . ."
He charged forward, forcing himself against her. "A dollar or two?" He seized her by the waist and she cried out. "I'm tired of hidin' and watchin' and waitin'! Now, where is it?"
"I d-do not know wh-what money you're t-talking a-ab-about."
"Don't lie to me, old woman." He pressed his palms against the shelf as he leaned heavily against her, bending her back along the buffet. "That money's mine, do you hear me? It's not where I left it, and someone on this ranch knows where it is!"
"I-It is not me, I swear!" She threw her weight forward, wielding the knife. Her suddenness caught him by surprise, and as they twisted, she managed to step to the side, forcing them sideways.
He grabbed her arm with both hands, and she wailed as his tightening grip released her tears.
Feeling her strength wane, he grinned through taut lips. The knife slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. Bending her arm, he thrust it behind her back, his hot breath assaulting her neck. "Now, for the last time, where is my money?"
Her eyes held fast to his. "The bedroom."
He snickered as he stepped back, still holding fast to her arm and waist. "That's more like it. Show me."
She inhaled deeply and said a silent prayer. "I will show you."
Her strength outweighed her suddenness. Amid groans and a string of obscenities, he doubled in half, protecting himself from another assault by her knee.
Free from his grasp, she toppled to the floor. He fought to collect himself as she scrambled for the fallen knife. He lunged for her and together they rolled and writhed. Outstretched fingertips grappled for the weapon. On the stove, the stew pot's lid clanked amid vicious groans and desperate pleas.
As they scuffled, her arm's swift brush sent the knife spinning across the floor and beneath a tall cabinet. Suddenly, his weight gone, she gasped for air. He rose to all fours, unsteady, and crawled toward the knife.
Reaching beneath the cabinet, he snatched up the weapon, his palms pressing heavily against the shelves as he pulled himself to his feet. He took a moment to gain his bearings, then spun suddenly at the sound of the pot lid clanking against the floor.
"No!" he screamed. In an instant, the dripping pot hit the floor with a crash; he roared and covered his scalded face with his hands. His screams filled the house, the boiling stew splattered against his skin, the knife whirling out of reach.
He heard her dash for the door, and, nearly blinded by pain, grabbed for her apron. Gripping the fabric in his fists, he charged for the door and from behind, looped the apron around her neck. Her head jerked up and back and he smiled at her hands clawing desperately at the fabric noose.
"You're not getting away with this! I'll find my money and you can go to hell!"
Tightening his pull, he grinned at the final gurgles of life. After a moment, he abandoned the assault, and her body crumpled to the floor. As he stepped away, he swiped at the bits of meat and carrots still clinging to his cheeks. "I'll get what's mine," he shouted, stepping over her body and moving deeper into the house.