Laurie slipped to the ground and picked up the cross that had fallen from the roof”s peak, brushing away mud and slush. He propped it against the doors. “Nothing is unfixable,” he murmured.
Sounds like you’re convincing yourself, not me, preacher.
Decker landed heavily on his feet, ducking under the shade of the bowed veranda roof. “You repaired it once, we’ll do it again.”
Laurie turned hopeful eyes to him. “We?”
“Neighbors, Laurie,” he said before going to check on the others—and Safine.
The knot in his stomach slipped when she rounded the corner of theGooselike she’d been waiting for them.
Lip-rouged mouth curved into a smile.
Decker almost returned it.
Then Safine brushed past him to free Willa from the saddle, steadying her as she slipped down.
She was rightfully angry. He should have done more, tried harder. Been less distracted, and maybe Cricket would be here. Decker’s typical, rational thoughts did nothing to dull the biting edge.
Safine’s grin took on a nasty edge at the sight of Whitton trussed across the back of the other saddle. “You got him.”
“Had some help.” Willa caught Decker’s eye, and he nodded at her.
Without her, they might have caught him—silently, without gunshots—but her pride would never have let her rest.
This would be the end of the strange happenings of Ender’s Ridge.
Soon, things would go back to normal. They had to. He couldn’t bear the thought of life if they didn’t. And ifnormalincluded Laurie forgetting him?
Not now.
He didn’t have the stomach to think of it.
Sister Inez appeared, her habit curling around Willa as she slipped a tender arm around her waist. “Foolish thing,” she said, but it wasn’t without affection.
Decker met her searching eyes and returned her slight smile. Without her insistence, there would be no hope.
Now, hope charged the air like crackling thunder before a storm as they dragged Whitton into theGoose, wedged makeshift scaffolding under the sagging porch, jostled each other behind the bar. Coffee steamed in faded cups and Decker sighed with contentment at the first familiar taste of oak-aged whiskey.
Even Sister Inez’s spirits lifted, and she leisurely sipped a cup of sarsaparilla as Safine and Decker knotted rough ropes around each of Whitton’s rotting limbs.
He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left Silver Creek and charged into the night as the first doors burst open to investigate Willa’s shot.
Tightening the last loop around an emaciated wrist, Decker pulled up a chair next to Laurie who was elbow-deep in the sea of books strewn across the table.
“Think these’ll have the answers?” Safine crooked her elbow across Sister Inez’s shoulders and swirled her coffee in her cup.
“If they don’t, maybe he will.” Whitton’s bloodshot eyes met Decker’s, but he made no move to yank at his bonds. He sat perfectly still, like he’d accepted his fate. Between Decker and Willa, he wouldn’t be leaving alive, information or not.
“The next plague is locusts,” Laurie murmured, his brows permanently drawn together as he selected a few books, piling them in his arms. “We may have a day or two.”
“Might be sooner than we think,” Decker said. The air had turned arid and blistering in the brief time they’d been back, and he feared it was the first harbinger of the seventh plague to strike.
Safine barked a laugh. “Hail didn’t do much, but good thing we knew about it or we would’ve had to dig more graves. I guess we did free up some space when we buried Cricket in Amaretto.” Safine sipped at her coffee and the room went cold and silent.
Laurie snatched up the last journal, balancing it as he headed to the quiet upstairs.
Sister Inez cupped a handful of wooden beads and rummaged in her pockets for waxed thread.