Low Country Hero Page 2

  Her stomach twisted and turned, but she didn’t dare panic. She wiped wet palms down the sides of her shorts and studied the sign again. If the place was closed for renovations, they had to be renovating something. Ideally, the cabins she remembered from her sole, idyllic childhood vacation—the same cabins that were supposed to house them now. And, God willing, the renovations wouldn’t have started yet and would happen at a slow Southern pace. Or maybe never; sometimes places put up an optimistic Reopening Soon! sign when it was doubtful they’d ever do business again.

  The girls were murmuring in their abbreviated secret twin language, and they apparently reached a conclusion. “We want out of the car!”

  “Okay. One minute.” She put the car in Reverse, backed up and pulled off to the side of the gates, where shiny azalea bushes grew thick and high. She eased deep into a hollow section, well sheltered from the road and entrance. Grabbed a couple of tools from the glove box.

  You can do this, Anna. You don’t have a choice.

  “Come on, girls,” she said, forcing cheer into her voice. “Let’s go exploring!”

  Fifteen minutes later, they’d ascertained that there were no construction machines and no signs of workers. The place was deserted, which suited Anna just fine. From the road, they scouted the row of tumbledown cabins and selected a sturdy-looking one.

  “Come on. It’s going to be an adventure!” She pushed sweaty hair out of her eyes and urged the girls up the overgrown path toward the cabin. This had to work.

  “I don’t like bugs!” Hope, always more fearful and fretful, waved away a cloud of tiny sand flies and leaned into Anna’s leg, making it hard to walk.

  “I’m first!” Hayley, as usual, ran ahead, reaching the door of the shuttered cabin and turning the handle. “It’s locked, Mom,” she said, tossing back her blond ringlets. “Where’s the key?”

  “That’s the adventure part.” Tugging Hope along, Anna reached the door and knelt to study the lock, putting an arm around both girls. She’d hoped for an old-fashioned bolt she could just slide a screwdriver under, but this lock was modern and tight.

  That would be better in the long run, safer. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

  Who’d have thought that law-abiding, rule-following Anna George would calmly break and enter? She shoved aside her good-girl fear of what would happen if they got caught. She had no other choice. No way would she be a lawbreaker long term, but for now, she’d do whatever was necessary to keep them safe.

  Around them, birds had resumed their chirping and cawing. The salt air blew warm, bringing the fragrance of the sea, just beyond the dunes, if her childhood memories served. In fact, if she closed her eyes, she imagined she could hear it: the rhythmic pounding of waves against the sand.

  “Mommy? What’re we going to do?” Hope’s voice trembled.

  “I’m hungry,” Hayley complained.

  But at least they were speaking. And Anna meant to make sure that continued, that their voices weren’t silenced as they’d been in the past.

  She stood, stepped back. “Let’s take a walk around the cabin.”

  “Yeah!” Hayley started to rush off.

  “Wait. What’s the rule?”

  Her impulsive daughter stopped. “Stay together,” she said reluctantly.

  “That’s right—good job,” Anna said to Hayley, and then looked down at Hope’s anxious face. Though her twins were identical physically, their personalities were nearly opposite. “Want a ride on my back, kiddo?”

  “Okay.”

  Anna knelt. “Jump up.” When Hope did, Anna staggered to her feet. Blackness started to close her vision, but she grabbed the trunk of a live oak tree and steadied herself, took a couple of deep breaths. No sleep and a boatload of worries were wearing her down, but she’d gotten this far. She could do this.

  She looked up at the cloud-mottled sky. “Okay, let’s take a look.”

  They made their way around the small cabin. Up close, she could see that time and neglect had taken their toll. Part of the screen that sheltered the porch was ripped, and white siding curved away from the cabin, warped by weather. She let Hayley slip through the torn screen to test the cabin’s back door, but it was locked, too.

  They continued on around. Mushrooms, bold red and yellow, sprouted in the sandy soil near the small picnic table. No footprints, no trash, no abandoned beach toys.

  The loneliness unnerved her a little, but it was what she and the girls needed, at least for now. And the cabin’s basic structure seemed sound. “Peek inside,” she urged Hope, moving closer to a promising window.

  Hope hesitated, then leaned from her perch on Anna’s back to peer into the window. “It’s got a kitchen table! And a sofa and chairs.”

  Perfect. As long as the furniture hadn’t become a nest for rodents or bugs, but she’d keep that fear to herself.

  On the third side of the cabin, Anna found what she was searching for: a low window that looked loose in its frame. Just the entrance she needed. “Slide down, sweetie. I want you and Hayley to walk out to the road and back. Count the steps.”

  “But what if it’s more than a hundred?” Hope asked. That was as high as the twins could count.

  “Then we’ll start over.” Hayley grabbed her twin’s hand and tugged. “Come on!”

  As the girls headed toward the road, squabbling, Anna watched them until she was sure they couldn’t see her, and then pulled a screwdriver out of her back pocket and eased it between the sill and the window edge. Working quickly, she jiggled the window open enough to get leverage, and then wedged the screwdriver in. The wood was swollen and tight, but she manhandled it upward with brute strength she hadn’t known she had.

  If she didn’t find shelter for the night, and longer, she feared what harm might come to her children. It was bad enough, sleeping in the car and tangling with the drifters who hung around roadside rest areas and truck stops, but even worse was the ultimate fear: that Beau would find them.

  The window broke free in a rush and sped upward, splintering the sill. A long needle of painted wood dug into her hand. She pulled it out, wincing, and leaned into the room.

  Musty, but that could be fixed with open windows, as long as the slight breeze kept up. She heard skittering feet, saw a shadow race across the floor. Small and compact: probably a mouse. Mice she could handle. She just prayed there were no snakes.

  Most important, she didn’t see any signs of human habitation: no stacks of clothes, no dishes on the little kitchen counter. She didn’t want to disturb another squatter. Didn’t trust such a person, even though she was about to become one herself.

  She couldn’t believe that protecting her children had come to this.

  For the thousandth time on their three-day pilgrimage, she questioned whether she’d made the right decisions. Leaving Beau, yes. And her job, telemarketing from home, hadn’t been a reason to stay in Montana. But heading to the South Carolina coast, based on a town’s name and some hazy childhood memories? That had been impulsive.

  On the other hand, where else could she have gone? Her father didn’t have a lick of spare energy for her problems, and she wasn’t blessed with a big, close extended family.

  “Mom! It was seventy-eight steps!”

  “No, eighty!”

  The twins rushed to her, red faced and bedraggled, and she knelt and hugged them fiercely, one in each arm, inhaling their sweaty-kid scent. They needed baths, or at least a swim, soon. She was just thankful that they were safe and with her.

  “Whatcha doing with that window?” Hayley asked.

  “Are we allowed to open it?” Hope looked worried.

  “It’ll be fine,” she said to Hope. “You’ll see what I’m doing in a minute. But for now, I want you to go stand on the front porch, and close your eyes, and count to...”

  “Fifty!”

  “A
hundred!”

  “Seventy-five,” Anna said. “Go on. Scoot.” It was a good thing they’d reached their destination, because she was running out of creative games to keep the girls entertained.

  Hoisting herself up, she flung a leg through the waist-high window and eased through the casement, scraping her thigh on the rough wood. Blood beaded bright against her fading yellow-green bruises.

  She was in. She dusted her hands together, did a quick inspection to assure herself that the place was solid and safe, and threw the front door open just as the girls shouted “seventy-five” together. “Come see our new vacation home!” she said, smiling at them.

  They walked in, wide-eyed but accepting, and the three of them explored the small cabin. Faded, vinyl-covered camp mattresses remained on rusty cots, a single in one bedroom and a double in another. The living room was fully, if only basically, furnished, and the pine paneling on the walls gave the place a cozy, old-fashioned feel.

  “Where’s the stove?” Hayley asked.

  “And the fridge?” Hope added.

  Anna came into the kitchen area and looked around, putting her hands on her hips. “They were taken out because people don’t live here anymore. But we’ll be fine. We have our cooler, and we can cook things on our camp stove.”

  “Or just eat cereal,” Hope added helpfully.

  Anna blew out a breath. “No. We’re going to start having real meals again, just as soon as we can go to the grocery store.” If memory served, there was a small one in the coastal village of Safe Haven, just a few miles down the road. For more supplies, they’d take the highway to Myrtle Beach.

  “Hey, the lights don’t work!” Hayley stood flicking the light switch in the kitchen. Hope ran to check the one in the living room, and then the girls ran from switch to switch, testing each one and getting the same result.

  Anna tried the faucet: no water. Of course. It made sense given that the rustic little resort wasn’t open for business. Electricity they could do without, but they needed water.

  She let the twins run as she looked around, planning. A worried glance out the window showed a low-hanging sun, so she had to get moving. They’d bring in what they needed, light the lantern, get out dinner. Probably peanut-butter sandwiches, but she’d fix the girls some fruit at least. She’d locate a flashlight and go hunting for the main water valve, set the girls to work wiping down mattresses. They’d find a broom and sweep up the dust and litter on the floor. For tonight, they’d be okay.

  Tomorrow, she’d deal with the fact that she was in a strange state where she knew no one, with two little girls to support on very limited funds. She’d figure out their next step.

  She was just so grateful that they’d found refuge. They were beginning a new life without Beau, and for now at least, they were safe. That was all that mattered.

  * * *

  AFTER LOADING UP his truck with supplies from the hardware store—and a six-pack of beer to wash away the taste of his family’s annoying interference—Sean O’Dwyer pulled up to the closed gates of the Sea Pine Cottages, rolled down his window and just sat for a minute, enjoying the moonlight.

  The vibrating hum of cicadas rose and fell, and in the distance, waves pounded. The Southern breeze that cooled his face felt like home, as did the looming cedar and live oak trees draped spookily with Spanish moss. Marshy salt smells reminded him of long days spent canoeing through the area’s black water rivers.

  The low country would heal him. It always did.

  And living here, alone, would be enough for him.

  He got out of his car, keyed open the padlock and unwound the chain. He was pushing the squeaky, rusty gate open when the hair on the back of his neck rose.

  Something was out of place.

  His heart rate accelerated as he stepped back to his truck to retrieve his pistol, then did a deliberately slow three-sixty. His intuition for danger had been honed on the streets of Kabul and he knew better than to ignore it, even in these much-more-peaceful surroundings.

  There. A flash.

  He walked quietly toward it and realized there was a car parked behind the bushes that framed the gate. Decently hidden, but not to someone with his experience. A small Hyundai sedan that had seen better days. Hand on his weapon, he approached it.

  Most cars held some evidence of their owners—a potato chip bag, kid toys, a spare jacket or sweater. This one was completely clean. Almost as if its owner didn’t want it to reveal anything.

  It was too dinged up to be a rental, and it had Montana plates. Whoever owned the car was far from home.

  He felt the hood. Cold.

  He got back in his truck and let it roll silently down toward the cabin he’d been working on and living in, already mostly renovated. As he rode, he scanned the darkness.

  There. A light. Bobbing up and down inside Cabin Three, just two doors down from the beachfront one he’d selected for himself. Somebody must think they could get a vacation for free. Either that or they were up to something illegal. Between Kabul and Knoxville, he’d learned to trust no one.

  He coasted past, parked the truck and headed back toward the cabin with the bobbing light. He’d figured some locals would disregard the Keep Out signs, but he would’ve expected partying teenagers. A single flashlight suggested someone with more nefarious aims.

  He approached the cabin slowly, watching, listening.

  The light was off now; either that or it had moved to another room.

  He shuffled through nettles and hackberry, glad for his work boots, looking in the windows. There was stuff that shouldn’t be there, barely visible in the moonlight. A carton of food in the kitchen, a cooler, a couple of suitcases. Someone was intending to settle in.

  But that wasn’t happening, not on his watch. He came around to the back porch of the cabin and lifted aside a broken section of the screen. Used his knife to slit it the rest of the way open. Stepped cautiously through.

  The slight, silent figure that rose in front of him gave him two seconds of warning, and he ducked, but not soon enough.

  Fire stung his eyes and he staggered backward, his skin burning. He grabbed his assailant’s wrist, realized with shock that it belonged to a petite woman, lost his balance and pulled her down with him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  WITH HER FREE HAND, Anna pummeled the giant who’d latched on to her wrist like a tiger on prey. Her heart pounded and sweat poured down her sides as she tried desperately to twist out of his grasp.

  It’s happening again. I can’t let it happen again.

  His chest was a wall of muscle, his hands enormous. Panting, she tried to knee him, but he blocked her with a twist of a solid thigh, trapping her.

  She was breathing loudly and at first that was all she heard, until his big, choking breaths invaded her consciousness, too. His eyes were closed and tears ran freely down his face. He lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes, grimacing.

  The pepper spray had fallen out of her hand when he’d grabbed her wrist, but it had obviously done its job.

  The thought of her girls inside the cabin made her start kicking again, and hitting, and he grabbed her other hand and kept her legs trapped between his. “Be still, will you? It’s okay.”

  She didn’t have much choice about being still, and irrational rage bloomed inside her. Why were men blessed with superior strength? Why were women always the victims?

  At least he wasn’t hitting her. He wasn’t moving at all, until, warily, he let go of her hands. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

  She kicked free of his legs and he let her, and she crab walked backward until a wicker chair stood between them. She spotted the pepper spray, grabbed it and got to her feet. “Stay over there. Don’t move or I’ll spray you again.”

  “Please don’t.” He used the backs of his hands to wipe his eyes. “Do you have a towel?”

 
“I’m not helping you. Why should I? You were breaking into my place.”

  “Common kindness?” he gritted out. “And it’s not your place.”

  She studied the man narrowly, but he seemed in genuine pain, his eyes rapidly swelling. She felt a moment’s guilt. But he’d broken in, and what kind of intentions could he have? “Stay there,” she repeated. “I’ll be right back.”

  She glanced in at the twins, and her tight shoulders relaxed: they were sleeping peacefully in the double bed. But she couldn’t let down her guard. She grabbed a kitchen towel and took it out onto the screened porch, pulling the door to the cabin closed behind her. “Here,” she said, handing it to him. She was still shaking a little and hoped he couldn’t see well enough to notice. Showing weakness to a man was like feeding blood to a shark.

  As he wiped his eyes, still kneeling, she spotted one of Hope’s little dolls and jammed it behind a pillow. No way was she letting this behemoth know that the girls were inside.

  When she looked up, he was squinting at her, frowning.

  Had he seen the toy? Who was he and what did he want? He couldn’t be up to any good, out here in the middle of the night. And she and the girls had few weapons at their disposal, but she’d fight to the death for them. She wiped a sweaty hand on her shorts and then clutched the canister of pepper spray tighter.

  He seemed to notice the motion. “Look, lady, I don’t know who you are, but you have no right to be here, let alone to attack someone who’s not doing anything to you.”

  “You were trying to break into this cabin.”

  “I have permission to be here and you don’t.”

  She swept her eyes over him, taking in his shaggy hair, military-style tattoos and flannel shirt with ripped-off sleeves. Plus the fact that he badly needed a shave. “Really?”

  He wiped the dish towel across his face. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m the contractor for the renovation. I have a legitimate reason to be here. Which is more than I can say for you.”