Free Over the Fence by Melanie Moreland Page A

faceless people who had done this to her.
    From the little she had said, her family had left long-lasting scars. The kind people couldn’t see—the same way my family’s rejection had scarred me, causing me to refuse to get close to anyone.
    Family should love and protect, not hurt one another. From what I gleaned she had been hurt—badly—maybe even worse than I had been. Bastards. They better hope we never meet. It sounded as if her hurt stemmed from many years, whereas mine had been abrupt, leaving me reeling at a time when I needed my family the most.
    I sighed. I wasn’t sure I was prepared for this, or if she was either. I needed to be patient and understanding; be a friend to her, until she was comfortable with being . . . more. I could do that. For her, I could be patient.
    I glanced behind me at the tall barrier that made her feel safe, yet kept me from her. At the moment it was a necessary evil.
    I planned onbuying a ladder, though—soon.

I tossed and turned all night. The pain in Kourtney’s voice when she spoke about her family tormented me. I knew, without a doubt, whatever had happened in her past was what made her so skittish when it came to her present life. She always deflected the conversation away from personal subjects. She didn’t accept compliments well. It was almost as if she didn’t believe them. Any time I even hinted at removing the barrier of the fence between us, she panicked. She was hiding something and I wasn’t sure what it was, or exactly why. I only knew it had something to do with her past and the way she was treated by her father and brother.
    I snorted, remembering the day she had moved in. I had been in the backyard wondering if anyone else in the complex was hiding a secret.
    Guess I got my answer.
    I gave up and got out of bed. I had a busy week ahead of me so getting into work early wasn’t a bad idea. After showering, I went into the kitchen, not bothering to put on any lights. Looking out the back door, as I ate some dry cereal from the box, I was surprised to see light coming from Kourtney’s backyard. I opened the door and went outside.
    There were no sounds indicating she was there, but her outside light was on. I wondered if her lights worked the same as mine. If you turned on either the front or back door lights, both came on. It was touted as a safety feature with the house, like the built-in carbon monoxide and smoke detectors. I called her name but there was no response. She probably had left one of the lights on. I went inside, grabbed my phone and got in the car, entering via the garage as I always did. Pulling out of the driveway, I backed the car up a little and confirmed her front light was on. I also noticed diffused light from behind the living room curtains, and I frowned. She was up early, and I wished I was able to go knock on her door and make sure she was okay. I shook my head at that idea. As if a knock at the door at five in the morning wouldn’t startle her.
    I drove through the subdivision, the houses mostly dark and the streets deserted. As I was stopped at the corner, movement caught my eye and I saw the same girl from yesterday, jogging toward me. Again, I couldn’t help but observe her pleasingly curvy figure and the flexing muscles in her legs as her sneaker-clad feet pounded on the pavement. Her hood was up and her head down as she ran past, her legs pumping out a steady rhythm, not even lifting her head to spare a glance at my idling car.
    The first thought that entered my head as I watched her run by was: she shouldn’t be out alone. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw her turn the corner—and my frown intensified. There were only two streets in that direction, one of them being the one I lived on. Both streets were cul-de-sacs and sat on the fringe of dense woods. Surely to God she wasn’t going running in the woods? As yesterday, the same restless feeling overtook me when I thought about this unknown woman out alone this