Free Breath of Dawn, The by Kristen Heitzmann Page B

thicker fog now, as twilight gave in to dusk. She entered her little house, darkness covering every inch of the A-frame. It crawled over her like smoke. What if he was waiting for her? Would anyone notice if she went missing? RaeAnne might call to thank her when she got the locket. Morgan would want the stuff out of the cellar, but he could take care of it himself.
    Would anyone check her house? Would anyone know where to look—or care? When they found her remains, Noelle might say, “My goodness, if only I’d known.” But she didn’t know. No one did. Except the ones who’d been there.
    Swallowing hard, she switched on the light. Nothing jumped except her own skin. The place was so small, she could see everything, including the loft, from the door. Someone could be in the closet or bathroom, but they’d have to make it down the steep stairs to jump her. She checked them anyway.
    Back in the kitchen, she tried to think of something for supper. At this rate her lip might be the only thing she chewed. God said it wasn’t good for man to be alone. It was worse for woman. She should get a dog.
    A dog could sense trouble. A dog could go in first and growl and raise its hackles. A dog would bark at night if someone tried to get in. And most of all, she wouldn’t be alone.
    Trembling, she took cheddar, tomato, and whole wheat bread from the fridge and assembled it for toasted cheese. The money from Morgan would buy a dog. Not a puppy—she needed help now—but not too old either. She was depending on it. Just an unfortunate soul who’d lost a family and had no companionship. She’d check the nearest shelter and let the animal choose her. She’d know when it was right.

    Noelle straightened from the toilet and wiped her mouth. Swishing mouthwash almost started the reflex again, but she resisted and crept back to bed. Rick held the cover up, concern etching his face. As she settled in, he worked his thumbs and fingers up and down her back in slow, deep circles.
    She murmured, “If we ever split up, I get your hands in the settlement.”
    “We’re never splitting up.”
    “Lucky you. You get to keep your hands.”
    “I wish I could do more.”
    She rolled to face him. “It’s only nine months of misery.” She pulled a grim smile. “I’m four down.”
    “That’s the spirit.”
    Settling her head in the hollow between his chest and shoulder, she said, “What do you think of Quinn?”
    “Who?”
    “You know who.” She squeezed his arm.
    “What am I supposed to think? I’ve seen her twice.”
    Morgan, she was sure, had an opinion—or the old Morgan would have. Rick had an opinion, too, somewhere deep inside, where he kept thoughts in appropriate order. At first she’d found that so strange, his faith-guided life. Now it was a pillar she clung to when dreams and memories seeped in.
    “I like her. I’d like to know her better.”
    “You think she needs a friend.”
    “You feel it too?”
    “No.” His eyes crinkled with sun-weathered skin, even in winter. “I just know you.”
    “Well.” She ran her hand over his lean muscled arm. “What about inviting her to Thanksgiving dinner?”
    “Who’s cooking?”
    She started to scold him, then realized he was referring to the morning sickness. The thought of preparing a turkey almost sent her back to the bathroom. “Not that, then. I wonder if she rides.”
    “You can’t ride pregnant.”
    She sighed. “Right.”
    “Why don’t you go visit while she finishes at Vera’s?”
    “I could. She did ask for Morgan’s help with something.”
    “Sorry she had to ask. I suggested he offer.”
    She sighed. “Do you think he’ll ever . . . you know . . .”
    Rick fingered a strand of her hair. “I don’t know. It was always Jill.”
    “Because she was out there, somewhere. Now that she’s gone, he could start fresh.”
    Rick shrugged. “Maybe.” He kissed her shoulder. “Get some sleep now.”
    But before she dropped off, Quinn came to her