Free Nighthawk & The Return of Luke McGuire by Justine Davis, Rachel Lee

poured a glass of tea for herself, but as she was debating whether to join Craig at the table or keep a safe distance at the counter, the doorbell rang. “Excuse me.”
    It was Verna with another letter. “You’re getting popular,” the letter carrier said with a grin. “Two letters in one week. Some kind of record, isn’t it?”
    “Can you come in for some tea?” She was surprised to feel herself hoping both that Verna would accept and that she would refuse.
    “Sorry, I can’t. You’re not my last stop today. Have a good one.”
    Esther watched her go, wondering why her life suddenly seemed to be a sea of conflicting emotions. And why had Verna been in such a hurry to leave? Usually she wanted to chat for a couple of minutes.
    As the woman drove away, Esther saw Nighthawk’s horse and dog, tethered to the fence post, and no Craig in evidence. There were a lot of scenarios that might be drawn, but she had a strong feeling which connection Verna had made. By tomorrow evening it was probably going to be all over Conard County that Craig Nighthawk and Esther Jackson were romancing.
    Inwardly Esther shrugged. Considering that she was a recluse, she hardly cared what anyone thought. Then she looked down at the envelope in her hand. It was addressed in a spidery scrawl that she didn’t recognize, without a return address.
    Suddenly her heart was hammering so loudly that it filled her ears. With shaking hands, she ripped the envelope open and pulled out a yellow sheet of paper. Her eyes skipped over everything, down to the signature.
    Dad.
    “Esther? Esther, what’s wrong?”
    She heard Craig Nighthawk’s voice. It seemed to come from far away, from an entirely different planet than the one on which she stood holding a letter from the man who had shattered her body and her life.
    “Esther?” Tentatively he touched her shoulder.
    Jerkily she turned her head to look at him, and felt a shudder pass through her as shock released its grip. She couldn’t find her voice, but there was mute appeal in every cell of her body.
    He hesitated visibly, then reached out for her, wrapping her tightly in his arms and holding her close to his chest. “What happened?” he asked gently. “Did that woman say something to you?”
    Some corner of her mind registered that this was the way a man’s touch was supposed to feel—safe and caring. Part of her was stunned that she was even allowing herself to be held, but the rest of her reached out for the comfort she had never before known. No one had ever held her caringly. Never.
    “Is it the letter?” Craig asked. “Is there anything I can do?”
    She ought to straighten, ought to pull away. She couldn’t afford to depend on anyone, certainly not a man she hardly knew. But she needed what he was offering, and with every fiber of her being she wanted to cling to him.
    Holding her tightly with one arm, he took the letter from her hand and read it.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked. “All he says is he wants a chance to apologize to you. Is that what upset you?”
    She tried to pull away, but his hold tightened. Her cheek was pressed to his chest and she could hear the steady thud of his heart. He felt so hard, so strong. What could he possibly understand about her terror?
    “Esther, please. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
    “I don’t want his apology!” Anger was beginning to come to her rescue, swift and hot. She’d cowered enough in her life and despised herself for it. Her entire psyche was a tangled web of scars, shame and guilt. It no longer mattered which scars were rational and which fears were unfounded. It no longer mattered that none of it had really been her fault. She was wounded, permanently warped, and none of those feelings would ever go away. And that made her angry.
    “Why not?”
    “He killed my mother! He hurt us both for years! And he wants to hurt me again!”
    Craig never slackened his hold on her shoulders, keeping her tucked to his