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Fatal Burn

By Roxanne Rustand

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Kris Donaldson gripped the unfamiliar set of keys and stared down the snowy, weed-choked lane leading to Wind Hill Ranch. It held at least a foot of snow, though far less than the heavy snow pack out in the open areas.

Dusk had crawled over the rugged Montana landscape during the long drive from Battle Creek, but she'd been caught up in her disturbing memories and hadn't noticed the fading light.

And now, with heavier snow falling and narrow, twisting mountain roads behind her, it was too late to turn back.

She shuddered as she stared over the massive fallen tree blocking access to the property, its roots rising like a tangle of snakes toward the sky. The surrounding pine forest pressed in from all sides, looming fiercely overhead. From somewhere in the gloom came the ghostly hoot of an owl, then the terrified cry of some small, unlucky creature.

Supposedly there was a house a half-mile ahead, but no welcoming security lights glimmered through the pine branches. And though the lawyer had promised to make sure the electricity had been restored, she now had her doubts.

I should have stayed in Battle Creek tonight, she muttered under her breath as she tramped through the snow to circle the tangled roots of the tree. Here, the underbrush was less dense than at the other end. Maybe...

Climbing back in her SUV, she slowly drove over the brush, scraping between two saplings, then angled past a jagged boulder. Despite its four-wheel drive, the tires spun on the sharp incline. But then the tires grabbed and the vehicle shot up onto the lane, fish-tailing wildly for several heart-stopping seconds.

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel until her pulse stopped racing. Then she flipped on her headlights, slowly eased down on the accelerator and crept forward, the headlights swinging past an impenetrable wall of pines on either side of the road as she navigated the serpentine curves. The forest abruptly opened up into a small meadow, and she drew in a sharp breath.

Ahead, through the veil of falling snow, lay an old, two-story log cabin with a covered porch stretching across the front. There appeared to be several buildings in back--barns of some kind, maybe. Split-rail fencing behind the house trailed off into the deepening twilight. Not a ranch, really--just forty acres--but it was pretty as a Christmas card.

The portable dog kennel in the back of the SUV rattled, and her elderly golden retriever whined, scrabbling at the mesh door.

"Hold on, Bailey," she called out, loud enough for him to hear. The dog barked a single acknowledgment that made her smile, thankful for his presence.

She'd camped alone in remote areas of the Rockies and Appalachians, and she'd lived alone since the end of her ill-fated marriage nine years ago. But she wasn't stupid, and she wasn't foolishly brave. Even after a few courses on self-protection, she didn’t take chances.

She pulled to a stop in front of the house. Carefully scanned it for any signs of life, then surveyed the surrounding meadow before finally unlocking her door and going to the back to let Bailey loose. The dog bounded out of the cage with a joyful yip and ran in ever widening circles, sniffing the ground and raising his head to catch scents on the breeze. He sneezed at the snow falling on his nose, then rolled ecstatically and went back to his exploring.

If there'd been any interlopers--human or otherwise--nearby, he would have erupted in frenzied barking.

She whistled and he rushed back to sit at her feet, his eyes fixed on hers. "I'm sure glad you're with me," she said, leaning down to ruffle his thick, silky coat. "Let's check out the house before it gets any darker out here."

Clicking the door locks of the SUV, she strode up the steps and across the broad porch. A bank of dark, empty windows seemed to stare back at her as she approached. She sorted through the set of keys the lawyer had given her, until one finally worked in the stiff lock. The door opened with a screech of rusty hinges and Bailey rushed through while she patted the wall just inside until she found a panel of switches and flipped them all.

The porch and interior lights came on, revealing a large great room with a stone fireplace at one end. Ghostly white sheets were draped over lumpy, massive objects--furnishings of some sort--set about the room. A rustic, open staircase rose to a narrow balcony overlooking the first floor. Several closed doors on the second level were probably bedrooms.Straight across the room, she could see through a door to the kitchen, while to the right, there appeared to be a hallway leading to the other rooms on the first floor. Everything was covered in thick dust and the stale air was filled with the cloying odor of dead mice.

A wave of sadness hit her at everything she'd missed, after the disappearance of her mother. A home of her own. Relatives. Someone to love to her. Yet Thalia Rose Porter had lived here alone all those years, and only in death had she bothered to acknowledge her late nephew's daughter.

Just one more sad page among many, though dwelling on the past was useless.
Kris cautiously stepped further inside and closed the door behind her, hesitant to lock it until she knew the coast was clear inside.

Bailey bounced up the stairs and sniffed at the closed doors, then raced back down. He skidded to a stop, his legs tangling in panic as he stared at the front door and began barking furiously. A coyote...maybe a wolf, or a stray dog...?

But then Kris heard the crunch of a footstep in the snow.

Human. Heavy.

Another footstep, this time on the porch steps. She watched, mesmerized. as the doorknob turned slowly.

Her heart lodged in her throat, Kris frantically scanned the room for something. Anything that she could use as a weapon. She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs as she judged the distances to the windows and the back entryway, which was probably off the kitchen.

A terrifying image flashed through her thoughts of a child screaming...screaming...screaming...

Oh, Laura--I still miss you so much. But God hadn't stopped Laura 's killer, so He surely wasn't going to step in, now. Thinking otherwise was a foolish waste of time.

Kris turned and started to run for kitchen.

The front door swung open. Crashed against the wall.

And over her shoulder, she saw a towering figure in black filled the doorway, a rifle held against his chest. "Don't move. Don’t even think about it, lady." His gravelly voice turned harsh and low. "Unless you want more trouble than you can imagine."

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