Wolf Creek Widow (Wolf Creek, Arkansas Book 4) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the house to clean something or other. When she was done with the porch, she’d water some plant or another with what was left. Nita Allen wasn’t one to see anything die or go to waste, especially a life.
    He could smell the beans she’d brought. They were simmering in a cast-iron Dutch oven hanging on a metal tripod that straddled a small fire she’d built outside. It smelled as though she’d added some salt pork from the smokehouse. There would be johnnycakes and wild green onion and perhaps some potatoes fried in the bacon grease left over from breakfast.
    Neither woman spoke, but they both watched as he rode closer and slid from the gelding’s back. It struck him how very different his mother was from the small blonde woman, yet how very alike their expressions were. He suspected that they had other traits in common, too.
    “Well?” Nita asked with her customary bluntness.
    Ace looped the reins over the hitching post. “Rachel says she thinks we should wait to bring the children home.”
    The anticipation in Meg’s eyes faded. Something inside him stirred in response—the innate need born in a man to protect, to shield loved ones from any more pain.
    “But she told me they could come home.” Meg’s voice was laced with distress.
    “Rachel says she knows mothers and she knows you, and she’s afraid you’ll overdo it with them around. She doesn’t want you picking one of them up without thinking or chasing after them yet. She said you need at least another week or so to heal before taking up their care again. I’m sorry.”
    Instead of answering, Meg turned and walked away. Her back was ramrod-straight, and her chin was high. She placed her feet carefully, as if she were so fragile she might shatter if she took a wrong step. And perhaps she would. Automatically wanting to comfort her, Ace started to follow.
    “Let her go.” Nita’s voice was low but firm. “You, of all people, should know that she has to work through this in her own way, in her own time.”
    They watched as she entered the edge of the woods at the side of the house, the same area where Dan Mercer had wounded Joseph Jones.
    Ace thought of all the time he’d spent in the forest through the years. It was the place he’d often gone as a boy to try to sort out his mixed heritage. He’d learned of his Celtic past from his father, who’d filled his mind with stories of bards and fanciful tales and a strangely melodic language he’d tried so hard to learn.
    From his mother he absorbed tales of the Keetoowah, the spiritual core of the Cherokee people, who stressed the importance of maintaining the old ways. The mission school he’d attended taught him the tenets of Christianity.
    Vastly different, yet with fascinating similarities. All sought solitude for meditation and prayer. Both cultures thought nature was sacred. God had created a place of nature for Adam and had walked with him in the garden; God spoke to Adam there.
    The woods were Ace’s garden. His refuge. A place to listen for the voice of God that whispered in the wind and murmured through the leaves of the trees and the rustle of creatures going about their day-to-day lives: finding nourishment, caring for their young, being wounded or hunted. Dying. Becoming part of the earth again, continuing the cycle put into place before the earth was spoken into existence. Ace believed that the voice of God could still be heard in the world around you, if you chose to hear it.
    He watched Meg disappear into the woods and wondered if she would hear God’s voice. According to those who knew her, she had a strong will and a stronger faith. This time, though, her injuries were worse, the pain deeper.
    He wished he could follow her, but he had trees to fell and wood to chop. He would be here when she returned. Deep in his heart, he knew that he would always be there for Meg.

Chapter Three
    I t was late afternoon when the noisy clatter of the dinner bell roused Meg from a light sleep. Nita