Chapter Eight
Mitag walked through town, thinking about buying a new shirt for his dinner at the Amgar farm. He had plenty of nice outfits, but were any perfect to impress a lady of Jennifer’s worth? He should find something extra special.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw the other new face in the district…Dramok Ilid headed his way. Mitag’s bright grin was answered by a restrained but entirely pleasant smile from the handsome young man.
When they were within a few feet, they exchanged bows. “I’ve been informed we have a dinner date tonight,” Mitag enthused. “I was planning to com you to see if I could offer you a shuttle ride. It’s only fair since you were so kind to pilot Detodev and me last night.”
“I’d appreciate it, thanks. My parent clan plans to go out. They were going to drop me off at the farm, but your offer will free them up.” Ilid changed direction and fell in step with Mitag.
The Imdiko was thrilled to have him as a companion. “Where are they off to?”
“The next district over has a Kalquorian restaurant they heard was excellent.”
“They must be eating at Etariz. It’s definitely worth an hour’s flight.”
“That’s the place they mentioned. I’m relieved you think it’s good. The dinner is a celebration. They’ve decided to buy the bakery if its current owner agrees to their offer.”
“Then you’ll be staying!” Mitag beamed and barely kept from grabbing Ilid’s arm in delight. “What great news.”
“I’m glad you think so,” the Dramok laughed. He glanced at Mitag, then his gaze slid aside, as if checking for something or someone. He’d done it quite often the night prior, Mitag realized. Hadn’t Detodev called him on it?
He was distracted from the notion as their eyes met. He bubbled, “Hey, as the owner of an event planning business, I could stage the bakery’s grand opening for you. We can make it a huge occasion to introduce you and your work to the community.”
“I can see how it would be an excellent promotional opportunity,” Ilid acknowledged. His tone was warm, but his attention had shifted from Mitag to their surroundings…searching, searching, searching. As if he expected trouble to jump out at him from each doorway they passed.
“What’s his name?” Mitag asked.
Ilid regarded him in surprise for an instant. He glanced again to just over Mitag’s shoulder. “What’s whose name?”
“The jealous Imdiko who’ll punch me and give you an earful after seeing us together. You keep checking for someone, so I have to assume...”
Ilid uttered an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry, Mitag. I’m being rude. I think I mentioned I had a bad experience while I was in the fleet. It goes beyond mere claustrophobia, I suppose. I can’t seem to stop checking for trouble.”
“The biggest problem you’ll find on Haven is what you stepped in. You won’t run into strict commanding officers, Tragooms, or Darks.” The Imdiko swept his arms to indicate Haven as a whole. “Here, it’s only fields of innocent produce and sweaty farmers, as far as the eye can see. Oh, and brides who believe haybales and chicken wire are the height of fashion, but that’s an entirely different story.”
Ilid chuckled. For once, his regard remained on Mitag. It sent warmth through the young man.
* * * *
“ Voila ! Pies in the oven, right on schedule.” Charity waved a dramatic flourish for Sara’s benefit.
“Excellent. I’ll dash out for some eggs. The biscuits are my last project.” The blonde grinned.
The door flung wide, and the three children swooped in. “Mom, Mom, Mom, James cut himself bad,” Tori exclaimed breathlessly, dragging her younger brother by the collar of his filthy tee.
“Let me see.” Sara rushed to the pale child, who held out his arm. It was swathed in what was apparently Adam’s shirt, since the teen’s torso was bare. Sara unwrapped it and eyed the wound, which went from the crook of James’ elbow to nearly his wrist. Blood welled in a thin line.
“Big scratch. Not deep, thank the prophets. Tree or fence?”
Charity was impressed by Sara’s calm. She thought if she had a kid and he came in bleeding, she’d be screaming for emergency medics to save his life.
“Fence,” James reluctantly admitted.
“Whose?” Sara glared at him, pressing the wadded shirt to control the blood flow.
His head lowered.
“Mr. Jenkins by the school, I’ll bet.” Sara’s clipped tone hinted James had bigger worries than a cut arm.
Adam rolled his eyes at Charity before he suddenly realized he was shirtless in her presence. He turned crimson and rushed from the room. His footsteps thudded up the stairs.
Tori smirked, but her attention remained riveted on her mother and little brother. “I bet Mr. Jenkins put the fence up just to ward off James from his peach trees. Serves you right, brat.”
“Enough. Tori, see to your chores. James, to the bathroom so I can treat this scratch.” Sara straightened and sighed. “Jennifer, could you go to the coop and collect the eggs for me? There’s a basket—”
“By the door.” Charity had paid mind to Sara’s endless to-do list in case she was asked to help. “I’m on it.”
Behind her, Sara called, “Thanks, sweetie. Come on, James. While I disinfect and bandage this, we’ll have a conversation about those peaches and what happens to thieves.”
* * * *
Charity was nearly to the coop, which was located a few yards behind the house, when a movement at the corner of her eye caught her notice.
Her gaze swung to the barn. Its red presence was a cheerful postcard image, set off by a backdrop of verdant fields and nearby forest. Late afternoon sunlight illuminated the first few feet within its wide entrance. Shadows blanketed the rest of the interior. She was certain she saw a figure draw deeper in the dark.
She paused. Except for the chickens, Clan Amgar didn’t keep animals. They owned no cattle, goats, or horses. The barn’s function was to store produce fresh from the fields until it was sent on to market. It also garaged tools and the hovercarts.
It was close to quitting time, but the fieldhands weren’t due to come in for a few minutes yet. Sara and the kids were indoors. Groteg and Utber were at their respective jobs. Who’d be in the barn? Could it be Detodev, hoping to see her for a private word? Or more likely trying to avoid her.
No. Despite their acquaintance being so brief, she knew Detodev wasn’t the type to slink around in such a fashion. If he’d come to pick up an item needed in the field, he’d have endured her teasing rather than scurrying to hide.
She had the creepy sensation of being watched. She was reminded of her time on Browning Copeland’s battlecruiser, Sword of Truth . The old feeling of unwanted interest crept over her, making her skin crawl.
Back then, she’d had no choice but to put her head down and hurry on her way to escape the hungry stares of disgusting old men rather than confronting them as she’d wanted to. She’d been unable to slap the knowing leers from their stupid faces. The risks to her and her family had been too great.
No longer. If it were some asshole playing peeping tom, she was perfectly within her rights to punch his lights out. Especially if his target wasn’t her, but Sara. Or Tori. Charity’s hackles rose at the idea.
Then again, it could be someone looking to steal from Clan Amgar. They had a lot of tools and components for their field monitors in the barn. The clan did fine financially for themselves, but it didn’t mean anyone could show up and take their belongings. Charity had almost as little use for thieves…excluding mischievous boys hungry for peaches…as for creeps staring at innocent girls or kind women who went out of their way to help others.
No doubt she was overreacting. It was almost certainly a fieldhand she’d seen. Still, it was best to make sure.
She squared her shoulders. Whoever you are, you’d better have a good reason to be in there. If not, be ready to answer to me.
Charity marched to the barn.
Her eyes were in no hurry to adjust from the glare of sunlight to the darker reaches of the barn’s interior. Peering at vague shapes and trying to make sense of them, Charity stepped in the gloom.
“Hey. Who’s in here? Need help finding something?”
At first, silence greeted her. She ventured deeper, her gaze finding a nearby shovel. So old-fashioned, these farm tools. Also handy if she needed to take a swing at someone. She slowed her advance, creeping more cautiously forward to reach grabbing distance of the shovel.
A distant voice calling unintelligibly startled her, and she turned toward the front of the barn, uttering a gasp. She relaxed an instant later. The fieldhands were on their way in. They were still some distance off from the sounds of it.
She faced the rear of the building’s interior again, irritated to find she’d blasted her vision to garbage from looking at the sunlit area. She curled her fingers on the shovel’s handle. “I know someone’s in here. State your business, or I’ll assume the worst.”
No answer. Charity picked up the shovel and held it at the ready. Staying as silent as possible, she headed in, peering among bins and equipment as best as her slowly recovering sight allowed.
She’d gone half a dozen steps when someone grabbed her from behind. A thick arm circled her waist, pulling her close to a large body. Her attacker yanked the shovel from her grip and flung it into the darkness.