Chapter Twenty-Six #3
Daisy reached for Nathan's sleeve. "He wasn't careless, Nathan. They wanted Flint looking somewhere else."
Nathan covered her hand with his. "They wanted all of us looking somewhere else."
Evening had almost disappeared beyond the windows. Shadows gathered along the walls, and the open doorway admitted a cool breeze carrying the scent of horses and damp earth. Flint found himself watching the darkness beyond the threshold with growing unease because the room no longer felt secure.
"Come with me," Nathan said, the strain in his voice far more revealing than the words themselves. "I'd like a proper look at that arm before you decide you've recovered through sheer stubbornness."
Their voices drifted toward the kitchen, the familiar rhythm of their bickering returning in cautious increments as they disappeared into the house.
Flint remained where he was until the sound of their footsteps faded.
The workshop felt different now. Lavender oil spread across the floorboards in a slow-moving stain. Candle tins lay scattered where they had rolled during the struggle, and one of Daisy's carefully labeled jars had come to rest beneath the worktable with its paper label torn almost in half.
He crouched and reached for it.
The jar slipped from his thoughts the instant he noticed the marks carved into the underside of the table.
At first glance, they looked like ordinary scratches. Daisy's worktables bore plenty of scars from years of daily use. These stood apart from the rest. The cuts appeared fresh, their edges sharp and pale against the darker wood.
A feeling of dread settled heavily in his stomach as he leaned closer.
The message had been carved with deliberate care.
FOUND YOU, FLINT.
The words held his attention long enough that he almost missed the line beneath them.
NEXT TIME, HER.
Flint stared at the carving while the workshop seemed to fall away around him.
The table stood exactly where it always had.
Daisy had spent countless hours working there, measuring wax, sorting supplies, and labeling jars by touch.
Her fingers passed beneath that edge every day without a second thought.
The idea that one of Amos's men had stood in this room long enough to leave a message while Daisy went about her work filled him with a sickness he could scarcely contain.
He could picture the scene too easily.
A stranger hidden among familiar surroundings. Daisy moving through the workshop with complete trust in the space she knew so well. A threat waiting inches from her hand.
Amos had never relied on brute force alone. Fear lasted longer when it settled into a person's habits and followed them through ordinary routines. By morning, Daisy would know those words existed. After that, every trip into the workshop would carry the memory of them.
He closed his hand around the broken jar he still carried, barely noticing when a jagged edge bit into his palm. The sting grounded him enough to draw a steady breath, though it did nothing to ease the certainty growing inside him.
He had spent weeks convincing himself that a little more time wouldn't matter.
A few more days, one more conversation. One more chance to find a solution that wouldn't break Daisy's heart.
The carving beneath the table destroyed those excuses as thoroughly as the intruder had destroyed the room.
Amos had already reached her.
He had learned her name. He had learned where she worked. He had learned how to frighten her.
Flint's gaze swept over the room. The shattered glass could be cleared away. The broken shelves could be repaired. Even the bruises on Daisy's arm would eventually fade.
The fear Amos had carried into this room would not.
He searched for another answer anyway.
He could keep watch every night. Nathan and Samuel could post armed men around the property. They could lock every door, reinforce every window, and make the ranch as difficult to reach as a military fort.
None of it solved the real problem.
As long as Amos wanted Flint, Daisy would never truly be safe.
The realization settled over him with a terrible, quiet certainty.
Amos wasn't hunting Daisy.
He was hunting the man who loved her.
If Flint stayed, Amos would keep coming. There would be another threat, another message, another day when Daisy opened the workshop door expecting an ordinary morning and found terror waiting inside.
Flint couldn't allow that to happen again.
Outside, Nathan's voice drifted faintly from the house, followed by Daisy's reply. She laughed at something he said, but the sound was thinner than it had been only a few days earlier, as though some part of her confidence had been left behind in the workshop.
Flint closed his eyes.
He had been searching for another way since the day he arrived at Nathan's ranch.
There wasn't one.
If Daisy was ever going to be free of Amos Grady, Flint had to make certain Amos stopped looking for him.
The thought tore through him with all the force of a gunshot.
He already knew what he had to do.
He simply wasn't sure he could survive doing it.