Chapter Thirty
“GWYNN? YOU in there?”
That voice. It tasted like honey. Soft. Golden. Compelling. It tugged at her, pulling her from a bed of pine needles and ice.
Something whumped in the distance.
“Gwynn!”
Footfalls thudded closer. Calloused fingers caressed her cheek, smoothed her hair, clasped her shoulder. “Gwynn, wake up. Are you okay? Please, God, let her be okay.”
Her eyes fluttered open. The forest dissolved into kitchen cupboards. Dim lighting seeped in from a window, and blurry jean-clad legs knelt beside her. She frowned, sprawled on her stomach on a hard, cold surface. “What’s going on?” she croaked.
The fresh memories of that horrific night smashed into her then, stabbing her with a conflicted mix of grief and solace. She cried out and rolled to her side, curling into a ball.
How foolish she’d been! Her poor choices and rash behavior from the past had indirectly resulted in three deaths. She might not go to prison, but would her conscience ever be free?
“What’s the matter?” Cash rested his hand at her waist. “Talk to me. Are you hurt?”
“It’s true—it’s my fault.” She moaned and pressed her cheek into the linoleum floor. Lord, forgive me. “If I’d left the money alone, they might be alive today.”
“I don’t understand,” Cash said. “Did you—”
“Yes, I found the treasure. You happy now?”
“That’s not what I …” He fell silent, and her shuddered breaths filled the gap. “So, you remembered. And you were here by yourself?” His fingers tightened on her waist. “I’m sorry. I should have been here with you. You should have waited for me.”
She opened her eyes and glared at him. “You ghosted me. If Tessa’s to be believed, I bet you didn’t even have plans to call me.” Pushing his hand away, she struggled to a sitting position. “Admit it—you’ve been using me. Tessa said—”
“Whoa, hang on.” Cash took her shoulders and leveled his gaze with hers. “I didn’t ghost you. You gave me the wrong number. Nine digits instead of ten. I tried calling the Davisons, but all I got was a busy signal, and then …” He sighed and shook his head, rocking back on his heels in his crouched position. “Never mind. We’ll discuss it later.” He looked around. “What happened here ? That guy told me you were in trouble—” His eyes widened at the floor by the island counter.
“What guy?” She spliced a hand through her hair, working to untangle her recent memories from the iron grip of the old ones. “I came here to get the money. Well, hoped to get the money. I remembered the other night where I’d hidden it and—”
“Who had the gun?”
“What?”
Cash pointed to a pistol on the linoleum floor. “Who had the gun?” He turned back to her, his brow pinched. “Gwynn, what the heck happened?”
“I-it was Charlie.” Her body trembled. “He’s been living here for who knows how long—claims Alex gave him a key—and he came back before I had a chance to—”
“Did he shoot you?”
“Well, the gun went off, but I think it was an accident—”
“Tarnation, woman, I asked if you were hurt.” Cash yanked her coat open, his gaze raking over her shirt.
“Easy, Cooper. I don’t feel hurt.” She patted her torso. “And I’m not bleeding.” Her palm grazed a scratchy spot near her coat pocket. “What’s that?” She peered down and fingered the discolored area. A solid object had lodged into her coat material. Frowning, she worked it free, and a hard, misshapen lump about the size of a marble fell into her palm, leaving behind a frayed hole in her pocket. “What …?” She fingered the lump, her frown deepening. “Is this lead? What is this?”
Cash plucked it from her hand, and he blanched. “It’s a bullet.”
Her gaze met his. “So, I did get hit?” She flapped open her coat to check her hip and something thunked onto the floor. “My phone.” She picked it up, its screen cracked like webbing around an epicenter where the bullet must have struck. She pressed the side button, but the phone was dead. “It stopped the bullet. Is that even possible?”
Cash compressed his lips, rolling the bullet between his fingers as sirens sounded in the distance. “I’ve heard of a few cases where it’s happened, but not always. This is a miracle.”
She worked to restrain the tears in her throat. “But why? Why is my life spared? Our parents are gone, and I’m to blame.”
“Gwynn—”
“No. I remember everything, okay? It’s my fault.” Her eyes grew hot. As the sirens intensified, she told him about the exchange between their fathers, Mother inserting herself between the men, her own attempt to intervene, and Mr. Cooper stabbing Alex to save her life. “Do you get it now? If I hadn’t hidden the money—”
“You can’t blame yourself for other people’s bad choices. So you hid the money. You didn’t know what would come of that. And not everything ended badly.” Moisture glistened in Cash’s eyes. “You’re still alive.”
She swiped at her own tears. “And I’m grateful. But I’m a nobody. Why would God spare—”
“Knock it off, Gwynn.” Cash cupped her chin in a gruff hold, a fire in his ice-blue eyes. “God doesn’t make nobodies. You’ve got to stop asking ‘why,’ and start asking ‘what.’ And forgive yourself already. God clearly has more work for you to do, but you can’t do it wallowing in self-pity and remorse.”
Her mouth fell open. “I … I …” The protest to his rebuke fizzled on her tongue. He spoke the truth, dang it.
Boots clomped on the front porch. Two police officers burst into the house, followed by two EMTs and Uncle Russ.
“We were told there was a shooting,” one officer said.
The female EMT nudged Cash aside and crouched next to Gwynn. “Where are you hurt, ma’am?”
“I’m not—”
“Let me through! Gwynn!” Uncle Russ pushed his way to the front, deep lines etched in his forehead.
“It’s okay.” Gwynn looked from her uncle to the EMT. “I’m all right.”
Uncle Russ sagged against the counter and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Thank you, Jesus.”
One officer moved into the living room, talking into the two-way radio clipped to his vest. The EMT produced a blood pressure cuff from her bag and strapped it around Gwynn’s arm.
Gwynn frowned up at Uncle Russ. “What are you all doing here?”
“I was listening on the transmitter when the call went out,” he answered as the cuff tightened. “Apparently, Charlie Parker went to the station and confessed everything. Scared out of my mind he’d killed you.” Uncle Russ hitched his chin at Cash. “What’re you doing here?”
“Charlie told him where I was,” Gwynn said.
“No, he didn’t,” Cash said. “I haven’t seen Charlie since the Christmas Jam.”
She cocked her head. “Then how’d you know where to find me?”
Cash ran a hand over his five o’clock shadow. “It’s an interesting story, actually.” His lips quirked. “One that’s best shared over coffee and a slice of Miss Maude’s award-winning huckleberry pie.”