Dorothy Garlock by High on a Hill Read Free Book Online

some beef. Later I’ll give you broth.” She smiled and Jack was sure that he’d never seen a sweeter smile.
    “If I had my clothes—”
    “I hung them on the line to dry. I’ll get them after I bring your oatmeal.”
    “Ma’am, I can’t let you wait on me. If I had my clothes I could come to the table or … eat on the porch.”
    “I won’t hear of it. You’ll stay right there until morning.”
    “But … this is somebody’s bed—”
    “It’s my father’s and he’s away right now.”
    “The man that … helped me?”
    “No, that was Boone. He’s gone now too, but Spinner is here. Spinner and Boone work for my father.” Annabel laughed teasingly. “Don’t worry about it. There is always someone here in case you decide to get up and rob the place.”
    “I feel that I’m a … bother.”
    “Well, you’re not. I’ll go get your oatmeal.” She turned to leave.
    “Ma’am,” Jack called. “Who was playing the violin last night?”
    Annabel turned. “You heard that?”
    “Yes, ma’am. I was down by the road. It seemed to be coming from heaven. It was the most beautiful music I ever heard.”
    Annabel beamed. “Thank you, Jack. I love the violin and play for a while most evenings. I’ll play for you tonight if you like.”
    She disappeared from the doorway and Jack thanked God for bringing him to this place.

Chapter 4
    C ORBIN EXPECTED THE BRUTAL IMPACT of another bullet at any second now. He waited. But it did not come.
    A burning rod was thrusting through his leg between his knee and his hip, and another in his shoulder. He staggered forward to find protection behind his car, slipped on some loose shale and fell. He struck the ground hard and felt his life crushed out of him. After that, he slid into kindly darkness.
    When life came back, he lifted his hand to his head and tried to raise himself to his elbow. Pain knifed through him and he sank back down. He could see that he was in a room with plank walls, an iron cookstove and a square table. Seated at the table was a man whose face was covered with stubby whiskers as black as night, and the eyes staring at him were still blacker. The scene faded and he wasn’t sure if it was real until the man spoke.
    “Take it easy.” The man unfolded himself from the chair and stretched out a hand to press him down on the deep soft bed of evergreen tips. He sank back and closed his eyes. Although a blanket covered the boughs he lay on, he could still mell the fragrance of the pines and vaguely recognized the sound of tree limbs swishing against the roof.
    “Ya’ve come to. Guess I won’t have to dig a hole and bury ya after all.”
    Corbin Appleby opened his eyes again and tried to sort out his vague thoughts. He waited until his eyes could focus before he spoke.
    “Who are you?”
    The man chuckled. “If you ain’t knowin’, I ain’t tellin’ ya.”
    “Was it you who shot me?”
    “If it’d been me, you’d be dead.”
    “Name’s Corbin Appleby.”
    “Ya know yore name, do ya? It’s a good sign. Thought maybe ya whacked yore head, ya was out so long. Do ya want a drink of water?”
    “I sure do.” Corbin closed his eyes and didn’t see the man go to the water pail beside the door. He was drifting toward the blackness when he felt a touch on his shoulder.
    “Don’t ya be fadin’ away again. I’m a gettin’ tired talkin’ to myself.”
    A large hand beneath his head lifted it, and a cup was held to his mouth. The water was cool and good. He had to resist the urge to gulp. The liquid slid down his dry throat like fine wine.
    “Not too much to start. I ain’t wantin’ to be cleanin’ up no puke.”
    “Am I hurt bad?” Corbin’s head sank wearily back down on the blanket.
    “Bad enough to keep ya sleepin’ off an’ on most of the day.”
    “My head feels like someone is pounding on it with a sledgehammer.”
    “Don’t doubt that a bit. Ya got a goose egg up there big as a good-sized horse turd. Yore head found a rock