Kaki Warner Read Online Free Page A

of the logs glowing in the hearth. No voice called out. No figure lurked in the corner. His mind was playing tricks again. He slumped back, his head aching, his mouth dry as dust. He hadn’t meant to sleep so long. Now he would probably be up most of the night again.
    A dark shadow moved past the window beside the bed, startling him. A moment later, heavy thuds sounded on the porch. Merlin.
Damn that horse
. Serve him right if he fell through the planks and stayed there until he rotted.
    With a sigh, Daniel pushed himself upright, vaguely surprised to see he was fully dressed and still wearing his boots.
    The water in the pot hanging over the coals was cold, but it woke him up well enough when he poured it over his head at the kitchen sink. After toweling his face and hair dry, he refilled the pot and restarted the fire. Then he picked up his jacket where he’d dropped it on the floor, slipped on his snowshoes, and went to see what damage Merlin had done while he’d slept the afternoon away.
    By the time he’d fed the animals, replaced the ropes Merlin had chewed through with a length of rusty chain, and retrieved stew makings from the cold box, the light was fading fast. He slid the bolt on the barn doors and looked around, wondering where Roscoe was, then caught sight of him by the woodshed. Just sitting there, looking into the woods.
    Daniel whistled.
    The dog looked back at him, barked once, then turned again to study the shadows at the edge of the small clearing that circled the cabin.
    Odd, that. Usually if the hound caught a scent, he was running it down or barking to chase off whatever had caught his attention. But now he just sat there—showing no hackles, not barking, and not even lifting his nose to sniff the air.
    Bemused, Daniel continued to the cabin, dumped his groceries on the table, then went back outside to stock up on wood for the night.
    Roscoe hadn’t moved.
    To the west, sunset had faded to a faint pale wash, while to the east, the soft glow of an early moon backlit the jagged peaks of the mountains. Not a single cloud shadowed the darkening sky. No snow tonight, but it promised to be a cold one. “What are you doing out here?” he asked the hound as he approached the woodshed.
    The dog acknowledged him with a wag, rose, and trotted a few feet toward the woods, then sat again.
    Daniel looked into the trees but saw nothing.
    “You’ll freeze your balls off sitting in the snow like that.” Trying not to pull his stitches, he stacked firewood in the crook of his arm. “Not that you have much use for them, living out here like you do.”
Me, either
, he thought wryly. Maybe Doc was right. Maybe he should take another wife. One that could cook and sew and do all those household chores he wasn’t so good at. At least then he would have something better to do at night than build a damn dollhouse.
    “You said you’d come.”
    Startled, Daniel whirled, firewood falling from his arms. Over the pounding of his heart, he heard Roscoe whine. Snatching up a length of wood, he stepped from beneath the shed overhang and scanned the shadows. “Who’s there?”
    Silence.
    The voice had sounded young. He couldn’t tell if it was male or female. Probably a youngster from town. Maybe hiding in the brush, trying to scare the town recluse on a dare. Or maybe one who had strayed too far and now couldn’t find the way home.
    Whoever it was hadn’t alarmed Roscoe. The hound continued to sit staring at the trees, head cocked as if he was listening, his tail thumping up little puffs of snow.
    “You lost?” Daniel called.
    No answer.
    “If you are, come inside and warm up. You’re safe here.”
    Nothing.
    Had he imagined this, too? Growing uneasy, he called the dog.
    The hound turned and looked at him but didn’t move.
    “Come, Roscoe. Now!”
    Reluctantly the dog came to his side. Daniel loaded up with firewood again, and making sure the dog followed, tromped back to the cabin.
    That night, he didn’t work