Carolina Moon

rabbit darted across the road, a brown streak of confusion. Instinctively Faith hit the brakes, swerved. The car fishtailed, squealed, and under her firm hands found its balance again.
    “I just can’t stand hitting anything. Though God knows why they run out like that. Seems they wait for a car to come along, and …” She trailed off as she looked at Tory again. The snicker escaped before she cleared her throat and slowed down. “Uh oh.”
    Saying nothing, Tory looked down. Most of the Coke that had been in the bottle was now splattered all over her shirt. With two fingertips she pulled it away from her skin and slanted her gaze to Faith.
    “Well, gee whiz, I couldn’t run down the little bunny, could I?”
    “Just do me a favor and get me home so I can change, okay?”
    Tapping her fingers on the wheel, Faith swung into Tory’s lane, kicking dust and gravel into the air as she braked.
    Laughing, but cautious, Faith hopped out of the car. “I’ll run some cold water over that shirt while you clean up. Shame to ruin it, even if it is deadly ordinary.”
    “Classic.”
    “You keep believing that.” Pleased with the diversion, Faith strolled up the steps. “You take your time straightening yourself up,” she said, as Tory pulled open the door. “You need it more than I do.”
    “I don’t suppose it takes long to look ready to hop in the next available bed.”
    Grinning, Faith followed her into the bedroom, then making herself at home, she opened Tory’s closet and poked through. “Hey, some of this stuff’s not half bad.”
    “Get your fingers out of my clothes.”
    “This is a good color for me.” She pulled out a silk blouse in a deep, dusky blue, then turned to the mirror. “Brings out my eyes.”
    Stripped down to her bra, Tory snatched the blouse and shoved the damp shirt at Faith. “Go make yourself useful.”
    Faith rolled her eyes, but headed out to rinse the shirt in the bathroom sink. “If you’re not wearing it in the next few days, you could lend it to me. I was thinking Wade and I could have an evening at home tomorrow night. If things go as they’re supposed to, I wouldn’t have it on that long anyhow.”
    “Then it doesn’t matter what you wear.”
    “A statement like that just proves you need me.” Faith splashed the shirt around in the bowl. “What a woman wears is directly related to how she wants a man to respond.”
    Tory reached in her closet for a white camp shirt, frowned, then eyed the silk blouse. Well, why not?
    Tory buttoned the blouse and walked to the mirror to brush out her hair. It needed to be tamed and tied back, she told herself. She was going to comfort her grandmother, to do what she could to help hold what was left of her family together. It wasn’t the time for the frivolous or the selfish now. Though God, she’d needed just that, and wouldn’t forget that Faith had provided it.
    Lifting her arms, she began to work her hair into a braid. The repetitive motion, the hum of the ceiling fan lulled her until her eyes were half closed and she was smiling dreamily into the mirror.
    She saw the rabbit dart out into the road. A panicked brown streak. Running. Fleeing from the scent of man.
    Someone was coming. Someone was watching.
    Her arms froze over her head, and the panic tripped her heart. The air went thick, heavy, edged with the faintest taste of stale whiskey.
    She scented him, prey to hunter.
    In one leap she was at the nightstand, and the gun Cade had given her was in her hand. There was a whimper in the back of her throat, but she closed it off. All that came out was the ragged panting of fear. She rushed from the room just as Faith wandered out of the bathroom.
    “I left it soaking. You can wring it out when—” She saw the gun first, then Tory’s face. “Oh God” was all she managed before Tory grabbed her arm.
    “Listen to me, don’t ask questions. There isn’t much time. Go out the front, hurry. Get in the car and go for help. Get help. I’ll stop him if I can.”
    “Come on with me. Come on now.”
    “No.” Tory broke away, swung toward the kitchen. “He’s coming. Go!”
    She ran toward the back of the house to give Faith time to escape. And to face her father.
    He kicked in the back door, lurched through. His clothes were filthy, his face and arms raw with scratches and the swollen bites of greedy insects. He swayed a little, but his eyes stayed steady on his daughter’s face. He had an empty bottle in one hand, and a