Hidden Summit

for him, that she felt from him, was bigger than the biggest love she had ever imagined.
    She embraced his pillow while she was falling asleep, inhaling his special scent, that woodsy musk with just a dash of his sandalwood cologne. They had talked for almost an hour as she drove, talked until his nephews were pulling at him and telling him to come on, come on, come on.... He had talked about how he not only wanted a life with her but a different kind of life than the one he had before, that life that had been drenched in hard labor and only punctuated by short breaks of leisure time with his family. Until this visit he had never spent more than a day with them. He’d rarely taken a weekend or evening off away from the store—they had been open almost 24/7. After the trial was over, he was in search of more balance. And that balance included her in a major role.
    When he gave in to his nephews’ urging to hurry up, he said, “All right, all right. I love you, baby. I’ll call later.” And in the background Leslie heard a small boy’s voice say, “What baby do you love, Uncle Danny?” followed by Conner’s deep, sexy laugh.
    She was dreaming about him when somewhere deep in the night she was awakened by a noise. At first she thought it was a cat, then she realized it was crying. A baby was crying and crying. There was the sound of a door slamming, more crying from at least one baby or small child, then a shout. And another shout.
    She sat straight up in bed. Another slam, but she wasn’t sure where it was coming from. And then there was a pounding at her front door and she hoisted herself out of bed and she ran. Without thinking, she threw the door open. There stood Mrs. Clemens, looking tinier than ever, wrapped in a very old, faded blue chenille robe, her white hair all springy and misshapen from sleep.
    “He’s back,” she said with a small cry. “That man is back and I think he’s hurting her!”
    “Who?” Leslie asked.
    And before Mrs. Clemens could answer, Mrs. Hutchkins came sprinting down the street. She was wearing a gray sweat suit with a hoodie, and flip-flops on her feet. “Adie,” she yelled. “Go get someone right now! Go get Preacher or Nick Fitch or Ron from the Corner Store. Hurry!”
    And with that, Martha Hutchkins ran right up to Leslie’s house, through the flowers that bordered the yard and grabbed the rake from the side of the porch where it had been leaning. “Hurry up, Adie!” Martha headed back through the flowers, the rake in hand.
    “It’s Nora,” Adie said. “That man’s hurting her!” And then she shuffled at her fastest speed down the street and away in search of help.
    Leslie shook the cobwebs out of her head. She heard another scream—these houses must be made of paper! The baby was crying her lungs out. She ran back inside and grabbed her broom and thought, I need a baseball bat! She put some power in her stride to catch up with Mrs. Hutchkins. “Did you call anyone?”
    “I called Mike V, our town cop, but he’s at least ten minutes out of town. I’m not waiting for him, but he’s our closest law enforcement.” And with that, she moved quickly up the walk to Nora’s front door, which stood open. Mrs. Hutchkins pushed her way right inside, Leslie close on her heels.
    What Leslie saw next was terrifying. The baby was on the couch, crying and wildly kicking her little legs. Berry was nowhere in sight, and some tall, skinny ugly guy held Nora up against the wall. Her hands were locked on his forearms, trying to push him away, and her legs were in motion as if she was running in the air.
    While Leslie took in the scene frozen in shock, Mrs. Hutchkins wasted no time. She turned the rake around in her hands, holding on to the edge with the prongs, walked right up to the man and, with all her might, whacked him in the head with the handle of the rake. He dropped Nora to grab his head.
    Nora slid to the floor, gasping in fear, while the man whirled around and, with eyes blazing, snarled at Leslie and Mrs. Hutchkins.
    Leslie, feeling a little late to the party, pointed the handle of the broom at him, hanging on to the business end. “All right, back away from Nora!” she commanded. “The police are on the way!”
    He laughed, and when he did, Leslie caught sight of rotting teeth. Who was this? Not the good-looking, badass baseball player, surely? This looked like a vagrant! His holey jeans hung low on his hips, the sleeves were torn off his T-shirt, his