Page 54 of If the Boot Fits

Martin lowered the boy to the ground, but Jimmy immediately held his arms up. “’Gin!”

After a quick glance to Ida Mae for permission, Martin snatched the boy up and did another lap around the yard.

“I think this is the last of them,” Samantha said, turning out her apron and letting the potatoes roll down into the sack.

Pressing a hand to her back, she stretched muscles unused to all the bending required for garden work. Jimmy wasn’t the only one in need of a nap. A warm bath and lie down sounded heavenly right about now.

“Go on and wash up,” she told Fergus. “I’ll take the sack over to the porch.”

This one was only half-filled, so she should be able to manage it on her own. Martin had toted the others for her, but he was busy toting something else at the moment.

Fergus jogged over to Bess, who quickly wrapped an arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the others.

Mothers and their boys. Samantha smiled at the scene before she turned her back and trudged in the opposite direction. Would she experience that bond one day? Would Asher share it with her—swinging their child up onto his shoulders and galloping around like a horse as childish giggles rained down from on high? He’d make a great father. She saw it in the way he treated his brothers. Patient, fun-loving, supportive. How easy to imagine him in that role. Easy to imagine him in the role of husband, too. The pulse-fluttering thought distracted her so completely, she caught her toe on a tree root and pitched forward.

At the same moment, a distant crack sounded, followed by an explosion of glass over her back as a bullet shattered the house window directly behind her.

Samantha fell to the ground, a scream tearing from her throat.

“Everyone behind the house!”

She heard Martin’s shout, but she couldn’t move. She needed to stay small. Hidden.

Another gun sounded. Closer. Martin. Returning fire. She squeezed her eyes shut, flinching each time a shot echoed.

Then all at once, arms encircled her. A soft voice urged her to get up.

“I’ve got you, Samantha. Come on. You can make it.”

Bess.

Asher’s mother had come for her.

In that moment, Samantha forgot about herself. About the man out there somewhere trying to shoot her. She thought only of getting Bess out of the line of fire. She knew the devastation of losing a mother. She couldn’t be the cause of Fergus and Jack losing theirs. And Asher—it would crush him.

Forcing her limbs to unbend, Samantha pushed upward. Bess shielded her as the two of them crouched and ran, kicking their way through spilled potatoes until they reached the porch. Fergus waved at them from the far corner of the house, calling for them to hurry.

They huddled behind the house for what felt like an eternity, Jimmy’s cries the only sound in the eerily silent air.

Finally, Martin rounded the building, his gaze colliding with Samantha’s. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

If she hadn’t stumbled at just that moment . . . A shiver coursed over her skin. Bess must have felt her tremble, for her arms tightened around her and her hands rubbed away the chill before it could settle in Samantha’s bones.

“Thank God.”

Yes, thank you, Lord. I would be dead if it weren’t for you.

“I’m going to load up the Ellises’ wagon and bring it around here,” Martin said. “All of you are to stay behind the house until I return. All right?”

Everyone nodded agreement.

He turned to leave, but Ida Mae touched his arm and brought him to a halt. “Be careful,” she murmured.

He dipped his chin. “I will.”

The man must have sprouted wings on his boots, for he had the wagon loaded in less than ten minutes. All the harvested food had been collected along with the gardening tools and picnic supplies.