Read Online Beyond the Misty Shore by Vicki Hinze - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Vicki Hinze
Ads: Link
applied debilitating pressure at the soft hollow of his shoulder. And his hope died.
“Nooo!” he screamed. “Nooo!”
What on earth were they doing out there?
Kneeling on the turret’s window seat in her room, Maggie sank into the soft cushion pads and leaned closer to the glass. Bill and Miss Hattie stood watching MacGregor as if he were about to singlehandedly evoke the Second Coming.
Thank goodness she’d phoned Bill last night and asked him not to mention she and Carolyn had been related. It had taken some talking, but he’d finally agreed. Too, he’d imparted an interesting bit of information. MacGregor believed Carolyn had been an orphan. Technically, that had been true, but why hadn’t she mentioned Maggie’s parents or Maggie to him? She’d lived with the family from the time she’d been orphaned at twelve until she’d graduated high school.
Miss Hattie and Bill backed away from MacGregor. Why was he standing on the rocks holding the painting from Lakeview Gallery of Seascape Inn? Why was he drawing a line in the sand with his foot?
He closed his eyes and just stood there. Maggie clocked him on her watch. A minute, twenty-four seconds. Was he praying? Meditating? What?
He stepped over the line. Just stood there, still and stiff as a statue. Maggie glanced at Miss Hattie—definitely worried—and then at Bill. Hands clenched at his sides, he looked serious. Solemn. Scared.
MacGregor jerked. The painting flew through the air toward Bill as if MacGregor had tossed it. Bill caught it, and Maggie looked back at MacGregor just as he spun around. He glared back at the house, an expression of horror, then sheer terror, on his face, and he screamed: “Nooo! Nooo!”
Maggie gripped the window sash and squeezed. MacGregor was swinging his fists. What was he fighting? There was nothing there. And why were Miss Hattie and Bill just... standing there watching him? Not trying to calm him down? Not moving an inch toward him? Should Maggie go down there?
MacGregor slapped his left hand to his right shoulder, gripping and grimacing and bending and twisting, as if trying to release himself from some godawful, wrenching hold. What was happening to him? Was he having some kind of seizure?
It couldn’t be. Certainty slammed into her with the force of a sledge. Whatever was happening to him, Miss Hattie and Bill Butler had expected it. Miss Hattie’s lack of alarm proved it. Bill’s lack of assistance verified it.
MacGregor fell to the ground.
Maggie watched, horrified. She couldn’t move.
Bill calmly walked over to MacGregor, circled the larger man from behind, wrapping his arms around MacGregor’s ribs, then dragged him over the rocks back onto what must be the Seascape side of the line T.J. had marked. Gently, Bill lowered MacGregor back to the ground, released him, then backed away.
When Miss Hattie bent down, Bill retrieved the painting and checked it over. Looking for damage? Miss Hattie did the same thing to MacGregor, running her hands over his scalp. Evidently she was satisfied that he wasn’t seriously hurt because she reached beneath her coat and into her apron pocket, withdrew her hankie, then fluttered it over MacGregor’s face.
Was he unconscious?
This was definitely strange. Shocking and strange. Something glinted on the window and Maggie shifted to see past it, her heart thumping hard in her chest. Frankly, this whole episode went beyond strange. It was weird. Dark and—
Oh, no. It couldn’t be some kind of cult ritual. Miss Hattie? Bill? Involved in a cult? Not even MacGregor could be involved in a cult.
So what was going on?
MacGregor sat up, rubbed at the back of his head, and said something to Miss Hattie, who was fussing over him, plucking dry, dead grass from his coat and hair.
They talked back and forth, with Bill adding something intermittently, then Bill and Miss Hattie began walking back toward the house.
Miss Hattie glanced up at Maggie’s window.
To avoid being seen,
“Nooo!” he screamed. “Nooo!”
What on earth were they doing out there?
Kneeling on the turret’s window seat in her room, Maggie sank into the soft cushion pads and leaned closer to the glass. Bill and Miss Hattie stood watching MacGregor as if he were about to singlehandedly evoke the Second Coming.
Thank goodness she’d phoned Bill last night and asked him not to mention she and Carolyn had been related. It had taken some talking, but he’d finally agreed. Too, he’d imparted an interesting bit of information. MacGregor believed Carolyn had been an orphan. Technically, that had been true, but why hadn’t she mentioned Maggie’s parents or Maggie to him? She’d lived with the family from the time she’d been orphaned at twelve until she’d graduated high school.
Miss Hattie and Bill backed away from MacGregor. Why was he standing on the rocks holding the painting from Lakeview Gallery of Seascape Inn? Why was he drawing a line in the sand with his foot?
He closed his eyes and just stood there. Maggie clocked him on her watch. A minute, twenty-four seconds. Was he praying? Meditating? What?
He stepped over the line. Just stood there, still and stiff as a statue. Maggie glanced at Miss Hattie—definitely worried—and then at Bill. Hands clenched at his sides, he looked serious. Solemn. Scared.
MacGregor jerked. The painting flew through the air toward Bill as if MacGregor had tossed it. Bill caught it, and Maggie looked back at MacGregor just as he spun around. He glared back at the house, an expression of horror, then sheer terror, on his face, and he screamed: “Nooo! Nooo!”
Maggie gripped the window sash and squeezed. MacGregor was swinging his fists. What was he fighting? There was nothing there. And why were Miss Hattie and Bill just... standing there watching him? Not trying to calm him down? Not moving an inch toward him? Should Maggie go down there?
MacGregor slapped his left hand to his right shoulder, gripping and grimacing and bending and twisting, as if trying to release himself from some godawful, wrenching hold. What was happening to him? Was he having some kind of seizure?
It couldn’t be. Certainty slammed into her with the force of a sledge. Whatever was happening to him, Miss Hattie and Bill Butler had expected it. Miss Hattie’s lack of alarm proved it. Bill’s lack of assistance verified it.
MacGregor fell to the ground.
Maggie watched, horrified. She couldn’t move.
Bill calmly walked over to MacGregor, circled the larger man from behind, wrapping his arms around MacGregor’s ribs, then dragged him over the rocks back onto what must be the Seascape side of the line T.J. had marked. Gently, Bill lowered MacGregor back to the ground, released him, then backed away.
When Miss Hattie bent down, Bill retrieved the painting and checked it over. Looking for damage? Miss Hattie did the same thing to MacGregor, running her hands over his scalp. Evidently she was satisfied that he wasn’t seriously hurt because she reached beneath her coat and into her apron pocket, withdrew her hankie, then fluttered it over MacGregor’s face.
Was he unconscious?
This was definitely strange. Shocking and strange. Something glinted on the window and Maggie shifted to see past it, her heart thumping hard in her chest. Frankly, this whole episode went beyond strange. It was weird. Dark and—
Oh, no. It couldn’t be some kind of cult ritual. Miss Hattie? Bill? Involved in a cult? Not even MacGregor could be involved in a cult.
So what was going on?
MacGregor sat up, rubbed at the back of his head, and said something to Miss Hattie, who was fussing over him, plucking dry, dead grass from his coat and hair.
They talked back and forth, with Bill adding something intermittently, then Bill and Miss Hattie began walking back toward the house.
Miss Hattie glanced up at Maggie’s window.
To avoid being seen,
Similar Books
