DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 9, SECTION 6

When I gently separated myself away from my mom's surprisingly affectionate embrace, Chris put a hand on my shoulder.

"Everything okay, Ash?" He was eyeing Shawn suspiciously. "This is . . . ?"

Shawn extended his hand; I could just make out bullet-sized scar on his palm. "Shawn," he said.

Chris tentatively shook his hand. He'd never met my husband, but by now he'd heard plenty about it him. 

"So, okay. Wow," he stuttered, limply pulling his hand away from Shawn. "Yeah . . . Ash?" He turned to me. "We sure this is okay?"

I looked at Shawn quizzically.

"It's okay," he said, his eyes locked onto mine assuringly. "Yes. It's okay."

I gave Chris an acquiescent shrug. Shawn had, after all, just defied the entire Home Guard and had freed at least a couple dozen prisoners from death.

Chris extended his hand again toward Shawn, now a little more warmly. "Alright, well." He shrugged. "Welcome to the good guys!"

Shawn smiled as he returned the handshake. "Thanks."

I was still struggling to make sense of what was happening. Obviously, Shawn had a ton of explaining to do. I couldn't even begin to know how to feel about seeing him like this. Without offering any further explanation, he stepped away to greet Ed, who was emerging from behind a bramble of sagebrush.

Someone touched my elbow.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

It was my dad.

I hugged him so hard I almost knocked him over.

I burst into tears. He held my head against his collar while I cried.

"My Ashley. Oh my Lord. Wasn't sure that I'd ever see you again." He hugged me tighter.

We made camp that night only a few hundred yards up the trail.

The conditions were cold and miserable. There were no tents, and the day's snowfall was either wet and muddy in patches or freezing over into shards of ground ice, neither of which were tremendously appealing to sleep on. We left the cattle free to graze on whatever they could find, but they mostly clustered nearby, equally content to low loudly or crap at random intervals.

I couldn't complain, though. Our numbers at the dwellings were about to double when this new influx of refugees arrived, and the extra food that the cattle were going to provide would be essential. And we'd pushed on far enough past the ridge to be concealed from any unfriendly eyes from the plains, so we lit a few fires and clustered around them. Pretty much everyone was more intent on keeping warm than actually getting any sleep.

Shawn was tactful enough to keep his distance while I hovered over a small fire with my parents.

"I'm so proud of you," my mom said. "You've really done a good thing here. I don't know what we would have done without this. I need to make sure to give that Chris boy a big thank-you too."

I couldn't believe it. Why was my mom acting so generous and grateful? It wasn't like her at all. . .

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