Water Horse (The Nightmare Saga Book 1) by Katie Hanna

Author:Katie Hanna [Hanna, Katie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: SnowRidge Press
Published: 2024-03-19T00:00:00+00:00

“Coffee’s ready,” I announce, dumping sugar into Meg’s waiting cup and stirring hard. Steel spoon clatters against china sides. Bitter and sweet, the warm, brown scent wafts upward.

“Here, Meg.” I plunk the coffee on the table in front of her and sit down opposite. She blinks, sleepy as a kitten now all the excitement’s over. “Drink up. You got pretty chilled out there.”

She doesn’t argue. Golden dots of light glance off her fingernails as she reaches for the cup. That’s the kerosene lamp, carving its small, bright circle out of gray shadows. A circle just big enough to hold this table, these two chairs, Meg, and me. Plus Lada, prowling around somewhere by our feet.

I take a swig from my own cup. Harsh. Dark. Stitches me right back together. Ain’t nothing like black coffee, nowhere.

“You’re drinking that horrid stuff without any sugar, aren’t you?” My wife’s eyes are round and sweet over the rim that hides her mouth. She might be teasing me. But I’m a poor hand at guessing.

“Hell yeah, I am.” I gulp more coffee to prove it.

“I’ll never understand you, George.” With careful fingers, she sets down her drink, burrowing deeper into Ma’s red shawl that I made her drape round her shoulders. I’m glad I did. She’s so small. No fat on those bones to store any heat. “You can afford sugar.”

“It ain’t the money,” I assure her solemnly. “It’s a point of pride.”

Her lips quirk. “I can see that.”

I chuckle. Watch her quietly as she sips her coffee bit by bit. That red wrap looks some different on Meg than it did on my mother. For one thing, Ma had firmer, squarer shoulders, so she didn’t appear so lost in its folds. For another, Ma wasn’t a curly-headed woman. Her hair was straight and dark and no-nonsense. Her eyes were brown, her laugh deep and hearty. She had a good aim with a pistol and a wicked head for business. Rose Calhoun was tough, and every man around her knew it. That’s not Meg’s way. But Meg, I’m learning, has her own way of getting things done. If you underestimate her, you may just be sorry.

“Do you want to hear about the horse now?” she asks, setting down the empty cup at last.

“Sure, honey.” I lean back, lace my hands behind my head. “Shoot.”

“Well, I woke up early, and I kept thinking about her,” Meg begins. She toys with the yarn fringe on the shawl, as if that’ll help her speech come easier. “So I went out to . . . well, to talk to her.”

I’m pretty sure if I show surprise at any point in this story, she’ll clam up and quit talking. Which ain’t the goal here. So I nod, nice and slow. “Okay.”

“For a long time, it was just her and me. She wasn’t upset. She was peaceful.” Some of that peace soaks into Meg’s voice, into her beautiful, pearl-gray eyes. But it all drains out with her next words. “Brian coming out of the barn with his horse .

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