The bus wreck, she thought, must have happened before the weather got so bad, otherwise no one would yet know about it. The authorities had had time to reach the scene and ascertain the two deputies were dead, as well as recapture two of the escaped prisoners. Price might not have eluded them if the blizzard hadn't interfered. The radio report had said the bus ran off the road during the storm, but what was reported wasn't always accurate, and the timing of events didn't really matter.
The microwave pinged. Hope checked the stew, then set the timer for another two minutes. She could hear the thud of the shovel against the wooden porch, but Price was working on a section that wasn't in view of the windows.
If she could hear the shovel, could he have heard the radio earlier?
Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she sank weakly into a chair. Was he that good an actor?
This was making her crazy. The only way she could make it through was to stop second-guessing herself. It didn't matter whether Price was a murderer or a more ordinary criminal, she had to turn him in. She couldn't torment herself wondering what he knew or guessed, she had to proceed as best she could.
She thought of the rifle again and hastily left the chair to return to her father's bedroom, to search more thoroughly for the bullets. She couldn't afford to waste any of these precious minutes of privacy.
The box of cartridges wasn't in any of the bureau drawers. Hope looked around the room, hoping instinct would tell her the most likely hiding place-- or the most unlikely. But the room was just an ordinary room, without secret panels or hidden drawers, or anything like that. She went to the bed and ran her hands under the pillows and mattress, but came up empty again.
She was pushing her luck by remaining any longer, so she hurried back to the kitchen and began setting the table. She had just finished when she heard Price stomping the snow off his boots, and the door opened.
"Damn, it's cold!" he said, shuddering as he shed his coat and sat down to pull off his heavy boots. His face was red from exposure. Despite the cold he had worked up a sweat, and a frosting of ice coated his forehead. It melted immediately in the warmth of the house, trickling down his temples.
He wiped the moisture away with his sleeve, then added another log to the fire and held his hands out to the blaze, rubbing them briskly to restore circulation.
"I'll make another pot of coffee, if you want some," Hope called as she set the large bowl of stew on the table. "Otherwise, you have a choice of milk or water."
"Water will do." He took the same kitchen chair he had used earlier. Tink, who hadn't been allowed out with Price the second time, left his spot by the fire and came to stand beside Price's chair. With a hopeful look in his eyes, he rested his muzzle on Price's thigh.
Price froze in the midst of ladling a large amount of beef stew into his bowl. He looked down at the soulful brown eyes watching him, and slanted a quick look at Hope. "Am I eating out of his bowl?"
"No, he's just giving you a guilt complex."
"It's working." "He's had a lot of practice. Tink, come here." She patted her own thigh, but he ignored her, evidently having concluded Price was a softer touch.
Price spooned some of the stew to his mouth, but didn't take the bite. He looked down at Tink. Tink looked at him. Price returned the spoon to his bowl. "For God's sake, do something," he muttered to Hope.
"Tink, come here," she repeated, reaching for the stubborn dog.
Abruptly Tink whirled away from Price, his ears pricked forward as he faced the kitchen door. He didn't bark, but every muscle in his body quivered with alertness.
Price was out of his chair so fast Hope didn't have time to blink. With his left hand he dragged her out of her chair and whirled her behind him, at the same time reaching behind his back, drawing the pistol from his waistband.
She stood paralyzed for a second, a second in which Price seemed to be listening as intently as Tink. Then he put one hand on her shoulder and forced her down on the floor beside the china cabinet, and with a motion of his hand told her to stay there. Noiseless in his stocking feet, he moved over to the window in the dining area, flattening his back to the wall as he reached it. She watched as he eased his head to the edge of the window, moving just enough that he could see out with one eye. He immediately drew back, then after a moment eased forward for another look.
A low growl began in Tink's throat. Price made another motion with his hand, and without thinking, Hope reached out and dragged her pet closer to her, wrapping her arms around him, though she didn't know what she could do to keep him from barking. Hold his muzzle, maybe, but he was strong enough that she wouldn't be able to hold him if he wanted to pull free.
What was she doing? she wondered wildly. What if it were law officers out there? They couldn't have tracked Price through the blizzard, but they could be searching any places where he might have found shelter.
But would deputies be on foot, or would they use snowmobiles? She hadn't heard the distinctive roar of the machines, and surely the cold was too dangerous for anyone to be out in it any length of time, anyway.
There were also two other escaped prisoners unaccounted for, would Price be as alarmed if one or both of them were out there? Had he seen anything? There might not be anything out there but a pine cone falling, or a squirrel venturing from its den and knocking some snow off a tree limb.
"I didn't check the cabins," Price muttered savagely to himself. "God damn it, I didn't check the cabins!"
"I locked them up yesterday," Hope said, keeping her voice low.
"Locks don't mean anything." He tilted his head, listening, then made another motion for her to be quiet.