The Edge of Hell: The Mitchell Brothers Series Book One

18

Walking between Declan and Emerson toward the Buchanan's two chimneys and mountainous rubble piles, Wolstan stared at the swath of shattered landscape in horrified amazement.

He'd thought he'd been prepared for devastation after the shock at seeing the destruction on their property.

Their barn and outbuildings were dismantled and scattered into heaps of broken timber. The massive oak tree that had stood in the front yard with a swing made by their daddy when they were little lay several yards down the road—as though it'd been ripped from the earth and discarded like a child's unwanted toy.

However, the damage they'd suffered seemed trivial compared to the carnage before him.

The north oak grove had been reduced to little more than a mass of debarked, snapped trees and torn stumps jutting from the ravaged soil. Some leaned drunkenly with their thick, gnarly roots half exposed, and Wolstan couldn't help but think he'd walked battlefields destroyed by heavy cannon fire that had fared better than this stretch of scarred land.

"We aren't obligated to offer them a roof over their head if we find them alive, are we?" Declan asked, his attention darting to Luella at his right before returning to scan his surroundings. "Considering we don't technically have one ourselves anymore?"

Emerson looked at him from the corner of his eye, shook his head, and chuckled. "I have to admit, there are times I appreciate your rather devious point of view, Declan."

"Well, I appreciate being appreciated, Uncle Em," Declan snickered.

"Mama might argue it would be the neighborly thing to do," Wolstan murmured because he felt he should and earned a disapproving scowl from Declan in the process. "And I don't doubt after learning Cyrus was indeed the one who attacked Mae in the grove, she'd not only insist we invite him into our home—roof or no—but also lock him in the broom closet and send for Sheriff Laverton."

Emerson and Declan stopped mid-stride and stared at Wolstan.

"I knew it," Declan growled, his eyes alight with the same murderous rage in Wolstan's.

"When did Mae tell you?" Emerson asked at the same time with a lethal edge to his tone.

Wolstan glanced between them and chose his words carefully as he said, "Today; she admitted it was the real reason she tried leaving, not just because of our previous agreement. She couldn't bear his looming presence in her life any longer."

Emerson studied Wolstan, his eyes narrowed and lips pursed, staring at him until a gust of cold wind whisked by. It sent a ripple of shivers through each that had them burrowing deeper into their winter coats and scarves, and they resumed walking out of necessity to keep warm.

They walked in silence for several moments before Emerson murmured, "It is mighty comforting to know we finally have a Sheriff who sees Cyrus for the contemptible man he is and is just as eager for him to be swinging from a tree as we are."

"Sounds like you're no longer hoping the tornado killed them," Wolstan murmured, biting back a grin.

Emerson flicked a glance at Wolstan. "Perhaps just a little."

"Wait a minute." Declan arched a brow. "Does this mean we are inviting them to come home with us?"

"Well, your mama wants us to be good neighbors." Emerson nodded as his lips curled in a grim smile. "So, I say if they've survived, we aim to be the best neighbors we can be."

"There's a chance Ardella might be the only one who survives," Declan said, his tone disheartened as he stared straight ahead. "And I don't think such a tactic with her is a good idea. She's likely to take it as a sign that one of us is interested in going to bed with her."