Mercy was standing at the woodstove in the kitchen, stirring a large kettle of oatmeal, when she sensed a disturbance in the air. There was no sound, nothing out of the ordinary to alert her, but the light hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Slowly, she released the ladle, letting it rest against the side of the pot. In what she hoped was a casual move, she took a step to the side. Several large knives rested on the chopping block. She wrapped her fingers around the handle of the largest one, using her body to shield her actions.
The wood in the stove crackled and the water in the kettle hissed. Mercy tucked the knife down by her side as she turned. If it was one of the children playing, she didn’t want to frighten them.
Before she had the chance to turn all the way around, strong fingers gripped her wrist, exerting enough pressure to keep her hand by her side but not enough to hurt her. Mercy knew who was behind her. Impossible. She’d left Logan weak and wounded, tied to a bed.
“What now?” His tone was mild. He was so large his body seemed to surround hers. Not for the first time in her life, she cursed her small size. He was a big man, about a foot taller than her. That didn’t mean she was helpless though. Not by a long shot.