Hope Everlastin' Book 4 Read Free

yer only sibling?"
    "Two ithers, Angus and
Gavin. We were all given Ian as a middle name, efter ma paternal
grandfaither. Patrick preferred to be called Ian. I was the
youngest. You have brithers?"
    "Just a sister I would
rather forget." Roan stood and stretched the small of his back.
"I've got to step ou' back and relieve ma bladder. Don't soak up
all the heat while I'm gone."
    Lachlan gave a brief nod,
then braced his elbows on his thighs and watched Roan go out the
back door.
    The night air made Roan
grimace as he walked toward the white picket fence separating the
property. He was about to unzip his fly when he detected voices.
After a moment, he pinpointed the general location and realized he
was hearing segments of a heated argument.
    Dashing back to the open
door, he shouted, "Lannie, somethin’s goin’ on in the
field!"
    Lachlan appeared at the
threshold. He followed Roan to the fence, where he, too, heard
voices drifting in from the clearing beyond the woods, the area of
his supposed resting place.
    The two men entered the
woods, oblivious to the cold, their concentration focused on
keeping afoot on the slick ground. Before they exited the wooded
area, two beams of light could be seen bobbing beneath the bare
branches of the solitary oak in the center of the field. Both men
stopped to weigh the situation then looked at each
other.
    "Why would someone be
messin’ around the graves?" Roan asked, his heart hammering inside
his chest.
    Lachlan lit into another
run, taking the lead, fury fueling his momentum.
    Near the ancient oak, Roan
and Lachlan found three men struggling on the ground. One of them,
younger than the others, seemed to be fighting off the other two,
his fists sailing and guttural Gaelic curses abounding. The older
men appeared to be attempting to hold down the third. As Lachlan
and Roan slid to a stop, one of the older men raised his flashlight
in a gesture that indicated he intended to bring it down on the
younger man's head.
    Lachlan grabbed the man's
lifted arm. Ignoring his yelp of surprise, Lachlan yanked him off
the younger man, leaving Roan to handle the second. While Roan was
trying to separate the fist-driving pair, Lachlan's captive
unexpectedly elbowed him in the midriff and shoved him. Lachlan
pitched backward and struck the ground, while his assailant ran
toward the road bordering the side of the property.
    Dazed, Lachlan had sat up
before he realized there was something odd about the ground beneath
him. It was soft dirt, not packed snow or ice. From the corner of
his eye, he saw something erect a scant half an arm's reach away.
Horrified, he found himself gawking at his headstone.
    He was sitting atop the
partially excavated depression of his own grave.
    With a howl, he bolted to
his feet, in time to witness the second old man swing his
flashlight at Roan. The blow caught Roan just above his right
temple. He fell to his side, disoriented and unable to stop the man
from taking off after his partner.
    Panting, the younger man
rolled onto his knees and gingerly helped Roan to sit up. Lachlan
stepped out of the two-foot deep depression and loomed behind the
remaining stranger, his hands fisted at his sides.
    "Get yer paughty hands off
him!" Lachlan warned, not touching the stranger for fear he would
beat him to a pulp.
    "I had no' part in this but
to try to stop them," the young man said testily.
    Lachlan's hands swooped
downward. In his right he clutched the collar of the man's jacket,
in the other, one of the flashlights. Both he lifted with equal
ease. Whirling around, he deftly slammed the man against the broad
trunk of the oak and cinched his free hand across his
throat.
    Focusing the beam of the
flashlight on the man's face, Lachlan snarled, "Wha' are you doin’
on this property, diggin’ up ma grave?"
    "Yer—" Despite the harsh
light, his blue eyes widened. Then he squinted and gripped the
wrist of Lachlan's hand in a futile attempt to move the beam from
his face.
    "Answer