"Matthews, Patricia - Goatman" - читать интересную книгу автора (Matthews Patricia)

Moira looked down the road in the direction in which Tray had gone running after
the rabbit they had startled in the middle of the road.

"Do you have a gun?"

Wordlessly Moira shook her head, and felt the wind wrap her hair around her
throat and across her cheeks.

"It wouldn't hurt none to have one," said Miss Rhode, staring fixedly into
Moira's eyes. "Just wanted to tell you. Seeing as how you're a woman alone."

Why did she keep harping on that? "You're alone, too," Moira said somewhat
accusingly.

What might have been amusement flickered in the old woman's eyes. "That's a
different thing," she said, turning away. "I'm an old woman, and I'm no
city-folk. I can take care of myself."

Meaning I can't, I suppose, thought Moira, feeling a flash of annoyance. "Well,
thanks for the warning," she called in what she intended to be a sarcastic tone,
but the old woman was already walking toward the house, and in a moment, Moira
was left alone in the road. * * *

By suppertime, the wind had not lessened, and Moira, preparing her evening meal
at the sink in front of the window, could see the tops of the trees at the edge
of the clearing, moving against the fading blue of the sky. It was going to be a
beautiful, wild night, and for the first time in months, she felt a kind of
excitement stirring inside her.

She could feel the warmth of the wood stove behind her, and she turned from the
window to face the room. She loved the interior of the one-room cabin. It was
simple, and functional, much as it had been when her great-aunt, Ida, had lived
here. Victor might scoff at it, as indeed he had, but it satisfied some need in
her.

The day after she moved into the cabin, her brother, Victor, had come to see
her.

"It looks like something out of one of those awful old movies," Victor said,
looking very much out of place in his beige sports outfit, which Moira was
certain had been advertised as the latest thing in country wear. He posed in the
doorway, looking fastidious and elegant, and suddenly she felt as tired of him
as she was of all the rest of the polished, sophisticated, artificial people she
had come here to escape.

"You'll be back within a week." His attractive, triangular smile took the sting
from his words. "This place is primitive, Moira. A pump! I can't believe it! And
where is the john?"

"In back of the cabin." She had to smile at his very real horror.