He watched as it continued down the road.
A few seconds later, he heard an unfamiliar sound.
A motorcycle engine.
Then another.
And another.
Walter frowned.
Motorcycles were not unusual in the county. Cedar Hollow sat along a popular route used by touring riders during warmer months.
But nobody sensible traveled that road during a storm like this.
He stepped toward the porch.
Duke followed.
The engines grew louder, then disappeared beneath the thunder.
Walter was about to return inside when he noticed something near the roadside.
A figure.
Someone walking.
He squinted through the rain.
The person stumbled, caught a fence post, and continued toward the farmhouse.
Walter opened the door.
A woman stood at the bottom of the porch steps.
She wore a black leather jacket, dark riding pants, and heavy boots. Her long brown hair was soaked against her face. Water ran from her sleeves, and her hands were trembling so violently that she struggled to remove one glove.
"Please," she said.
Walter immediately noticed the pale color of her lips.
"Come inside."
"I don't want to bother you."
"Lady, you're standing in a storm that could drown a cow. You're already bothering the weather. Come inside."
She gave a weak laugh.
Then her knees nearly buckled.
Walter caught her arm.
"Easy."
He guided her into the kitchen and helped her sit near the fireplace.
Duke approached cautiously, sniffed her boots, and rested his enormous head against her knee.
The woman looked down.
"Hello, handsome."
Duke wagged his tail.
Walter brought a towel.
"Here. Get that jacket off before you freeze."
"Thank you."
He placed another log in the fireplace and turned up the heat.
Then he filled a kettle.
"Tea?"
"Anything warm."
"Good answer."
He brought her a thick blanket and set a mug on the table.
Only after she had taken several sips did he ask her name.
"Mara."
"Walter."
She looked around the kitchen.
"You live here alone?"
"Me and the landlord."
She glanced at him.
Walter pointed toward Duke.
"He's the landlord. I'm just the employee."
For the first time, Mara laughed properly.
It was a small sound, but it changed the room.
Walter noticed.
He hadn't heard a stranger laugh in his kitchen for a long time.
"What happened?" he asked.
"My motorcycle broke down."
"Where?"
"About two miles back."
"You walked all the way here?"
"I couldn't get it started. My phone died, and I couldn't see another building."
Walter shook his head.
"That's a long walk in this weather."
"I know."
"Any injuries?"
"No. Just cold."
He studied her hands.
"Those fingers don't look right."
"They'll warm up."
"Let's hope so."
Walter went to the telephone.
He called the local emergency service to report a stranded motorcyclist, then returned to the kitchen.
Mara was staring at Eleanor's photograph.
"Your wife?"
Walter followed her gaze.
"Yes."
"She's beautiful."
"She was."
Mara looked at him.
"How long ago?"
"Six years."
"I'm sorry."
Walter nodded.
He didn't explain.
Some grief was too old to require introductions.
Mara held the mug between both hands.
"My husband hates storms," she said.
Walter smiled.
"Then he's a sensible man."
"He'll be worried."
"Does he know where you are?"
"Not exactly."
Walter looked at the telephone.
"Do you remember his number?"
She nodded.
He offered to let her use his mobile phone.
She dialed.
No answer.
She tried again.
Nothing.
Her expression tightened.
Walter noticed.
"Something wrong?"
Mara hesitated.
"I don't know."
Before he could ask another question, headlights swept across the kitchen wall.
A vehicle stopped near the front gate.
Mara went rigid.
Walter looked toward the window.
Two men stepped out.
They weren't dressed like ordinary travelers. Both wore dark jackets, and one kept looking toward the farmhouse as though he already knew what he would find.
Mara stood.
"Mr. Briggs..."
"What?"
She swallowed.
"Please don't let them take me."
Walter's expression changed.
He put down his mug.
"Who are they?"
"I don't know what they want."
"Do they know you?"
She nodded.
"Then why are you afraid?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Because they threatened my husband."
The men approached the porch.
One knocked.
Not politely.
Three heavy blows shook the door.
Walter looked at Mara.
"Stay here."
He walked toward the entrance.
"Who is it?"
A man's voice answered.
"We're looking for a woman."
Walter opened the door only as far as the security chain allowed.
"Lots of women in the world."
The man looked past him.
"She came this way."
"Nobody came here."
The second man stepped forward.
"Old timer, don't make this difficult."
Walter stared at him.
"I'm seventy-eight years old. Everything is difficult."
The man frowned.
Then he spotted Mara behind Walter.
"There she is."
Walter slowly closed the door.
The first man put his boot against it.
"Open up."