Page 30 of Old Money, Deadly Secrets

“Always,” Dog promised. He turned and headed toward the kitchen, steeling himself for the conversation ahead. He just hoped the peacefulness of the meadow would be enough to cushion the storm he was about to bring into Margaret’s life.

20 - MARGARET

Margaret stood by the kitchen sink, a cooling mug of tea in her hands, her gaze fixed on the dense tree line outside the window. For the past hour, the heavy oak door to Warden’s sitting room had been firmly shut. She knew the men were on a secure call with the rest of their team. She also knew her husband was the main topic of conversation.

The wait was agonizing. Each passing minute felt like a boulder pressing down on her chest, heavier and more suffocating than any of Charles’s condescending remarks or icy silences.

When the door finally opened, she flinched, turning to see Dog step into the hallway. The sheer size of the man usually made her feel incredibly safe, a primal comfort she hadn’t realized she craved until she met him. But right now, looking at the grim set of his jaw and the profound sadness lingering in his dark eyes, her stomach plummeted. A shiver, not entirely from fear, traced a path down her spine.

He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he walked into the kitchen, his movements economical, deliberate. His gaze fell on the platter of sandwiches, fruit, and cheeses Margaret had meticulously arranged for the men, a small gesture of care she’d prepared for their eventual emergence from the meeting. He pulled a small canvas backpack from a hook and began efficiently selecting and packing a portion of everything into it, along with two bottles of water. As he broke off a small piece of cheese and popped it into his mouth, she noted the quiet focus in his actions. He didn’t rush, didn’t demand, just moved with a quiet purpose that let her breathe.

As she watched Dog, she appreciated the contrast. Charles would have barked orders, impatient for her to keep up with his thoughts, his urgency. Dog simply gave her time.

“Dog?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “What happened? Are the kids…”

He stopped, turning to face her. His expression softened instantly, and he reached out, resting a warm hand on her shoulder. The contact was gentle but firm, a stark contrast to the casual, often possessive, touches she was used to from Charles. A surprising warmth spread through her, distracting her for a split second from her terror. “The kids are okay, Margaret. I promise you, they are okay.”

She let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding for days, her knees going weak. It was Dog’s tone, calm and unwavering, that finally convinced her.

“But we have a lot to talk about,” Dog continued gently, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against her shoulder. The small, thoughtful gesture felt impossibly intimate in their stressful reality. “And the walls in this cabin are a little too thin and a little too close right now. Warden said there’s a meadow just through the woods. I thought maybe we could take a walk, have a picnic, and I’ll tell you everything. Just you and me. How does that sound?”

He gave her space, let the question hang, allowing her to consider, to choose. Charles would have presented it as a decision already made, another item on his schedule.

Margaret swallowed hard, looking at the backpack and then back up at him. “Okay. Let’s go.”

As she giggled softly, she added, “Since you packed the food…”

The air outside was crisp, carrying the sharp, clean scent of pine and damp earth. Dog set an easy pace, adjusting his long strides to ensure she could comfortably keep up. He walked slightly ahead of her on the narrow trail, his eyes constantly scanning the tree line, a silent reminder that they were still hunted. Yet, even with his tactical awareness on high alert, he reached back to hold her hand, anchoring her. His palm was calloused and rough, yet his grip was unexpectedly tender, a shield and a comfort all at once. She found herself subconsciously tightening her fingers around his.

Margaret’s mind raced with terrible possibilities, but she forced herself to focus on the crunch of the autumn leaves beneath her boots and the steady, reassuring warmth of Dog’s grip. He didn’t demand conversation, didn’t fill the silence with his own anxieties. He simply allowed her to exist, to process, to feel. It was a profound gift, this quiet understanding, one she hadn’t realized she desperately needed until he offered it.

After a few minutes of hiking in silence, the dense forest suddenly opened up. Margaret gasped softly.

It was breathtaking. A wide, sun-drenched meadow stretched out before them, wild grasses swaying in the gentle breeze. In the very center sat a beautifully weathered wooden gazebo, surrounded by a sea of late-blooming wildflowers. The gentle babble of a nearby creek provided a peaceful soundtrack that felt completely detached from the nightmare her life had become.

Dog led her up the wooden steps of the gazebo and brushed off one of the built-in benches before gesturing for her to sit. He dropped the backpack on the floorboards, but didn’t open it. Instead, he sat down directly facing her, taking both of her hands in his, his thumbs tracing slow patterns on her knuckles. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t glossing over. He was preparing her, giving her time to brace herself.

“Before I tell you about Charles,” Dog said, his voice a low, steady rumble that somehow calmed the frantic beat of her heart, “I need to give you the most important update. Moose and his wife Elena are licensed foster parents. Hank got a federal emergency placement order pushed through.”

Margaret stared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. “What does that mean?”

Dog squeezed her hands, his eyes kind, yet firm, holding her gaze. “It means the FBI is raiding the Richmond Heights estate today. And the second they secure the property, Emily and Charles Jr. are being pulled out and taken directly to Mountain View Farm to stay with Moose and Elena, until it’s safe for you to go back and be with them. Charles won’t be able to use them as pawns anymore, Margaret. Your babies will be safe.”

A broken sob tore from Margaret’s throat. She crumpled forward, burying her face against Dog’s chest as the months of terrifying, suffocating fear finally broke over her like a tidal wave. She felt his arms wrap securely around her, pulling her close, holding her tight as she wept into his shirt. The scent of pine and something uniquely Dog, warm, solid, and protective, filled her senses.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair. “They’ll be safe.” He didn’t try to stop her tears or tell her to be strong. He just held her, a steady, unwavering anchor in her storm.

Slowly, the torrent of emotion subsided, leaving her drained but strangely lighter. She pulled back, embarrassed by her display, but Dog’s eyes held only understanding, not judgment.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I just,” she wiped her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. “I haven’t been able to cry like that in so long.”

He gently squeezed her hands. “Don’t apologize for feeling, Margaret. You’ve earned every tear.” He reached into the backpack and pulled out one of the water bottles, opening it and offering it to her. She took a long, grateful drink.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but a comfortable, companionable quiet, allowing her to gather herself. He hadn’t pressed for details of her marriage, hadn’t asked about her fears or her loneliness. He had simply held her, and then given her space. Charles would have seized on her vulnerability, either to lecture her on composure or to dissect her emotions for his own amusement. Dog just was there.

“You know,” Margaret said, breaking the quiet, “I feel like I’ve just dumped all of me on you. All my fears, my history with Charles, my children, but I know so little about you. Your life. Your family.” She hesitated, then met his gaze. “Everyone calls you Dog. What should I call you?”

A small, almost shy smile touched Dog’s lips. He took a bite of sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before answering. “Barks is my family nickname. My brother, Will, started it when we were kids. My full name is Barkley Emerson Berkshire the Fourth.”