by E B Corbin
“Sorry.” The pseudo rescuer reached into the car attempting to grab her arm.
“Get your damn hands off me!”
“I’m trying to help, Missy.”
“Missy? Who are you calling Missy? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Right now, I’m just a guy who wishes he didn’t see your lights over the hill.”
As reality dawned, Roxanne pushed the airbag out of her way while she tried to squeeze through the window. Her only thought was that a river flowed through the side of her car and she didn’t want to ruin her good leather boots. A foolish thought, to be sure, but the only one she could handle at the moment.
While she struggled to get her head and shoulders free, a pair of strong hands grabbed under her arms pulling her the rest of the way. She collapsed against a strong, warm chest. “God! What a nightmare! Shit… shit… shit!”
“Usually people say thank you.”
“Thank you? THANK YOU? You ran me off the road, and I’m supposed to thank you?”
“Whoa there, I didn’t run you off the road.”
“You most certainly did! With that… that tank you’re driving.” She gestured at the large SUV sitting at the top of the hill.
“I did not run you off the road,” he repeated calmly. “You probably panicked when you started to skid. That bend is dangerous even in dry weather.”
“I did not panic. I’m an excellent driver and I never panic!”
“OK, whatever you say. Come on. Let’s get you up the hill into my car where it’s warm.”
“Wait, I need my messenger bag.” She reached into the front seat, pulling out the soft-sided briefcase. “And my go-bag.”
“Your what?”
“My go-bag. It’s in the trunk.”
With an exaggerated sigh, he trudged through the snow to the rear of the car, slipping and sliding through the mud where the water had melted the snow. The trunk didn’t pop when he tugged. “You need to pull the trunk release.”
Roxanne reached through the window for the lever. “I can’t. My arms aren’t long enough.”
Another loud sigh as he slogged back to where she stood, reached past her to push a lever causing the gas tank lid to pop open.
“Wrong one,” Roxanne said.
“I can see that.” He pulled a second lever which made a pop when the trunk lid released. Without a word he made his way back through the muddy snow to the trunk. He finally came up with her duffel.
“Thanks,” she muttered when he made a triumphant gesture holding the black bag over his head for her to see.
“Is that all?” he asked. “Can we get out of this creek now?”
“Creek? Looks like a damn river!”
“Trust me, it’s a creek. Now, come on, let’s go.” He grabbed her elbow, turning her around to start up the hill. A few slips and slides later, they arrived at the top where a black Chevy Suburban sat idling at the side of the two lane, its flashers blinking a warning.
When her self-styled savior opened the passenger door, Roxanne collapsed into the warmth of the big SUV. She leaned back into the seat closing her eyes until a hand shook her shoulder. “You should go to the emergency room to get checked out.”
“NO… no… no… NO! No hospital.”
“You could have a concussion or internal bleeding.”
“I don’t have internal bleeding. I just hurt from that damn airbag punching me in the face.”
“You were unconscious when I found you.”
“I wasn’t unconscious; I was just resting.”
“Resting, huh? Sure looked unconscious to me.”
“What? Are you worried I’ll sue you for running me off the road?”
“I told you, I didn’t do it. I was on my way back to my grandfather’s farm when I saw a glow coming from the creek. I noticed tire tracks in the snow where the road swings left. Looked like someone went over the hill so I stopped to see what happened.”
“Good story except somebody came up beside me in some great big bruising vehicle, like this one, forcing me into that creek.” Roxanne warmed her hands at the dashboard vent. “I’m a good driver. I didn’t lose control. I was sideswiped.”
“I’m sure you were,” he answered. “Where were you going? There’s not much out this way.”
“I believe my aunt has a cabin out here.”
“Roxy O'Hara?”
“Yeah, you know her?
“I did.” He looked at the lighted dashboard. “You know she’s… um…”
“I know, I know, she’s dead.”
“Well, that’s good. Not that she’s dead,” he stammered. “It’s good you know.” He turned off his flashers then put the car into gear. “I still think we should get you to the emergency room.”
“No. If you go to the hospital, I swear, I won’t get out of the car.” Roxanne put on what she hoped was a pleading expression. “If you’re familiar with my aunt’s cabin, will you take me there? Please?”
“I’ll take you there,” he said with reluctance.
“Thank you.” Roxanne gave him her best smile as she leaned back against the headrest. “By the way, what’s your name?” She didn’t want to slip and call him Indy.
“I’m John Callahan. My grandfather, Chester, is Roxy’s neighbor. They were good friends.”
“Nice to meet you, Callahan. I’m Roxanne Boudreaux.” She closed her eyes not opening them again until the huge vehicle eased to a stop.
From the car window the cabin looked bigger than Roxanne expected. The pristine snow leading to the front door piled up higher by the minute. Great! Her boots would be ruined for sure. “Thanks for the ride,” she said pushing open the passenger door.
“Uh-uh. You don’t get away that easily. You have a key?”
“Of course I have a key. How else would I get in?”
“Just checking. Give it to me. I’ll get you settled in before I shovel the porch and steps.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to do it. Roxy was a good friend to Gramps. I owe it to her niece.”
“Especially after you ran me off the damn road,” Roxanne mumbled under her breath.
“I have excellent hearing.” Callahan gave her a crooked smile. “How many times do I have to tell you—I didn’t run you off the road. Check my Suburban. Do you see any dings or dents? Anything to suggest I hit another car?”
Not one scratch marred the fender or side of the Suburban. “Whatever.” She shrugged like a forlorn Valley Girl.
Her frozen fingers fumbled with the key, as she shivered in the wintry night. When Callahan reached out to take the key from her, she pulled it away. “I can do it,” she snapped as the key slid into the lock. She turned the handle to push it open.
The door didn’t budge.
“It’s been over a week since anyone’s been in here,” Callahan said. “It’s frozen.” He rammed his shoulder against the door. It flew open. “My lady.” Bent at the waist, he bowed, extending a hand waiting for her to enter.
“Thanks, I can take it from here.” Roxanne reached for her duffel.
“So you can find the wood for the fireplace?”
“Fireplace? Doesn’t this place have a furnace?”
“It does, but Roxy always complained it took a long time to heat. Why don’t you sit while I grab enough wood to start a fire?”
Too tired and beat-up to argue, Roxanne sank into the brown leather sofa facing the fireplace and pulled a soft afghan up to her chin. She watched Callahan start the fire then bring in two more loads of wood from a covered pile on the porch. When he reached over her head to turn a dial, she heard the furnace kick on.
He wiped his hands on his jeans leaning close to check her eyes. “You have a nasty bump on your head. Other than that your pupils look fine, and I don’t see blood anywhere.”
“Well, good. I’d hate like hell to bleed all over this nice, warm afghan.”
“Such a smart mouth,” he muttered while studying her for mo
re signs of injury.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Even so, can I get you something? You hungry?”
“No, thanks, I ate at the diner.” Roxanne wished he would back away. She could smell his aftershave, a clean, fresh scent, so different from the overpowering musk Richard used. She preferred Callahan’s fragrance. Wait a minute, not good, what was she thinking?
“How about some hot chocolate… with marshmallows?” Even though he remained too close, hot chocolate sure would hit the spot.
“Really? With marshmallows?” Roxanne teased. “That would be nice, only I hate to trouble you. You must have better things to do, other places to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere… except to the kitchen.” He straightened, poked at the fire, then left the room before Roxanne could come up with a smart-ass reply.
She pulled the afghan tighter around her shoulders and sat gazing into the fire, wondering what she was doing here, in a small town, in a dead woman’s cabin, with an attractive man making her hot chocolate. By the time Callahan returned with two steaming mugs, her headache had dimmed to a dull throb. As the room warmed, she stopped shivering. “You know your way around my aunt’s cabin.”
He shrugged. “I told you she and Gramps watched out for each other. Believe me, my family appreciated it. Whenever I’d stop by to help Gramps with the farm, we always spent time with Roxy.”
“So you knew her well?”
“As well as anyone, I guess. I travel a lot for work. Don’t get the chance to get close to people I meet.”
“What do you do?”
“I work for the State Department.”
Roxanne raised her eyebrows. “You’re a diplomat?”
He laughed. “Hardly. My father’s the diplomatic one in the family. But enough about me, Roxy said you were a lawyer?”
“Nothing to write home about. I’m a tax attorney. I’m no Janet Reno or anything.”
“Janet Reno was an attorney?” Callahan gave her his lopsided grin again when he saw the incredulous look on her face. “Just kidding. I work for the State Department, remember? I recognize the name of the former attorney general. So, why did you choose to be a tax attorney? Sounds like a lot of pressure… and boring at that.”
“I didn’t start out wanting to work with taxes. Somehow I just ended up there. The firm I’m with needed someone to practice before the Tax Court. They asked if I’d be interested and I wanted to make a good impression on them, so I agreed. Kind of just fell into it. I’m not exactly proud of it.” She hid her annoyance at his presumption about her job—even if it was mundane. “Thank you for the hot chocolate, now you should leave. It’s still snowing. Your grandfather may be worried.”
“I called him from the kitchen. He’s fine with me staying.”
“Staying?”
“Someone should be with you tonight to wake you up every couple of hours. It’s what they say to do with a concussion, isn’t it?”
“ I told you I don’t have a concussion.”
“So you’re a doctor now too?”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Roxanne shook her head, causing a sharp stab of pain. Maybe she did have a concussion. It might be a good idea to have someone around— just in case. Since Callahan turned out to be satisfactory company, even if he ran her off the road then denigrated her chosen profession, he might as well act as her caregiver.
“I’m staying… unless you change your mind and want me to take you to the emergency room.”
“Just because you ran me off the road and wrecked my car doesn’t mean you have to take care of me.”
He sighed. “I didn’t do it.”
“Ok,” she stifled a yawn. “I don’t want to argue any more tonight. Except if you didn’t do it, who did?”
“I don’t know. Not many cars travel this road. Maybe we should call the police to report it.”
“I just left the police station. I doubt they’d be much help—only one guy on duty, plus the chief’s gone for the next few days. What kind of town is this anyway?”
“It’s not a bad place. A little thin on law enforcement, but it’s a good place to live. Believe me, I know. I’ve lived all over the world.”
“And seen things I’d never believe,” Roxanne continued his sentence.
“I didn’t say that.” His lopsided grin made Roxanne’s stomach do flips— the last thing she needed right now.
If she could just start the day over—stay a little longer at her mother’s, get back home to have Richard waiting for her with open arms, and have the car she loved in working condition again. What a dream! Not even close to reality. Thank God this day was almost over.
CHAPTER FIVE
Roxanne woke on Sunday morning determined not to let yesterday’s events drag her down. She counted on being back in the city by tonight, and if she never stepped foot in this two-bit town again, it would be fine with her. As a list formed in her head of what needed to be done today, the furnace kicked on, blowing warm air into the room which had grown chilly overnight.
First she’d find a tow truck for her car. Hopefully, the towing company knew where to get a rental car. Next, she would meet with Patterson, go over the details of the will and gladly leave town.
Once back in Pittsburgh, she’d stop at the condo for some proper work clothes, then spend the rest of the day, as long as it took, polishing the pretrial memorandum due this week.
Feeling better with her plans buttoned-up, she snuggled into the covers for a few additional moments. Even though she didn’t remember crawling into this comfortable bed last night, thank goodness for the restful sleep. She didn’t care how she got it.
She took a hot shower before dressing in her only available clean clothes. The yoga pants and sweatshirt from her go-bag weren’t the best choice for meeting with an attorney, but they would have to do. Tennis shoes replaced her black leather boots— not the best for walking in the snow. Boots and yoga pants made an odd combination that she had no desire to try. At least wearing the sneakers she no longer had to worry about ruining her boots.
When she entered the kitchen, the smell of coffee permeated the room. Callahan stood by the six-burner stove making French toast and bacon. “Good morning. And thanks for staying the night,” Roxanne chirped. “No need to make breakfast too.”
“I enjoy it,” he told her. “Never get a chance at Gramps. He’s always up before me. Has breakfast ready by the time I wake up.”
“In that case, go for it.” Her usual breakfast consisted of coffee before she left for the office. To her surprise, hunger gnawed at her more than normal. The bacon sure smelled good. She poured a cup of coffee then sat at the high counter, watching him cook. “Do you know who I could call to get my car out of that river?”
“It’s a creek. And the car’s already taken care of. Murphy’s Towing showed up first thing this morning.”
Roxanne glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost ten. “Oh hell, look at the time! I never sleep this late.”
“You needed it,” he answered, moving the bacon to paper towels to drain.
“I’m supposed to meet with Patterson at eleven but I wanted to rent a car first.”
He shook his head. “Hard to do in a town this size.”
“Even people around here must need a rental car sometime.”
“Most have two or three cars, at least. Not much call for it since we’re two hours from any major airport. Besides, Roxy has a couple of cars in her garage at the house in town. I’m sure we can find the keys for them.”
“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
“Breakfast first.” He set the maple syrup on the counter. “I’ll take you in after we finish.”
“I appreciate all you’re doing for me, but hate being such a bother.”
“No bother. You have another idea of how you’d get into town?”
Roxanne shrugged. It made sense. She doubted Uber made pick-ups a thousand miles from nowhere; likewise a taxi was out of the questi
on.
“Now eat and get dressed so we can go,” Callahan insisted.
She looked at her Springsteen sweatshirt. “I am dressed.”
He looked her over from head to toe, keeping his expression neutral. “If you say so. Then just eat.”
She insisted on doing the cleanup by loading the dishwasher. For a cabin in the woods, her aunt’s place came well equipped. The granite counter tops between stainless steel appliances blended with the open floor plan of the shared living and dining area. Nothing she’d change. She liked it even though it stood in the middle of nowhere. Still she doubted she could ever live so far from the city lights.
When she finished the dishes, they left in plenty of time to make the meeting. Last night, she thought they were at least an hour’s drive from town, yet it only took ten minutes to arrive at Patterson’s office.
“While you’re meeting with Patterson, I’ll check on your car,” Callahan told her. “Here’s my number. Call me when you’re done. We’ll stop at Roxy’s place to pick up one of her cars.”
As nice as it was to have Callahan’s company, Roxanne felt she was taking advantage of his good nature. Feeling competent enough to navigate around the small town, she decided to find Roxy’s place by herself. Patterson could tell her where her aunt lived. To avoid arguing she nodded at Callahan and stuck the piece of paper with his phone number in her messenger bag. She stepped out of his SUV into a pile of slush, which immediately soaked through her tennis shoes. Dammit, so far, this day was turning out no better than yesterday.
As Callahan pulled away, she knocked on the door labeled Patterson and Associates. When no one answered, she knocked again, a little harder. Still nothing. She checked up and down the street, seeing no one else out on such a dreary day. She knocked a third time, still no answer. Not knowing what else to do, she tried the handle. The unlocked door slid open. Of course it did, Roxanne reasoned, Patterson expected her.
The reception space argued otherwise. Papers, dumped in piles, covered the floor behind the desk. File cabinet drawers hung open with files sticking out while empty file folders lay scattered on top of the cabinets. The desk drawers were extended and empty with their contents piled on the desk top—pens, notepads, letterhead paper and envelopes formed a six-inch mound.
