On A Cold Winter's Night

by Leanne Burroughs

  "Could I have some water . . .?” she choked. When he glared at her, she added, “Please."

  A flick of his wrist and the rag landed on a side table. Long strides to the kitchen and he was back too soon, twisting the cap off a fresh bottle of Deer Park. He held it up to her mouth and she swallowed greedily, then gagged as he continued to pour and it ran down her chin and onto her coat. She jerked her head back.

  "Enough,” she sputtered.

  "Just trying to oblige you this one time.” A sinister laugh erupted.

  "What do you want with me? And what do you know about Suzanne Newman? Is that who answered the door?” She hadn't been able to connect those dots.

  "Too many questions.” He stepped across the room and plopped into an armchair. “You get one at a time."

  Multitasking clearly wasn't his strong suit. “Okay. What do you want with me?"

  "I think you can draw your own conclusions about that."

  "Well, if you just wanted to scare me, you've succeeded. So let me go and we'll let bygones be bygones."

  He snorted. “Sure. Like last time, huh? When you sicced the authorities onto me? Do you have any idea how many problems that caused me? Of course you don't. It's a good thing I have plenty of money and don't need a job, CAUSE I COULDN'T GET ONE."

  She jumped. “You don't have to yell. I'm sitting right here."

  "Don't even start to tell me what I can or can't do. Do you hear me?"

  The threat in his voice told her to back off. Her head bobbed up and down. She narrowed her eyes in order not to let him see the fear in them, then looked to the window. “All right, what about Suzanne Newman? How does she fit into this?"

  "She doesn't,"—he stood and walked over, stopping directly in front of her—"it's just you and me."

  The natural thing was to look up at him, but she refused, keeping her focus on the window. He sat beside her, smack dab against her side, and reached over, attempting to turn her face toward him. It took every ounce of her strength not to let him force her head around. But his strength soon overpowered hers. She jerked her head away and looked directly at him.

  "That's better. Now relax, I'm not going to hurt you. I've never had to force a woman before and I assure you, you'll like it once you stop fighting."

  With a voice of steel, she spat, “There's absolutely nothing on this earth that I would ever enjoy with you."

  "We'll see about that.” He took her by the shoulders and she wrenched away. Undeterred, he pulled her back and tried to put his lips on hers.

  "No . . . don't.” Though hindered by her restricted position, she fought away as best she could. “Stop it,” she yelled.

  * * * *

  Even with his seatbelt on, Archer pitched forward when Chris abruptly stopped in front of the hotel. Unstrapping, he leapt from the car and bolted into the lobby, Chris and Elaina on his heels.

  "I hear sirens in the distance.” Screeching to a halt, Arch banged on the round cylinder for the elevator. Exasperated, he said, “Come on, come on."

  "Yeah, I heard them, too,” Chris added.

  Slow as Moody's goose was fast, the elevator doors finally opened. The three of them jumped in and mashed the button for the eighth floor. The conveyor bounced slightly from the anxiety emanating from them.

  At the eighth floor they charged out, determined the direction of 811, and raced down the corridor, careening around the corner. Arch put his hands out to slow them down, then stepped slowly up to the door of 811, listening. Nothing. No sound.

  Suddenly, he heard, “Stop it,” screeched at the top of someone's lungs. Noah's lungs. He stepped back and raised his foot, kicking beside the knob on the door with a mighty thrust. The door flew open, banging as it hit the stopper.

  He barged in and caught a man jumping off the couch who'd been touching Noah. His Noah, sitting there, trussed like a chicken with duct tape, a look of sheer terror changing quickly to tears of relief. At least he hoped they were relief. The man rushed him, but with a practiced arm, Arch leveled him with one shot to the gut, the other to the chin. The man went out cold on the floor. Chris and Elaina ran to Noah, releasing her from the silver-colored bonds.

  "Oh, thank God, you're okay.” Elaina hugged Noah to her.

  Noah gently rubbed her red wrists.

  When she tried to stand, she wobbled, and Arch reached out and steadied her, pulling her into an embrace, which she fell into as if it happened every day.

  "Who is this guy?” he asked.

  "Studs Radley. I'll tell you about him. Speaking of . . . he's starting to stir.” She pointed to the lump on the floor as four policemen rounded the doorway and crowded into the room.

  "What's going on here?” one asked.

  Noah pointed to Studs. “He attacked me."

  One officer pulled out handcuffs and put his knee into the back of Radley's now moaning body. Two others pulled him to his feet and marched him to the door.

  The lieutenant amongst them recognized Noah, for he said, “Miss Adams, do you want to make a statement now, or come down to the station and do it?"

  She looked toward Arch, who addressed the officer. “We'll come in shortly if that's okay."

  "You betcha,” the man said. They yanked Studs out of the room.

  "He must remember me from the run-in with Studs from before,” Noah said. “Can we get out of here?” She pointed to her purse on the floor and Elaina reached down and grabbed it.

  "Absolutely.” Arch took her by the hand and they all headed out. The charges that radiated up his arm at the touch of her smooth skin on his brought a smile to his face and a thundering jolt to his heart.

  * * * *

  After dropping Elaina and Chris at the office, Archer retrieved his car and drove Noah directly to the police station. She filled out the appropriate papers.

  "Let's see his slick attorney try to get him off this time,” Lieutenant O'Brien stated. Arch wasn't so certain. Few lawyers, in his experience, had much integrity. “Your employees will testify?"

  "Yes, they will. That'll be no problem."

  "And I'll testify, too.” Archer took her by the arm and led her through the busy office. He opened the door leading to the street and guided her to his car.

  Yellowed streetlights cast ugly shadows on the piles of remaining snow. Mounds of the once pristine white stuff, now plowed against curbs, served as reminders of what once was beautiful at its inception.

  One arm around her shoulder, he hugged her close when she shivered. “It's been a really rough day for you. Just to set your mind at ease, your dad told me about Radley. You won't have to talk about him if you don't want. But if you do, I'm all ears. Chris told me you guys dug up quite a bit of info about me on the Internet, so I don't need to tell you what I do in my profession.” In the circle of streetlight, he leaned to open the car door. “It's important that you know I won't psychoanalyze you. That's gotten many a husband and wife in trouble."

  She stopped abruptly and looked up at him. “What did you say?"

  What had he said? “I meant couples, but some happen to be married.” He laughed, trying to cover his comment. But her eyes told him he hadn't. They were smiling at him.

  She started to climb into his vehicle, then turned back to him. “Hey, you took off your Band-Aid.” Taking his head in her hands, she bent it down, inspecting it closely. “It's healing nicely."

  He straightened and chuckled. “Yes, Nurse Adams, you did a great job. Now if you don't mind, it's really cold out here. Let's get going."

  * * * *

  Christmas Eve, Noah stood at the window, appreciating the newly fallen snow. What a winter this has been so far. Old things resolved, new things . . . well, they were nothing short of amazing. She turned and stepped to the fireplace. Poker in hand, she spread the dying embers, then hung the iron rod on its hook.

  Gently pushing aside her coat that lay across the back of a chair, she sat, leaned forward with her hands clasped between her knees, and gazed at the beautiful tree she
and Arch had purchased and decorated last week. The presents for her father lay under it. And another—the blue sweater she'd returned to Macy's and purchased, then wrapped herself, rested beside the store-wrapped ones.

  Arch would be here any minute to pick her up. They were going to the service at Jacob and Calli's church. This would be her first Christmas Cantata and she was excited he'd invited her.

  Recognition of the depth of her feelings for Arch had startled her at first. The only man she'd ever trusted was her father and when she'd talked to him about how she felt about Archer and her trepidation regarding everything happening so fast, he'd told her about how he'd met her mother. How they'd fallen in love in a short time. Other things she'd never known and guessed he had trouble discussing had tumbled out of him. And she loved him for having done so. His forthrightness had calmed her and erased the anxiety that had tried to hinder the budding relationship with the man who had captured her heart.

  Arch had talked to her about her heart being claimed on a different level. By God! She wasn't sure if she was ready for that. Not at all. But she listened. He'd given her new insight to what this holiday meant. Jesus coming in the flesh to save mankind from sin and its punishment. On one hand it resonated, on another, the way he explained the Christmas story, of Jesus's birth in a stable having been the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy, it seemed too fantastic to be true. She did believe in God, of that she was sure. But being born again? She wanted to hear and learn more. Everything that had happened in the last month bordered on the miraculous.

  Studs Radley behind bars. Archer no longer under suspicion by the police, since the illusive Ms. Newman had disappeared into thin air. And what about the child? Evidently she'd borrowed her from somewhere. Very mystifying. Noah figured, one day, the woman would bark up the wrong tree and find herself in real danger. Con artists usually did—Barney Madoff was a perfect example.

  The police had informed them that Radley had confessed to seeing the newspaper article regarding Newman and, knowing that Noah represented women in trouble, he'd concocted his plan. Clearly he hadn't any idea that the woman had such an infamous past and had concocted her own scheme. Since he didn't know Newman, his claim she had nothing to do with it was truthful.

  The woman Noah met at the Huntington had been someone Radley met in a nearby cafe and offered to pay handsomely for a little acting. He'd also confessed to cutting the wire on Noah's car computer and cleaning the windshield one day. Bad guy, good guy. What a weirdo. She couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. A wee little.

  The doorbell chimed and she jumped up, grabbed her coat and purse. Arch was a bit late, probably hindered by the snowstorm.

  "Hello, darlin',” were his words when she opened the door. He stepped inside, removing his coat.

  "Aren't we leaving?"

  "We've got plenty of time. I'd planned on getting there at least an hour early to get seats, but Jacob called and has two reserved for us up front beside him and Calli.” He turned her around and guided her back to the living room. “And I want to talk to you.” They sat side by side on the couch.

  I think they call it an altar call. Oh, does he want me to respond to it tonight? I don't want to hurt him, but I have to be ready in my own heart for this. “Oh, Arch. I know what you're going to say, and I'm just not sure I'm ready.” She didn't want to disappoint him, or Jacob or Calli. They would just have to give her space on this issue.

  "You do? You aren't?” He looked puzzled. “How could you know? I haven't told a soul."

  "Uh . . ."—now she really felt foolish—"I'm sorry. I thought you wanted to talk to me about accepting Jacob's altar call. Isn't that what you said they call it?"

  "Ah . . . that is certainly important, but no that's your decision to make whenever you make it. But I do have another type of acceptance in mind, perhaps not too unlike it.” He slipped his hand into his sport jacket pocket.

  She turned sideways, one leg tucked under her. “You have a gift for me?"

  "For us.” He smiled as he opened his hand, revealing a square velvet box.

  Tears leapt into her eyes and she threw one hand over her mouth. “Oh, Arch, is this what I think it is?"

  "I hope so. Noah Adams, my sweet, sweet Noah. Would you do this humble country boy the honor of accepting him as your husband? For now and forever."

  She squealed and jumped to him, knocking him backward, and the box out of his hand. It flew into the air and made a perfect landing—in the fireplace. They both lurched from their clumsy position and ran, scrambling for the box. Arch pulled it from the dying embers and blew on it.

  "Oh, not a good idea,” he cried as the velvet flamed slightly. Holding it over the hearth he quickly opened it and pulled the diamond from its cushioned slit, tossing the smoking box onto the hearth.

  The romantic moment lost, they plunked back on the couch and started laughing, falling into each other's arms. Tears streamed down their faces and they held their cheeks to squelch the ache their laughter caused.

  When he started to put the ring into his pocket, she screeched, “What are you doing?"

  "I thought you might want to recapture the romanticism again before accepting."

  "I don't think so. Yes, yes, I accept. Please put that ring on my finger."

  He pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. The kisses they'd shared before couldn't compare in sweetness, tenderness, and heartfelt love.

  "Oh, Arch. You've made me the happiest woman alive. To be your wife and carry your name . . .” She stopped, in shock.

  A smile the size of Alaska creased his face. “I was hoping that wouldn't cross your mind."

  "You stinker! How long have you thought of that? And you're right, up until now it never did cross my mind."

  "You mean you never entertained the thought of becoming my wife?"

  "Well, yes, of course I did. But not that. Only teenage girls go about writing their name with their boyfriend's last name behind it, practicing what it'll look like when they marry."

  "Does that change anything?"

  "Not on your life,” she exclaimed, sticking her left hand out to him. “Now put that baby on there so I can get a good look at it."

  He chuckled as he slipped it on her finger. “To the future Mrs. Noah Webster."

  "Oh you just had to get that in there, didn't you?” She laughed. “But I'm proud to carry the moniker."

  "I'm certain, a year from now, if you look in Webster's Dictionary under happily-married-couple, you'll find our picture there."

  Noah grinned. Yes, she could definitely picture that.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his, sealing the deal.

  * * * *

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  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  * * * *

  To learn more about Jacob and Calli Isaacs, their story is in Highland Press's Blue Moon Enchantment anthology, under the title “Muses in the Moonlight,” available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other online bookstores.

  * * * *

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  A Bonny Blue Christmas

  * * * *

  Susan Barclay

  * * * *

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Canadian writer, Susan Barclay, was born with her nose in a book and a pen in her hand. After earning an Honors B.A. in English and Psychology, and a Master of Library Science, she worked as a librarian for thirteen years. With her husband's full support, she then broke the cardinal rule—don't quit your day job—to pursue her passion for writing. The Word Guild recognized her with a Novice Writer's Award in 2005 and her first short story, A Ray for Mary Jo, was published in 2006 as part of Highland Press Publishing's No Law Against Love anthology. In addition to writing short stories for adult readers, Susan has written several children's picture books, and is hard at work on an adult novel.

  * * * *

  You can find Susan on the Web

  www.susan-barclay
.ca.

  * * * *

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  * * * *

  Annika's mother, Brigitte, always said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. Widowed twice, divorced once, and now happily remarried, no one could argue that it hadn't worked for her. Over the years there'd been no shortage of men eager to sample Brigitte's marangtarta and cardamom coffee.

  Annika had spent hours at her mother's side, studying the culinary arts sure to land a choice mate in her lap, but never developed her mother's knack with men. So here she was, still single at thirty-nine.

  "It's okay, Mamma. Really,” she said anytime her mother pushed her to find a husband. “I'm happy with my life."

  Since her mother's own romantic history had been so full, Annika knew Brigitte didn't understand. How could she be content without a man? And so every once in a while Annika would get a call from Brigitte telling her about some single guy she'd heard of through her large network of friends, and would Annika like to be set up?

  "No, Mamma. I know you mean well, but no.” She no longer tried to explain. It was best not to invite a long discussion that tired out both of them.

  Sometimes she wondered if something was wrong with her, but was certain it wasn't her looks. Not that she was vain, but her strong, athletic body showed off long legs, toned arms, and held its curves in all the right places. Her clear, fair Scandinavian skin, long, silky blonde hair, and sea green eyes that past boyfriends claimed they could dive into, attracted men easily. Keeping them seemed to be the problem.

  "Maybe you're doing too much, alskling,” Mamma would say. “Maybe that's why you're not meeting anyone.” But Annika didn't think so. No matter how busy she was, she made it a point to meet and greet people every day. She didn't think she gave off a vibe that said ‘don't come close’ either, but if she was going to date, the guy would have to ask her. For all her confidence, she was traditional that way.

  "Maybe you intimidate men,” Mamma offered. “Most men don't want a woman who's capable, assertive, and professional."