by Dinah McCall
And then he kissed her—gently, because of her swollen lip and sore nose, and tenderly.
Deborah felt his hands go from her shoulders to her waist. He pulled her close, then closer still, until there was nothing between them but heat.
Deborah could have resisted, but she knew it was futile. She’d already seen what would happen between them, and she gave herself up to the passion.
Moments later, they stopped. Mike groaned beneath his breath and then let her go.
“I didn’t know that was going to happen,” he said.
Deborah sighed. “I did,” she said softly, and then walked away.
Mike felt as if he’d been sucker punched. She was something, this woman. Then he started to grin. What else, he wondered, did she already know?
8
The soup James had chosen was a hearty vegetable beef. He’d made bread-and-butter sandwiches to go with it, and opened two cans of fruit cocktail for dessert. The group ate hungrily as they filled James in on the news. To say he was shocked to hear what Molly and Johnny had endured was putting it mildly.
“Eat first,” Deborah said. “Then we’ll call the police about the murder.” So they did, following her directions, just as they’d followed her up the mountain.
All through the meal James kept looking at his great-grandson in dismay. It was a tragedy that he’d seen death in more than one fashion, and at such an early age. He was, however, proud of the little guy, and he made sure Johnny knew it.
“You’re quite a little soldier, aren’t you, son?” James asked.
Johnny swallowed his mouthful of soup and then grinned. It was an incongruous expression, considering the cuts and bruises on his face.
“Am I really? As good as my daddy?” he asked.
James smiled. “Yep, I’d say so. What do you think, Evan?”
Evan couldn’t quit looking at his son. When he’d been deployed, Johnny had been a toddler. While he was proud of the little man Johnny had grown into, he regretted missing those special steps in his son’s development.
“I was always proud of him, and I’m proud of him still,” Evan said.
Johnny beamed, then glanced at Molly, making sure she was smiling, as well. It was clear that following the trauma of the crash and his grandparents’ deaths, Molly Cifelli had become his touchstone to safety.
“Dad…Molly is a good soldier, too. She took good care of me.”
Everyone smiled as they looked at Molly, making her blush.
“We did what we had to, didn’t we, Johnny?” she said.
He nodded, then scooped up his last spoonful of soup before asking for more.
“Absolutely,” James said, and ladled another cup into Johnny’s bowl. “Want another bread-and-butter sandwich with it?”
“Just the soup, please,” Johnny said, and dug in.
Deborah stayed silent as she watched the O’Ryans interacting with one another. To a person who spent the majority of her life alone, the O’Ryan invasion seemed oddly comfortable.
She watched Molly, too, wondering what it would be like to be that age and still believe that everything was possible. Deborah had lost that hope the day she’d “seen” her father and the other miners die.
Molly seemed comfortable around the men, which meant she probably belonged to a warm, loving family like the O’Ryans. Deborah’s parents had been good to her, but neither of them had been the kind of person who did much hugging or kissing. Her mother had remarried when she was ten, but her stepfather had been leery of a little girl who “saw” things.
Because of her gift, Deborah had grown up feeling as if she was always on the outside of life and looking in. Although she’d long ago accepted her lot, there was a part of her that wished she could belong to a family such as this.
She sat for a few more moments, then got disgusted with herself for being so melancholy when there were things to be done. She picked up the phone, then frowned when she heard only static. “Bad connection,” she said. “I’ll try again later.”
She picked up her bowl and carried it to the sink as the others continued to eat and talk, then ran a sink full of hot soapy water in preparation for dishwashing.
She turned off the water and then, even though it was dark, glanced out the window over the sink and made a face at her own reflection. To her surprise, a second reflection suddenly appeared behind her.
It was Mike. Her heart skipped a beat as she quickly looked away.
“Need some help?” he asked.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” she said.
He set a stack of dirty dishes on the counter, then rolled up his sleeves. “Nonsense,” he said, and thrust his hands into the soapy water.
Deborah started to argue, then stopped. Just because she was used to doing everything herself, that didn’t mean she couldn’t accept help graciously.
He put the dishes into the soapy water, then reached for the dishcloth. Without talking, Deborah stepped up beside him and rinsed and dried as he washed. She’d already kissed him, so she knew what it felt like to be held in his arms, but she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to lie with him, body to body.
His shoulders were wide and his legs were long. She noticed the faint scattering of gold-tipped hairs on his forearms, as well as the firmly-toned muscles, and then it occurred to her that he most likely looked like that all over. The thought brought a shiver that Mike quickly noticed.
“Cold?” he asked.
Deborah paused, then looked up at him. “No.”
Once again Mike felt knocked off balance by the look in her eyes. A little frustrated, he grabbed a stack of soup bowls and thrust them into the water, then began to wash.
Darn this woman. Why didn’t she talk? They’d shared one hell of a kiss already. The least she could do was pretend she’d liked it.
“Oh…I did,” Deborah said.
Mike froze. The spoons he was washing slipped from his hands into the water. “Did what?”
“Liked it.”
The hair stood up on the back of Mike’s neck as he locked onto her gaze. For a moment, he felt weightless—almost numb—and then the feeling passed. There was no other way to explain what had just happened but to accept the fact that she’d read his mind. It should have given him the creeps, but there was a part of him that was intrigued.
“Besides beautiful…what the hell are you? A witch?”
Deborah’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we had already covered this territory. I’m not a witch. I’m not weird…at least, not from my perspective. I just know things that most other people don’t.”
He took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.
Suddenly a hard gust of wind blew against the house, rattling the windows. It startled everyone into motion.
Johnny had all but fallen asleep at the table, but the noise reminded everyone of the lateness of the hour. Evan slid his arms around his son and picked him up as Deborah dried her hands and then pointed down the hall.
“There are three bedrooms, plus a sofa in the living room that makes into a bed. The wall heaters in each bedroom are on. Adjust them to suit yourselves. I’m going to try and call the sheriff. He needs to know that we’ve found the missing survivors, as well as what they saw.”
“And I should try and call Tony,” Mike said. “Dad…I gave you the number. Do you still have it?”
“In my coat pocket,” James said.
Mike left the room while Deborah helped James clear the rest of the table, then he finished washing up. When he was done, he drained out the water and wiped down the countertops.
“Thank you,” Deborah said. “I don’t know when I’ve had such great company.”
James shook his head. “Lord, girl…we’re the ones who’re thankful. Is there anything you need done before you go to bed? How about wood for the fireplace?”
“That would be helpful,” she said.
“How much do you want?” he asked.
“Oh…maybe four or five logs t
o get us through the night. They’re just outside the back door, to the left.”
“Yes, I saw them earlier. Won’t take me a minute,” he said, then added, “Tell the boys to save some hot water for me.”
She watched the big white-haired man move easily through the rooms as he went to put on his boots. She wondered about his life. He wore a wedding ring, and he’d mentioned someone named Trudy, then shut down so fast it had been startling. He was very competent in the kitchen, as if he’d been on his own for some time. She knew Evan was a widower, and while Mike hadn’t mentioned a woman, instinct told her he was unattached, as well. As a whole, she decided, the O’Ryans were a remarkable group of men—even the youngest, who’d inadvertently saved his own life, as well as Molly’s, with the whistle his father had given him.
When James went out to get wood, Deborah found herself alone. She headed for the phone, although she didn’t hold out much hope of getting through. It was difficult to get a connection when there was any kind of storm in the mountains. And even though the snow had stopped falling, the winds were fierce and rising, ensuring that whatever snow had fallen would be in drifts by morning. Still, she had to keep trying until she got through.
She also wanted to let her neighbor, Farley, know that she was home, so he wouldn’t come over to do her chores. She knew the hour was late for phone calls, but Farley only had one phone and turned the ringer off at night, so calls wouldn’t wake the houseful of kids. She would leave a message on his machine, which he would get when he woke up, and the deed would be done.
But first she had to call Sheriff Wally Hacker’s office.
Amazingly, the phone was working again, and there was an answer on the third ring. She recognized the voice of Paul Porter, the night dispatcher.
“Sheriff’s office,” he said.
“Paul…it’s Deborah Sanborn. Can you hear me okay?”
“Sheriff’s office? Hello? Hello?”
Deborah sighed. She could hear him, but he obviously couldn’t hear her. She tried again, this time speaking louder.
“Paul! It’s Deborah Sanborn. Is the sheriff in?”
“Miss Sanborn? Is that you?”
“Yes! Is the sheriff there?”
“You say you’re wanting to talk to the sheriff?”
“Yes!” she said. By now she was shouting.
A few moments passed, and then she heard the sheriff’s voice. “Deborah…that you?”
“Yes!” she shouted. “Can you hear me?”
“Barely,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, we’re fine. We’re all fine.”
“We? You still with the O’Ryan family?”
“Yes. We found the survivors. Did you hear me? We found the survivors.”
He was shouting, too. “Survivors? You say you found them?”
“Yes,” Deborah answered.
“Thank God,” he said. “Hey…where are you?”
“Home. We’re home.”
“Anyone need medical help?”
“No, but—”
The line began to crackle and hiss, as if someone had set it on fire; then, suddenly, it went dead.
“Damn,” she muttered, and hung up the phone.
At least they knew the survivors had been found and were alive.
Within moments, Mike was back.
“Did you get through?” he asked.
“Sort of. Wally couldn’t hear much of what I was saying, but he heard enough to know Johnny and Molly are alive and safe. We’ll have to wait until the storm passes and the phone comes back on to tell him about the murder.” She frowned and glanced nervously toward the dark windows. “I don’t like to think about a killer on the loose out there and no one knows it.”
“One step at a time,” he said, then added, “I couldn’t get a signal to call Tony,” he said, holding up his cell phone.
“I’m sure Wally will get word to him, and probably to your grandfather, too. For now, it’s the best we can do. The phone’s dead again.”
Mike nodded. “Good enough,” he said, then before he could say more, his father was at the back door. Mike ran to open it, then took several of the logs from his arms.
“In the living room,” James said as Mike lightened his load.
“Right behind you,” Mike said as he kicked the door shut, then followed his father into the living room before stacking the logs by the fireplace.
“Did you get through to the authorities?” James asked.
“Sort of,” Deborah said. “They know we’re okay, but the line went dead before I could tell them about the murder.”
“Everything in good time,” James said, then laid one of the logs on the already burning fire. “If it’s okay with you two, I’m going to wash up and find a place to sleep.”
“I’ll share a bed with you,” Mike said.
“Good enough,” James said. He had started out of the room when he stopped, turned around and came back.
“Did you forget something?” Deborah asked.
“Yes, ma’am, I did,” he said, and kissed her forehead, then gave her a big hug. “Sleep well, angel, and God bless you.”
Deborah blushed. She’d never had so much positive feedback.
“Thank you,” she said. “Oh…if you need extra blankets, there are plenty in the linen closet in the hall.”
He nodded. Moments later, he was gone.
“I better go check on Evan,” Mike said.
Deborah rolled her head wearily, then smoothed the hair away from her face.
“And I need to check on Molly. She can share a bed with me.”
The moment she said it, she could tell by the look on Mike’s face that he was thinking about sharing her bed, too.
She arched an eyebrow.
Mike looked shamefaced, then grinned. “Well, it’s your own fault for butting into my thoughts.”
Deborah chuckled. “You’re right. Sorry. I’ll try to do better.”
“No need trying to improve on perfection. I’m thinking that you’re already as good as it gets.”
This time Deborah laughed aloud.
“I’m betting you’re not so bad yourself,” she said.
Mike’s smile stilled as his eyes darkened.
“If you’re ever interested in finding out, it’s your call,” he said.
“I’m going now,” Deborah said, and left facing an unfamiliar ache of longing.
Molly went to change while Johnny was talking to Evan about Frank and Shirley Pollard’s deaths. She’d borrowed a long flannel nightgown from Deborah, and a pair of warm, wooly socks, as well. She brushed her hair out and left it down, rather than pull it up in the usual ponytail she wore to bed. She came out of the bathroom just as Johnny was asking Evan a question, and paused by their bedroom door to listen.
The little boy was wearing one of Deborah’s T-shirts while his own clothes were being dried. It fell below his knees, but it was clean and soft and smelled good. Evan was bare chested, holding very still as his son ran his forefinger down the heavy braid of scarring on Evan’s shoulder, tracing the shape as it curled beneath his arm and onto his rib cage like a thick, red snake.
“What did this, Daddy?”
Evan hesitated. How did you explain shrapnel from a roadside bomb?
“A sharp piece of metal.”
Johnny nodded. “Did you fall on it, Daddy?”
Evan stifled a shudder, remembering the deafening blast and the screams from the other men in the truck as the hot pieces of shrapnel sliced through their bodies, then the horrifying silence that came after. The scent of burning flesh, hot metal and blowing sand was etched in his memory as vividly as the scars he bore.
“Something like that,” he finally said. “Now, no more questions. It’s time you got some sleep, buddy.”
Johnny’s eyelids were drooping as Evan pulled back the covers.
“Here you go, son.”
Johnny rolled over, wincing slightly at the bruises and cuts on his ribs and leg
s, then stopped in the middle of the bed.
“Scoot over a little, buddy,” Evan said. “You get one side. I get the other.”
Johnny frowned, turned toward the door and spotted Molly.
“No, Daddy. You sleep on one side of me. Molly sleeps on the other. We keep each other warm, don’t we, Molly?”
Molly glanced at Evan, then blushed at the thought of being in the same bed with the man, even with a child between them.
“Yes, we did,” she said. “But you don’t need me to do that anymore. You have your daddy and Deborah’s nice warm house. You’ll sleep just fine without me.”
Johnny’s lower lip quivered as his eyes filled with tears.
“But what if I can’t sleep? What if the bad man comes?”
Evan looked uncomfortable. Did his son doubt his ability to protect him because of his healing wounds?
Molly sat down on the side of the bed and held out her arms. Johnny crawled out from under the covers and into her lap, then curled up like a baby.
“Sweetheart, listen to me for a minute, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, but his voice was still trembling.
“Your daddy was a soldier. He knows how to protect you twice as good as I ever could. So do your Daddy Mike and your Granddad James. They’re all here in this house tonight, under the same roof, and they’re not going to let anything happen to anyone. Right, Daddy?”
Molly looked to Evan for support.
Evan mouthed a thank-you as he leaned over and stroked the back of his little boy’s head.
“That’s right, son. We won’t let anything happen to you, and that’s a promise.”
Johnny was silent for a few moments, then he sat up in Molly’s lap and looked his father straight in the face.
“But, Daddy, you didn’t see him. You don’t know what he looks like, but me and Molly do. That’s why she has to sleep with us. If the bad man comes and I’m asleep, Molly can wake you up and tell you he’s here.”
Evan sighed. He didn’t want to argue the point with a little boy who’d been through so much.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You and Molly can have the bed, and I’ll—”
“No!” Johnny wailed. “You have to stay, too. Please, Daddy, please. I’ll sleep in the middle, and I promise not to kick or take up much space.”
