by Curry, Edna
Flight to Love
By Edna Curry
Copyright Edna Curry, 1999
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This is a work of fiction. All names in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without written permission of the author, except for short excerpts for reviews.
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***
Flight to Love
By Edna Curry
Chapter 1
Cold rain dripped on her head, as Lisa Bickford tried in vain to place pails and pans under each leak in the old roof. Her deteriorating Minnesota mansion held her hostage with a leaking roof and a broken furnace, and she shivered as she worked. Tears of frustration joined the raindrops running down her cheeks.
The front door slammed. Bob and Jodi pranced into the house, shouting, “Mom? Mom, where are you? What’s for supper?”
Lisa resisted the urge to dump the bucket of water in her hand over their heads. How could two adults be so helpless? Couldn’t they see she had problems and make their own dinner? She could hear Bob in the kitchen rummaging through the nearly empty refrigerator.
“Mom! Where’s the food?”
Just then the repairman came back up from the basement. “That old water heater’s shot, Mrs. Bickford. Ya want me to put in a new one or what?”
Panic seized her. A new water heater? Another expensive repair on this old house? Where would the money come from?
Jodi’s whiny voice blended with Bob’s and the repairman’s into incoherent, discordant squawks and shrieks.
Lisa covered her ears and began to scream, “No, no! Go away. Just leave me alone!” She sat up, her hands flying to her cheeks in panic, her heart pounding and her mouth dry.
Lisa pressed her hands against her chest. Her heart resumed its normal pace as she realized that it had only been a nightmare. She was safe at Gram’s house in Mankato, curled up on the old blue sofa in the family room. The smell of wood smoke from the fireplace in front of her filled the air.
She shuddered and pulled the handmade patchwork quilt closer, against the chill of the night. A dark shape moved near her as she did so. She jumped in fright then laughed. It was only the cat that had followed her in out of the rain when she’d arrived here.
The poor thing had been drenched, but it was so friendly, she'd been happy to give it haven from the storm. Now she watched it jump down and go to sit on the window sill.
Realizing the fire had burned low, Lisa got up from the couch, crossed the worn carpet to the fireplace, and stirred it into life. Shivering, she added more kindling and another log so the flames leapt up brightly.
Silence surrounded her. She was alone at last, with no one to take care of except herself.
A smile crept across her face. She had really done it.
She’d run away from home. Could a widow with two grown children run away? She’d thought about doing it often. Her kids had pushed her close to the breaking point before. But this time she’d acted it out.
Her lips pulled in a half smile as she wondered what Bob and Jodi had said when they found the dirty supper dishes they’d left still in the sink. She pictured their surprise when they read her note saying she would be out of touch for a while, but would call them periodically.
The fire crackled and burned brighter, but gave off little heat. Lisa scurried back under the quilt. March in Minnesota was not an ideal time or place to rough it. When she had impulsively decided to leave home, this small house—inherited from her grandparents—had seemed the ideal refuge. But maybe she should have gone to a motel, at least until she could have had the utilities turned on.
On the other hand, money was tight, especially since her departure from home had meant a departure from her office job, as well.
***
After nine that night, Tracer Marsley stood at his front door, calling, “Kitty, Kitty! Here, Baby, Baby.”
He noticed with surprise that a little red Chevrolet was parked next door. He looked at the house, but it appeared as dark and lonely as usual. The possibility of a burglar crossed his mind, and he wondered if he should check it out. But a burglar wouldn’t park in front of the house he was robbing, would he?
The smell of wood smoke made him look up. It was coming from the chimney next door. He relaxed. Burglars don’t start a fire, either, do they?
That house had been empty for the past two years. The Johnsons, who’d lived there when he was young, and their children were all deceased. The house probably belonged to their grandchildren.
Trace wondered if it had been sold, and if he would have neighbors now. He frowned at the idea. He liked his privacy here in his childhood home. Its isolation had been its main appeal when he’d bought it back a couple of years ago.
The raw March wind whipped around him as he leaned out of his front door, looking up and down the street for the cat. He blinked as the cold stung his eyes, making them water. Icy raindrops splashed his face.
After a half dozen more calls, he sighed and shut the door, brushing the moisture from his hair. Renee’s stupid cat would have to find her own shelter from the rainy night. It wasn’t the first time the cat had slipped out when he came home from work, and he supposed it wouldn’t be the last.
Trying to forget Baby, he returned to his office and sat back down at his computer. He’d almost finished working the bugs out of this program and he planned to explain it to his advanced computer class early in the morning. He certainly didn’t need a lost cat to worry about, or new neighbors.
Trace was thoroughly absorbed again when the shrill peal of the phone at his elbow jarred him. Glancing at the clock, he frowned at the time glowing in red LCD numerals. Had he really been at the computer for three hours without realizing it?
“Trace here.”
“Yeah, isn’t it? Who else would be answering your phone? Some woman, maybe?”
Damn. Just what he needed to cap off his lousy evening. His Ex. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?”
“Yes, it’s me. I need an advance on my child support.”
He swore under his breath. Was there no end to her greedy demands? “Look, Sandra, I’ve told you before not to call me about advances. Besides, you know I’m strapped this month. I just paid Renee’s spring quarter college fees.”
“You could take out a loan for me if you wanted to.”
Trace struggled to keep his voice civil. “Why should I pay interest when you’ve got thousands in your own accounts? It’s not as though you need the money.”
“My cash is all tied up in investments. Anyway, it’s not a question of need. It’s for a treat for Renee. The folks and I are taking her to Paris for Easter, so you won’t be saddled with her. I need the money to help me pay for the trip.”
Trace swore under his breath again. So that’s why Renee had said she might not make it home to see him for Easter break. How could he compete with Paris in the spring?
“Just put it on your credit card, Sandra. You won’t have to pay the bill until after I send next month’s check.”
“All of my credit cards are maxed out, Trace.”
“Again?�
�
“Well, I can’t wear last year’s clothes to the fashion capital of the world, can I?”
“Don’t you usually go to Paris to buy clothes? What are you planning to use for money for that?”
“Daddy will loan me some.”
“Then you can borrow some from Daddy now, too!”
He hung up on her wailing, “Traaace!”
Unplugging the phone so she couldn’t call back, he turned back to work, trying to remember what the solution was that he’d just worked out, but it eluded him again.
Irritated, he started over, hoping to recover his previous train of thought. It took him a half hour of work to get back to the point where he’d been before she called, and two more hours to finish the program.
Ready for his class at last, he got up and took a bottle of Scotch from a corner cupboard. He poured some into a shot glass then went to stand at the window drinking it. His thoughts returned to Sandra as he stared out into the dreary night.
The bitterness of his divorce was a raw, constant pain in his gut. He tried to avoid contact with Sandra, but she seemed to enjoy harassing him. Not that they hadn’t been happy once, when Renee was small. Before he’d found out about Sandra’s affairs. Damn, but he’d been a gullible fool.
But no more. He was a free man. And he was definitely going to stay that way. Except for the child support for Renee, of course. Normally, he wouldn’t even have to pay that, since she was over eighteen. But he’d voluntarily agreed to pay it until Renee finished college, along with her college fees. He wanted to do that, since education was important to him. And it was a matter of pride. No way was he giving Sandra’s folks another excuse to lord it over him by saying he couldn’t even pay for his daughter’s education.
Light from the street reflected on the windows of the house next door, highlighting a familiar shape. He leaned forward to get a better look. Wasn’t that…yes, it was!
Renee’s cat, Baby, sat on the windowsill inside the house, staring at him. Here he’d been, hunting for that darned cat, feeling sorry for her, while Baby was indoors, snug and warm all the time!
Trace strode to the door, grabbing his umbrella from the rack and opening it as he ran next door. Shivering, he knocked loudly and impatiently on the door, wishing he’d stopped for his jacket. The door had a small glass window in it, but the house was dark so he could see little inside through it.
Finally, he saw movement inside and the door opened a crack. A woman with tousled dark hair stared sleepily at him across the safety chain. Damn, he’d woken her. He hadn’t thought about the time; it must be almost midnight.
“Yes?” Wide brown eyes, framed by dark curls regarded him warily. The street light’s pale glow cast interesting planes and shadows on her face, making him wonder about her age.
Suddenly feeling foolish about his mission, he shifted his feet and began, “I’m your neighbor over there.” He nodded toward his house.
She looked curiously at him, evidently trying to make out his face.
Trace bit his lip, then realizing that without lights, he was just a blur of shadows to her, he turned his head so the street light would show her his features.
“Oh, really?” she said. “You’re my neighbor? Isn’t this rather an odd time to come calling?”
He could hardly blame her for being cautious. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think—I mean, I saw Baby sitting in your window and came to get her.”
The woman stared at him. “Baby? What baby? Have you been drinking?” She started to close the door.
Yikes, could she smell his breath? “No, wait. Please. I mean, yes, I did have a bit of Scotch, but I’m perfectly sober. I just have to get Baby. My daughter, Renee, will be heartbroken if I lose her cat. I’ve got to get her back.”
“Oh, the cat!” she said, a relieved smile spreading over her face. “Is she yours?”
“Yes,” he said, pleased that she reopened the door to the limit of its chain.
“Wait a minute, I’ll find her. She sort of adopted me. I mean, she slipped inside with me tonight. I didn’t have a phone to call the number on her collar, and she was all wet. She seemed cold and hungry, too,” she added, accusation in her tone.
“I’m sure she was,” Trace replied stiffly. “But it serves her right for sneaking outside this afternoon when I came home. Baby has a mind of her own.” This woman was as bad as Sandra, trying to lay a guilt trip on him.
Though she certainly looked delectable. His gaze curiously roamed over her lithe, slim form. Her face seemed so familiar. Had he seen her before, or did she merely resemble someone else?
“I see. I’ll go get your cat.” She began walking back towards the family room.
Shivering, Trace huddled under the overhang, which only partly protected him from the rain, and tried to control his umbrella against the wind. He couldn’t blame her for being cautious. Through the crack in the door, he couldn’t help noticing how her rounded hips swayed as she moved.
That walk was familiar, too. Only the pale glow of the street light through the window lit her way and she walked carefully, apparently wary of bumping into furniture.
“Why don’t you turn on the lights?” Trace called.
“No power yet. I just got here tonight,” she answered over her shoulder, and disappeared.
In a minute she was back, with Baby in her arms. He watched her long graceful fingers stroke Baby’s soft black fur. The cat purred, regarding him from half closed eyes, seemingly in no hurry to return to him.
Now Trace was in no hurry to leave either. This woman intrigued him. Did he know her from somewhere?
“You mean you’re staying here without electricity? It’s cold, too,” he said, frowning.
“So? There’s no water or telephone, either. People did exist for thousands of years before we had those things, you know,” she said, her full lips twisting into a wry smile.
Her attitude irritated him. “It was necessary to suffer hardships then. Now, it’s downright foolish.”
Her slightly pointed chin went up. She stared at him, her large brown eyes sending him a clear ‘mind your own business’ message.
But Trace was in no mood to obey. He coaxed, “At least, come over to my house until you can get the utilities turned on in the morning.”
She stared at him, trying to get her sleepy brain to remember anything Gram had told her about the new people to whom the Marsleys had sold their house, but none of it fit. Lisa was sure that Gram had mentioned several noisy children.
“I will not! That’s ridiculous. I realize it’s the small town custom to help your neighbor, but I don’t even know you. You could be anybody, even if you do live next door.”
Trace chuckled. “And I don’t know you, either. Perhaps you are a dangerous ax murderer, Miss, er?”
“Lisa Bickford.” What had he said his name was?
“Lisa?” His hand reached out through the narrow opening in the door the safety chain allowed. Strong fingers caught her arm. He drew her into the circle of the streetlight in front of the door, looking closer.
“Hey,” she objected with a gasp, almost dropping Baby. How dare this stranger grab her arm? Her heart pounded in reaction to his sudden move.
“You’re Lisa Johnson? Yes, of course you are,” he said, with a wide grin, releasing her. “Same old sassy manner, too.”
Lisa ignored that, concentrating on a more important issue. “How do you know my maiden name?”
“Don’t you remember me, Lisa? Tracer Marsley? I’m hurt. We dated some in high school, when you lived here with your grandparents.”
Lisa stared at him. He turned so the streetlight fell on his face and lifted his chin with a smile that said, ‘see, I told you so.’
She sighed in relief. Yes, of course it was him. Older, much more muscular, and definitely more attractive than back in those days, when both she and her friend Suzy had nurtured mad crushes on him.
A surge of excitement built in her. He returned her gaze directly, but
seemed oblivious to the feelings he was reawakening in her. “Trace?”
Her voice came out in a hoarse squawk, and she cleared her throat. “You live in your old house next door now? But Gram said your house was sold to some other people…”
“Yes. The Lees. He was transferred to New York, and I bought it back a couple of years ago.”
“Oh.” She frowned, trying to put it all together. Feeling chilled, she shivered.
His blond brows dipped. “Lisa, it’s freezing out here. Come on, get your coat, grab a few things and stay with me. Who’s going to know or care? I wouldn’t sleep all night, thinking about you over here, half frozen.”
He looked half frozen himself. Embarrassed now, she shrugged and unchained the door. “I’m sorry to be so cautious, Trace. Come in.”
As he crossed the threshold, she handed him the cat and closed the door, adding, “You’re right. The fireplace doesn’t give as much heat as I thought it would. I’ll just grab my coat and overnight case.”
Wide awake now, she made her way back down the hall. It was really Trace! It didn’t seem possible. She hadn’t thought of him in years.
Excitement built in her, as the reality of that fact sunk into her consciousness. He seemed different, now. Older, of course, but even more attractive. Sophisticated? Self assured? Yes, that was it. He oozed self confidence and poise, even when he had been shivering and irritated at being left outside.
Remembering how she had just treated him, she cringed. But a woman alone couldn’t be too careful of strangers these days.
Even if she had known him way-back-when. What had he called it? Dated some? Is that how he thought of their high school romance? No doubt he, two years older, had thought of her like a pesky little sister. While she’d been devastated when he’d casually gone off to an eastern prep school, leaving her behind to finish her senior year alone, jealously wondering who he was dating, instead of her.
Lisa checked to make sure the glass doors on the fireplace were closed. Then she slipped on her coat, picked up her brown leather purse and overnight case, and made her way back down the hall.
