Blue Ridge Hideaway

by Cynthia Thomason

  He headed for the door but stopped before going inside. His head dropped, his lips thinned.

  “Is there something else?” she prompted.

  “Dorie...”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t go.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t go. Stay for the time you promised.”

  She sat up straight. The swing lurched in an awkward motion. The book fell to the floor. “I don’t know, Bret.”

  Suddenly he was standing right in front of her, his knees touching hers. He reached down and cupped her cheek. She was thankful she was sitting because she didn’t trust her legs to hold her. His touch was sweet and warm and she couldn’t help pressing her cheek into his palm.

  “There’s something happening here,” he said softly. “I don’t know how to explain it. Even when I’m angry with you...”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m not sure. But I don’t want you to go.”

  A choking cough filled her throat. She swallowed, took a deep breath. His fingers trailed down her face, her neck before he dropped his hand. What should she do? Follow her instincts or her common sense? She should go. Every logical thought tried to convince her of that. But this was turning out to be a day of illogical decisions. Her heart begged her to stay, to give whatever this was a chance.

  She felt her head nodding almost as if of its own free will. “I’ll stay, then.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “Dorie, I’m glad I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.” With a last look, he went inside.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BRET WENT STRAIGHT to the kitchen and leaned against the counter while he turned on the faucet. Taking a deep gulp of air, he cupped his hands to catch the cool water and splash it on his face. The temperature in the cabin was comfortable, but suddenly he was burning up from the inside out.

  He grabbed a dish towel and dried off, leaving a little dampness along his neck to cool it. What was happening to him? He’d gone out on the porch hoping she’d tell him she wanted to stay, but he hadn’t expected what he found. She’d looked so serene, so beautiful sitting on the swing.

  The glow of the single bulb shining over her shoulder complemented her rosy cheeks, the gold of her hair. She looked as if she belonged in this world, in his life. He wanted nothing more than to join her, to put his arm around her and feel her curl into his side. When he finally worked up to the nerve to say what was on his mind, he hadn’t been able to use more than two words. “Don’t go.”

  A week ago Dorinda Howe had come to him like a lost waif, determined and desperate, but never needy. But now, in only seven days, he was close to admitting that he needed her. She had begun to fill a hole in his life, one left by multiple tragedies, and one he’d tried to ignore for so long.

  He was in trouble. He couldn’t afford to lose sight of his goals. She was leaving. She had problems he couldn’t tackle right now. He had a vision for his life with his son that he couldn’t, wouldn’t abandon.

  Bret filled a glass with water and gulped it down. He didn’t hear Luke come into the kitchen.

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  He was trembling, so he set down the glass and clenched his hands. “I’m fine. Is the movie over?”

  “Almost. I paused it to come down and get popcorn. Grandpa and I want some.”

  “Did Dorie buy it at the store today?”

  “Sure. She said every cool night needs either popcorn or hot chocolate.”

  “She’s a smart lady,” Bret said. He found the box of microwave popcorn in the pantry and handed Luke a pouch. “You know how to make it?”

  Luke gave him one of those looks, the kind a ten-year-old would give a clueless adult. “Dad, it’s microwavable.”

  “Go for it, then.”

  While the machine hummed and the corn began popping, Luke turned to Bret and said, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Bobby Callahan from my class is coming over tomorrow to hang out.”

  “Really?” Bret couldn’t believe his son had waited until this late hour to spring this important bit of news. “That’s great. Should I call his mother?”

  “Don’t have to. I saw her after school in the pickup line. I told her I had a dad who would be here all day and a sort-of mom, too.”

  “A ‘sort-of mom’? You’re referring to Dorie?” That was the second time the word mother had been used in reference to Dorie lately. “How did Bobby’s mom react to that?”

  “She was cool with it. Why wouldn’t she be? Three adults here. That’s enough to watch out for us.”

  “True. What time will Bobby get here?”

  “About eleven. I said you’d take him home.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’ll play with King. Wait till Bobby sees I have a dog now.” The popcorn was finished, so Luke grabbed the bag from the microwave. “Where is King, by the way?” he asked.

  “Out on the porch with Dorie. But he’ll probably smell the popcorn and follow you anywhere.”

  Luke laughed. “Yeah, he likes to eat.” He left the kitchen calling King’s name.

  Bret’s anxiety faded. This scene he could handle. It was the normal, natural play of a family, the way a family should be. And his son was having a friend over. Suddenly Bret was encouraged about his son’s happiness...

  Feeling back on track, he decided to take one day at a time, keep his thoughts in check, not expect too much or get his hopes up that the future held more than a few more days of Dorie Howe. He could live in the moment and handle his feelings.

  “Don’t forget, the contents of that bag are hot,” he hollered to his son.

  He heard King barking just before Luke said, “Sheesh, Dad, I’m ten years old. I can read.”

  * * *

  THE SUN ROSE with a cool, blinding light on Saturday morning. All occupants of the lodge were up and bustling by 8:30 a.m. Bret poured cereal for everyone. Clancy made coffee and burned the toast. And, while feeding charred crust to King under the table, Luke talked about his plans for spending the day with his friend.

  “I promise there’ll be something better for lunch,” Dorie told Luke. “Non-scorched grilled cheese is on the menu.”

  “That’ll be cool,” Luke said. “Yours has to be better than the cafeteria’s.”

  Dorie tried not to look at Bret in too-obvious a way, but she had lain awake last night thinking about their cryptic conversation on the porch. She couldn’t imagine two syllables affecting anyone more profoundly than the words don’t go had affected her. He’d also said he suspected something was happening between them but he wasn’t sure what. He’d wait a long time if he expected her to end his confusion. On that point they were on the same page—equally confused.

  All she knew for certain was that something was definitely happening to her, and whatever it was, it was unexpected, scary and ill-timed. A group of people who a week ago had been completely dissimilar now gathered around this table as if they were a family. Add to that a dog and the promise of grilled cheese sandwiches, and it was almost eerie. And Dorie didn’t know what to make of it. She just hoped she wouldn’t regret her decision to stay.

  Bret and Clancy went outside to work on one of the cabins. Luke took King out for a run. And Dorie stayed inside to clean up the dishes. She expected her first delivery to arrive by truck today, and when it did, she’d be busy organizing and storing.

  She’d just finished putting the last of the silverware away when her cell phone rang. Knowing she could lose reception in the lodge, she quickly answered, “Hold on.” She ran outside and partway up the mountain path before she returned the phone to her ear. “Sorry about that. Just trying to make sure I have cellular service.”

  A male voice said, “Is this Dorinda Howe?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “This i
s Eric Henderson. I’m the attorney with Grant Schreiber’s group who was assigned your brother’s case.”

  “Oh, Mr. Henderson! I’m so glad to hear from you. Have you seen Jack?”

  “I drove down to Broad Creek yesterday and we talked for about an hour.”

  Her hand trembled. This phone call was so important. “What did you think? You believe him don’t you?”

  “Unfortunately whether I believe him or not isn’t the central issue.”

  She didn’t want a lawyer defending Jack who didn’t believe in his innocence. “But you have to be on his side in court.”

  “Of course, and I will be. That’s what you’re paying me for, Miss Howe. I’ve already come up with a strategy that hopefully will work in front of a jury.”

  “Jack didn’t know about the gun that night, Mr. Henderson....”

  “Eric, please.”

  “All right. Eric. Anyway, he didn’t. He would never have agreed to go in that convenience store if he’d known Vince had a weapon.”

  “That sounds good, Dorinda...I can call you Dorinda?”

  He was testing her patience with his pleasantries. “Yes, of course.”

  “But the other two boys haven’t recanted their stories. They both say Jack fired the weapon and drove the getaway car.”

  “It wasn’t Jack’s gun! He would never have a firearm.”

  “You do know, Dorinda, that Jack’s fingerprints were all over the weapon.”

  She’d been through all this with the state-appointed attorney. This wasn’t news to her. “Jack took the gun after the shot had already been fired. In a panic. He wanted to be sure no one else would get hurt, but he dropped it in the backseat of the car the minute they were outside. He didn’t have time to realize that Vince was setting him up to take the blame.”

  “It’s his word against theirs, and unfortunately, with their extensive rap sheets, none of these kids is a credible witness.” He sighed into the phone, and Dorie’s heart sank.

  “And the one man who could identify the killer is dead,” Eric added.

  Dorie felt her throat close up in an effort to hold back tears. Why did this attorney have to sound as hopeless as the last one? “But...” She swallowed and spoke slowly. “You said you have a strategy?”

  “That’s right. Jack’s record, since it only consists of smaller crimes, gives me an opening. I can work on the jury’s sympathies using Jack’s background, the abandonment issue.”

  “Being abandoned doesn’t justify murder!” she said. “A jury won’t excuse the charges because of that.”

  “No, and I’m going to have to ask you to downplay your role in raising Jack. You have to come across as far less attentive to him than you really were. Make it sound like your brother practically raised himself.”

  She knew she’d tried to be there for Jack every step of the way, but she was willing to minimize her role in his life if it would help. But she didn’t believe it would. “I see what you’re getting at, but won’t the jury conclude that Jack still made a decision to do the wrong thing that night?”

  “If I can paint Jack as the poster kid for abandonment and hard luck, it could be very effective in getting us a decent plea-bargain agreement.”

  “A plea bargain isn’t an acquittal. I want Jack acquitted. That’s why I hired you. Mr. Schreiber said...”

  “He said I’m good, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am, so you’ve got to trust me. I said this is just the beginning of what I’m hoping to do. I have other angles to pursue. I want to talk to the district attorney and see what his agenda is. There’s a lot of work to be done yet.”

  She forced a breath from her constricted lungs. “Okay.”

  “But I wanted to touch base with you today, explain what’s going on, tell you what I need from you as his sister.”

  “All right. One more thing...”

  “Yeah?”

  “How was Jack? How did his mood seem? In our phone conversations, he tells me he’s holding up, but I can’t tell.”

  “Truthfully, Dorinda, the kid is wound pretty tight. I detected anxiety in his words and his body language. He’s a kid in a fairly grim adult world. It’s not easy.”

  She closed her eyes and tried not to picture Jack’s face—this was not the time for tears. Her breathing was short and shallow so she simply said, “I understand.”

  “But that reminds me. I’m pulling some strings to get Jack transferred to a new cell block, one with fewer violent prisoners. He could be in his new cell by tomorrow.”

  “That would be a relief.”

  “And even if he’s convicted, I’m pretty sure I can get him transferred to a juvie facility while we work on appeals. That will make big sis feel better.”

  “Big sis” knew that only an acquittal would make her happy.

  “I’ll keep in touch as often as I have news,” Eric said. “Until I talk to you again, keep the faith.”

  She disconnected and sat heavily on the ground. Bracing her arms on her knees, she dropped her forehead to her crossed wrists. Okay, this lawyer seemed more competent than the last one. He was trying lots of angles. Still... “Poor Jack,” she whispered, “How did this happen to you? Where did I go wrong?”

  She looked up when she heard the rumble of a truck engine down the mountain. The first supply order for The Crooked Spruce would be here in a few minutes. But she had enough time to make one call while her cell was working.

  She dialed the number to Broad Creek and waited a short time to be connected to Jack. “I heard the attorney, Mr. Henderson, was there to see you,” she said when he came on the line.

  “Yeah, he came yesterday.”

  “How are you feeling about his visit?”

  “To tell you the truth, Dorie, I don’t think he’s going to be able to do a thing for me.”

  This desperation in Jack’s voice was exactly what she didn’t want to hear. She’d hoped the attorney would have made Jack feel more positive about the outcome. “He told me he’s working on some things, like getting you moved to a less violent cell block.”

  “I guess he is, but bottom line, my fingerprints are on that gun. He can’t erase those. And he can’t make Vince and Tony change their stories.”

  She waited for a bolt of inspiration to come to her, something that would console her brother, but the truth was the truth. “So how are you doing?” she said.

  “All I can think about is spending the rest of my life in this place.”

  She swallowed and prayed her voice wouldn’t crack. “You have to hang in there, kiddo. We will keep trying.”

  “Look, sis, maybe it’s time we stopped believing in miracles. Henderson is welcome to do his thing, but even he doesn’t think it will be enough.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jack.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  Maybe, maybe not, but it didn’t matter whose fault it was.

  The boy she’d tried to raise, the one family member she had on this earth, was depending on her, and her heart was breaking to think she would let him down now. Sure Jack had made some mistakes and traveled paths he shouldn’t have. But she should have tried harder to guide him in the right direction.

  There were times when she’d probably been easier on Jack than she should have. She’d known he’d snuck out of the house at night, but she hadn’t wanted to smother him. She should have insisted more forcefully that he stay in school. She’d let her desire to protect Jack, to be his friend rather than a disciplinarian, blind her to the depth of his problems. “I’ll be home soon,” she said. “Friday or Saturday.”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak again, so she pressed the disconnect button on her phone. After gathering her strength, she stood and went back down the mountain. A UPS truck had arrived
at the lodge, and she had a lot to do.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “WHAT ON EARTH is in all these boxes?”

  Bret stood in the doorway between the main room and the kitchen, his hands on his hips, his eyes wide.

  Dorie, stooped over in the middle of several stacks of cartons, peeked around the tallest one and said, “Don’t worry. You personally approved everything that arrived today.”

  “And exactly what did arrive and why did it take so many boxes to get it here?”

  She tore the packing tape on the nearest carton. “This is stuff that doesn’t compact well.” She motioned him over. “We’ve got twelve sets of sheets, twelve mattress pads, twelve blankets—thermal, of course—sixteen pillows so we’d have extras. We have towels and soap and...”

  “Okay, I get it. Enough to stock the three cabins I’ll have ready by the opening.” He studied the number of boxes again. “Obviously sixteen pillows take more boxes than sixteen napkins.”

  She smiled, something she hadn’t done since hanging up with Jack.

  “What are we going to do with all this stuff until the cabins are finished?” Bret asked.

  She looked toward the hallway that led to the storage room. “I guess it will all have to go in my roo...” Realizing what she’d been about to say, she changed gears. “The spare room.”

  “There goes your bed, Dorie,” Bret teased. “You’ll be in a room filled with bedding without a place to sleep.” His brow furrowed in mock horror. “Oh, the irony!”

  She crossed her arms and surveyed the chaos. “Could happen, I guess. But I’ll manage. I’ve slept in worse places than on the tops of boxes.”

  His jaw dropped. “What? You’re kidding, right?”

  She laughed. “Of course I’m kidding.”

  Despite her morning, Dorie was enjoying this side of Bret. His good mood was infectious, as good for him as it was for her.