A Home for Adam
Gina Ferris Wilkins
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Adam Stone nearly jumped out of his skin when the telephone rang late Thursday afternoon.
The instrument had hung silently on the wall of the rather rustic lake cottage for three days; he’d almost forgotten its existence. Its noisy jangle brought him out of the book he’d been enjoying, and out of the self-imposed isolation he’d fought so hard to attain, reminding him abruptly of the real world that existed outside the walls of this cozy haven.
Only Granny Fran had the number where he was staying. She’d promised not to give it out to anyone. Since he knew nothing anyone could say would drag that number out of his stubborn grandmother, he answered the phone with some trepidation, hoping there hadn’t been a family emergency in the few days he’d been incommunicado.
“Stone,” he said in his habitually curt, my-time-is-precious-don’t-waste-it telephone voice.
“It’s Granny Fran, dear,” a soft, sweet voice informed him. “And there is no emergency, so don’t be alarmed.”
He exhaled quietly in relief. “Nothing’s wrong?” he asked, just to be sure.
“No,” she reassured him. “I just wanted to check on you. I have to admit, it bothers me a little that you’re out there in that lake cottage all alone in the dead of winter, no one even knowing where you are. What if you hurt yourself or something? What would you do?”
Adam chuckled. “I never knew you were such a worrier,” he accused her fondly. “I thought that was Rachel’s job,” he added, naming his cousin, her eldest granddaughter.
“Ever since Rachel fell in love with Seth Fletcher, she’s been too busy and too happy to waste time worrying about the family,” Frances replied contentedly. “I suppose that leaves the responsibility to me.”
“There’s always Mother,” he reminded her.
“Oh, heavens, Arlene is much too busy worrying about herself to think about anyone else.”
His grandmother’s aggrieved tone made Adam wince. “She’s been giving you a hard time, hasn’t she?”
“No worse than usual.”
“Is she nagging you for my number?”
“She’s not getting it. There is absolutely no need for you to go rushing back to Little Rock just because her heater isn’t functioning properly. Honestly, that daughter of mine is so helpless, it’s a wonder she gets herself out of bed.”
“Mother’s heater is broken?” Adam frowned, thinking of the weather reports for the upcoming late January weekend, predicted to be the coldest of the season, with winter storm warnings issued statewide. “Maybe I’d better—”
“You will do no such thing.” Frances cut in, obviously annoyed with herself for mentioning it. “Arlene is perfectly capable of taking care of this. I told her what to do, and she’ll do it, now that she has no other choice. I’ve always said she would be better off—and so would you—if you’d stop catering to her.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to cater than to deal with the consequences,” Adam admitted, picturing all sorts of unpleasant, messy—and time-consuming—scenes.
He didn’t try to delude himself that the things he did for his mother were motivated by nobility or unselfish generosity. He simply found it easier to agree with her and pay someone to take care of her requests than to waste time arguing with her.
He’d been called a selfish, arrogant bastard an average of once a day for the past fifteen years or so. There were times when he deliberately did what he could to live up to that title. If nothing else, his attitude made it less likely that anyone else would try to use him the way his mother so often did.
Frances apparently decided there was no need to get into another argument about his mother. “Are you enjoying your vacation?” she asked instead.
“Yeah, it’s nice.” Adam looked contentedly around the rented cottage with its huge stone fireplace, its worn, comfortable furnishings, its view of acres of uncleared woods and a glimpse of the nearby lake.
This area would be much busier in the summertime, when fishermen and water sports enthusiasts were out en masse, but in late January, the tourist action had all moved to the racetrack in Hot Springs, some thirty miles away, leaving the lake cottage isolated and lonely. Exactly the way Adam had hoped it would be. He dealt with people all day, every day, back in Little Rock—an hour-and-a-half drive from the lake. Just being alone was a rare and special treat for him.
He smiled at the thought that his friends, family and associates had no idea how close he really was. Most of them were convinced he was taking two weeks in the tropics or some other more traditional winter vacation spot.
“You have plenty of food?” Frances fretted. “If this predicted ice storm hits, you might not be able to drive out of there for a couple of days.”
“I have plenty of food. I have my cellular phone in the car in case regular phone service goes out, and there’s a stack of firewood higher than my head. I can easily ride out what passes for a winter storm in Arkansas.”
“I suppose you know best.”
Adam grinned. “Always.”
Frances sighed gustily through the line. “I should have known that would be your response.”
The most common criticism of Adam was that, in his mind, there were two ways of doing things—the wrong way, or his way. He’d been taking care of others for so long, and had been treated with respectful submission so often, that he had become more than a bit arrogant, a trait he was well aware of, but tended to believe he’d fully earned.
And, besides, he thought with a deepening smile, he was almost always right. It just sometimes took him a while to convince others of his infallibility.
His grandmother didn’t keep him long on the phone. She told him to have a good rest, made him promise not to call home and risk being pulled out of his much-deserved vacation, then assured him that she, too, had taken precautions against the weather. “But thank you for worrying,” she added.
Adam did worry about his grandmother. Though he knew she was in good health and excellent shape for a woman of her years, it bothered him that she still lived alone, an hour’s drive from her closest relative. Several times he’d suggested that she move into a nice little house closer to his—hell, he’d even offered to build a guest house on his property for her—but she’d repeatedly, firmly refused. He still fully intended to convince her, given a bit more time and effort.
“Take care of yourself,” he said.
“You, too. I love you, Adam.”
He grunted a suitable response and disconnected the call. He wasn’t comfortable with expressing his emotions in words. He thought his actions adequately demonstrated his concern for his family.
He settled back into the recliner and opened his book again, absently scratching his chin. He hadn’t shaved in three days and his straggly beard was beginning to itch a bit. But it was a nice itch, another sign that he had no appearances to keep up during the next week and a half, no expectations to meet.
Outside, the wind began to blow, brushing tree limbs against the walls of the snug little cabin. Heavy clouds obscured the sun, making the afternoon almost as dark as late evening. Illuminated by the soft glow of a reading lamp and the small fire in the fireplace, the cabin was a qu
iet, cozy refuge from the approaching inclement weather.
Adam sighed in contentment, and lost himself again in the adventure unfolding on the pages of his book.
* * *
Jennifer Newcomb’s knuckles gleamed whitely against the black steering wheel beneath her tightly gripped hands. Had it not been for the dim green illumination from the dashboard, it would have been pitch-black inside the tiny car.
Heavy, freezing rain and sleet poured down from the dark sky, battering the top of the compact vehicle, competing with the rhythmic thump-thump of the valiantly struggling windshield wipers. The steady downpour diffused the headlamps so that their beams glinted off in dozens of different directions, providing more glare than guidance.
The road was a narrow asphalt strip, gleaming like black satin beneath the thin sheet of ice already covering it. Jenny drove at little more than walking speed, fighting the ice and wind and the panic mounting inside her.
She was lost. Somewhere during the past ten miles, she’d obviously taken a wrong turn in her search for a clean, inexpensive place to spend the night. The directions she’d been given over an hour ago had been confusing and hard to remember. What had she done wrong? When had she taken the wrong road? Where was she?
She hadn’t passed any other cars in what seemed like hours, though it had probably been only twenty minutes or so. There were no lights lining this sorry excuse for a road, and no houses that she could see in any direction. Didn’t anyone live along here?
When she’d been a teenager, she’d been hooked on old “Twilight Zone” reruns that played on her local television station after school. She felt as though she had entered one of those haunting episodes now. As though civilization as she knew it had disappeared, leaving her alone in this tiny car on an interminable drive to nowhere along this endless stretch of frozen asphalt.
“Stop this, Jenny,” she ordered herself aloud, just to hear a human voice. “You’ll find help somewhere. And you’re not alone,” she added, letting go of the steering wheel for a moment to risk a quick touch to her very swollen stomach.
As if to confirm her words, the baby inside her kicked. Hard. The sharp pain in her diaphragm made her catch her breath and clutch the wheel again in a death grip.
“Thanks, kid,” she muttered with a humorless laugh. “I needed that. Better than a slap across the face for counteracting hysteria.”
The battering of the rooftop intensified, echoing hollowly inside the vehicle. There was a difference in the sound, Jenny realized. The wind had grown stronger, and the temperatures must have dropped. The rain was freezing before it hit the ground, before it pelted her car. She was driving on a deserted road somewhere in south central Arkansas, right in the middle of an ice storm.
She groaned and wasted several precious moments calling herself two or three dozen synonyms for “idiot.” If only she hadn’t been so damned determined to make this drive alone. If only she’d listened to the well-intentioned advice of friends, co-workers, even concerned strangers. If only she hadn’t always been so stubborn, so determinedly independent, so resistant to advice, no matter how well-meant...
The car skidded, its back tires fishtailing frantically against the tractionless surface beneath them. Jenny’s heart leaped into her throat. She fought the skid, fought the panic, fought the despair.
She didn’t stand a chance. Completely out of her control now, the car made several dizzying spins that stopped only when the front fender came up hard against something solid and unyielding.
A tree, Jenny thought, instinctively wrapping her arms around her middle and bracing against the jarring impact. Her seat belt tightened hard against her thighs, where she’d worn it beneath the bulge of her stomach. The shoulder strap jerked her against the back of her seat, taking her breath, but mercifully pulling her away from contact with the steering wheel.
The car’s overstrained engine coughed a time or two, then fell silent. The windshield wipers ground to a stop halfway across their path. The headlamps remained on, but the sight they revealed wasn’t particularly encouraging. Miles of road. Ice-coated trees. Falling ice mixed now with huge flakes of snow.
For just a moment, Jenny gave in to the urge to cry, the hot, heavy tears cascading down her cold cheeks in a steady stream. But then she made herself stop, drawing a deep, steadying breath.
She’d gotten herself into this mess, she thought angrily. It looked like it was up to her to get herself out. As usual.
She peered through the windshield, hoping for any sign of civilization. The wildly refracted light from the headlamps made her dizzy, but she hesitated to cut them off, suddenly reluctant to face the lonely darkness. Shaking her head at her cowardice, she reached out and pushed in the control. The lights died. The world grew dark around the stalled car, still and quiet except for that steadily falling ice and snow.
“I’m in Arkansas, for crying out loud!” she protested uselessly into the night. “It isn’t supposed to do this here. It almost never snows here.”
But it was snowing, and the thick, wet flakes were landing heavily on the sheet of ice already coating the ground, making driving more treacherous than ever, even if she could get the car started again, even if she could pull it away from the tree around which her front fender was crumpled.
She pressed her face against the glass beside her and stared intently into the darkness, looking for something, anything, to give her hope. She found it in the distance ahead of her. Lights. Just visible through the trees and the storm was a pale gleam of light that could only be coming from a house.
There was no way to tell how far away the house might be. She leaned against the horn, praying its sound would penetrate the storm and the woods and alert someone that she was nearby, that she needed help. Five minutes passed, then ten. No one could hear her. No one knew she was here. She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, grimly aware of what she had to do.
Common sense told her to stay in the car, bundle up against the cold and pray for someone to find her. Logic reminded her that walking on ice, in a raging storm, in her condition, was an incredibly dumb thing to do, a tragic accident waiting to happen. But she was already cramped and sore from a long car ride, her body jammed tightly into the small space behind the steering wheel. She didn’t know how much longer she could sit here like this, hoping for help that might not come along for hours yet.
After all, she thought glumly, no one in his right mind would be out driving in weather like this.
A gust of wind pelted the car with another shower of ice. Jenny shivered as the cold crept inexorably through the glass surrounding her. Another cramp gripped her, twisting her in the uncomfortable seat, dragging an oath from her throat.
She unbuckled the seat belt and reached for the heavy gray wool coat in the passenger seat. Dragging it on, she strained to pull the sides together in front, over the bulky maternity sweater she wore with maternity jeans, knee socks and white leather Keds. When the coat was buttoned, she pulled on knit gloves and a matching knit cap, then wrapped a red-and-white striped muffler around her neck and the lower part of her face.
She took one last look around the interior of the little car, which was crammed almost to the padded roof with boxes and bags and suitcases—everything she owned in the world. And then she put her hand on the door handle.
The first blast of wet, icy wind took her breath away. She dragged in another, forcing her cramped legs out of the car. Her clothing was soaked before she’d even managed to stand upright. One shoe slid on the ice, and she steadied herself frantically against the car, terrified of falling. “I can do this, damn it!” she said, daring the Fates to argue with her.
She looped the straps of her purse over her neck—every penny she possessed was in that worn leather bag—and focused again on that beckoning light.
“I can do this,” she said again. And this time the words were a prayer.
* * *
Kneeling in front of the fireplace, Adam added another lo
g and poked at the embers, stirring the cheery fire into new life. He considered it a minor miracle that he still had electricity. The inside of the cabin was bright and warm and comfortable, a dramatic contrast to the bitterly cold, dark, icy conditions outside.
He returned to his chair and opened his book. Two novels yet to be read rested on the low table beside him, along with a snifter of fine old brandy. Classical music played softly from the portable CD player he’d brought with him.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, he was utterly content—if only a bit lonely.
The heavy thump on the tiny front porch made him look up from his book with a frown. Falling ice? A broken-off limb from a nearby tree? He’d better check, he thought, setting the book aside reluctantly.
Bracing against the cold, he opened the front door a crack and glanced outside. And then he jerked it open with a fervent curse. “What the—?”
The woman was half sitting, half lying on the edge of the porch, apparently unable to make her way up the three ice-coated steps. Adam had left the porch light on earlier, when he’d brought in a good supply of firewood, and he could see that his unexpected and uninvited visitor was in sorry shape. Wet, icy, gasping for breath, hunched in agony. She looked young, and rather heavy in her thick winter clothes.
Ignoring the stinging sleet and snow that slapped at the skin exposed by his black sweatshirt, Adam knelt beside her. Her lips were blue, her skin dangerously white. There was ice on her eyelashes, on the tips of the wet dark hair that escaped from beneath her knit cap to curl against her pale cheeks. She had one hand pressed to her side, and was supporting herself against the porch with the other.
“Please,” she managed to whisper, her voice thin and cracked, her breath catching in ragged sobs. “Wrecked...my car. I—I need...”
She couldn’t finish. But he knew what she needed. Heat, shelter, dry clothing, hot food.
So much for his blessed solitude, his lazy catering to no one but himself. But Adam could no more have turned his back on this woman than he could have changed the weather.
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