A Place to Call Home

by Sharon Sala

  “Daddy.”

  Joe turned, blinking owlishly into the darkness below. Judd was only a vague outline in the shadows.

  “What?”

  “When you go to bed…say your prayers.”

  Joe frowned. “What the hell did you say that for?”

  “When you sleep, I will kill you.”

  Joe’s lips slackened. The statement was so ludicrous he couldn’t think of what to say. But when Judd stepped into the light spilling down from the kitchen above, Joe took an instinctive step back. The hate on his son’s face was too real.

  He tried to laugh. Judd was just a kid. A ten-year-old kid. But the laughter wouldn’t come. Suddenly, he found himself stumbling up the steps and into the light of the kitchen, his heart pounding, his belly lurching. He swayed where he stood, aware that he was only moments from passing out.

  When you sleep, I will kill you.

  The words still echoed in his head. Suddenly the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs sent him into a panic. Within seconds, he was staggering down the porch steps and running through the bushes of their backyard.

  A cat scrambled out of a garbage can, hissing and spitting as Joe stumbled into the alley. The commotion set the neighbor’s dog to barking. Joe’s blood ran cold. If Judd wanted to, he could find him by the noise trail alone.

  Joe paused and looked back. Something moved in the shadows. His heart skipped a beat. He turned and ran and never looked back, passing out some time later beneath some trees in the city park.

  When he woke the next morning, his only concern was that he’d outrun his fate. Days after, when the Kentucky authorities came and took Judd away, Joe couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but relief.

  And Judd Hanna didn’t care that his father was out of his life. In his mind, he’d been alone for years. His last refuge had been God, and that night under the stairs, even God had deserted him.

  * * *

  A loud sound outside the bar startled Judd’s reverie. He blinked several times as his thoughts refocused. Once more, he found himself staring at the man in the mirror, and at the glass of whiskey only inches away from his lips. He shuddered. Damn. He wasn’t far from the man he’d learned to hate.

  At that moment, something inside of him snapped. He set the drink down without tasting it, tossed some money on the bar, and headed for the street. His captain had been right. He was taking chances with his life, only he didn’t know why, but one fact remained that he couldn’t ignore. If he wanted to live, it had to stop now.

  He walked the streets for hours, weighing his options. His rent was paid until the first of the year and his utility bills were deducted directly from his bank account. He had no one to answer to but himself, and no intentions of spilling his guts to a shrink. In Judd Hanna’s mind, that left him only one option, and he was going to take it before it was too late.

  * * *

  Captain Roger Shaw’s satisfaction in dealing with Hanna’s problem was short-lived. At nine-thirty the next morning, a call from the department shrink verified the fact that Judd Hanna was a no-show.

  Furious, he called Judd’s apartment and got a disconnect message on the phone. He stared at the receiver in disbelief, then dialed again, certain that he’d made a mistake. Again, the prerecorded message came on, saying that the number he had dialed was no longer in service. By six o’clock that evening, it was obvious that Judd Hanna was gone.

  Late August, Call City, Wyoming

  * * *

  Judd Hanna glanced at the map on the seat beside him and then shrugged his shoulders, trying to alleviate some of the tension in his neck. It was the driving. Driving always made him tense. He looked at his watch. It was almost five o’clock. Even though it was a few hours away from nightfall, an early night sounded good. Maybe tonight he would be able to sleep. Maybe tonight the dreams wouldn’t come. God, he hoped so. He was tired. So tired.

  As he topped a steep hill, he saw movement in the pasture beyond and slowed down to look. It only took a moment for the unfolding scene to register. A little girl of no more than two years old was toddling through the grass. Beyond her, and more than one hundred yards away, was a young woman, running at full stride, with her mouth open in a scream he couldn’t hear. To their right, and converging between them and gaining speed with every lope, was a huge black bull. It was obvious to Judd that the baby was the intended target, and that the mother would never reach her in time.

  Without thinking, he stomped the accelerator to the floor. Tires spun on pavement, leaving behind the scent of burning rubber. He bounced across the shallow ditch and then straight through the five-strand barbed wire fence, leaving a tangle of mangled wire and broken fence posts behind him as he went. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he focused on the dwindling space between the baby and the bull.

  * * *

  Today was laundry day. Two-year old Rachel Franklin loved the days that her mother, Charlotte, pulled all the clothes from the clothes hamper to separate for wash. Charlotte—Charlie to her family—loved her baby more than life, but there were days, like today, when she could have done without her help. She’d already separated the colored clothes twice, each time pulling her red T-shirt from the whites. Rachel did love that red T-shirt, but Charlie didn’t think her brother, Wade, would be too fond of pink underwear, especially since he was Call City’s chief of police.

  “Rachel, give Mommy the shirt,” Charlie said.

  Rachel picked the red T-shirt from the pile and gave it to Charlie. The smile on her face was so precious that Charlie dropped the clothes she was carrying and picked her daughter up instead, nuzzling her nose against the baby-soft skin beneath Rachel’s ear.

  Rachel cackled and squealed with delight, then threw her arms around Charlie’s neck.

  “My mommy,” Rachel said, and squeezed as tight as she could.

  Charlie returned the hug. “My Rachel,” she said, her throat tight with emotion.

  The child was her life. The only good thing to come from loving Pete Tucker, their neighbor’s son. He’d played loose with Charlie’s feelings, then skipped out on her when she was two months pregnant to chase his dreams on the rodeo circuit. A month before Rachel was born, he’d crawled on a bull that, in a matter of seconds, had put an end to Pete Tucker’s dreams.

  Charlie had grieved, but only for the loss of Rachel’s father. Charlie’s love for Pete Tucker had died the day he left her to bear the burden of their affair all alone.

  “Want down,” Rachel muttered.

  Charlie sighed as she put her baby back on her feet. Her daughter’s independence was inevitable, but she couldn’t help the spear of regret. She tousled Rachel’s curls.

  “You go play in your room, baby girl. Mommy is going to put these clothes in the washer. Get them all clean for Uncle Wade.”

  “Unca Wade?”

  “Yes, these are for Uncle Wade.”

  Rachel toddled off, satisfied with her mother’s explanation. Next to her mother, Wade Franklin was her favorite person.

  Charlie picked up the pile of clothes, careful not to include the red shirt, and headed for the utility room off the kitchen. A couple of minutes later it dawned on her that the house was entirely too quiet and she started back through the rooms in search of Rachel.

  “Rachel, where are you?” Charlie called.

  She got no answer.

  “Rachel, answer Mommy, where are you?”

  This time the silence hit hard. Trying not to panic, she retraced her steps, searching in all of Rachel’s nooks and crannies, certain she would find her in one of her favorite places.

  It wasn’t until she’d made the second trip through the house that she noticed the screen door in the living room was slightly ajar. She dashed out on the porch, telling herself to stay calm.

  “Rachel, where are you?”

  The silence that came afterward was unnerving. She wasted another precious minute running around the house and calling Rachel’s name, certain she’d fin
d her playing in the sandbox under the trees in the backyard. But she wasn’t there, either.

  Now she was beginning to panic. It wasn’t until she turned around that she noticed Everett Tucker’s black bull was in their pasture again. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, and her brother, Wade, had warned Everett more than once to fix his fence. She stood for a moment, staring at the bull’s curious stance. His head was up, his body almost motionless in the way animals are when they sense something trespassing on their territory. And then it hit her.

  “Oh, God…oh, no,” Charlie moaned, and started to run, just as the bull began to charge.

  She ran without focus, searching the pasture with a frantic gaze, all the while praying against hope that she was wrong. Then she saw Rachel, toddling through the grass with a handful of flowers. She bolted across the cattle guard, running as she’d never run before, and screaming aloud Rachel’s name.

  She didn’t feel the heat of the sun upon her face. She didn’t even hear the sound of her own screams. All she could do was focus on Rachel’s curly head and remember how soft her baby’s curls were against her face, and how sweet they smelled after a shampoo.

  The bull’s angry bellow shattered the air and Charlie screamed again, trying to divert his attention. It didn’t happen, and it occurred to her then that she would watch her daughter die. As fast as she was running, the bull was still gaining on Rachel, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Then out of nowhere, a black Jeep suddenly appeared in the pasture, flying across the ground at breakneck speed. Before she could absorb the implications, she stumbled and fell. The next thing she knew, she was flat on her face. Dirt was in her eyes, and her leg was afire with an unbearable pain. And yet as quickly as she fell, she was struggling to her feet and rubbing at her eyes, desperate to see. Had Rachel died while she was facedown in the dirt?

  Through a blur of tears, she looked up to see the Jeep come to a sudden halt only a foot or so from where Rachel was standing. The door opened. She saw a man lean out and yank Rachel inside only seconds before bull and Jeep collided. The heavy thud of bending metal was like music to her ears. She dropped her head and took deep, calming breaths. Nothing mattered any longer. Rachel was safe.

  * * *

  Judd was numb. The rush of adrenaline that had gotten him this far was receding as swiftly as it had come, leaving him weak and shaken. The baby in his arms looked as startled as he’d been moments earlier when he’d seen the scene unfolding. The bull had already done a job on the passenger side of his Jeep and was now butting against the radiator as hard as he could. Judd sighed, watching the steam spewing up from under the hood. No telling what was busted, but it really didn’t matter. For now, the child was safe.

  He began running his hands over the little girl’s body, desperate to assure himself that she had come to no harm. He’d yanked her pretty hard when he’d picked her up, but there hadn’t been time for gentle introductions. When he was satisfied that she was all right, he glanced at the bull, who had taken an angry stance a distance away.

  So far, so good, Judd thought, and looked around for the woman he’d seen running earlier. Then he saw her on her knees a distance away. It was obvious from the expression on her face that she was in pain.

  Beyond the Jeep, the bull began pawing the earth, sending showers of dust into the air. Every now and then, the air would shift from the force of an angry bellow.

  Judd eyed the woman nervously. If the bull figured out she was there, she could very well be its next target. Saying a prayer that the Jeep would still move, he grabbed the little girl to keep her from falling, then put it in gear.

  “Okay, baby, let’s go get your mother.”

  The little girl stared at Judd with a solemn expression.

  “Mommy,” she said, pointing with the flowers she still held.

  “I see her, honey. And I have a suspicion she would like to see you, too.”

  The Jeep moved forward amid a spewing mist of steam. He drove slowly, hoping the bull would stay his ground.

  * * *

  Charlie saw them coming, and her heart skipped a beat. The bull stilled, watching intently as the Jeep began to move. She started to get up, and then realized that motion—any motion—might set the bull off. She held her breath, almost afraid to blink. The fire in her ankle was spreading up her leg. When the Jeep stopped beside her, she tried to stand up, then dropped back to the ground from the pain.

  A deep, gravelly voice suddenly rumbled close to her ear. “Easy there, lady, let me help.”

  Charlie was starting to shake. “My baby—”

  “She’s fine,” Judd said. “Put your arms around my neck.”

  Charlie reacted instinctively, clutching at the collar of his shirt as he picked her up. She had a vague impression of a hard body, dark hair, and a muscle jerking at the side of his jaw as he set her into the driver’s side of the seat. Charlie winced as she slid over to the passenger side, grabbing at Rachel as she moved.

  “Mommy,” Rachel said, and crawled into Charlie’s lap as if this was an everyday occurrence.

  Charlie clung to her baby in desperation and buried her face in her neck. Seconds later, the door slammed and she knew that the man had climbed back inside. She needed to thank him. She needed to look in his eyes and see the man who had given her back her world, but she couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the child in her arms.

  Finally, she looked up. Rachel was smiling that sweet baby smile, unaware how close she’d come to getting them both killed.

  Charlie stared at a smear of pollen on Rachel’s cheek, as well as a crushed petal stuck to the corner of her lip, and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Rachel hadn’t just been picking the flowers; it looked as if she’d been eating them as well.

  Tears welled, spilling down Charlie’s face as she wrapped her arms around Rachel, flowers and all, and rocked her where she sat.

  “Mommy cwy?” Rachel asked, feeling the streaks on Charlie’s cheeks.

  Charlie choked on a sob and buried her face in Rachel’s curls. “Yes, baby, Mommy’s crying. You scared me.”

  “Fwowers, Mommy. Picked you fwowers.”

  Charlie nodded and tried to smile, but it was impossible.

  Judd saw her distress. The woman was in pain, both emotionally and physically. He looked toward the cluster of buildings just beyond the fence and put the Jeep in gear.

  “Hang on, lady. I’m taking you home.”

  Chapter 2

  The farmhouse looked old, but well-cared-for. The single-story white building was a perfect square, with a deep wraparound porch framing the exterior walls. A brown brick chimney rose above the rooftop on the north side of the house. Judd suspected that on a cold winter day the smoke from that chimney would rise high above the grove of surrounding trees.

  The woman beside him was still crying, although silently now. He couldn’t blame her. For a while there he’d felt like crying himself. As he crossed the cattle guard, the Jeep began to sputter. By the time he got to the house, it was barely moving, but it didn’t matter now. They were safe. He killed the engine, then glanced at the woman to his right. There was dirt on her face and blood on her knees, and her fingers were trembling as she brushed at the baby curls tumbling around the little girl’s face. In his line of work, he’d seen plenty of people in shock, and he wanted to get her inside before she started coming undone.

  “Ma’am, if you’ll allow me, I’ll help get you inside, and then I’ll be needing to use your phone to call for a tow.”

  Then, what the man had sacrificed to save them hit Charlie. She glanced up, and for the first time, she really looked at him. His eyes were blue—so blue they were almost transparent. His features were even, his jaw strong. There was just a hint of a crook to his nose, an indication of it once having been broken, and there was a small jagged scar on the right side of his jaw. And he was big, so very big. His shoulders spanned almost half the width of the seat. She remembered the
feel of his hands closing around her waist and pulling her up to safety, and she shuddered.

  “Please, call me Charlie.”

  He smiled. “I knew a Charlie once, but he wasn’t as pretty as you.”

  It was just the sort of silly remark Charlie needed to gather herself together. “It’s short for Charlotte… Charlotte Franklin.”

  Judd extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, ‘short for Charlotte.’ My name is Judd Hanna.”

  Charlie hesitated, but only briefly. His grasp was firm but gentle, and again, the ordinary gesture took another bite out of her unsettled nerves. She sighed, then pointed to the hood of his car and the smoke spewing out from beneath the hood.

  “Mr. Hanna, I’m so sorry about what happened to your car.”

  “Judd, please,” he said, and then looked at Rachel. “As for the damage, it was worth it. Now, let’s see about getting you two inside.”

  He took Rachel out of Charlie’s arms and then carried her to the porch.

  “Wait right here, honey. We’ve got to help Mommy, okay?”

  “Help Mommy,” Rachel echoed, and then sat down on the steps, the wilting flowers still clutched in her hand.

  Charlie scooted across the seat and then out from under the steering wheel, but when she tried to stand, her ankle gave way. Before she could argue, Judd picked her up and started up the steps. A little nervous that a total stranger had taken charge of her life, she began to fidget.

  “Mr. Hanna, I—”

  “Judd.”

  She sighed. “Judd, this is embarrassing.”

  He paused. “Lady, allow me the honor of helping one of the bravest people I ever saw.’’

  She flushed. “I don’t know what you—”

  His voice grew quiet, and the look in his eyes hushed her words.

  “You would have both died. You know that, don’t you?’’

  She glanced down at her daughter, who was pulling the petals from a flower, and her expression crumpled.

  “Life wouldn’t have been worth living without her.’’

  Breath caught in the back of Judd’s throat. Logically, he accepted the fact that there were people who would willingly die for another, but Charlotte Franklin’s willingness to put herself in harm’s way for her child was the first example of that selfless dedication he’d ever seen. He supposed that his mother might once have loved him like that, but he didn’t remember it. He glanced back at Rachel, who was still sitting on the steps.