Caroline jolted and slammed her hands against the keys, shoving the keyboard off the desk. “Holy crap—warn me before you fly through here like a bomber plane.”
Abby grinned in mischievous pleasure. “Oops. What’re you doing?”
Caroline leveled her gaze on the blank computer screen. She must have shut it off accidentally. “Well, I was writing this week’s blog until you blasted in here. I’ll have to start over later, as it looks like I lost my post when I dropped the keyboard.” She placed the board gingerly in place and pushed away from the desk. “Did you need me?”
Abby sucked in her cheeks to stifle a grin and continued in her “business voice.” “Yes. I believe it’s time we discussed the store’s plans for the upcoming holidays. Maybe you could blog about those? Valentine’s is over, but we have Easter, Memorial Day, and all the rest. I’ve given a little thought to—”
Caroline felt the infection of her excitement as it coursed from Abby like magic dust from the good fairy. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”
Abby’s eyes rounded as she bobbled her head up and down. Holy shop-mania, she looked crazy-giddy. Her voice skated into a high-pitched song. “I love being able to support myself without my family’s interference. It’s ... awesome.”
Was she hugging herself? Caroline rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll bet that family interference is a real pain in the ass,” she snapped. Without another word, she rose from her chair and strode past Abby, who stood with her mouth agape.
It was a mean thing to say, and her regret manifested as a massive headache, but she continued out of the store and went for coffee. Abby deserved a partner who was into their business—focused and excited. Like her. All I seem to do is live in the past with my demons.
• • •
Roger sat and pretended to focus on the work strewn across his office desk. In truth, his mind whirled around the list he’d made the night before, after Caroline left. The first item taunted him—did he have the balls to make the call?
He lifted his phone from his pocket, but it burst into action before he touched a key. The number looked familiar, although he couldn’t place it. He answered.
“Roger? Abby here. I’ve done something terrible, and I need your advice.” Her voice was staccato and breathless with panic.
“Are you hurt? Wait, is Carter okay? You’re not—”
“No, no. Nothing like that. He’s fine—we’re both fine—although I think I’ve done something terrible to Caroline. She wrote this blog post today that was more than disturbing, but I only looked at the title and didn’t bother to read the rest. The computer had flickered off when I startled her, and I thought she was finished. It was sitting at the ‘post’ prompt, so what was I supposed to do? She had walked out.”
What? “She walked out? She quit?”
He heard music in the background, probably their speakers at the store. Caroline exhaled into the phone. “No, of course not. Why would she do that? We’re partners. No, she got mad at me after I bragged about my family. It was stupid. That’s not the issue. I posted the post ... only now I don’t think she intended it to post. And, oh my God, it’s posted. The whole world is going to read it, her dad will read it, and—oh shit, here she comes. Call me back. Okay?”
He stared at the phone in awe of the crazy woman on the other end of the conversation. “Okkkaaayyy.”
Out of curiosity, he clicked the link on his desktop—and gasped. He read down the page, letting the revelation creep over him. Then he gave a double fist-pump in the air. Way to go, girl. Finally, she’d said what he knew she wanted to say all along. Accidentally, albeit, but it was out. He read back over and thought for a second. Well, at least he wouldn’t need to have a sit-down with her father.
The screen refreshed, and he read the first comments. Holy shit. More comments. People asking for the details and wanting to know more. Hell, the fact that she’d put those words on the page was a huge step toward building herself back to the girl he knew. He doubted she was ready to spill further. Abby was right: there’s no way Caroline would have posted that post. She must have written it for herself, expecting to delete it. Thanks to Abby, her personal therapy had just turned into an episode of the Kardashians, complete with some serious parent bashing.
Roger grabbed his keys and strode from the office. He wasn’t sure what he’d do but knew she would need support. No need to call Abby since the store was only a few minutes away.
He whisked the car into the fifteen-minute customer parking and shoved through the door. “Where is she?”
Abby’s head throttled back and forth. “She grabbed her purse and said she needed a coffee. She hasn’t come back. How do I delete the post and make sure no one has read it?”
“It’s too late for that. I took a look, and there are at least twenty responses already. I could delete the whole thing, but I don’t know that it matters.” Maybe a little come-to-Jesus with Dad wasn’t such a bad idea.
Caroline’s partner covered her mouth and bulged her eyes. “Oh, no—what have I done? I thought I was just ... helping. She said she’d spent some time writing it and then I scared her and—”
Roger strode forward and hugged Abby. “Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine. Not too many people read your blog anyway. Besides, she needed to vent a little.”
Abby reared back and searched his face. “You think so?”
He forced a reassuring smile that his insides hadn’t supported. “I know so. Where’d she go?”
“She just left. I have no idea. You think she’s seen it yet? Maybe not.”
He hated to spoil her hopes, but there was no way in hell Caroline had missed all the responses. They’d automatically end up in her mail on her phone. There was enough male-bashing in those posts to start a gender revolution. “She’s seen it, all right. The question is what will she do next? I need to find her.”
Abby strummed her fingers on the store counter. “If she’s seen them, she’ll probably try to find her father and explain.”
Of course she would. “Where does he live?”
“From what I understand, he’s living in their cabin about an hour from here. I went with her ages ago when she first came back from her journalism job. I can draw you a map. It’s a tough drive—not long, just rough.”
It took Abby ten minutes to dictate her directions to Ben’s cabin, and Roger patiently noted all her little remarks about where not to turn. Anyone else and he would have shut down all the superfluous information. He wasn’t going to piss off Caroline’s best friend when he needed her help.
• • •
Caroline turned her cell off after the fifteenth or so message chimed. If her father read all that crap, he’d be ... hurt. Perhaps she should feel vindicated that he might get a nuance of the pain she’d endured all those years, but she didn’t. He wasn’t perfect and had been a complete absentee father, yet he was here now. Shouldn’t that count for something? One thing she knew for certain: she didn’t want him to leave again—at least not right away.
The road to the cabin was easy to miss. The simple dirt path that cut through the trees could easily be mistaken for a cattle trail, except for the gate and mailbox. She wondered how long it had been since that gate was closed. Vines had covered its rusted hinges and anchored it against the trees behind. Not much use for preventing access.
She bumped over the trail and stopped in front of the cabin. How long had it been since she’d seen the inside? Three years? No, five? She wasn’t sure.
Caroline prayed her father didn’t have any Internet access inside and hadn’t used his phone. How many men his age actually used social media anyway? She’d just explain what happened, and they’d laugh it off and forget. The last thing she wanted was to piss him off and make him leave. Again.
She creaked the door on her vehicle shut and stepped carefully toward the door, avoiding roots and weeds. “Dad?”
Bam. The wind gushed from her stomach in one burst as she was bod
y-slammed to the dust.
“Found you. Found you. Found you,” a gleeful voice shouted against the back of her head. Huh? She wasn’t exactly hiding. The taste of dirt filled her mouth and gritted against her teeth and lips. What the hell?
A heavy weight covered her body. She couldn’t move—couldn’t even see. Her face was crushed into the ground. This man accosting her was big, but boney and ... shaking.
Caroline kicked her feet and tried to dislodge him. She gained a little ground and turned to get a glimpse.
The man continued to chant. Found you, found you, found you. Gray hair, blue eyes that glinted in a not-completely-Deliverance way, and a camouflage shirt. Hmmm. Okay, the shirt was a little scary, but otherwise he was just an old man. Of course, even old men could be dangerous. In fact, if she thought about it, a lot of criminals actually turned out to be old men.
What should she do? She was alone. Her father hadn’t answered her call, and it was doubtful anyone else could hear her. She stared at the face for a couple beats. She had two choices, fight or surrender. Flight was out of the question with his bulk cementing her to the ground. The chanting grated; it was beyond annoying. She shoved her fear away and yelled, “STOP.”
His craggy hands fell to his sides, and the man’s eyes shuttered with calm. Like a child who had just been chastised for messing the kitchen while baking cookies for his mother, he pouted. In a hushed voice, he said the words once more. “Found you.”
Had she hurt her captor’s feelings? Seriously? Who cared? “Okay, okay—you found me. Now what?”
Her lungs were exploding from his weight on top of her. He appeared to be seventy if not older, his skin craggy from sun and age. He had her pinned, but the look on his face showed little triumph. Her skin crawled as the sticks underneath her poked and scratched. If he tried anything further, curled up his fists, or even hinted at a weapon—she was pretty confident she could take him.
His eyes fluttered. “Love me?”
“Pops, get off her. You’ll crush the poor girl.” Caroline swiveled her head, knowing a mass of twigs and leaves were lodged within her tresses. Finally, a voice she recognized. That was ...
“Dad?”
“What brings you here in the middle of the day, sweetheart?” Her father seemed unconcerned with Rambo Senior straddling her midsection.
Oomph. Oomph. Her wind gushed as the man hopped on her stomach. Up. And. Down. With what little breath she had left, she shouted, “Can’t. Breathe!”
“Pops, get off! I’m sorry, honey, it’s a game he likes to play. It used to help him find his way home.”
The order was heeded immediately, and Caroline sucked in as much air as she could. She rolled to her knees and lifted herself upright. Still on her knees, she peered at her father’s shadow towering over them. “Mind introducing me to your kamikaze friend here first? Just in case I need to call the police or something. Or maybe an ambulance.”
Bob shrugged. “Pops, this is Caroline.”
The elderly man took her hand and pumped it almost as many times as he had chanted those monotonous words. She smiled weakly and worked her way back to full height. She twitched a leg in an attempt to remove the debris from her pants. Was that grass in her panties? Great. “Hi, Pops. Nice to meet you. What are you doing here? Are you a neighbor?”
Bob guffawed. “Not hardly. Come on, Caroline. You read my book, right? Look harder. Don’t you recognize him?”
She plopped curled fists on hips in challenge. “Excuse me, but it’s kind of hard to see when your eyes and nose are plastered in the dirt and you have a two-hundred pound chanting weight on your back.” Caroline turned to the old man and pulled herself back into politeness mode. She did recognize him now: he was the old man at the art show the other night. “I’m Caroline. Your name, sir?”
He wiped his hand on his pants and rocked to his toes. “R—R—Rick.” Clarity hit her like a brick. He was the man in her father’s book—Patient R. A war hero and decorated veteran with no memory of his past. Her mouth fell open, and she bounced her eyes between the two men. “It’s him? I mean—he’s him? He’s the patient you wrote about?”
Bob grinned in satisfaction. Was that because she actually had read the book, or something else? “Yep. There’s more, too.”
“You mean more than he likes to tackle complete strangers wherever he goes? Don’t think for a minute I’ve forgotten about the dog pile at the art sale.”
Her father bobbled his head like a ten-year-old with a secret. What could possibly top the fact that his father brought his research subject home? “He’s your grandfather.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Roger was skeptical as he bopped down the trail. It was rustic, remote, and bumpy as hell. He prayed he didn’t tear up the bottom of his Land Rover. Was it a place to retreat or hide? Abby had referred to the area as a climber and hiker’s paradise, and looking through the thicket of trees, it made sense. Periodically a trailhead opened, and he’d get a glimpse of the ruggedness surrounding the cabin he was sure to find—eventually.
He rolled down the windows and breathed in the earthy scent of the forest. Voices reached him over the sound of the engine’s soft purr. Yelling. He surged forward and saw her car.
Then he saw her.
Caroline stood between her father and an older man, covered in dirt, leaves, and—was that a twig sticking out the back of her hair? What had happened?
Once he parked behind her car, he rushed to the group. She held out a hand to him, palm up. “I’m fine. So, grandfather? Really, Dad?”
Roger volleyed a look between the two. “Caroline, I saw—”
She lowered a brow and barked. “Haven’t gotten to that part yet, because apparently Pops here is my grandfather. Did you know that? Am I the only one who was clueless?”
Roger watched the old man’s face drain of color. Her expression could wilt a redwood. Sucks to be you, old man. “Nope, I wasn’t aware either. Nice to meet you, sir.”
The elderly gentleman responded eagerly to the handshake. His grip was solid but aggressive, and lingered more than was comfortable, pumping up and down repeatedly. “Nice to meet you.”
Odd. Not scary, but odd in the way one sees when they know the person isn’t necessarily as expected.
Introductions were made, and Bob ushered them all into the cabin. As Roger followed, he couldn’t help but pick sticks and leaves from Caroline’s hair and back. She shot him a frown, but he simply shrugged and continued. “You’re kind of growing back there.”
“You would be, too, if you’d been tackled by a two-hundred pound geriatric.”
Bob didn’t care for the insult. “Hey, watch it. You’re talking about a decorated war veteran. Mind your tongue and be respectful.”
The old man repeated, “Be respectful,” as he shuffled behind them. It became obvious that he was strong, yet aged and somewhat handicapped. An injured war veteran perhaps?
Roger was more clueless than her apparently. At least she knew the man’s story. “Really?”
Bob nodded. “Jacob Rickert, otherwise known as Patient R in my book, was lost after returning from Korea. My wife, Carol, had searched for him a few times, but it wasn’t until she was diagnosed with her first bout of cancer that we really took it seriously. I spent two years over there trying to figure out what had happened to him, only to find out he was here. He had sustained a head injury and was shipped home, but his dog tags were misplaced during all the surgeries. We located records that showed he’d been discharged to a mental hospital four hours away.
“We were relieved and went to get him, but he’d recently escaped and no one had any idea where he was. My Carol was fit to be tied. Her dad, a war hero, wandering around in the streets alone with no one to care for him. We didn’t sleep for days. She called every police station within five hours of the hospital. Oklahoma. Texas. She even called a couple in Louisiana, but the old bugger wasn’t any less a hero with half his mental capacities. He walked his ass all the wa
y from that mental hospital to this damned cabin in the woods. Can you believe that? The man can’t remember a damn thing about his family or the war, but he found this house. His house.”
Roger felt his mouth fall. “Wow, that’s amazing. Was this his childhood home or something? I’ve heard sometimes we block out bad memories; maybe the war was too painful for him to remember.”
Bob’s eyes glittered. “Nope. I’d rather look at it a bit more romantically. He and his wife, my mother-in-law, lived here when first married. Actually, they didn’t really live here—they spent their honeymoon here. It was all they could afford; it was free. She bought the place years later and held onto it all this time. We put a lot of great memories into this place since then, haven’t we sweetheart?” He smiled Caroline’s way.
She nodded. Roger took in the glassy sheen of her eyes. What do you know? She was finally speechless and not because she was angry.
Roger nodded. “Like I said, that’s amazing.” He patted Mr. Rickert on the back. “Well done, soldier.”
The old man lifted a shaky hand and saluted Roger, then dropped into a chair by the window and watched the trees. He nodded and mumbled. “Yes, sir. Well done.”
Caroline finally spoke. “So that’s why you’ve stayed here since Mother died? You’re taking care of him?”
Bob measured her words carefully before responding. “Honey, I left to do my job when you were a kid, and it kept me away. Your mom was strong, and we managed well enough for the short run. We always knew it was temporary. But when your mother was sick, I chucked it all and came home. She had to find him. I wanted to be here but knew it was important, too. For some reason, I know this is crazy, but I thought if I could find her father I’d save her. She’d somehow find the will or strength to fight off the disease.”
Caroline put a hand to her hair and plucked another twig from the depths. “It was a disease of the body, not the heart.”
Need Me Page 17
