by Dana Pratola
He gave it a sniff. “So, that’s what I’ve been smelling when I’ve been in my aunt’s room. Apples and cinnamon.”
Winsome smiled, enjoying his reaction and the sudden awareness that they’d had some kind of strange, distant contact even before they’d met.
Caleb set the candle down on the table. “You have a talent. Now I get why my aunt wanted to set you up.”
Thrilled by the compliment, Winsome felt herself glowing inside. But just as quickly, reality doused the glow. Making and selling were two completely different things, and she didn’t know the first thing about business. She could very well end up with a treehouse full of dusty candles. At least she’d never be in the dark.
“What’s wrong?” Caleb asked, taking in her crestfallen face. “Don’t tell me this is the only design you know.”
Pride perked her head up. “Of course not. I can do practically anything. I do animals, houses, fruits, flowers…anything.”
“I’d love to see. Are there any more here?”
“No.” There were no more anywhere. That lone creation had survived one of Dante’s tantrums. “Dante….” No, she didn’t want to tell Caleb any of that. But he had already moved his chair closer to hers.
“I have to apologize again,” he said.
“For what?”
“For not realizing you might be afraid out here alone. Has he ever been here?”
Winsome nodded. “Once. He drove up the driveway, to the top of the hill,” she said. “I didn’t see him at first. His car’s light blue—looks really stupid. It blended with the sky. He kept calling my cell and leaving messages, saying he was going to keep coming back until I talked to him, and if I didn’t, he would…hurt Ruth, and then kill me,” she finished.
She couldn’t repeat the actual threat, to beat the old lady bloody, then make her watch as he raped and murdered Winsome. She could barely endure the thought, and closed her eyes tight against it, until she registered a touch on her arm.
“Winsome.”
She opened her eyes and looked into Caleb’s, full of caring and confidence, not the twisted rage she was used to seeing in Dante’s.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” Caleb said.
“I’m not. He’s in jail, and this time I don’t expect him to get out. He can’t make bail, and it’s a lot.” Thank God.
“What’s he charged with?”
“Attempted murder and r—” She stopped herself before the word could be spoken. She’d escaped Caleb’s pity thus far, but not if he knew.
“And what?” he asked, but his brows were already drawn down over his narrowed blue-gray eyes.
“Robbery,” she said.
“No,” Caleb answered. “You weren’t going to say robbery.”
“Yes, I was.” She wrapped her hand around the tea mug, but his hand on her wrist prevented her from lifting it.
“A person doesn’t fumble over the word robbery,” he said.
She absolutely would not cry. She stared down at the table until she could bring herself to flick her gaze to his. And she saw it there. He knew. She watched a muscle in his jaw twitch. Don’t make me say the words, she pled silently.
“My God.” Caleb heaved out a breath and released her wrist. “My God, Winsome.”
She removed her hand from beneath his and picked at her nails, a habit she’d acquired this past year. She could never tell him it wasn’t the first time. “I’d rather not get into it, if you don’t mind. It’s bad enough I’ll have to testify.”
“But you are going to, right?”
“Oh, yes!” Dante couldn’t do any more to her than he’d done already, and she had no loved ones left for him to hurt. Not close enough that it would hurt, anyway. Testifying against him was the one thing in her future she was sure of. Well, mostly sure of.
Caleb leaned back, evidently satisfied, but she secretly hoped she wouldn’t disappoint him. Resolve was easy to come by when she was sitting under his protection, but she couldn’t be sure it would remain firmly in place when she came face to face with Dante.
CHAPTER 6
“So…?”
Cal looked up at Dee, standing in front of him, arms crossed over ample breasts, that looked even larger beneath a heavy, wool sweater. She was a very attractive woman, almost his height, with a tight body that she worked on regularly at the gym, but much of the time her personality left a lot to be desired, detracting from her beauty.
“So, what?” Cal asked.
“I asked you twice if you want to go to the movies with Mike and Noreen.”
“And what did I say?”
Dee shifted her weight to her other booted foot and tightened her arm cross, glaring down at him like a disapproving mother. “What’s with you? You’ve been distracted all week.” She paused then, the planes of her pretty face softening. “Is it your aunt? Are you thinking of her?”
No, he realized, but close. He had yet to tell her the details of his aunt’s will, only that she’d left him the house. That had been expected, so Dee hadn’t inquired further, however, she had mentioned seeking out an appraiser and getting a better idea of what the house was worth, which he couldn’t do.
He questioned his faith in their relationship, that he withheld something so pivotal to their immediate future, and didn’t know why he had. No, that wasn’t true. He knew how Dee would take the news. She looked forward to him using the money from a sale to start his own company. With that, they’d step up in the world, starting with a new house in an idyllic section of town. Now that was on hold.
Her finding out would be bad enough, but explaining Winsome…. How did a man tell his girlfriend that he was now essentially caring for a pretty, albeit beaten-up, waif, and that she would not only be living on the property, but that he was going to see her every day while he built her a treehouse? For free? Dee always gave him a hard time whenever he wanted to do a friend a favor. He doubted she’d accept it any better knowing it was Aunt Ruth’s idea.
He’d already waited this long to tell her. Another day wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t get into all of it right now anyway. He had some sorting out to do in his own head concerning Winsome.
“I’m sorry, Dee, my mind’s just been somewhere else.”
In reply, she turned on her heel and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Cal fell back on the couch and rubbed his fists against his closed eyes. What the hell had Aunt Ruth gotten him into? Her minor exception was the cause of his sleepless nights. Winsome was a wreck, and every time he spoke with her, he learned some new, horrible thing that had befallen her. Which was why, after finishing their tea, he’d left her again, for another five days.
Raped. What did he even do with that information? She hadn’t said the word, yet it rang as clearly and loudly in his brain as if she’d blasted it in his ear with a megaphone. He couldn’t close his eyes without picturing her screaming and crying beneath some faceless guy as he pushed ruthlessly into her body. He’d love to bash Dante’s skull in, but the judicial system already had their hands on him, so there was nothing else to be done about it.
He dropped his hands and opened his eyes, grabbing for the remote. Watching channels flip by on the wide-screen wasn’t helpful either. The bedroom door opened and Dee came out wearing a different sweater, and some new scent of perfume.
“I’ll be back around midnight, I guess,” she said, putting on her coat and freeing her blond hair from the collar.
“Where are you going?” Cal asked, as she moved toward the front door.
“To the movie. Just because you don’t want to go doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and watch you stare into space.”
“Oh. Right. Well maybe we can talk when you get back. I do have a couple things on my mind.”
“Sure, Hon, see you later.”
When she left, he changed channels a few more times, then turned the TV off and got up. He might as well attempt to be productive, and since he already had Winsome on his mind, he decided to work on
some rough sketches for her treehouse. They hadn’t gotten so far as to discuss details, partly because of her reluctance to start the project that was intended to help her, and partly because he’d been avoiding her. Again.
He worked hard all day, he told himself. Not a lie. When he came home, he was tired and just wanted to relax. And, he had a girlfriend to focus his attention on. He wasn’t doing a great job in that department, but it wasn’t a lie. He should be doing it. Plus, knowing Winsome’s attacker was locked up, he really had no reason to go over there until he was going to start work on the treehouse. Which brought him back here, staring down at a blank page in his sketch pad.
What if she’s just lonely?
Cal hadn’t wanted to contemplate that, but now that he had, and since he had to get her feelings on this design anyway, he grabbed his coat from the hook by the back door and headed out.
****
Cal’s heart slammed against his ribcage when he pulled over the crest of the hill. The house sat in complete darkness. Maybe Winsome had decided to turn in early. He didn’t think she was taking the pain medication the way she ought to, avoiding it most of the time, but maybe something had been aching and she’d popped a pill and gone up to bed.
Flipping lights on as he went, he gave her bedroom door a light rap, pausing before entering, but she wasn’t there.
“Winsome?” he called, in front of the bathroom door. It was half-ajar and the light was out, but you never knew…. No reply. He went in and checked just in case.
In case of what? he asked himself as he turned to check his room. He didn’t want to think of the what, so he shoved the thought aside and looked in the rest of the rooms on that floor, with no result.
But the unwanted thoughts crept back in. What if that animal, Dante, had somehow made bail and come for her? Or sent one of his slimy friends? Scum like that always had slimy friends.
Fighting back panic, he ran from room to room, calling Winsome’s name, but she was nowhere to be found. After giving the house a swift once-over, he took the stairs three at a time and, starting in the attic, searched each level and space—the second floor again—including closets, and the back stairway to the pantry, praying he would find her. Hoping he wouldn’t.
When all that remained uninvestigated was the cellar, he stood at the door, anxious to get down there, even as the heavy pounding of his heart weighed him to the floor. If someone was found in a basement, it was never good. He pulled the door open, flipped on the light, and descended the gray, wooden steps.
Thankfully, she wasn’t there. Relief flooded him, only to be swept away almost immediately by dread. To his mind, her absence left only two possibilities; either she was out willingly with someone, or someone had taken her against her will. But as far as he knew she didn’t have anyone in her life who cared whether she lived or died. Certainly no one who knew where she was, but Finn.
There was the slimmest possibility that she had gone out to dinner with him. Cal dialed his number, but hung up before it rang. He didn’t want to risk scaring the old guy, and she might be here somewhere. Though he’d looked everywhere but outside.
He checked the porch, peering into every corner, behind and under every chair and table, then continued onto the grounds immediately surrounding the house, using the light on his phone to hunt through the landscaping.
“Winsome!” he called again.
No reply, but that of the chilled air slithering through the trees. He looked at the cluster of hickories. It was worth a shot; he’d looked everywhere else. He would not even consider the pond. The only time people were found near a pond was when they were dead. She was not dead. She was here, alive…somewhere.
There was no moon tonight, no light but the narrow beam from his phone to partially illuminate the pathway as he walked. When he was about fifty-feet from his target, he could make something out at the base of the biggest tree. A heap of something. He sprinted to it.
Winsome, in her familiar sweats, in the fetal position on her right, her left hand pillowed under her cheek. Cal reached down and pressed his index and middle fingers to her neck. Her skin was smooth and cold as marble, but she was breathing. She stirred then, rolling her shoulder and letting out a soft moan. Oh, thank God, she wasn’t unconscious.
“Winsome.”
Her lashes fluttered open slowly, until she finally focused on him, and popped up like a cork into a seated position. She hissed in a pained breath.
“Caleb?”
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, taking her by the right arm and helping her to her feet.
“You scared me,” she said.
“It’s freezing out,” he said, ignoring her statement. “Why are you out here on the ground? Are you hurt?”
“No. I….”
He watched her sleepy brain grapple for an answer.
“I…was…I came out…. What time is it?” She asked, rubbing her wrist over her eye.
“Around eight-thirty.”
She dropped her hand, blinking up at him. “Really?”
“Yeah, really,” he snapped. “What time did you come out here?”
“Around five, I think. Guess I fell asleep. I mean, I must have.”
Cal rolled his eyes, and in one rapid movement, scooped her up in his arms and held her against his chest. She weighed practically nothing in his arms, a fact which disturbed him. Apparently, these sweat clothes were even more deceptive than they appeared. They were also damp.
“What do you weigh, like ninety pounds?”
Winsome didn’t answer as he strode across the grass, taking the most direct route back to the house.
“I can’t believe how cold you are,” he said.
She was probably suffering from hypothermia at this point. He didn’t stop after pushing through the back door, but carried her straight up to her room, threw back the covers on the neatly made bed, and lowered her onto the mattress. He took off her shoes and kicked them out of his way.
Not a moment too soon. The second he flipped the covers up to her chin, she started shivering, her teeth going from chattering, to clamped tight together, and back to chattering.
“Why am I s-so, cold all of-f-f-f a s-s-udden?”
“You’re lucky you feel cold,” he bit out. “You’re lucky you feel anything at all. Another hour and you might’ve been a block of ice.”
And he wouldn’t even know, because he wouldn’t have checked. She would be dead, having died as she’d lived, afraid and alone, and it would be his fault. No, it would be Aunt Ruth’s fault, for getting him into this. He cast an angry look to the ceiling and went to the linen closet in the hall for another blanket to throw over Winsome’s quaking body.
“Why were you out there?” he asked.
When she started to answer in choppy, tremor interrupted sentences, he held up a hand. “Never mind, we can talk about it later. I’m going to make you some tea. Will you be okay alone?”
She nodded. At least it looked like a nod. It could have been a reflex.
Cal came back a few minutes later, tea cup in hand, to find her sleeping soundly. He didn’t want to wake her, but neither could he leave. He put the cup on the nightstand and sat in the pink and red silk chair beside the window.
Only her face remained exposed beneath the sheets, comforter and blanket. He was glad to see her nose had healed straight, the bruises almost completely gone, and the remaining ones having faded to a light yellow, revealing the beauty he’d suspected was underneath all along.
Her skin was pale—paler from being half frozen—and the sootiness of her lashes against her cheekbones made her skin appear as fine alabaster by contrast. The tiny line of tension she often carried above the bridge of her nose was erased in sleep, with the termination of worry. Odd that he’d noticed that, but he had.
Suddenly, that line was back as she started trembling again, just a little at first, but soon she looked like a dog trying to shake off a bath. This couldn’t be good. Shouldn’t she be getting
warmer?
“So cold. So c-cold,” she managed, between clenched teeth.
Then he remembered, her clothes were damp. Idiot that he was, he hadn’t gotten her out of her damp things before he’d put her in bed. He pulled the covers back and helped her sit up.
“Come on, we’re taking a little trip.” He grabbed the tea, spilling some on the table in his haste. “Sip this first.” He held his hand around hers around the cup, steadying it as best he could through her tremors. “A little more.”
“It’s hot,” she complained.
“I know. Sip it slow, you have to get something warm in you.”
He really hoped he was doing this right. He had no training in treating hypothermia, but it seemed logical. He urged the rest of the tea into her before picking her up again, squatting to grab the extra blanket, and heading down the hall to his old room where he sat her on the edge of the bed.
“Don’t freak out, but I’m going to have to get you out of those clothes.”
Her head bobbled with the intense shaking, but he took it as consent and eased her onto her back so he could remove her pants with as much discretion as possible. Then he pulled her back up and removed her top, closing his eyes or turning his head when he could.
But he couldn’t help noticing her ribs as she moved. She was way too thin for a girl of five-foot-five. Finn had said he’d brought food several days ago, so maybe her slight weight was due to stress. He felt all the more like an asshole. Yet, her wide eyes were filled with trust.
He hurried to his old dresser where he still kept some clothes for times he had come to stay with Aunt Ruth—holidays, nights he’d exhausted himself with work and was too tired to make it all the way to the apartment—and pulled out a black T-shirt.
“You’ll be warm in a minute,” he told her, slipping the shirt over her head and working her cast through the sleeve.
Winsome punched her other arm through the sleeve and let the hem fall to her lap as Cal pulled the bedspread and sheet down. She started to rise, then moaned. Her eyes rolled back and she toppled over, barely avoiding smashing her cast into the footboard as Cal caught her.
