Hideaway

by Hannah Alexander

  The goat followed her. Before he could butt her again, she reached for the latticework that supported the honeysuckle. As she climbed away from the porch ledge and the malevolent goat, Cheyenne hoped the flimsy framework wouldn’t collapse with her weight. She reached for the guttering and held it as she felt for a footing with her toes.

  The wooden lattice shuddered beneath her. Grasping the corner of the roof, she swung a leg to the rain gutter. The hem of her jeans caught on the corner of the guttering and ripped as she kicked up and over. She clawed her way onto the roof, with the rough shingles scraping her exposed skin. Shaking from reaction, she collapsed on the roof edge.

  The thunder echoed around her again.

  “This is crazy,” she muttered. “I’m insane for staying in this godforsaken place.”

  Blue’s plaintive cry reached her from the porch. She leaned over to peer at the ground and found that hateful buck standing in the yard, munching on the lilac bush in the corner.

  “Godforsaken,” she repeated, rolling to her back and glaring up at the stormy sky. “That’s me, isn’t it? It isn’t enough that You take my sister…my best friend in the world.” Oh, Susan, where are you now? “You force me away from my job, my friends, my life. Am I so vile to You that—”

  Stop it! Who was she talking to? Her poor sister had been duped by all that God talk. Kirk had used the Bible to manipulate and threaten his wife for years. “Love, honor and obey,” he’d said when Susan tried to contradict him about anything during a conversation. What a cruel joke. He had done anything but honor her.

  And where had all that so-called “blessed peace” been the day Susan had her panic attack and was rushed to the ER? If Christians were so filled with love and joy and peace, would they have attacks like that?

  Cheyenne clenched her fists and glared once more into the sky. “What did You do, take her life because she had a panic attack? She loved You! She thought she was serving her God, and she stayed with that disgusting creep of a husband because she believed that was what You wanted her to do.”

  Covering her face with her hands, Cheyenne rolled to her side. “Why couldn’t You take me instead?” Susan had been the gentlest person Cheyenne had ever known. “I’m the one who should have died.”

  Blue wailed again, his claws scratching at the screen.

  “Stop it, Blue! I’m here. I’m okay.”

  Or was she? Would a sane person be lying here on the roof of a house, with a storm brewing, while she argued with a God she claimed not to believe in yet some part of her obviously did? Two months ago she would have immediately found a way out of this situation, and then laughed about it later.

  Of course, two months ago she wouldn’t have been in this place, so totally out of her element. What had made her think she should come here to heal?

  The goats had fallen silent. A cold gust of wind whipped past her so hard Cheyenne grasped the edge of the roof, shivering as the air cut through the thickly knit fibers of her nightshirt.

  Lightning streaked across the face of dark clouds that roiled above her. She couldn’t prevent a fleeting thought—God was about to get her.

  Blue stopped scratching at the screen, but his voice rose in an eerie howl.

  Cheyenne peered over the edge of the roof again.

  No goats. The yard was empty.

  She crawled up to the peak of the roof and looked over the other side. Still, there was no sign of the goats. How had they been able to disappear so suddenly?

  A mournful bleat came from directly below her. On the porch.

  “Well, sure,” she muttered. “Why am I not surprised?” And of course this would happen when it was about to storm, so there would be no one on the lake to see her.

  She grasped the side of the eaves and leaned outward to peer onto the porch. Within view were five goats huddled in comfortable shelter, wiggling their ears and twitching their short tails, as if this were all a big joke. The buck leaped back onto the concrete ledge and glared at her.

  Cheyenne sighed and sat back. The first big drops of rain splashed into her face. She was locked out of her house, but if she could climb back down the way she had come up—and avoid Old Billy Goat Gruff—she could at least find shelter with the chickens out of the rain. If she could walk that far.

  But when she tried to swing her legs over the side of the roof and gain traction on the trellis, it swung away from the house. If she climbed onto it, she realized, as soon as she released the roof, she would fall with the makeshift ladder all the way to the ground.

  Soaking in the rain, she scrambled, crablike, around the edges of the roof for some other way to climb down. There was nothing. Drenched, she shivered in the deluge of driving rain.

  Blowing sheets of water lashed the roof. Blue had either given up crying or she couldn’t hear him over the roar of the storm. Cheyenne’s ankle throbbed, but that wasn’t her biggest concern. Would she have to make a choice between hypothermia or injury from a jump?

  When she was a ten-year-old tomboy, climbing up the trees had always been easier than climbing down, and once her father had even had to climb up on a ladder to get her down from the huge old oak tree in their backyard.

  But now Dad was in Florida, and she was on her own. She certainly couldn’t depend on prayer, as Susan had always done.

  Unable to stop shivering, Cheyenne scrambled back to the front porch and caught sight of a flash of yellow on the driveway at the top of the hill. She glanced up quickly to see a lone figure coming toward the house along the muddy track. On foot. He wore a rain poncho with a hood, but she was pretty sure she recognized Dane’s characteristic silver-blond hair and beard.

  “Hey!” she shouted. “H-hello! I’m up here!” She waved and tried to stand, but her ankle complained.

  He broke into a run. When he reached the yard, she shouted, “Watch that b-buck! He’s dangerous.”

  “I know all about that buck,” Dane called up to her. “I’ll handle him. What are you doing up there? How did you get up there?”

  “The t-trellis.” She couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering. “B-but I can’t climb back down b-because it swings away from the house when I try. It isn’t anchored at the top.”

  “Come on over and I’ll hold it for you.”

  “What about the buck?”

  “Roscoe’s a typical coward. He doesn’t abuse men, just women.”

  He held the lattice for her as she climbed down, then removed his poncho and wrapped it around her.

  “You’re freezing,” he said, squeezing her arms with his warm hands. “Come on, let’s get into the house.”

  “The doors are locked.”

  “The porch, then.”

  “Not the front porch! The back.” She started around the side of the house.

  “Hey, wait a minute, you’re limping.” He reached for her, and before she could protest, he swung her up into his arms. His warm, strong arms.

  Oh, boy.

  He carried her to the back porch and set her down gently.

  “How long were you up there?” he asked, releasing her.

  “A few m-minutes.” She could have hugged him. Did he know what a welcome sight he was? “The screen door slammed shut and the hook lock bounced into the eye.” She suddenly felt like an imbecile. How incompetent she must look to him.

  And since when did she care?

  “Do you still have that tricky bathroom window?” he asked.

  “Yes, but—”

  “How did you hurt yourself?”

  “I stepped in a hole chasing the goats.”

  “The goats are safely on the porch for now, and I’ll take care of them later. You stay here while I climb inside.” He reached for the hoe leaning against the side of the house. “If Roscoe gives you any trouble, smack him across the horns with this handle. I doubt he’ll bother you in the rain, though. He doesn’t usually behave badly unless there’s a doe in season, anyway.”

  She accepted the hoe and watched Dane retrace his ste
ps to the bathroom window. As if mesmerized, she couldn’t drag her gaze from him. He looked good…really good.

  Stop it! Relief and cold were making her silly.

  Dane had the window up and was climbing through it within a minute. Seconds later he was helping her inside. He pulled a kitchen chair away from the table and eased her down as he took the poncho from around her shoulders.

  “Stay right here while I put this thing in the tub to drip-dry. I’ll bring some towels and turn up the heat. Where do you keep your extra blankets?”

  “In the b-bathroom closet. Get an extra one for yourself, you’re as wet as I am.”

  “But I’m not chilled.” He disappeared into the back bedroom, and she heard the closet door open in the bathroom.

  Blue came running into the kitchen, meowing loudly. He attacked Cheyenne’s left foot with his tongue, then retreated, shaking his paws when he encountered the water that had dripped onto the floor.

  Dane returned with a stack of towels and a thick blanket. “Where’s your thermostat control? We need some more heat in here. No, don’t get up, you should stay off that foot.”

  As she complied, he wrapped the blanket around her, wet clothes and all. Once again, she was accosted by the impact of his touch, in spite of the aching foot, in spite of her chattering teeth. How long had it been since she’d enjoyed a man’s nearness?

  A very kind man, with a gentle touch. She looked up and found him watching her. Simultaneously, they both looked away.

  After Dane turned up the heat, he returned and took a towel from the stack, unfolded it and handed it to her. “You still don’t have a telephone, do you?”

  “C-car phone.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to use it to call Red and Bertie and let them know their babies are okay. Red isn’t feeling well, and Bertie’s—”

  “What’s wrong with Red?” Cheyenne had checked on him yesterday, and his cellulitis was healing well.

  “Bertie said he was acting a little disoriented and had a temperature this morning. She stuck his work boots in the barn again, and called us for help with the milking. When I arrived, we found only three candidates. Cook is searching along the road. As soon as you’re dry, I’ll drive you to the urgent care clinic in Kimberling City so you can have that ankle X-rayed.”

  “N-no, it’ll be fine.” The attention was nice, but embarrassing. “You need to dry off yourself.”

  “I’m worried about you at the moment,” he said as he rubbed at her dripping hair with a towel. He pulled a chair out for himself and sat down, reaching for her left foot. Gently, he examined her ankle. “It’s swollen, but not badly.”

  “It’s not b-broken,” she assured him. “I was more frightened than hurt. But I’ll have some doozy bruises in the morning. That guy’s mean.”

  “I’m sorry about that. Red’s talked about getting rid of him—I guess now he’ll do it.” Dane tucked her more tightly into her blanket. “Do you have an elastic bandage in that first-aid kit of yours?”

  “Yes, but I’ll take care of—”

  “Why don’t I wrap your foot. Then you can change out of those wet clothes while I call the Meyers.”

  He wrapped her ankle expertly, then helped her to her bedroom and closed the door. By the time she’d changed, the temperature in the house had risen several degrees, and her shivering had stopped. When Dane returned to the house, Cheyenne was sitting with her foot propped up on a chair.

  He filled her teakettle with water and placed it on the stove, then pulled out a chair and sat down beside her, taking her hands in his. “Better now?”

  “Much, thanks. I was getting pretty frantic up there on the roof. You were like an—”

  What was she going to say? An answer to a prayer she hadn’t prayed? “A rescuing angel,” she said.

  “Bertie was upset when she found out what happened. She’s sending Cook over to get the goats.”

  “So the animals are still on the porch?”

  “All huddled together, watching the rain like it was good television. Where’s your tea?”

  She motioned toward a cabinet, and he pulled down a cannister of chamomile.

  Cheyenne was feeling better by the second. “Imagine how ridiculous I must have looked trying to chase those stubborn little animals out of my yard.”

  Dane’s smile was sudden and devastating, and again, she couldn’t look away for a moment. Why hadn’t she noticed before how attractive he was?

  He held her gaze briefly, then reached into another cupboard for mugs. “You take sugar in your tea?”

  “Honey.”

  As he worked, she watched his strong profile. He had never struck her as handsome, but now that she’d become acquainted with him, she couldn’t imagine how she missed the strength in that gaze, the kindness in those eyes.

  He turned and saw her watching him.

  She looked down at her hands, folded tightly together in her lap.

  This was silly. She was thirty-five, he was—what, thirty-eight? Stupid to behave like shy teenagers.

  The whole episode on the roof had heightened her sensitivity, but she had no intention of allowing herself to be carried away by the attraction.

  The teakettle whistled and Dane reached for it. “How much honey?” Why hadn’t he noticed before what a beautiful woman she was? Of course, he’d been attracted the second time he met her, but—

  “One dollop, lightly stirred.”

  He found the honey and carried it to the table. He’d let her do the dollop, since he didn’t know what that was.

  She grinned. “You’re a kind man, I don’t care what they say about you.”

  “For what you’ve been through since you arrived here, you’re taking this well,” he said.

  “You rescued me from the mean old goat and gave me chickens.”

  “Chickens? The chicks have hatched?”

  She nodded. “Yesterday. All but one.” She spooned in the honey, and he watched closely.

  Aha. A dollop was half a teaspoon. He would remember that.

  “I can’t help wondering why you do it,” she said. Her voice was as smooth and soothing as the honey she stirred into the tea.

  “Do what?”

  “Spend your life out here in the middle of nowhere, helping people, running for a thankless political position that doesn’t even pay enough to cover your monthly electric bill.”

  “I’m not sure I’m always much help.” But it felt good to hear her say that.

  “You should have heard Red and Bertie every day this week when I went over to check on Red. It was always ‘Dane says this’ or ‘Dane did that.’” She shook her head. “They think you’re special, and they should know, they’ve been your neighbors for so many years.”

  This lady could make a guy feel like a million. “So tell me why you do what you do.”

  “You mean why did I kill myself in med school and residency, just to set myself up for a lawsuit in a high-risk specialty?”

  He was sorry he’d asked. All the good humor had just been distilled from those lovely, dark eyes. “You sound as if you’ve been asking yourself that very question.”

  She nodded, still stirring her tea. The sound of the metal against ceramic echoed through the house. “Constantly.” She glanced at him, then looked quickly away.

  “That’s why the two-month vacation?”

  “Vacation and leave. I did tell you, didn’t I, that my director forced this on me?”

  “You didn’t tell me why, but if you’d like to talk about it, I’ve been told I’m a good listener—and not the kind who repeats everything he hears.”

  “You mean like Lizzie Barlow?” she asked.

  He just smiled. Apparently, Bertie had been talking to Cheyenne, as well.

  “My younger sister was killed in an automobile accident the first of March.”

  The sudden announcement startled him. “I’m so sorry.”

  She pulled the spoon out of the tea, tapped it on the side of the mug,
then stared at it, as if trying to focus on anything but what she was saying. “Susan was brought into our department.” She swallowed and took a breath, hard and deep. “I was the one who pronounced her dead.”

  He felt the shock of her words all the way through his body. He couldn’t begin to imagine the horror of it. “Oh, Cheyenne.”

  “What will haunt me to my grave is that I might have contributed to her death. I had given her a sedative in the ER earlier that day for a panic attack. I gave her specific instructions not to drive with the drug in her system, but she drove anyway.”

  “Then how could you possibly suspect your actions contributed to her death?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “How can I ever know for sure?”

  Before he could reply, there was a knock at the front door. Dane answered it to find Bertie standing there, wearing a bright-yellow shower cap and red-plaid coat. She held a brown paper bag in her arms.

  He stepped back and let her inside.

  “Cook’s herding the goats back to the house,” she said as she walked past him. “How’s Cheyenne? You say she hurt her ankle? What about that Roscoe, what’d he do to her? I can’t believe this happened! I told Red to sell that animal last year, but would he listen?”

  She walked on into the kitchen. Dane followed, but only to excuse himself to get the van. Bertie would need a ride back home—he didn’t intend for her to walk back in this weather. He hoped to have other opportunities to get to know Cheyenne better.

  Bertie invaded Cheyenne’s kitchen with apologies and herbs, scattering droplets of water as she yanked off her coat and shower cap.

  Shower cap?

  “Now, tell me where that old rascal got you.” She pointed toward Cheyenne’s wrapped foot. “Twist your ankle? Ice for that, and I brought some comfrey root and onions. Best thing there is for bruises. Did he break the skin anywhere?”

  Cheyenne nodded.

  “We’ll see if we can’t do something about that.” Bertie opened and closed the cupboard doors beside the sink. “Cheyenne, I need a pot to boil this comfrey root. And a knife.”

  “Knife?” Cheyenne exclaimed. “For what?”

  “To cut the onion. We’ll get the juice out of it easier that way.”