by Molly Wens
Thoughts of the bewitching woman waylaid him as he slogged along through the wet snow of the mountain highway. His steps began to slow as he remembered that last time he held her flushed body in his arms. The way her hands felt on his skin and the sound of her moaning cries filled his mind, causing an ache in his groin. He heard a sound that caused the dog's ears to perk up and realized it was his own pained growl. Even now, as angry as he was, he wanted her as he had wanted no other.
Refocusing his thoughts, shoving her burning eyes and beautiful face to the back of his mind, Bryce took the turn that he recognized. The strip of snow-covered gravel would lead him to the house of the only person aside from Carissa and the man, Lewis McAlester, who had seen him in the past three years. He hoped Clancy was in good humor or there would be a gun battle. The old fool was as cantankerous and mean, as Bryce was himself.
After another hour or so of walking, Bryce saw the dilapidated old house that served as Clancy's home. The sun was setting, casting long, eerie shadows across the littered yard. The last time he had been here was the last day he had spent in the world of civilization, when he had stopped to set up an account with the old curmudgeon. He stopped about thirty yards from the structure, surveying the area carefully, before calling out.
"Bill Clancy, you in there?” Bryce yelled, pulling back his hood.
"Stay where ya are!” came the answer from behind the front door. “I got a gun pointed at your guts and I'll kill ya where ya stand!” The old man's voice sounded like rusty hinges, as if it had not been used for some time.
Bryce swore under his breath as he lifted his hands slowly out away from his body, the fingers of his left still clenched around the stock of his shotgun. “I'm not here to rob you, you old fool!” Skoll had taken a defensive stance, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
"Matheney? That you?"
"Yeah. Open the damned door."
The door to the house creaked open to reveal a bent old man, his round belly protruding from between heavy suspenders. “Hell, boy, if I hadn't recognized that big dog of yours, I mighta blowed your head off. Still might, if ya ain't careful.” The old man was grinning but still had the muzzle of his gun leveled on Bryce.
"Old man, if you shoot me, you'll just piss me off."
Clancy's malevolent smile faded as he lowered his weapon. “Yeah, I guess you'd just up and shoot me back. Well, get in here. I ain't gonna heat the whole outdoors."
Bryce lowered his hands to cradle his own gun in the crook of his arm as he stepped forward. He walked slowly, never taking his eyes off the old man that held the door for him. With a low whistle he called Skoll, the dog falling into careful step beside him.
"I don't want that dog in here. Chain him out back,” Clancy ordered.
"Nope, the dog stays with me.” Bryce nearly smiled as the dog emitted another warning growl.
One look at the determination in Bryce's face and the old man stepped aside to let them pass, giving the wary animal a wide berth. “What the hell ya doing down here in the Hole? Get too cold for ya up there?"
"I need to use your phone, Clancy. You still have one?” Bryce said by way of an answer.
"You came all the way down here to make a phone call? She musta been a hell of a woman.” Clancy cackled.
"Woman?” Bryce's eyes narrowed, his dark glare having its desired effect on the old man who twitched nervously.
"Yeah, that TV executive that ya shacked up with ya. It was in all the papers and the news on the box. They made you out to be some kinda kidnapper or something,” Clancy muttered as he looked anywhere but at the giant that glowered at him.
"Jesus!” Bryce hissed. “I should've known. I need your phone.” He walked toward the back of the house.
"Now hold on there,” Clancy chased after him. “Is this gonna be a local call?"
"Nope, long distance,” Bryce returned as he snagged the extension off the kitchen wall.
"I ain't paying for no long-distance calls."
"You'll be compensated,” Bryce said as he wracked his brain for the right number.
"It'll cost ya twenty dollars,” the old man's demeanor changed as he started to haggle the price of the call.
"Fine, you'll get paid.” Bryce answered off-handedly.
"I'll get paid now,” Clancy held out his gnarled hand.
Bryce sighed as he replaced the receiver in the cradle. “Where the hell am I going to get cash money?” he asked as he turned to face the old-timer. “You know I don't carry it. After I make the call you can run me up to the bank and I'll get your money."
"All right, then. Make it short."
Bryce grabbed the receiver once again, struggling to remember the right combination of numbers, dialing them on the old rotary phone. By the fourth ring, he had almost convinced himself that he had the wrong number until a familiar voice answered the call.
"Matheney here,” the voice said.
Bryce nearly smiled; his father had been answering the phone that same way as far back as he could remember. “Hello, Pop."
There was silence on the other end, the strain of it stretching out for what seemed several minutes, when, in reality, it had only been seconds. “Bryce? Son, is that you?"
"Yes, Pop. It's me."
"My boy! How are you, son? I've been hearing about you on the news. I was worried about you."
"I'm good, Dad. Listen, can you come to Jackson and get me?"
"Hell, boy, I'll leave right now! It will be good to have you home for Christmas. My boy is coming home."
"Whoa, Pop. Take it easy. I doubt I'll be home for Christmas. I just need a ride."
Disappointment was evident in the elder Matheney's voice. “Well, sure, whatever you need, son. If I leave right now I can be in Jackson by midnight."
"No, I don't want you driving at night. Morning's fine. I really appreciate it, Dad."
"All right, I'll be there before noon. It sure is good to hear your voice, Bryce. I can't tell you how much I've missed you."
"Same here, I'll see you tomorrow, Dad. You can pick me up at Clancy's place."
"Is that old fart still kicking around? I'll be damned. He was ancient when I was a kid. Watch yourself around that one. I'll see you in the morning, son. I'll get there as early as I can."
"Thanks, Pop. I'll see ya.” Bryce settled the receiver back on the hook, a sad smile tugging at his lips. He had thought of his father often, but had refused to acknowledge what his absence had cost the man. He quashed the guilt that was snaking in the pit of his belly, turning to fix Bill Clancy with a chilling glare. “Mind if I use your couch for the night?"
"I ain't running a motel here, Matheney,” the old man sneered.
"You'll be compensated for that, as well. Will another twenty do you?"
"Thirty,” Clancy countered.
"Done. Take me to the bank."
Bryce walked out the back door without another word, Skoll hot on his heels. Clancy had no choice but to follow, directing the towering man to a decrepit old Jeep that sat in the carport next to the house. He didn't trust the big man, never did, but he trusted money—something that had his heart.
Not until they got to The Jackson State Bank on Center Street did Bryce chance to glance about him, seeing the many people that hurried, heading home at the end of the business day. Christmas garland and wreaths marked the season, decking the streets with a festive air that Bryce did not feel. He had forgotten the time of year in his haste to get to his final destination. It had been a lifetime since his last Christmas, one filled with joy and laughter. He and his wife had spent it in New York, his father as their guest.
He thought of that day now, the expensive fake tree in the corner of their penthouse living room, Johnny Mathis crooning carols on the stereo. His father had laughed and offered a toast at dinner, winking at Anna. But when Bryce tried to fix his mind on the laughing face of his wife, all he saw was Carissa's shining green eyes and beautiful smile. Stifling a groan, he hauled himself out of the Jeep, leav
ing his gun and his dog to keep Clancy company.
He recognized the teller at the counter, and, from the look on her face, she recognized him too. He refused to acknowledge her identity as he filled out a withdrawal slip, knowing that the old biddy would proclaim his presence to the entire town once he turned his back. In a hurry to conclude his business and get out of town, Bryce handed her the slip, drumming his fingers impatiently while he waited. The nervous woman counted out two thousand in twenty-dollar bills, not daring to look him in the eye. As he left the building, Bryce could feel the eyes of every person in there. He wondered if it would always be this way for him, to be an object of ridicule and gossip wherever he ventured.
Once back at Clancy's ramshackle house, Bryce found a chair in which to rest his tired frame, Skoll hunkering down at his feet. It had been a real ordeal, climbing out of those mountains. The way had been tough for the first four days as the blizzard dumped plenty of fresh snow on him and his dog. They had been forced to dig in on several occasions, when the wind and flying snow had become too harsh to continue. What was normally a four-day hike had turned into nearly a weeklong struggle, and Bryce was bone-weary.
He declined a simple meal of ham and beans, offered by his reluctant host, too exhausted to find an appetite. He took the ham bone for Skoll, however, and listened as the dog chomped noisily on his prize.
Bryce leaned his head back on the dusty upholstery of the old chair and closed his eyes against the fatigue that plagued him. He was shocked to find, when he opened his eyes again, that morning had already arrived. He stood immediately, ignoring the stiff ache of his reluctant muscles as he stretched to bring back his circulation. One glance out the window told him it was just past dawn, and it looked to be a bright, sunny day. Bending low to retrieve his gun from the floor next to his chair, he opened it and checked the load. He did not trust old Clancy anymore than the old fool trusted him. It would have been just like the old man to unload his weapon and try something stupid.
Skoll was on his feet almost as soon as Bryce, following him to the door and out into the early sunshine. If the dog was dismayed by his new surroundings, he showed no sign as he sniffed around, exploring the junk-filled yard. Bryce propped his gun against the rickety porch rail, shrugged into his coat to ward off the early morning chill. He desperately wanted a cup of coffee but was leery of anything that came from Clancy's filthy kitchen, and he certainly did not want to go to town now that everyone was sure to know of his return. He rubbed his eyes, breathing deeply of the morning air, hoping its brisk nip would revive him.
Despite the circumstances, he was looking forward to seeing his father again and hoped the man was still in good health. Donnan Matheney was a robust, hulking man, much like Bryce. Though his father was approaching his seventieth year, he had always taken pride in his physique and his strength. Like Bryce, the man was well-educated and well read, and though he had spent his professional life in a suit and tie, he had spent his free time in the physical pursuits of outdoor life. Bryce's childhood had been full of camping trips, hunting, fishing and football games. He wondered if he would be afforded the chance to show his own child those carefree activities and show him, or her, about life in the mountains.
His mind turned once again to the elfin woman that now carried his offspring. Was she still thinking of him, as he thought of her? Did she feel the same loneliness that now ate at his soul? Closing his eyes, he could almost smell her soft, womanly fragrance; hear her sighing breath as he nuzzled against her throat. The taste of her succulent lips was still fresh in his memory, as was the feel of her soft body pressed against his. He groaned aloud, the constant ache in his groin throbbing cruelly, as her laughing eyes flashed into his brain.
Growling at his unruly thoughts and the subsequent stiffening behind the zipper of his trousers, Bryce snatched up his gun again, stalking off the wobbly back porch of the old house. He went in search of physical activity, anything that would distract his mind—and his body—from the beautiful woman that haunted his every moment. He found what he was looking for in the woodpile near a ruined shed. Snatching the rusty, weathered axe from the chopping block, he tore into the unbroken logs, sending them flying in a hail of wooden splinters and shattering bark. Skoll paid his human no mind as he continued to explore his surroundings, knowing instinctively that the man needed to work this out on his own.
Three hours had passed before Bryce finally stopped, exhausted and covered in sweat and wood chips. He notched the old axe into the block and retrieved his coat from the fence post over which he had tossed it. Running a blistered hand through his hair to dislodge the debris, he grabbed his gun and walked to the house to see Clancy watching him amusedly. The old man was leaning against the porch rail, a cup in his hand and a leering grin on his weathered face.
"Yep, she musta been one hell of a woman,” the old man chortled. “And if ya think I'm gonna pay ya for doing my chores, you're wrong."
Bryce refused to look at him, instead choosing to go inside, hoping to find a way to wash up without getting any of the man's filth on himself in the process. “Christ, Clancy,” he yelled. “You live like a goat. This place is a pigsty."
"Hey, ya don't like it, ya don't hafta stay,” the old man yelled back as he followed Bryce inside. “This is my home and I live how I see fit."
"The good people of Jackson ought to condemn this place. It's disgusting.” Bryce slammed the bathroom door, causing the dilapidated house to shake, as he set about in an attempt to clean himself up.
"There's a car pulling up,” Clancy called out just as Bryce was looking for a clean towel on which to dry his face and neck.
Giving up on his search, Bryce Matheney walked out of the bathroom with water dripping from his beard onto his shirt. He moved to the back door where Clancy was glaring out the window, a rifle clutched in the old man's fingers.
"Put that thing away,” Bryce ordered as he jerked the door open. A wide grin split the black fur of his face as he crossed the yard in a ground-eating stride. He reached out a hand, saying, “Pop! Damn, it's good to see you."
Donnan Matheney grabbed his son's hand and pulled him into a great bear hug. “Son,” he replied. “You're a sight for these old eyes."
Pulling back, his hands still on his father's arms, Bryce took a long look at the man. “You must have been flying. It can't be ten yet."
"I couldn't sleep after I talked to you last night,” the elder Matheney laughed. “I left home before five this morning. I couldn't wait to get here. How you been, boy?"
"I'm just fine, Dad. You're looking good. Retirement has been good to you.” Bryce studied his father's face, which was as his own had once been, and the startling blue eyes with which his mother had fallen in love. He noted that Donnan's chestnut hair was now sprinkled with silver strands that sparkled in the morning sunshine.
"I do all right,” Donnan said as he leaned back against his vehicle. “What's all this about a woman that was kidnapped?"
Bryce ran a hand over his damp beard, puffing a breath out through tight lips. “I'll tell you all about it on the way. Just let me get my things and my dog and we can get on our way.” Bryce turned back to the house without waiting for his father's response.
"Hey,” Donnan called out. “Where we going?"
"Illinois,” Bryce tossed over his shoulder. He hurried into the house, brushing past a curious Clancy, retrieving his pack from the corner in the kitchen where he had dropped it the night before. As an afterthought, just before walking out the door, he turned back to the grizzled old man. “Thanks, Clancy,” he said.
The old man actually blushed and gave his shoulder a shove. “Go on. I'll be glad to be shed of ya. Let me know if ya still want your supplies in the spring."
Bryce gave him a curt nod, exiting without another word. He joined Donnan at the car, letting go a shrill whistle that brought Skoll on the run.
"What the hell is that?” a startled Donnan barked when he saw the Mastiff. “A horse?"
"He looks dangerous,” the elder Matheney said askance.
"He is. Like I said, mind your fingers,” Bryce returned, his smile dropping away as he folded his long frame into the gleaming Cadillac. “Let's get going, Dad. I want to get this over with."
"Get what over with, son?” Donnan asked as he slid behind the wheel. “Just what are you up to?"
"I'm going to get my kid."
The startling revelation caught Donnan off-guard, freezing his hands on the steering wheel. “You're what?” he yelled.
"Start the car, Pop. I'll tell you on the way,” Bryce said with a sigh. Then he added, as an afterthought, “I guess I should ask if you mind driving me across country."
Something akin to anger glittered in the older man's eyes. “I wouldn't miss this for the world.” He fired up the engine. “Are you telling me that I'm a grandfather and no one saw fit to let me know?” Donnan pulled the car out of the drive and pointed it east.
"Well, technically, no. The baby isn't born yet."
"Huh? Would you mind explaining yourself, boy?"
"Yeah, sure,” Bryce smiled ruefully. “I suppose you heard all the news reports about the TV exec that got herself lost in the mountains?” When his father nodded, the younger man continued. “Well, I found her—half-frozen and nearly dead—just down from my cabin..."
Donnan Matheney listened as his son told him about the woman who was trapped with him in the winter-locked cabin, the men who had kidnapped her and the ordeal of nursing her back to health. While the miles sped by Bryce explained the situation and the temptation that had gotten the better of him, and of finding out about the baby in a note. The one thing that Donnan noticed missing from the story was his son's feelings about the woman. He could tell that the younger man was purposefully avoiding the subject, giving only the facts about the situation that he felt Donnan needed to know.
The car pulled to a stop, prompting Bryce to look at his surroundings. “What are we doing here?” he asked.
