Shelter from the Storm

by Molly Wens

  "This is my home, son. You remember ‘home', don't you?” Donnan bit off sarcastically.

  "Yes, I remember, Dad. I just was wondering why we stopped. There's a long way to go before we get to Illinois."

  "We stopped because you need a shower and a fresh change of clothing. You reek. You could stand a trip to the barber too. You can't mean to go claim your woman looking and smelling like something the cat dragged in."

  "Sorry, Dad,” Bryce said with a sheepish grin. “I guess I could wash if I'm going to force you to share a car with me. But, just so you understand, I'm not going there to ‘claim my woman', as you say."

  "Uh-huh,” Donnan intoned knowingly. “Is it safe for him to be in my house?” he asked, inclining his head in the direction of the mammoth dog on the back seat.

  "Yeah, he'll mind his manners.” Bryce exited the car, opening the back door to let Skoll out.

  "Great. After you clean up we'll continue this little talk and get something to eat. You must be starving. We'll start out in the morning. I don't want to hear any arguments. I'm going to have my boy under my roof for at least one night out of this."

  "All right, Pop. Anything you say,” Bryce said. It would be good to get some food and sleep in a bed before heading out. He followed his father into the house where he had grown up, dark thoughts clouding his mind as he thought of Carissa and the time they had shared. He was beginning to feel that he was making a mistake and wondered how she would react when he confronted her at last.

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  Chapter 18

  Donnan Matheney looked with pride and affection at his tall son, now clean-shaven, dressed in the khaki Dockers and button-down, blue cotton shirt he had loaned the boy. “You smell a heap better than you did earlier. I was going to cook some stew, but I figured you would rather have something that you likely haven't seen in awhile."

  The elder Matheney set a steaming plate of spaghetti and meat sauce on the kitchen table, motioning for Bryce to sit down. With mouth and eyes watering, Bryce looked at the huge pile of pasta and red sauce. He could not remember the last time he had eaten anything that did not either come from the mountain wilderness, or was not freeze-dried or canned. “Is the sauce homemade?” he asked hopefully.

  "Yeah ... well, sort of. The tomatoes came from a can but I don't think even your mom could top it. Wine?” Donnan held up a couple of glasses and a bottle of Merlot. “I know it's a bit early yet, but the sun will set soon enough.” He poured the rich ruby liquid into his late wife's prized crystal, handing his son a glass.

  Bryce took a sip, held it in his mouth to savor the taste that he had been denied for so long. “Damn,” he declared after swallowing. “That's good. I can't remember the last time I took a drink."

  "It's good to have you home, son. I don't mind telling you that it's been damned lonely around here. I hope you're not planning to go back up there anytime soon. It would be a crying shame to lose you so soon.” Donnan set his own glass down and dished up another lavish helping of pasta. He set the plate on the table, took a seat opposite his only son.

  "I don't know, Pop. I want my kid,” Bryce said, staring into his glass. “It's going to be a hell of a fight. Carissa is one hell of a woman."

  "You can't really mean to try to take her baby. I don't believe you would even think of such a thing."

  Bryce shot his father a withering glance, setting his glass on the table. “She means to have someone else be father to my kid—said so in her note. I'll see her in hell first."

  "Bryce, are you listening to yourself? Do you hear what you're saying? Why are you so angry with her? Just exactly what did she do besides give herself to you?” Donnan reached a hand out to his son.

  "She left me, Dad!"

  "What the hell did you expect? You sent her away."

  "If she really cared, she would've stayed,” Bryce said bitterly. “She just got on that damned snowmobile and didn't even bother to look back."

  "Dammit, boy,” Donnan yelled at his son. “You sound like a spoiled kid! You could've gone with her. You knew she couldn't stay. She had a family to get back to. If you had one-tenth the brain I thought you had, you'd be with her now, starting your life together. You love her, don't you, son?"

  Bryce dropped his head into his hands, dragging shaking fingers through his hair. He could no longer look at his father.

  "Yeah, I love her. I can't stand being without her. Dad, it's tearing me apart, but you know I can't live down here. I'm afraid I'll end up killing someone one of these days, every time they start in on me about ... Anna.” He snatched up his glass, drained it and set it down.

  "I should've wrung her father's neck for starting that business."

  "Dad, he lost his daughter."

  "Yeah, and so did I! I loved that girl like she was my own. And you lost your wife. She was a wonderful woman. But losing her didn't give him the right to lie, telling everyone you murdered her to get to her trust fund ... it was just plain wrong!” Donnan leaned forward with his elbows on either side of his plate, his ice-blue eyes penetrating Bryce's deep gray ones. “It's time someone took a hand in it."

  "And do what, Dad?” Bryce ran his hand down his face, grazing the craggy scar that skittered across his left cheek and down his jaw, a reminder of his reality.

  "Sue the bastard. Take him to court and make him answer for his slander. He's made a wreck of your life, Bryce, and you just sat by and let him.” The elder Matheney refilled both glasses, pushed the plate of cooling food toward his son.

  "Dad, you know I won't do that. The man has a right to hold a grudge. What I did was unforgivable. I killed his daughter, for God's sake."

  Donnan felt the real physical pain he glimpsed his only son's eyes. He wanted so much to take that pain away, to give back the love of life with which his boy had once been blessed. He suspected that there was only one person who could do that, one person who had managed, even briefly, to break through the boy's defenses. All Donnan had to do was get Bryce pointed in the right direction. “You didn't kill her, boy. A drunk did. You just eased her pain."

  Bryce froze just as he was about to take another drink, his glass hovering halfway between the table and his mouth. A spark of shock shone in his eyes briefly before a slow, crooked smile spread across his face. “That's what Carissa said—nearly her exact words, if I'm not mistaken."

  "She sounds like a smart girl, though I have my doubts seeing as she hooked up with you. Get your head out of your ass, Bryce. Go after her—and not because of the baby, either. Go after her because you love her and win her back. You need her."

  "After what I did to her,” the younger Matheney said, the smile falling away from his face. “I doubt if she'll want anything to do with me. I wouldn't blame her if she slams the door in my face."

  "I wouldn't blame her either, but you owe her the opportunity to do just that,” Donnan admonished. “Now, eat your supper. It's getting cold. In the morning we'll start sorting it all out."

  Nearly eleven hundred miles away a woman stood in her kitchen, staring blankly at the cookie dough she had been stirring. She had wanted to do all the things that she would normally do to make Christmas happy for the children but her mind kept drifting to a lone cabin, nestled in the Wyoming wilderness. Tossing back her long, burnished curls, she wondered if Bryce was well, if he was taking care of himself. She wondered, also, if he had given her another thought since sending her away so unceremoniously.

  Carissa's tears had long since dried up, cried out in the long, empty hours of the nights that had passed without his comforting warmth and heated caresses. In her heart, she knew she would never see him again, that he had retreated again into his lonely existence, content in his solitude. The ache in her soul was slowly giving way to bitterness, an ugly emotion that was turning her hostile.

  "Cari,” her mother cajoled, “You've been staring at that mixing bowl for half an hour. Hadn't we better get those cookies in the oven?"

  Snapping out of h
er reverie, Carissa shoved the ceramic bowl aside. “Have at it,” she muttered as she stalked from the room. Alice had insisted upon staying through the holidays, not giving her daughter even a moment alone. She loved her mother but Carissa wished with all her being that the woman would just go. What she was feeling was not fair to the older woman but she simply could not help it.

  Since her second day home, Carissa had been lashing out at everyone around her, even refusing to take calls from family and friends who only wanted to welcome her back. When her doctor had asked for a medical history of the unborn baby's father, she had nearly slapped the woman.

  The doctor, the same woman who had seen her through her first two pregnancies, had smiled knowingly, saying that Carissa was merely feeling the effects of the hormones that were changing because of her very healthy pregnancy. Though the good Dr. Monroe was concerned about her patient being under-weight, she was confident that all was progressing as it should. Carissa found some comfort in that, knowing that she could at least have this small part of the man for whom she pined.

  To make matters worse, she could not even return to work. The corporate Vice-President of Human Resources had decided that she should take a full month, with pay, to recuperate before returning to the station. In the mean time, she was twiddling her thumbs at home, wishing she could find a way to take her mind off the man that had sent her away. Her emotions alternated between wanting to hire a guide to take her back up on that mountain—just to tell Bryce where to stick it—and wishing the ground would swallow her.

  She no longer felt like herself, a thought that troubled her to no end. It was impossible to take pleasure in all the things that she used to enjoy, or even in her children, it seemed. In a conversation between her two kids, she had heard Zane tell Sheanna that “mommy's sad.” They were well-tuned to her emotions and missed nothing about her demeanor. She wanted to pull herself out of this black hole that was swallowing her, but she was afraid her inner strength had failed her at last.

  Now, with Christmas only a week away, she was hard-pressed to put on a happy face, to make-believe that all was well, if only for the sake of her small children. Carissa went through the motions of decorating, baking and shopping for gifts but her heart was still in that mountain wilderness. She felt as if she was torn in two—between two worlds—with neither half being able to function without the other. Her existence had become hollow, emptied of all the joy life had once held.

  "Damn him!” she yelled in the still air of her bedroom, tossing a shoe at the far wall. How could he have just dumped me like that? she asked herself for the millionth time. The ice that was forming around her heart was growing thicker, shutting out all emotion except for the festering anger toward Bryce.

  "Carissa Jane,” came Alice's sharp voice from the doorway. “I want to talk to you."

  "Not now, Mother. I ain't in the mood,” Carissa responded without turning.

  "That's exactly what I want to talk to you about,” Alice declared, entering the room and shutting the door. “You have two small children out there who almost lost their mother. They are wondering where she is, even now. You have got to pull yourself out of this funk."

  Sighing deeply, Carissa flopped down on the bed, sprawling backward with her arms stretched over her head. “I know it, Mom. I just can't seem to help it."

  "You're so angry, Cari. And don't tell me it's pregnancy hormones. We both know better. Honey, you have to get past this. You simply have to."

  "Don't you think I know that? Dammit, Mom! It hasn't even been two weeks. I keep thinking that if I could just go back and tell that son-of-a-bitch off I could get on with my life. I really hate him."

  "Hate? Sweetheart, that's not hate, it's ‘hurt.’ He hurt you and you want closure. It's understandable but there's not much you can do about it. It's time to buck up and get on with your life. Those kids need you."

  Carissa growled as she pulled herself upright. “What am I going to do, Mom? I can't eat, I can't sleep. I can't even smile anymore. I want to tear his heart out. I'm sorry I've been such a bitch. I really am."

  "Oh, Cari,” Alice crooned as she took a seat next to her daughter. She took Carissa's hand in her own. “Trust me, honey. You don't want to tear his heart out anymore than I do. No mother wants to see her child suffer, but there's nothing we can do about it. We have to carry on."

  "I'll try harder, Mom. I will. I promise."

  "Why don't you take a nap? I'll take the little ones shopping and give you some time alone, okay?” She waited for her daughter to nod. “I never told you this, but your daddy and I had two wedding dates. We had a terrible fight before the first one and I cancelled it. He got bent out of shape and left, went to work on high-rises, moved to New York. It liked to have broken me in half, knowing I would never see him again."

  Carissa stared at her mother, dumfounded. “He left you?” she squeaked.

  Alice nodded, a mysterious smile on her face as she patted her daughter's hand. “He was gone for almost a year. One day I opened the door to find him standing on the stoop, a foreboding grimace on his face. Well, I was so happy to see him that I almost threw my arms around him, until my pride got the better of me. I held my head up and asked what he thought he was doing there, standing on my mother's front stoop."

  Alice stopped, her eyes taking on a far-away glaze as she lost herself in her memories. Her face had softened, a faint blush creeping along her neck and face, fanning out to her gray-streaked auburn hair. She sighed deeply, wistfully, before continuing.

  "Well, he just growled at me—you know how your father could do that when he was irritated. He told me that he hadn't wanted to be there anymore than I wanted him there but he had no choice. When I asked him what he meant, he told me that he had been forced there, sent home by something that was stronger than he was.

  "I just scoffed at him. Then he told me that his spirit animal had made him come, would not let him sleep. Of course, I was young and foolish and told him I didn't believe any of his Indian ways.” Alice's smile grew. It seemed she had forgotten that her daughter was sitting next to her as she continued her story.

  "He grabbed me by the arms and said, ‘When White Wolf tells me to do something, I do it.’ Then he kissed me. Oh, I struggled and pretended that I wanted him to let me go, but I decided right then that I loved that damned wolf, whether it was real or not. We were married three months later and had a very happy life together.

  "The point I'm trying to make here is that, if it's meant to be, it will be. If you're supposed to be together...” Alice stopped when she glanced at her daughter's pale face. Carissa's eyes had grown huge; her free hand was at her throat.

  "Cari,” Alice said in alarm. “What's wrong?"

  "W-white wolf? Daddy was brought home by a white wolf?"

  "Or so he said. Are you all right?"

  Carissa jumped to her feet, pacing the room in short, quick strides. Her pallor of earlier was being quickly replaced by a rosy flush that colored her heart-shaped face. She started to giggle, causing her mother to believe her young daughter had lost her mind.

  "Carissa, answer me. What's wrong with you?"

  Her daughter stopped in mid-stride, whirling around to look at her mother. “Bryce is coming. He's coming here, probably on his way right now."

  "Excuse me?” It was Alice's turn to be shocked. “Where did you come up with that notion?"

  "Mom, I saw the wolf, too,” Carissa said breathlessly. “She helped me find his cabin that night in the snow. And he heard her. It was her howling that brought him out to find me. I see her sometimes in my dreams. I don't know if I believe in Gram's mysticism but she always told me that there are forces at work that we cannot understand, that would help us in our lives. Don't you see?"

  "No,” Alice replied softly. “I don't see. Maybe we should call your doctor or something."

  Carissa laughed again. “Mama, I'm not losing my mind—or maybe I am, I don't know. From the moment I met him, it seemed that we were s
upposed to be together. He's an idiot sometimes but he has to know it, too. That night the wolf told me that she was part of me. If that's true, then that force—or whatever it is—is part of me, too. If it was me that brought him out of the cabin that night, if that part of me touched him, then it only stands to reason that we must be connected somehow."

  "Are you talking about those fanciful tales your grandmother used to tell about ‘the two halves'? I swear, Carissa, the ideas you get in your head. Do you honestly feel that everyone only has half a soul and is in search of their other half?"

  "You found yours with Daddy,” Carissa rudely reminded her mother.

  "Okay, I give up. If that's what you want to believe, if that will help you get through all of this, then go ahead. But, I just want you to know, I think you're setting yourself up for a big disappointment."

  Carissa grabbed her mother in a sudden, fierce bear hug. “Don't worry, Mama. He'll be here, you'll see."

  * * * *

  The sun sent flames of pink and orange over the sky as it peeked over the horizon, casting a cheery glow over the earth. Donnan Matheney studied the sunrise before turning to his son. “Looks like snow before nightfall,” he said.

  "Yeah, let's get moving. I want to get out of state before it hits."

  Donnan grinned at his son. “Been a long time since you and I had a road trip. Seems like we should be throwing in the camping gear and fishing poles."

  Bryce answered him with his own strained smile. “Yeah. A fishing trip might be a better idea."

  Donnan shook his head as he slid behind the wheel of his Cadillac. “Son, you're going to worry yourself half to death over all of this. We ought to be taking a plane. It would get you there quicker."

  "Nope,” returned Bryce. “Couldn't put Skoll in the cargo hold of a plane."

  "You could put him in a kennel,” his father suggested.

  "And come back to find that my Mastiff had eaten someone's prize poodle, or worse yet, one of the keepers? No, thank you. Safer to keep him with me."