Shelter from the Storm

by Molly Wens

  The elder Matheney chortled softly as the dog was loaded into the back seat of the car. “Will he eat my car when we stop at a hotel? You know there's no way they're going to let that Goliath stay in the rooms."

  "He'll be all right, Dad. Besides, he'll guard the car against thieves,” he said with a malicious grin.

  "Well, there is that, I guess.” Donnan turned the ignition, listening with satisfaction as his engine purred to life.

  "Listen, Dad, you don't have to come. It's pretty unfair of me to coerce you into this. I think my driver's license is still good. I could just rent a car and go by myself."

  "Are you crazy, boy?” Donnan retorted, insulted, as he put the car in gear and pulled onto the street. “I wouldn't miss this for the world. It's not every day that a man gets to meet his future daughter-in-law and mother of his grandchild. Besides, I'm looking forward to her taking you down a peg or two. You've had it coming for a long time."

  "Yeah, I know,” Bryce responded sheepishly. “I haven't been much of a son these past years.” He shook his head ruefully at himself. “I wouldn't say Carissa is your future daughter-in-law. I don't want to disappoint you again, Pop, but she may want nothing to do with me. Most people don't, you know."

  "That's because you spend most of your time pushing them away. If everyone knew you the way I do, they would see a good man,” Donnan told him earnestly. Then, as an after thought, he added, “Even if you do act stupid sometimes."

  "I guess I had that coming,” Bryce said. Skoll moaned in the backseat, in apparent agreement.

  The two men traveled in silence for some time until the elder switched on the car radio. The announcer was giving the tally of the previous night's college basketball scores, stating that the University of Colorado had suffered another loss, by a mere six points, bringing the total for the season thus far to three wins and five losses.

  "What the hell?” groused Bryce. “What happened to the Buffaloes? Last I remember they had a pretty tough team."

  "You been away for awhile,” Donnan replied, warming to their mutual love for sports. “They're off to a rough start but they'll come back round. You have a lot of catching up to do, Bryce. You been gone three years and weren't really here the two years before that. But you're back now, that's what's important. I'm going to give that woman a great big thank you for getting you off that mountain."

  "Yeah, she did do that,” the younger Matheney stated dourly. “I wonder what kind of trouble I'm getting myself into here."

  "Seems to me you're already waist-deep in it, son."

  "She's going to make it rough on me."

  "And so she should."

  "She's a hard-headed woman."

  "So was your mom."

  Bryce smiled at that, remembering all the times that his mother had laid into his father, causing the man to give up whatever argument they were having. “How's old Ray Hill? He still practicing?” Bryce decided to change topics.

  "Yeah, but he spends most of his time flying around to all the golf courses. Has both his kids working in the firm now.” Donnan switched on the windshield wipers. “Looks like that storm's starting earlier than I thought. It could get right nasty out here."

  He settled back, falling silent, watching the heavy snow descend from the heavens, until he realized what direction the conversation had taken. “Say—what are you thinking? You're not planning to go in there, threatening her with a troop of lawyers, are you? Because, if you are, you can count me out. I'll turn around right now."

  "But what if she decides that she doesn't want me to have anything to do with her or our baby?"

  "Then it's no more than you deserve, abandoning her the way you did,” retorted Donnan.

  "I didn't abandon her. She wanted to leave so I got her out,” Bryce shot back.

  "Yeah, by sneaky, under-handed ... You took the coward's way out, boy, and I raised you better than that. I swear, I think living up there like an animal has turned your brain to mush."

  "That's enough, Dad."

  Donnan chanced a glimpse at the pain in his son's eyes. “I'm sorry, son, but you have to know how I worried about you. I never knew if you were alive or dead, healthy or sick. All I ever got were the two letters a year that you had that old fool, Clancy, send me. I just never knew what was going on.

  "Many's the time I wanted to make the trip up there, check on you, spend some time, but you made it pretty clear that you didn't want anyone around. So, if I get on you, know I have that right for the hell you put me through."

  Bryce turned to face his father. “You're right, Dad. I'm sorry. I am. I just couldn't deal with all those people, the way they were. Everywhere I went; they pointed and called me murderer. Hell, one look at my face and kids would run, screaming. People looked at me like I was some kind of monster and I just couldn't take it. I know what I did and I didn't need them reminding me of it every day of my life."

  "Bryce, you didn't do anything wrong. You keep punishing yourself for something that any man would have done. Hell, I would have done it for your mother under the same circumstances. It's too much to ask a man to watch his wife struggle in that kind of pain, knowing that there's no hope. You did the right thing."

  Bryce was just opening his mouth to respond when he saw his father's hands clench on the steering wheel, the man's face contorting in sudden alarm. The next moment both men were hurled against each other and the dashboard as the Cadillac landed in a ditch, narrowly missing a semi that had lost control on the slick highway. The big truck careened dangerously before righting itself and continuing on its way.

  "You okay, Dad?” Bryce asked carefully, doing his own mental check of his body parts. He reached in the back seat to check on his whining dog. Skoll was scared but looked unharmed.

  "Yeah, I think so,” he said as he gingerly fingered the growing bump on his forehead. “How about you?"

  "I'm all right. I wonder how bad the car is."

  Both men climbed out, Donnan forced to shoulder his way through a door that was jammed in a pile of snow formed by previous visits of the road plows. It was plain to see that the vehicle was damaged and would need repairs before they could continue their trip. Bryce's head dropped forward as he contemplated his rotten luck, though grateful that his father was all right.

  "Well,” Donnan said as he reached in his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, “Looks like we spend at least one night in Cheyenne."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 19

  "Well,” Donnan said as he slipped the cell phone back into his shirt pocket, “They can have the suspension parts by morning, providing the shipment can get through the weather. The fellow at the garage says he thinks he can have us under way by early afternoon tomorrow."

  Bryce swallowed the bite of shrimp he had been chewing, savoring the garlic flavor of the sauce. “Sounds good. Are you sure your head is all right?"

  "I'm too hard-headed for a little bump like this to cause any trouble,” his father responded, slicing off another thick bite of succulent steak. “I'm kind of glad we're getting this chance to spend a little more time together."

  Bryce smiled around the food in his own mouth. “All things considered,” he said after swallowing. “I am too. Damn, this is good. If I stay down here very long I'm going to get fat."

  "Nah,” his father laughed. “You're too mean. All that orneriness just burns it off."

  "We better hurry, Pop. I don't want to leave Skoll alone too long in the room. If he starts barking, our secret will be out and the management will call animal control.” Bryce grinned at the image of the scrawny, bespectacled man opening the door to discover the behemoth of a dog snarling at him.

  "Son, just where the hell did you get that beast? I don't think I've ever seen an animal that big that wasn't wearing a saddle."

  Bryce laid down his fork, taking up his bottle of beer and washing down the scampi that he was thoroughly enjoying. “A few days before I headed up to the cabin I found him. He was emaci
ated and bloody and beat half to death. A guy had him chained in a mud hole. Heard him yelping when I walked by, saw his owner whipping him with a broom handle."

  "Uh-oh,” grimaced Donnan, knowing his son's dislike of abusive people.

  "Yep. So, I took the dog, found a vet. She thought he was probably six or eight months old but it was hard to tell because he was so under-weight, said the animal wouldn't survive a week. I set out to prove her wrong. In truth, I didn't think the poor thing would make it to the cabin but he refused to give up. I think I even carried him part of the way. He's been with me since, even saved my neck once when I crossed the path of a hungry bear, just out of hibernation. We got used to each other, you could say."

  "What are you going to do with him now that you're back in the world of the living? He's not exactly the most people-friendly animal."

  "Dad, I've been trying to tell you that I'm not staying. I can't live down here and you know it.” Bryce set his beer down and leaned back in his chair. “Look at the way everyone is staring at me. I'm a freak here."

  Donnan set his own beer down with a loud clunk. “Dammit, boy! If the scars bother you that much, then get the surgery. I don't understand why you refused it, anyway. You carry those scars like a shrine to the sacrifice you made of your life, so what do you expect?"

  The smoldering gray of Bryce's eyes darkened to glittering black onyx, a muscle ticking in his scarred jaw. “I don't expect you to understand, Dad."

  Donnan, not deterred by his son's harsh expression, affected one of his own. “Oh, I understand, all right. I understand that you spent the last five years feeling sorry for yourself. I understand that you spent the last three hiding from the world, refusing to defend yourself because you think you deserve what Sam Cannon has done to you. You think Anna would've wanted you to forfeit your future, you life, for her memory? You think she'd be happy at what her father did? You did what she wanted, what she needed—nothing more. If she knew what her own father'd done, she'd let the SOB have it, and you know it."

  "Drop it, Dad.” Bryce ignored the people that now stared at the heated argument. His jaw clenched tighter as he fought to control the ire that threatened to take over.

  "No, son. No, I won't. This foolishness has gone on long enough. You're a grown man and I can't tell you what to do with your life, but dammit, I can have my say. It would've broken your mom's heart—and Anna's—to see what you've done to yourself. You have a chance for a new start and you're too blamed stupid to see it. I don't even know this woman, this Carissa, but already I like her—and I pity her. She's obviously a strong woman, a survivor, and she deserves better than what you're giving her."

  Unbidden, a vision of fathomless green eyes flashed into Bryce's mind. He saw them as he most wanted to remember them: full of laughter and sparkling with love and passion. His fists clenched against the need to touch her, hold her again, as he had during those short, happy weeks in his cabin. His anger somewhat deflated, he sighed, leaning on the table and staring at the now-cold lunch that sat before him.

  "You're right, Dad,” he said. “She deserves better, but she got me."

  "So what are you going to do about it?” the elder Matheney asked pointedly. “How are you going to fix this mess you made?"

  With a remorseful half-smile, Bryce answered, “I don't have a fucking clue."

  * * * *

  Alice Albrecht watched in amazement at the sudden flurry of activity over the past three days. Her daughter's house was nearly turned upside down, as Carissa cleaned, decorated, baked, shopped and wrapped—all to create a wondrously festive atmosphere. The children were genuinely thrilled to have their real mother back at last, to bring out the joy of the season. Twinkling lights hung on the outside of the house and the trees in the yard sparkled with the tiny bulbs that lit up the night.

  Carissa was brought to tears the day that she took the kids to the mall to visit with Santa and ride the North Pole Express, the little kiddy train that traveled center court. When Santa asked what little Sheanna wanted for Christmas, the child kissed him on the cheek and thanked him because he had already given her mommy back to her. When it got to be Zane's turn, all the boy wanted was to know that his daddy would not take him away from his mom.

  Wednesday, just four days before Christmas, was to be the day of what Carissa hoped would be the last court date concerning John's efforts to take their children. The hearing had been continued just after she had returned home; the children's attorney asserting that, since their mother had just been through a harrowing ordeal—not of her own making—and had not had time to prepare or retain her own counsel, the extra time would be needed. John's lawyer had fought the request but the judge had found a compromise in allowing Carissa a scant two weeks in which to make herself ready for the fight ahead, and she was not looking forward to it. She had her mother to lean on for support, but still wished that she had someone else to be there for her, someone who was willing to be a father-figure for her children, someone whose name is Bryce.

  As she stood over her washer, adding detergent to the soiled clothes and water in the tub, Carissa felt a stab of anger at the man. With each passing day, her faith that he would return to her was shaken, dwindling slowly. Still she had to put on a brave face and hope for the best. It was all she had to go on as the long winter nights held her prisoner with lonely thoughts of his sheltering arms and ardent kisses. There were moments when she would have offered the sacrifice of her own right arm just to see his wolf-gray eyes again, full of passion and fire.

  Slamming the lid of the washer down, she grabbed up her basket of towels and shoved those thoughts aside. He will be here, she told herself time and again, but she would make him wait, make him say what she needed to hear before she rushed back into his embrace. He would have to make her believe that he would never leave her again, that he would never again hide from life in that wilderness cabin.

  "Your attorney called while you were shopping,” Alice told her, a cryptic note in her voice. “He says that he wants you to call him right away. I'll fold those. You go call."

  Carissa handed off the basket, walking to her office in the back of the house with a faint sense of foreboding hanging over her. As far as she knew, everything was in place for the hearing that was just a day away. Picking up the phone, she wondered if something had happened that would cause the venerable Mr. Goldman, attorney-at-law, to call so urgently.

  Ten minutes later, a distraught Carissa returned to find her mother finishing with the folding. One look at her daughter's ashen face told Alice that something had gone terribly wrong.

  "Cari?” Alice ventured softly as Carissa sank into a chair across the room. “What's wrong, honey?"

  "John found out I'm pregnant,” Carissa whispered without looking at her mother.

  "Oh, no. How?” Alice dropped the last towel at her feet in front of the couch.

  "I don't know but he's planning on telling the court that I was away for so long because I was shacked up with my lover while my kids were going without, as if ... He's going to say that I chose to be up there, instead of with my kids—that I planned the whole thing—and make me look like a whore in front of the whole world.” Carissa lowered her head, visibly shaken by the conversation she had just had with her lawyer.

  "Who did you tell?” Alice moved, dropped to her knees in front of her stricken daughter.

  "No one. You and Dr. Monroe are the only ones who know. I didn't tell anyone else. Did you?” Carissa asked, already knowing the answer.

  "No, Cari. You know better than that.” She took her daughter's icy hand.

  "Mom,” Carissa's shaky voice was barely audible. “If the media gets hold of this—and they will—there's no way that judge is going to rule in my favor. Especially since John has the whole world convinced that he's all but cured of his disease. It's going to be another feeding frenzy. I can see the headlines now: Kidnapping victim in love-nest scandal with wife-killer. What am I going to do?"

  "Don't think
like that. We'll get through this, honey, I promise you.” But Alice wasn't so sure. Her daughter had been through a lot, this just might be enough to send her over the edge.

  * * * *

  "We're making pretty good time, son,” Donnan Matheney told his passenger. “Why don't we stop for the night and start again early in the morning?"

  "I was hoping to at least make Lincoln tonight,” Bryce answered. The cold Nebraska sun was still well above the horizon. “How ‘bout stopping in Kearney for early supper and then I'll take over the driving. There's not much traffic out here. We should be able to hit Lincoln before it gets too late."

  "Yeah, hardly any cars at all. You suppose everyone else knows something that we don't?” his father asked. “I could use some coffee. Supper sounds good. Breakfast was a long time ago."

  Another gust of wind drove the fresh, powdery snow across their path in swirling clouds of white. For the most part, the wind had been at their backs all day, but it looked now as if it was changing directions—all the more reason to get as close to the state line as possible, to Bryce's way of thinking. He didn't want to get caught in any more bad weather before he got to his destination.

  His destination, he thought, as the car pulled onto Exit 272, heading into Kearney. He wondered again just what he was going to do when he finally reached Springfield, Illinois. More importantly, what would Carissa do? Would she send him packing, slamming the door in his face? Pop is right, he thought. She has that right and I owe her that opportunity.

  Kearney, a relatively small town, boasted several eating establishments. The Matheney's selected the Cellar Bar and Grill on Second Street. Bryce had a hard time making up his mind between the southern friend catfish and the halibut steak, finally choosing the latter, while Donnan ordered the smoked pork chop. They both topped it off with a fat slice of apple pie and steaming coffee for desert.

  Donnan leaned back in his chair, patting his belly. “You sure you still want to continue on? After a meal like that all I can think of is finding a bed,” he laughed.