But he surprised her by saying quite nicely, “You’ve fallen for that Jackson fellow, haven’t you?”
She hesitated. “Yes,” she replied reluctantly. She did not want to discuss Gabe with Neil.
“Come for a walk with me and let’s talk about it,” he invited, beckoning with one arm.
“No, Neil,” she said, backing up. “I don’t think we should. It wouldn’t do anything except maybe hurt you or me, and we can do without any more hurting.”
Jack had put on the headlights of both the Metcalfe trucks and both Neil and Carrie stood in the shadow of it. It was almost impossible to make out either of them from any distance away. Carrie looked behind her hopefully to see if her family was still in the back of the truck, but got an awful shock to see that they were nowhere to be found.
“Where are they?” she asked in a whisper. Neil didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
“Off visiting neighbouring trucks,” he said lightly. “I heard them say they were going, just before I came to talk with you.” It was the comparative blackness that they were both shrouded in that hid Neil’s intent from her. She had barely got out a startled half squeak as he grabbed her right arm roughly and twisted it behind her back hard, and covered her mouth with his other hand. “Be still, you little bitch,” he snapped in her ear.
She could smell the liquor on his breath now quite strongly, and realised that he was very intoxicated. She began to struggle silently until he pulled up cruelly on her twisted arm and jerked her.
She stood still, panting just a bit, her eyes dilated from the darkness and from fear. “Now,” Neil said softly, “let’s take a walk, like I said before. Don’t struggle and don’t try to cry out. I could break your arm very easily, given half an excuse. Don’t tempt me, Carrie darling.”
She wanted to gag at the use of the endearment, and she breathed heavily, her nostrils flared and chest heaving. If he gave her just one chance, just a split second, she would scream like hell and she wouldn’t care about the consequences. She would only end up with a broken arm, while he would probably end up half dead. All the men who cared about her were within calling distance, and her two brothers and father were husky, powerful fellows. Not to mention Gabe, a little voice inside her head whispered to her.
But the drink had not affected Neil’s cunning, and he kept his hand tightly over her mouth, holding her so hard that she knew she would have bruises on her face when he had finished. It was then that any remaining affection for him, any vestige of sympathy she might have felt, vanished as completely as if it had never been. He was nothing that she knew, or that she thought she had known. He was a stranger, a beast from the night, and Carrie was bitterly afraid.
He forced her to walk away from the truck and to head on out of the small group of trucks and cars. As they walked, she frantically searched for some form of escape, but she felt a sinking hope as she heard sounds of merriment coming from the farthest Metcalfe truck. “We’re in luck, Carrie sweetie,” Neil whispered unsteadily in her ear. “Everybody’s having a good time, over with your folks.”
There were scattered bushes about some fifty yards away, and it was towards these that Neil headed, pushing her in front of him. Carrie tried to quell the wild panic that was beginning to grip her mind, desperately trying to hold on to some semblance of reason so that she could grasp at any opportunity that Neil might allow her.
He stopped and uncovered her mouth. She took in a swift breath, only to be struck hard on the side of the face by the back of his hand. It knocked her breath out and she tried again, only to be hit harder. She started to gasp in low, sobbing breaths from pain and from fear.
“I don’t believe this is happening,” she gasped. “Neil, for God’s sake, why? Why are you doing this?” Tears started to run down her face.
“Why?” he asked jeeringly. “Why not, I ask you? All that time we saw each other, you never would give in to me, so why shouldn’t I take it from you? You’ve slept with Jackson, haven’t you?”
“No, no, no.” She sobbed, pushing against his chest with her two small hands. Neil jerked her against him and started to run his hands down her hips in a greedy gesture. She gagged and began to fight him desperately, but he was much too strong. He held her in place in front of him almost effortlessly.
“Neil!” Carrie panted. “Listen to me—listen! You’ll never get away with this, you know that. All I have to do is tell my father and he’ll have you slapped in jail quicker than you can blink! Oh, God, Neil, it’ll ruin your reputation! You’ll never be able to hold a public office again, not ever…”
But he wasn’t listening to her as he put his mouth against the side of her neck and ran it down to the opening of her shirt. A blast of light lit the skies and Carrie threw up her head, to give a gasping scream as she was blinded by the glorious burst of colour from the heavens.
A whirlwind of fury burst upon the two. Carrie felt herself wrenched out of Neil’s grasp and pushed aside. She fell on the rocky ground, bruising her hands that she had automatically put out to stop her fall. She twisted around and, horrified, watched two black figures merge into one, and heard the dull thud of fist meeting flesh. Another shower of light hit the sky, and for a brief instant she saw Gabe lit up with a red light, his face contorted with an overpowering rage as he attacked the other man.
Chapter Nine
It was over, after all, in a few minutes. Gabe, catching Neil by surprise, gave him a powerful-looking left hook to the jaw that sent him sprawling. He moved after the inert figure, picked him up and hit him again, hard. Neil crumpled like a folding chair, without so much as a grunt.
Gabe reached down to pick him up again, but this time Carrie ran forward and grabbed his arm. “Stop it, Gabe!” she shouted. “For pity’s sake, stop! My God, you’re going to kill him!”
After a moment her words began to penetrate, and he looked up from his kneeling position beside Neil. “I’m not going to kill him, so you can cut the concerned act!” he bit out harshly, the breath coming out in heaves. “Though God knows I’d like to!” He stood up heavily, a figure in shadow, and pushed the hair off of his forehead in a weary gesture.
Neil was doubled up over his punched stomach and gasping. He stood up as well, slowly and obviously in pain. Carrie turned away from the sight and stood with her back to him, as she rubbed her hands over her arms in agitation. She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder.
“Come on.” It was Gabe’s voice, still hard and filled with that indescribable weariness. “I’ll see you back to the trucks.” As she turned to go with him, he stopped and looked at Neil, every line in his body taut with dangerous male aggression. “I won’t say anything to the authorities, Stanton. Not for your sake—for Carrie’s. But by hell, if you aren’t out of the area by morning, I’ll take your butt and kick it halfway to California. That’s a promise!”
He swiveled back to Carrie, and they began to walk back. For her, it seemed as if every step was heavy, her feet filled with lead. Reaction had begun to set in, and she started to shake uncontrollably. Soon her teeth were chattering and the dark and stern figure beside her, so like the violent stranger that Neil had become, turned into the caring and sensitive man that she knew so well.
He pulled her carefully into his arms and she leaned against him thankfully. Through his thin shirt, she could feel the thud of his heavy pulse, and the heat that emanated from his large body was a comfort that she snuggled up to. She reached up and touched his face; he was covered in a light sweat. She felt along the hard cheekbone to his eyes and down his nose to his mouth. There was something trickling out of the corner, and she held her fingers close to her face to ascertain what it was. It was blood. She started to cry again as reaction set in, shuddering in deep, heart-wrenching, soul-shaking sobs. Gabe held her patiently, patting her hair now and then as she tried in a rather futile attempt to stem the flood that rained down and soaked the front of his shirt.
Finally she was able to look up from her little puddle tha
t was Gabe’s shoulder. As she turned her head up with a small hiccup, he lowered his own and met her mouth with a rough, jarring, trembling kiss. It hit her that he was just as shaken as she was.
“Are you all right?” he kept asking over and over. He ran his hands down her body, searching for torn clothes, then he held her again, tightly. “Did he hurt you?” This was said in an intense, explosive whisper.
“No, no, I’m all right. He didn’t, honestly,” she murmured. “How’s your mouth?”
“My what?”
“Your mouth. You’re bleeding, I can taste the blood. He managed to hit you,” she exclaimed worriedly.
“My dear girl, I never felt it,” Gabe said mildly. “Although I daresay I hit him harder—which reminds me, what in dear sweet hell were you doing walking in the moonlight with yon Romeo? Things seemed—er—out of hand.”
“I certainly didn’t want to!” she muttered with a remembered fury. “He practically broke my arm by twisting it so hard, and I’ll bet you any amount of money you like that I’m going to have a very clear imprint of every one of his fingers across my mouth. Gabe, he forced me to come out here! If you hadn’t come when you did, you—he—I…” She started to stutter as she became more and more agitated.
“Shh, hold on, sweetheart! Calm down. You’re safe now, remember? I’m on your side,” he whispered, putting a finger on her lips. “I believe you. God knows, I’d never take his word for it!” This was accompanied by a jerk of the head towards the darkness behind them. There was silence for a moment, then, “I’d have killed him, if I’d known about it, you know.”
“I know. I probably could have cheered you on, the way I was feeling, but there are laws about such things, and I sure don’t fancy visiting you in jail. It’s better all around that you didn’t know. You hit him hard enough,”“ she told him, trying to sound light, but a tremble in her voice belied any amusement.
Gabe nearly crushed her ribs as he folded her deep in a bear hug. She felt his face in her tousled hair, then he let her go. “We have to go back,” he said grimly. “I think the best thing is if we don’t say anything about what happened.”
“But what’s Neil going to do with his luggage?” she asked worriedly. “And how are we going to explain his absence to the others? And how is he going to get to the air—”
“Honey,” said Gabe, “I couldn’t care less. But, if it helps, I’ll tell Emma to pack his things and I’ll take them out to the airport tomorrow morning. I assume they have identification tags on them? Or better yet, I’ll hire a cab to take it. Stanton can worry about it after that.” He stopped short. “I almost forgot—Carrie, your mother and father told me to tell you that they went home early. Your father isn’t feeling well. I’m to take you home, which I think we should do now, and talk later. You sound done in.”
“Dad isn’t well?” she echoed, shocked. “Oh, Gabe! What did they say was wrong? He didn’t look so well earlier today, but he just wouldn’t slow down!”
“I don’t think they actually said what was wrong,” he replied thoughtfully. They headed through various cars and trucks, Carrie being guided by his strong hand. “He sounded normal enough. It’s best if we go back anyway, to see how he is.”
“I think so too.”
Gabe drove quickly and well, and most of the journey was completed in silence. Carrie was busy thinking about her father, and Gabe was wrapped in thoughts that were very serious, judging by the look on his face. When they reached the car, he had switched on the inside light for a moment to inspect her face carefully. His mouth had tightened ominously as he beheld her bruised cheek, but he didn’t say a word.
When they reached home, Carrie hopped out of the car and ran to the front door without waiting to see if Gabe followed. Going through the door and down the hall to the lighted kitchen, she pulled up at the doorway at the sight of Janet, Emma and Jack with coffee cups. “Is Dad all right?” she asked worriedly. Everyone turned to look at her.
There were shocked exclamations and chairs scraped across the floor as everyone rose from their seats. Janet hurried forward, and Emma clucked worriedly behind her.
“Honey, your poor face! What on earth happened?” she looked behind her. “Gabe! It looks like you were hit too! Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s just fine,” he told her easily. “I ran into a tree, and Carrie tripped on some rocks, that’s all!”
Carrie had to laugh as Emma snorted angrily, “Now, don’t you go takin’ us for a lot of fools, Mr. Gabe Jackson!” She faced him and shook a finger in his face. “And even a fool can see that the mark on your face was made by a fist, not a tree!”
“Emma!” Janet said warningly.
“It’s all right.” Gabe smiled. “You’ll just have to take my word for it, Emma. And take my word for this, madam.” He flicked Emma’s cheek carelessly. “The tree came off the worse of the pair!”
She said archly, “And I wouldn’t expect anything different from you, my man!” Jack, taciturn as always, leaned back in his chair and tried not to laugh.
“Mom,” Carried recalled Janet back to her original question, “How’s Dad feeling?”
She smiled a little worriedly. “He’s feeling rather poorly, dear. I’m going to try to persuade him to go and see the doctor in the morning, but you know your father. He’ll put up quite a fight!”
“Is there anything I can do?” Carrie asked quietly.
“Oh, no, honey. He’s in bed now. We’ll just have to see what we can do with his obstinacy in the morning.”
“In the meantime,” Gabe cut in, “I suggest bed for a very tired little girl.” Blue eyes looked indignantly into dark ones.
“No—I want to stay up and talk,” she said stubbornly, and he laughed.
“Then you’ll have to talk with your family, because I’m headed for bed myself,” he told her. “I’ll call you in the morning, Carrie. We’ll talk then.”
In the end she did go to bed, because everyone else was going too, and she was very tired after all.
“Wake up, Carrie! Come on, honey, wake up, please! It’s Dad—he’s sick!” Ralf’s voice finally began to penetrate through the deep hazy fog that wrapped around Carrie’s mind. She struggled to sit up as some of the more important words began to sink into her consciousness.
“Ralf,” she mumbled, pushing back her tousled hair. Then, more sharply, “What is it? What’s wrong with Dad?”
Her brother sat on the edge of her bed, clad only in a pair of faded jeans, and his hair still rumpled as if he had just awakened. The sky outside of her window was still dark. Her eyes shot from the black rectangle framed by curtains to her alarm clock by the bed. It said three-thirty.
Ralf was watching her worriedly, taking in the dark bruise on her cheekbone, but refraining from commenting on that or the dark circles under her eyes. “He’s on his way to the hospital,” he said carefully, dropping his eyes to his clenched hands. “Mom went in the ambulance with him—I didn’t wake you earlier because Mom wouldn’t let me. She said there was time enough to let you know in the morning.” There was a lost quality in Ralf’s voice, making him very suddenly the younger of the two, and Carrie put her arms around him as his voice broke. “They think he’s had a heart attack, Carrie. Oh God, what if he dies?”
The dark morning breeze wafted in through the open window and stirred the two on the bed, teasing their hair gently. Neither noticed. “Where’s Steven?” Carrie asked suddenly. She leaned away from Ralf as she spoke, watching his face.
“Downstairs, in the kitchen with Emma.” Ralf looked back at her, his brow creased. “Carrie, you don’t seem—”
“Surprised?” she interrupted gently, and laughed a short, mirthless chuckle. “I’m not. You poor, sweet boy, you never guessed, did you? Dad’s been unwell almost since the moment I arrived. I asked him several times to see a doctor, but he wouldn’t budge from his own stubborn stance. Don’t worry, Ralf,” she said with a briskness that had him amazed, and with far more assur
ance than she felt. “This isn’t going to be anything more than a very well-timed scare for Dad, and a good message to slow down now that he’s older. Now, you go on downstairs and get a cup of coffee ready for me, and I’ll be there in a minute!—and Ralf?” This was as he went to the door. He looked back enquiringly. “Thanks for waking me.” He nodded unsmilingly and was gone.
Carrie dressed swiftly in jeans and a plain top, and took the time to quickly pin up her hair in a knot to keep it neat. Taking only enough time to dust some face powder over her bruised cheek, she headed for the kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time. Going into the kitchen, she was unsurprised see Emma sitting at the table, staring into a coffee cup, along with Jack and her brothers. There was a mug full of steaming coffee beside an empty chair, and she sat down and sipped at it appreciatively, thanking Ralf.
She took a minute to survey the group and to make sure that her assessment of the situation was correct. To a man, they all had a peculiar lost air about them, and an attitude of inertia. It was not surprising. The whole Metcalfe ranch revolved around Cliff, and now with the possibility of his death, they were all feeling a shock that she knew would reverberate throughout the whole establishment. Here, in the very core of the activity, with all the key people—outside of her parents—present, she saw just how deeply each one depended, on one man. The hurt went much deeper than any physical impairment that Cliff might suffer. It was time someone put a stop to helpless anxiety.
“Why don’t you all go to bed?” Carrie suggested briskly. Four pairs of eyes turned to look at her incredulously, as if each one doubted the evidence of his own ears.
Damaged Trust Page 16
