by Cara Bristol
“I’m not sure she should risk it,” Piper shook her head. “Isn’t there a saying that insanity is doing the same thing, but expecting different results? Harris could be in control of his gambling now, but how can she predict what will happen later? Maybe he’ll get sucked in like Dale did. You have good reason to be cautious.”
Crazy how her friends offered viewpoints opposite what she would have guessed, with impulsive Piper urging caution and methodical Susanna seeming to suggest she give Harris a chance. But together they mirrored the battle raged within her.
Go for it? Or end it?
Abby buried her face in her hands and moaned. “I don’t know what to do.” She lifted her head. Maybe it was moot anyway. She’d run out on him. Ignored his call, had not returned his stern voice message delivered yesterday: “I expected to hear from you by now. Let’s talk about this. Call me, Abigail.” She patted her pocket. Empty. She must have left her cell in her car.
“And the other issue,” Abby said, “is he’s not interested in a long-term relationship. He’s said point blank commitment is not in the cards.”
“Well, then, maybe you should go for it,” Piper reversed herself. “Just date. Have a little…fun.” She waggled her eyebrows. By fun, she meant spanking, Abby could tell. “If it’s going to end anyway, what’s the problem?”
Susanna glanced at Piper. “The problem is, she’ll be hurt. Abby already cares too much.” Her friend sighed, and her gaze narrowed with concern. She lifted her shoulders sheepishly. “We’re not much help, are we?”
None. But Abby smiled. “Your support means the world to me.”
The waitress appeared. “More tea?”
“No, thank you,” Abby said, and her companions shook their heads. After the waitress left, Abby checked the time, and looked at her friends. She twisted her mouth ruefully. “I’d better hit the road. I have a long drive.”
They scooted out of the booth.
Abby hugged Piper. “Good luck. Keep us posted,” her friend said.
“I will.”
Susanna embraced her next. “I trust you’ll make the right decision.”
“Thank you,” Abby responded. “I wish I had that kind of confidence in myself.”
Her friends departed for home, and Abby ran to use the ladies room. When she emerged from the restaurant, her friends’ vehicles were gone. Her car sat alone. Abby unlocked her vehicle, got in, and sighed. Her phone rested in the console cup holder where she’d left it. Picking it up, she called her aunt. “I’m leaving Denver now,” she said when Aunt Quincy answered.
“Did you have a good time?”
With her friends? Definitely. But her emotions were nowhere near settled. “Yes. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home.”
“Have you spoken to Harris since you’ve been gone?”
“No. He left a message. I, uh, didn’t return it because I didn’t know what to say.” Not very mature, but how else could she protect herself?
“He called here.”
Abby’s heart thumped. “He did?”
“He seemed concerned you hadn’t contacted him.”
Abby wet her lips. “What did you say?”
“You’d gone to Denver for the weekend to visit friends. If you’re not planning to see him anymore, you need to be honest with him, Abby.”
“I’ll be home in about an hour and a half. I’ll call him then.” Maybe the right words, a decision, would come to her by then.
“Okay. Drive safely.”
Abby tucked her phone into the cup holder and exited the parking lot.
Continue with Harris or break up? She’d survived one painful dissolution already; could she handle another? Would it even be her choice anymore? Her rejection might have angered Harris, and he might spurn her now.
Why did loving have to be so hard?
On one hand she had Dale who’d always loved her. But he had serious problems and could not give her the stability she needed. And she no longer loved him.
Harris caused her heart to zing and her body to burn. Everything about the man demonstrated stability and discipline. Everything. She clenched her glutes. Except for the gambling—but even there she’d witnessed no signs of instability, of addiction.
They complemented each other. Harris made her feel good about herself, and his discipline could help her grow too.
If he was willing to consider doing it long term.
Women’s magazines advised a woman to listen to what a man said. When they warned you off, confessed their faults, pay attention. Dale had waved those red flags in their relationship.
“I probably enjoy gambling a little too much.”
“I could get addicted to winning.”
And his emotions had swung from high to low.
Harris had shared his family history and warned he did not do happily ever after. But Aunt Quincy thought he was worth the bet.
Who could she believe? Harris himself or a matchmaker and her own heart that urged her try? But her emotions had led her astray before, and she couldn’t endure the hurt again. So are you never going to get involved? Are you never going to take a chance on love? What in life is a sure thing?
Abby sighed, her chest aching. She would arrive in Corbin’s Bend no closer to an answer than she’d been before she’d left. Soon—too soon, she’d have to make a decision. The highway onramp wasn’t much farther, just around the corner. Preparing for the turn, Abby checked her rear view mirror.
A man’s face stared back at her.
She screamed and swerved.
Chapter Eleven
“Damn it!” Harris hit the clear key on the calculator. Three times he’d tallied up the receipts for the bank deposit with different results. He prided himself on his ability to filter out distraction and focus on the task at hand, but he’d lost concentration because of Abby. His strategy to give her time to process the information had backfired. Could he have made a worse move? He tossed his pen on the desk in disgust and flopped back in his chair.
Harris had felt like some sweaty-palmed teenage boy, but after calling her cell and not getting a response, he’d called Quincy Lauder.
“She’s gone to Denver to see her friends,” Quincy had said. He could fill in the blanks. Friends meant one in particular. Her ex.
“Oh, that’s right,” he’d lied through his teeth. He felt stupid he didn’t know she had left.
“I’ll tell her you called,” Quincy had offered.
“That’s all right. I’m sure I’ll speak to her soon. I have her cell.” The last thing he wanted was for Quincy to tell Abby he’d gone begging for her affection.
Abby had dumped him, but didn’t have the guts to tell him to his face.
Harris shoved back from the desk and strode to the water cooler. After gulping down a couple of swallows, he crushed the paper cup and flung it in the waste basket. “Damn it all to hell.”
How could she equate what he did with what her ex had done? He approached gambling with a cool head and heart. He’d invested his wins in the car wash, stocks, bonds. And he was a member in good standing of Corbin’s Bend. On the Chamber of Commerce. Donated to the local charities. He and her ex were as similar as a zebra to a duck.
But she had history with the duck—who had declared his love for her.
Which Harris hadn’t done. No, he’d pretty much told her the opposite in word and deed. Don’t get stuck on me, babe, ‘cause I won’t be there. Why would she take a chance on a guy who offered nothing more than sex and spanking? Had she felt used by what they’d done?
Harris raked a hand through his hair. Probably.
He’d told her he expected to lead their relationship. A piss poor job he’d done too. One had to have a relationship to lead it.
He gathered the receipts and locked them in the filing cabinet. He could complete the deposit form tomorrow. The bank wasn’t even open on Sunday. He checked his cell. No messages. No missed calls. No texts.
Damn her.
* * *
*
With a controlled jerk, Abby avoided sideswiping a parked car and managed to stay in her lane. “You scared me half to death!” She glared at Dale. “What are doing here, and how did you get in?”
“I still have my key.” His red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes met hers in the mirror. He looked like hell. Stubble darkened his jaw, and his greasy hair appeared restlessly-finger combed. Not a good sign. If nothing else, Dale had always showered and shaved.
She flicked on her blinker and slowed to make her turn, when it hit her: she couldn’t take a stowaway back to Corbin’s Bend. She released the brake at the same time her ex said, “No, go straight.”
She bypassed her street, and searched for a spot to pull over and dump his ass. He could find his own way home. Dale was starting to creep her out, exhibit stalker tendencies. Spying a fast food restaurant, she signaled. She’d leave him at the burger joint, and he could do whatever. Not her problem.
“Don’t stop. Keep going.”
“I beg your pardon!” Abby lifted her eyes to the mirror to glare at him and found herself staring down the barrel of a pistol. Her stomach dropped to the floorboard.
Her ex waved the gun. “I said, ‘Don’t stop.’”
Abby’s knuckles around the steering wheel blanched. “What are you doing?” Visions of headlining the late night news as a murder-suicide reeled through her mind. Breathe. Stay calm. Breathe.
His next words did not reassure her. “Hand me your cell.”
Her phone in the console offered her only chance for rescue—other than her pepper spray—which was out-of-bounds inside her zipped her purse on the floor of the passenger side. The spray might very well have been sitting on her dresser for all the good it would do her.
“Now!” he shouted.
Her hand shook as she passed the cell over the headrest.
He snatched it, and she recoiled at the touch of his fingers scraping her palm. The back window rolled down, and Dale tossed the phone onto the street. He raised the window.
Abby focused on the road, clutching the steering wheel in a death grip. This couldn’t be happening. “Let’s go someplace and talk,” she said as calmly as she could, while she scanned the traffic for a white cruiser. If she spotted a patrolman, she could blow a red light, get him to pull her over.
“Oh, now you want to talk?” He gestured with the pistol. “Keep driving. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Abby swallowed her fear and gripped the steering wheel.
“You’re the only woman I ever loved.”
Why did that sound like a goodbye? She choked back a sob of panic and swept the road for a white cop car while trying to act like she wasn’t doing so. Damnit! Roll a stop sign, and a patrolman is Johnny-on-the spot with a full light show. But have an ex-husband on the brink of postal in your backseat, and there’s not an officer to be found within twenty miles.
Worse, she was making all the green lights. If she could stop at an intersection, maybe somebody would glance over, see Dale, notice the gun, and would call for help.
The only thing she could do was agree with him. Build his trust. Maybe then she could convince him to put down the pistol. Throw it out the window like he did her cell phone. She swallowed a rancid lump of fear. How could this be happening? They had been boyfriend and girlfriend. Lovers. Husband and wife. Friends. And now he threatened to kill her? He hadn’t announced that intention, but what else did it mean when a man trained a gun on you?
Tell him what he wants to hear. “I love you too.” The lie tasted bitter.
Dale slammed his hand—the one holding the pistol—on the seat back. “Don’t fuck with me!” he screamed.
Abby flinched. Her heart pounded. Oh god, he’s going to kill me.
“I saw you with him! That spanking freak from Corbin’s Bend.” In the mirror, she watched his face contort. “‘Call me when you get home, Abigail,’” Dale mimicked Harris’s message in a sneering tone.
He’d listened to her voicemail! Dale had been following her, stalking her, and she’d been oblivious. What might he have seen? She searched her brain. Had she and Harris hugged in public? Held hands? Kissed? Had Harris ever playfully swatted her bottom?
Harris, so handsome, authoritative, but with such a mischievous little boy grin, filled her mind’s eye. In a flash, the river of dissention between them dwindled to a trickle. She might never see him again. Her throat thickened. Her life could end in this vehicle. And if Dale shot her while she was driving, other people could be injured or killed too.
Don’t go there. You can get through this. You will see Harris again!
Abby glanced at the gas gauge. Three-quarters full. How many hours would the fuel last? Three? Could she hold herself together that long? And what would happen when the gas ran out? Would he kill her then?
She raised her eyes to the mirror. “What do you want from me?” Her voice trembled.
Dale punched the seat again. Confusion and pain darkened his eyes. “I want things the way they were!”
They had been good together once. A long time ago. But she took a breath and a chance. “We-we had a lot of good times. R-Remember how we used to go camping?”
“We hiked. Brought only one sleeping bag,” he said.
She kept him talking, recounting the moments they’d shared, trying to reestablish a rapport, build on his sympathy. But after an hour of driving around Denver she was no closer to freedom. Sooner or later they would exhaust the pleasant memories, and the others would crop up. Between driving the car and steering the conversation around potential landmines, her nerves felt like an overextended Bungee cord. She didn’t know how much longer she could last.
She had to try something else, or she would end up a special report on the evening news. Think, Abby, think. What could she do to draw attention? She sat up a little straighter in her seat when an idea came to her.
She would have to approach from the back, from a roundabout way, avoid all the signs so Dale didn’t realize where they were headed. As casually as she could with a crazed ex holding a revolver inches from her head, she eased into the left lane.
“Why are you turning here?”
“I’m just driving like you said.” She lowered her chin, avoiding the mirror, afraid her guilt might be visible. She had no practice lying to Dale. She’d always been honest with him.
“All right. Don’t do anything funny.”
“No.”
She made the turn, her heart hammering like a crazed drummer lived in her chest. What if Dale recognized the route? What if he snapped and shot them both?
If you don’t do something, he’s going to kill you anyway.
Abby cruised four blocks and then swung a right. Surreptitiously, she depressed the buckle on her seatbelt, but kept it around her. Careful not to slow to reveal her intention, she watched for the gate. She spotted the sign prohibiting entry into the staff parking lot of the police department. Taking a breath, she laid on the horn and jerked a hard right into the lot.
Dale fell over. She heard a thunk when his gun toppled to the floor. “Fucking bitch!” he yelled.
She slammed on the brake, pushed open her door, and leaped out with the car still rolling. It crashed into a parked vehicle.
An officer rushed out of the building. “What the hell—”
“He’s got a gun!” Abby screamed.
Controlled chaos ensued. In a flash, shouting policemen with weapons surrounded her car. She was hustled out of line of possible fire. She couldn’t see Dale anymore, but she sensed the danger, and then the release of it when he surrendered by throwing the gun out the window.
As the police dragged him away in handcuffs, he shot her a look of betrayal. I can’t believe you did this to me.
Delusional. Would he ever be able to climb out of the pit into which he’d fallen? Despite the hour of terror he’d subjected her to, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. Love, respect—those he’d killed long ago. But pity remained.
* * * *
&n
bsp; Harris sprawled on his sofa, trying to focus on a TV program, when his cell began to play. The Lauder residence number popped up. Abby! The tension dogging him for days relaxed, but then a slow anger unfurled. She’d refused to answer his calls.
“Abigail,” he tersely answered the phone.
“Harris, it’s Quincy Lauder.”
He sat up straight. “Yes, Mrs. Lauder—Aunt Quincy.”
“I’m so sorry for calling you this late.” Her usual bright, cheery voice quavered.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said. “What’s wrong?” He kept his voice even, calm, but his heart thumped. He could think only of one reason why Quincy Lauder would call him this late in the evening.
“Abby never came home.”
He shot off the couch. “How late is she?”
“Several hours. I expected her before dark.”
The sun had set three, four hours ago.
“You tried calling her, of course?”
“Somebody else answered her cell.”
“What?”
“She phoned me before she left Denver. I tried her cell, and a stranger answered. Said he’d found her mobile lying in the street. I’m worried, Harris.”
He was too, but he couldn’t let it show. He had to remain calm and in control for both of them. For Abby. “How long ago did you speak to her?”
“About five hours ago.”
Fuck. “Did you call the police?”
“No. I didn’t think it would do any good.”
She was right. Corbin’s Bend didn’t require policing, the co-op board pretty much ran the town. And calling Denver PD was pointless. No one would follow up on an adult a few hours tardy who’d lost her cell phone.
And he hoped that’s all it was—a case of a lost phone. Car trouble.
“I’ll go look for her,” he said. “Probably she’s stuck on the highway shoulder with a flat tire.” He forced conviction into his tone. He needed to believe that. “You have my cell number—call me if you hear from her.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Harris grabbed his keys and dashed out.
Crawling at twenty miles per hour below the speed limit, he swept his gaze left and right for signs of Abby’s car. Although only exits were lit, a near full moon shone, which enabled Harris to get a make on the vehicles that zoomed past and scan the shoulder for disabled ones. Ten miles out of Corbin’s Bend, still no sign. Too soon to worry, but his hope flagged anyway.
