Sara had eight years of freedom she shouldn’t have been able to enjoy; a full eight years of life this man’s wife lost, due to her reckless, careless disregard of another.
Eight long years she looked over her shoulder, wondering when she might be caught; even if she would ever get caught or if most had simply forgotten a day Sara could never forget.
She’d tried to end her life inside that motel room, but something kept her alive—someone kept her alive.
The papers had called the accident a hit and run with no eyewitnesses. Sara had made certain of that. From the moment of impact, rounding a curve at nearly the speed of light, became the moment her life as a free woman ceased to exist. Physically, she stayed free. Mentally, however, Sara was trapped into one single second.
She’d ditched her car into a lake thirty miles away from the accident scene only to have made certain she stayed free. She’d purchased another vehicle. She moved to a new town. She became someone she never wanted to be, with a career that mocked her true ambitions and goals.
Sara had planned her life down the tiniest of detail whence waking up in that motel room and still very much alive. All those plans disappeared by one fatal mistake, on one terribly miscalculated night.
Placed from one foster home to another, she’d found a way to get out of the system. Still whole, still physically intact, the only thing she’d wanted to happen that night was to be able to protect herself from her newest foster father wanting to prove himself a man. She’d turned old enough for him to start acting and doing things that seemed wrong to her. She hadn’t felt safe when in his care. She’d had no one to turn to, and no one who would even listen to her complaints.
The moment he came into her room that night, Sara knew what had to be done. She’d been young, vulnerable, and foolish. But she wasn’t stupid. Perhaps she had turned him on, as he had said on more than one occasion. Perhaps it was her fault that she grew up and turned his eye. Perhaps she would have deserved his attentions if she’d stayed.
Life so unkind, the only escape from that life was to run from it. To get away . . . she ran away. She took her car, what little money she’d saved of her own, and drove West . . . never once did she look back.
Hoping to get as far as she could before she ran out of gas, she never saw the other vehicle until too late. The rain heavy, fury dropping from the darkened sky, she’d been blinded—inside and out.
Her car nearly bounced one hundred fifty feet from the other vehicle upon initial impact.
Sara walked away due to wearing her seatbelt. A lot of bruising and deep cuts; it was only the hours after the accident that had hurt so much; the psyche, that suffered the most.
Beale Mohr hadn’t been as lucky. Her car crumpled into an unrecognizable chunk of mangled metal and broken glass when impacted by Sara’s car, it was then projected into a cluster of pine trees.
Five full days later, when coherent and capable of function without vomiting, and Sara still very much alive, was when she realized all the news reports were about her and what she’d done to another human being. By then it was too late to turn back, reset time, and wish things had gone so differently for her life.
Fate was cruel. But God working with fate, life lived became far crueler. Destiny had screwed with fate.
If she could somehow change the look on Christian’s face at this very moment . . . she would. If she could somehow make this all go away, perhaps pretend it never happened—she’d do whatever it took to make this happen.
But she would not have been able to live with herself by living an even longer lie. She wouldn’t be able to look him in the face, kiss his lips, tell him her every desire, think of them having any real future together, knowing she’d inadvertently killed his wife by vehicular homicide.
Over the last half hour, Sara had come to the slow realization she was going to lose everything she held dear. She already lost what little was called her own by fire. Now, she was about to lose a man she could easily fall in love with . . . simply by speaking the truth.
Not once had Sara attached her heart to any of her foster families. Not once had any of them wanted her on a more permanent basis. Not once had anyone shown her love or consideration . . . until she met Christian.
Sara said nothing to prevent unwarranted talk or unanswerable questions. And for eight long years she lived with this shame . . . and for it to come out now? To the one single person whose life she recklessly destroyed because of her fears?
Christian would never be able to understand the real circumstances or cause of that night. He was a man. Men protect each other to the death. Yet, if she did not tell him the truth now, when he’d asked for it, she could lose him all together.
Her head rose. Her eyes trapped deep blue pools staring into her soul. She looked right into the essence of Christian Mohr and knew everything was about to alter her world into completely unrecognizable.
Her hand rose and she set her palm aside his warmed cheek. The words, “I’m so sorry,” came out as a near whisper from the back of her throat.
Christian trapped her hand to his face with his own. Very gently, he placed his other to the side of her cheek. He took a deep breath, released it slowly, and upon the last morsel of air drawn into his lungs, he asked her again, “Where, Sara?”
Sara took her own deep breath, letting little of it out of her chest. “Exactly where your wife died.”
Christian snapped away from her as if by rubber band. His hands jammed through his hair, they then slid down the length of his face and settled around his neck. She knew he was checking his thoughts against his reactions to those thoughts. Yet, those thoughts must have collided quite violently inside his body, because he physically paled right before her very eyes.
Not once, in all her life, had Sara witnessed such a loss of blood flow from another’s face.
His blue gaze turned to her. “Are you telling me you’re the person responsible for my wife’s death?” He looked as though trying hard to believe this was even possible and somehow not quite able too.
Sara nodded.
“And that you said nothing to no one about what you did?”
Again, the nod of her head was made as the words stuck in her throat.
He turned from her. “Dear God, Sara! Do you know what you have done?”
“Of course I know what’s been done. And I am ever so sorry, Christian. You have to believe me . . . it was an accident. I never meant to hurt anyone.”
Christian turned so swiftly Sara had to take a step back. There was bitterness in his gaze and ice that filled his words.
“I don’t have to believe a bloody damn thing you say. What I must do is get away from you so I can think.” He made to do just that.
Sara stopped this hasty exit by the touch of her hand to his forearm. “Please, Christian? Please try to understand what I went through that night . . . how much I am so incredibly sorry for what happened. I never meant for it to happen.”
“But it did happen, didn’t it? You killed my wife. Then you ran away from the scene of an accident like a coward.” There was barely disguised disgust in his tone as he stared at her.
“Yes, Damnit, I ran! I can’t change time. And yes, it did happen. Every day of my life I wish it hadn’t. I wish I could get past this, close my eyes and forget, but it won’t leave me.” She tapped the side of her head, letting the tears fall at will. “Every day of my life I wish I wasn’t an orphan. Perhaps if I’d had a real family, life wouldn’t have been so cruel or so incredibly bitter.”
“And yet you’re so terribly innocent you did not think of the consequences to your actions?” Again, his words said far too venomously, Sara feeling the anger in every syllable.
“Of course I had thought of the consequences. I ran from all that was wrong in my life only to have made things much worse.”
“All that was wrong?” he rushed out, his fury temporarily unchecked.
“Yes, Christian. My foster father was going to ra—”
She stalled on the words about to come forth, for the look on his face told her he could not understand how she could hit someone with her car, then simply take off without having a gun held to her head. Had she even tried to explain what happened that night, or how she felt when her foster father came into her room, drunk and undressed . . . well, he wouldn’t be looking at her as he was.
She hadn’t just taken off, as he was trying to imply. She’d stopped, staggered up to the other vehicle, smelled the gas, would never, for all of eternity forget the stench of burning tires or the sweetened caress of pine, never again forget the face of a woman dead, trapped inside her car and covered in blood, her skull split apart, never again forget the horror she couldn’t shake from her brain.
Sara had gotten so completely scared out of her mind she’d barely held it together for days on end.
She’d done something truly unforgiveable in the eyes of law. Worse, she did something godless in the eyes of Christian.
“I know what I did . . . ,” she started with.
Christian stopped any excuses by using a firm raised hand in her face. “Was bloody hell wrong, Sara!”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” he questioned heartlessly. “Do you truly understand what must now be done due to your confession?”
“I told you this so you would understand.” She was watching a caged animal pace his own cell. “I told you this so you would know the truth, so there’d be no lies holding me back.”
Christian stopped dead in his tracks. He pinned her down by sight alone. “Why did you tell me this now? Why couldn’t you have just continued lying about it a little while longer? Perhaps until I was dead and it would not completely destroy everything I have ever thought of as real in my life.”
She openly glared. “Lie even longer? My God, Christian, what would that have gained me in return?”
“Me, damnit! It would have gained you me!”
“By way of a continued lie!”
“No, Sara. It would have been by my caring about what happens to you.” His hand jammed through his hair. “And I did care about you whether you believe it or not. I am perhaps the only person in this godforsaken town who did care about you.”
Sara took a step forward, feeling the tight pinch to her heart; the odd staggering that heart suddenly achieved.
Christian flinched, stepped away from her, and looking as if she was about to slap his face. Again, he held up his hand.
“No, Sara. I need to get away from you. I need to think. I need to clear my head. And I need to find a solution to this latest horror before it somehow can’t be fixed.”
“A woman died Christian. That is not something that can be fixed.”
Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for the expected explosion to erupt.
“Do you bloody hell think I don’t know that a woman died because of you? That woman, whether she was any good at it or not, was my wife! You killed her then ran from the scene like a simple, twit-less coward, with no conscience and a permanently blackened soul. Then you lied about it for eight long years.”
Sara just as easily lost her cool.
“You told me, only hours ago, you’re glad she died. You said she was unfaithful to you. You said she was carrying another man’s child. You told me . . .”
“You murdered her!”
Sara’s heart stopped cold. She could no longer focus on his face. She no longer felt warmth when near him. She no longer had the desire to be with someone judging her so wrongly, if this was how he felt. She hadn’t murdered his wife. It was a terrible accident. Unavoidable, yet inevitable, what happened was not premeditated murder. Surely he could see that.
But he was right. She should’ve kept up the lie until death took her from this world.
In that one single second, Sara knew she’d lost everything deemed valuable to her by finally telling someone the truth. Never again would she be such a fool.
“I guess I will gather my things then. You won’t have to deal with this—or me—any longer.” She made to do just that while barely able to hold herself upright on violently trembling limbs.
Christian moved forward, his hand snaked out, and he stopped her exit, probably done before he lost the chance to say exactly what was on his mind.
“No. You came here with nothing. You will leave with nothing.”
Her eyes turned to his. Was this true? He meant for her to leave with nothing?
“I want you out of my house within the next ten seconds. I find that my hospitality has run dry. I don’t care where you go. I don’t care where you land up. I don’t even care if you fall off the face of the earth into the darkening pits of Hell. But I do want you out of my sight within the next ten seconds. Is that understood?”
Sara yanked her arm free. “Understood perfectly, Reverend Mohr. I wouldn’t want to outstay my welcome.”
She took a deep breath, gathered her trembling body in the resemblance of holding it together, and with head held high staggered from the room. She’d been hurt before. This wouldn’t be the last time. But hurt this badly?
She would not allow Christian to see the violent trembling barely contained as she walked to the front door without any material possessions in hand. She wouldn’t let him see her tears as she turned the cold handle, opening the wood. She couldn’t let him see the anguish in her heart, as that heart was breaking in two and her feet crossed the threshold, gaining access to an even colder, crueler world.
Sara Ruby closed Reverend Mohr’s front door, walked off the front step of his home, and never looked back.
Chapter Eighteen
“Reverend Mohr? Can you spare a moment of your time?”
Christian glanced up from his work and found Chief Berken standing before him. He stood, rounded his desk, and shook the man’s hand.
“For you? Any moment you could ever desire.”
The chief nodded but seemed lost in thought. His hat was firmly grasped in his fingertips—nervous behavior, to a certain degree.
Christian offered the chief a cup of coffee.
“No. I, well, what I have come to ask you, Reverend Mohr . . . I might as well just come out and ask it.”
This confused Christian. Ceril Berken only called him Reverend Mohr when something terrible was about to happen. He offered the man a seat opposite his at the desk, instead of that coffee. Chief Berken found the offer to rest more than generous. He slumped onto the plush cushion as Christian again sat down in his chair.
“Well?” Christian started.
The chief looked him dead in the eyes. “It’s about Sara Ruby.”
Though his heart felt a huge jolt, Christian had to clear his throat. “What about her?”
“Any idea where she might be hiding, Reverend?”
Christian pushed from his desk. He had to look away to be able to speak it. “Um, no. You’re more than aware I sent her away five months ago. And more than aware I have no idea where she might be living.”
In fact, he hadn’t seen Sara Ruby in five agonizingly nightmarish months. He hadn’t heard about her, hadn’t been asked about her until today, and hadn’t once spoken her name aloud. His conscience however was an entirely different matter; screamed her name inside his head until hoarse.
“Care to tell me why she hasn’t contacted you?” Chief Berken prodded.
“No.” Christian told the man. “I do not.”
The chief nodded. “Well, if that’s the case—”
“What is this beating around the bush really about, Chief?” Christian demanded.
Chief Berken cleared his throat. He seemed uncomfortable seated in his chair, fidgeting about and swinging his hat back and forth. “I got the strangest phone call this morning—a woman caller, it was. She knew how to get past any caller ID we have in place, and she wouldn’t give her name, but clearly told me she was responsible for Beale’s death, and was going to turn herself in . . . yet not before she spoke to you.”
The chief waited for Christ
ian’s response to this.
Unfortunately, Christian had no response. He was too numb to comprehend Sara wanting to turn herself in . . . after all this time.
“This person, whoever it was . . . ,” he asked.
“Is going to be in a whole hell of a lot of trouble, Christian,” the chief told him.
“And if she doesn’t come forward?”
“We’ll find her. We have all our bases covered.”
Christian nodded. He understood the chief perfectly. Once Sara came back to Preacher’s Bend to talk to him, stepped foot over county lines, she would be arrested for the demise of his wife before any talk ever took place.
“And you think this caller was Sara Ruby?” he questioned, making it sound implausible.
“It would make perfect sense to her sudden disappearance out of your home.”
Christian had to hide his thoughts toward this. He knew why she left. He’d kicked her out of his house and out his life with nothing to her name. No clothes, no money, no home, and certainly no future.
He’d gone with the chief to Sara’s apartment about three weeks later. The place a crisp mess, he should have put more thought to the consequences of not allowing Sara to take any clothes with her. But he’d been angry beyond coherent thought.
When Berken and Christian stepped into the charred remains of Sara’s life, the only visible item undamaged had been the bowl he’d unwittingly given her. Covered in soot, it was still on the table near her door.
He’d taken it. It was now inside his home, locked away—until such a time he could actually face up to what he’d done. Not only what he’d done to Sara, but what he did to his own conscience. She’d needed forgiveness. He, in turn, showed her the fury of Hell.
“What do you really want me to say, Ceril?”
Chief Berken looked him dead to rites. “Is there something you know, something about why Sara Ruby left town so suddenly, that you and I haven’t discussed?”
Christian couldn’t quite muster up the courage to glare at his friend.
“If there is, I wouldn’t be capable of telling you, and you know this.”
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