Winter's Secret

by Lyn Cote

  Wendy woke with a start. She'd fallen asleep in the rocker. What woke her? She glanced out the window and saw Kane getting into his truck. Oh no! Jumping up, she raced silently down the steps to the living room.

  Rodd was already at the window. "Blast it," he breathed in a low voice. "He's crazy."

  "He must have had an extra key. He probably woke up and thought he'd slept it off and decided to head home." Wendy hurried to Rodd and peered out the window. "He won't get far. By now the roads will be drifted shut."

  "Where's his place?"

  "Just east of here. He'll stay on this road until his mailbox; then there's a short access lane to his trailer."

  "It's good I didn't undress." Rodd sat down on the couch and started pulling on his boots. "I have to go after him."

  She wanted to object but held her peace. Of course Rodd had to go after him. Long before he reached home, Kane would be mired in a snowdrift and stranded; he could die of exposure before morning. The thought sent a shiver through her. "You'll take your snowmobile?"

  Rodd nodded, then headed for the back hall. "I've got my stuff here."

  Fretting, Wendy followed him and watched him pull on his shiny black-and-white snowmobile gear, including a face mask and helmet. "I should come with you."

  "If I need you, I'll call. Stay by the phone."

  "Promise?" She caught his eye.

  "Promise. And say a prayer for God to protect that fool from himself." As Rodd let himself out, a frigid blast of air burst in.

  Her arms folded, Wendy stepped to the back-door window and, on tiptoe, watched Rodd enter the metal machine shed and lift the overhead door. He barreled out on his snowmobile. The snow surged in white veils around him. She began praying.

  While she waited, she stoked the low fire in the hearth to warm up the chilled living room. Then she stood by the front windows, looking down the lane to the country road in front of her grandfather's house. As the frenzied storm rampaged over the sleeping landscape, the snow swirled into higher and higher drifts like ocean waves. Shivering, she paced in front of the window.

  The phone rang. She ran to it, lifting it on the second ring, not wanting to wake anyone else.

  "Wendy!" Rodd's voice came through heavy static. "Kane wrapped his truck around a telephone pole."

  Shock tingled through her. "How bad is he?"

  "He's breathing. His nose is pouring out blood. Must be broken. I need you to come and see if I can move him back to Harlan's. I called the ambulance, but they can't get out. The roads are closed till morning."

  Her heart pounded. "Where are you?"

  "About a mile down the road east."

  "I'll be right there."

  "Be careful. I'd come back for you, but I'm afraid he might do something stupid like try to get out of the truck and wander off."

  "I'm on my way." Wendy hung up and ran to the back hall to pull on her navy blue snowmobile suit. She hurried outside. The frigid night tried to suck the warmth from her. Icy snow flung itself into her eyes. The wind buffeted her, trying to sweep her off her feet. She fought her way to her grandfather's large machine shed, rattling metallically in the gale. Inside, she swept off the tarp over her grandfather's machine. She straddled the snowmobile and slid in the key. The motor vroomed to life. She eased it around the pickup and out into the snowy night. Her first time out on the snowmobile this year, she took it easy as she skirted the pasture fence.

  She kept her mind focused on the snow under her machine. She didn't want to hit a low spot and kill her engine. Rodd and Kane needed her--now. In the raging snow, it took all her concentration to keep the snowmobile on track, following the fence line. Finally, up ahead, she glimpsed Kane's red truck smashed into a pole. She pulled up and cut her engine next to Rodd's snowmobile.

  Rodd turned to meet her as she plunged through the knee-deep snow. He motioned her to the open door of the pickup. "He'd have killed himself if the snowdrift hadn't slowed him down!" Rodd shouted above the frenzy of the wind.

  Wendy peeled off her insulated gloves and pushed in between Rodd and Kane within the shelter of the open truck door. With Rodd shielding her back with his body, she quickly examined Kane's nose, opened his drowsy eyes, checked his pulse, slipped her hand into his fleece-lined jacket to check his chest for broken ribs, then slid her hands down his frame checking for broken legs and ankles. "Kane!" she shouted. "Can you feel your feet?"

  "Yeeaaah."

  "Do you think you can walk?" she demanded.

  Kane flapped his head in a sluggish nod. "Need help."

  She turned to Rodd and shouted close to his face, "We've got to get him back to my grandfather's. I don't think he has any broken ribs or has injured his spine. He may have internal injuries, but we can't get him to the clinic in this." She stepped out of the way. "Get him out and onto your machine."

  She slogged over to her grandfather's 'bile and uncoiled the length of nylon rope he always kept wound around the seat. She returned to Rodd, who was helping Kane straddle the snowmobile. She motioned Rodd to get on behind Kane; then she looped the rope in a large slipknot under both their arms and cinched it in front, giving Rodd the knotted end. "That should help. Kane, hold on tight! Sheriff, I'll follow you."

  "Get on your machine. I won't leave till you're on your way!" Rodd shouted.

  "Don't worry!" She climbed through the shifting snow to her seat and piloted the snowmobile around toward home. Her winter gear was holding in her body heat, but the oppressive cold enveloped her, a life-threatening force. Keeping an eye on her patient, she raced off after the sheriff, the snow sliding under and whooshing up behind her like a tail.

  She sped through the gray black night. The frigid wind beat against her, nearly stealing her breath away. She huddled behind the shelter of the windshield and breathed in through her nose, warming her air. She clung to the snowmobile as if her life depended on it. Because it did.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Back in Grandfather's snug basement, still in their snowmobile suits, Rodd and Wendy laid Kane on the foldaway bed after Rodd had half carried him down the stairs. In spite of her heavy fatigue, Wendy did another, more thorough examination of the half-conscious man, feeling for tender spots, asking him if her touch hurt. She straightened up. "I think he's managed to come through this with only a banged-up face and a couple of cracked ribs."

  Rodd dusted off his hands. He'd just added more wood to the basement stove. "The snow slowed him before the impact and he was still drunk—as limp as a rag doll—so he didn't break anything." Rodd shook his head. "The luck of the crazy."

  Wendy sighed, gratitude flooding her, making her feel weak. "We can go upstairs. He doesn't show any signs of internal bleeding or even a concussion. Normally we'd take him in anyway. But tonight, going out would be life threatening for all of us. I'll still come down and check him hourly till morning, though."

  "How about some coffee then?" Rodd offered. "I'll make it."

  She smiled as she led him upstairs. "Did someone tell you about my coffee-making abilities?"

  "Only everyone." He grinned.

  "So ... I'm not made for kitchen work." She felt the heady release from the tension after dealing with this emergency. They both peeled off their snowmobile suits and hung them on the highest hooks in the small rear hall. Rodd filled up the confining space around her, making it difficult for her to take a breath.

  In stocking feet, they prowled around the kitchen, Rodd making coffee and Wendy getting out more of Ma's chocolate chip cookies, both of them trying not to wake anyone. And, Wendy noted, both careful not to come too close to each other. Was Rodd fighting attraction just as she was?

  Kane's gravelly snores were already wafting up from the basement when Wendy led Rodd into the living room lit only by firelight. He put Grandfather's red Christmas coffee mugs on the table and went to stir up the low fire. He added two more logs, and the orange flames circled them eagerly. Pinesap snapped and crackled in the fire.

  Wendy felt a little fu
nny sitting down among the sheets and blankets that Rodd had been sleeping in earlier. It seemed too intimate somehow. But she couldn't say that—it would only expose her sharp perception of him.

  Rodd settled himself beside her and murmured, "I should call in and see if I'm needed."

  The solid weight of him dipped the sofa cushions and threatened to send her closer to him. She squirmed, trying to lever herself away. "Wouldn't they call you?" she whispered back.

  "Yes, but—"

  "But you think you should be there making certain everything is all right?" Gravity won. She let herself slip the few inches to the spot next to him.

  He looked at her. "I know it sounds silly. Like I could do anything in a storm like this."

  "We just saved Kane Thorpe from dying of exposure. In this blizzard, you couldn't help anyone very far away. We had to follow Grandfather's fence line or we could have gotten lost out there ourselves."

  "You're right." Rodd nodded, but reluctantly.

  Shadows cast by the flickering fire leaped and danced on the ceiling. The moaning of the blizzard only made the nest of blankets on the couch cozier. Wendy gave in to the delicious moment. She leaned her head back against the soft sofa and propped her feet on the coffee table. Sipping her coffee, she concentrated on its flavor, trying to block her sensitivity to Rodd.

  Beside her, Rodd took a long swallow and lifted his stocking feet onto the coffee table too. A sideways glance at him in the firelight revealed that the relaxing moment was having its effect on him. His shoulder rested beside hers. He settled his mug on one thigh.

  She decided it was now or never. They were alone, at ease, and could talk without interruption. Putting down her mug, she chose her words with care. "I'm sorry Veda McCracken decided to open up your past. She's the kind of person who collects nasty facts about people and saves them for when she can use them to inflict the most pain. I guess that years ago she read about you and that case in the Milwaukee Journal. There're always a few copies at the cafe every day."

  Wendy held her breath, waiting to see if he would open up and talk to her or not. Would he?

  "Yes, it was in the paper at the time." Rodd's voice sounded rough even to his own ears. He took another swallow of coffee and looked at Wendy. In the low light, she glowed like some classical portrait of a heavenly being, the golden highlights in her hair like a halo, her fair complexion, the pale ivory of her blouse tucked into snug jeans. So lovely. So innocent. Yet she knew firsthand how Veda McCracken's venom could sting and burn.

  He struggled with his reluctance. But he'd kept this inside so long. The regret had become a knot within him that he couldn't untangle. Maybe voicing it could help him loosen it. "I thought I'd put that... experience ...disaster far in the past." He set his mug on the coffee table. "I learned from it."

  "What really happened? I can't rely on Veda's account."

  He gazed at her, drinking in her sweetness, her natural charm, her honest concern. He leaned back again, letting himself settle close beside her deceptive softness again. A man could trust Wendy with the burden of his soul. "I was just a rookie cop My partner and I were the first ones on the scene of a home invasion and murder." He fell silent, seeing the scene come up before his eyes. He'd never found a corpse before. It had shaken him, made him uncertain.

  He drew in a deep breath. "I had studied the procedure for crime-scene preservation backwards and forwards if no one's life was in danger and no suspect was present, we were to call for a crime-scene investigator and stand watch to preserve the crime scene as is. I tried to call for backup, but my partner said no, he wanted to look around first." Rodd stared into the flickering orange flames. "I knew that wasn't correct procedure—not in a big-city police department. MPD had specialists trained to examine murder scenes."

  Wendy rejoiced at every word he spoke, knowing that his speaking of it could help him release the guilt. "Why did he do that?" she prompted.

  He glanced at her, then at the steady fire. "He had been at this house before. It had been a meth lab previously. He thought he knew who the thief was. He went over everything, walking where he shouldn't have, lifting things. He nearly drove me nuts. Finally he let me call for backup and left me to watch the scene while he followed up on the guy he suspected."

  "Yes?" She let herself lean even closer to him on the sofa, giving him her silent encouragement.

  "When the detective came, I told him what my partner had done. What else could I do?" Rodd's voice hardened. "He asked me and I told the truth. He was really hot, said my partner never learned."

  "Your partner got into trouble?"

  He nodded. "Yeah, and since the crime scene had been compromised by the delay and by his prowling around, a lawyer who knew his stuff got the case thrown out of court. The thief walked. My partner and I were reprimanded."

  She grieved for him and searched for a way to ease his self-reproach. "Maybe they didn't arrest the right man—"

  His voice, hard and quick, interrupted her. "The detectives arrested the right guy and the worst part of all ..." He paused. "Even Veda doesn't know the worst. ..."

  Wendy touched his sleeve, such a soft feminine wisp of a touch. He longed for understanding, for absolution. "The worst was that the suspect my mistake let off, murdered again—a woman and her three children. A SWAT team finally took him out."

  The stark words seared Wendy like hot razors. He'd suffered so. She turned to him and leaned her forehead against his. "Rodd," she whispered, "how awful for you."

  "I'm not the one who was killed—"

  "But you've carried the guilt ... for years. Needlessly. You made a mistake. You were just a rookie."

  "I still knew my duty and I didn't do it."

  She pulled back a few inches and looked into his troubled eyes. "Rodd, you aren't perfect. No one expects you to be. And you shouldn't expect it of yourself."

  He shook his head slowly. "Wendy, I can't forget the faces of the people he murdered. Because of my mistake, four lives were lost. A man lost his wife and kids."

  She touched his shoulder. "It wasn't your fault alone—"

  "Yes it was." He pulled away and stood up. "I can't duck responsibility just because my partner was more experienced. I knew what I was supposed to do. And I should have done it regardless of what my partner said."

  Bereft of him, Wendy rose and followed him. How could she help him put this into perspective? She stared into the blue flames deep in the hearth. "Don't you think I know how you feel?" She motioned toward the back hall. "I checked Kane over as well as I could, but I don't know if he has injuries that I couldn't detect. If the roads weren't closed and there wasn't a blizzard outside, I'd take him in for X rays. I'm a nurse, not a doctor. I had to weigh the danger of possible undetected injury against more damage or even death to my patient and us—if we tried to get him to town on the snowmobile."

  "That's not the same as my failing to do my job. Maybe God's just bided his time and is punishing me now—"

  "No, Rodd. God doesn't work that way. You and I have jobs where we make life-and-death calls. But we're not God, so sometimes we have to live with a wrong choice made in the urgency of the moment. That level of responsibility sometimes threatens to overwhelm me."

  Their gazes locked. "But I go on because God called me to this life. I've always felt I was born to be a nurse. That's just part of what I am, who I am. Someone like Veda doesn't understand that. She's too tied up in her petty, nasty little world—"

  Rodd suddenly pulled Wendy to him and wrapped himself around her. She twined her arms behind his back, reveling in his warmth, his touch. "I understand, Rodd. I—"

  He bent his head and kissed her.

  She realized she'd been craving his kiss for a long time. Joy surging with each beat of her heart, she kissed him back, not wanting his touch to end, willing him to go on. His lips moved over hers, strong but not insistent—almost tentative as though she might evaporate. She tugged him closer, wanting to comfort him with her warmth. He resp
onded and his tenderness brought tears to her eyes.

  He pulled back and cupped her face in his hands so he could see deep into her eyes. "I didn't have the right—"

  "I wanted you to kiss me," she said the truth, plain and simple.

  He grinned. "That's my Wendy—straight to the point. I've fought wanting to kiss you for weeks now. I don't know why I waited." He gazed into her eyes as though searching her soul. "I've never known anyone like you."

  Her face grew warm. She tried to look away. But he held her gently and lifted her chin. "You're so good. It sounds funny to say that, but you are good to people, good to be with, good to look at."

  Uncomfortable with his praise, she tried to pull away again. "I'm not—"