“Always.” He gently clipped her chin with his knuckles. “Lock the door behind me, please.”
Nora walked him to the door and watched him get inside his vehicle, then she closed her door and locked it. Coffee didn’t sound as good as tea. Calming tea to soothe her nerves.
She headed into the kitchen, straight into a dark-clad figure.
TWELVE
Nora froze at the sight of the man standing in the kitchen, dressed head to toe in black. He came at her and it jerked her into motion.
She pivoted and ran from the kitchen into the living room, heading for the front door. Not to escape but to lure him out of the house and away from Dalton.
Reaching the sofa, he tackled her and they crashed on top of the coffee table, knocking magazines and a vase of flowers to the floor. A searing pain shot up her back, already sore from the car accident.
He shoved her face into the rug as he sat on her back like a weight. She struggled for the crystal vase as the attacker’s hands wrapped around her throat and squeezed.
She got her fingers around a broken section and stabbed it into her assailant’s gloved hand gripping her throat.
He howled as she ripped through the material, hitting flesh, and he released his grip. She slashed his other gloved hand. Managing to wiggle out from under him, she shot to her feet and raced to the front door. She couldn’t leave him here alone with Dalton. Couldn’t stay in the house with the child upstairs.
She paused and faced him.
“Is that all you got? Because you’re going to have to put me in a snowy grave to stop me!” Hoping her false bravado didn’t show the real fear burning through her, she looked her attacker dead in his dark eyes. Dark eyes!
He pulled a hunting knife and acid lurched into her throat. He bounded toward her like she’d intended but now this plan seemed futile. She slid across the porch, leaped down the steps to avoid ice, jarring her back and feeling every move in her stiff muscles. Bolting through the snow, Nora pressed toward the tree line. If she could get into the thatch of woods, she might be able to lose him, and once she broke through to the other side, the resort and lodge wouldn’t be that far off. The stables were close and sleigh rides would be in full swing. Someone would see her. Help her.
But she had to make it there first.
Mr. Dressed In Black was hot on her heels and wielding a really big knife.
Wind whipped and stung her face, her lungs burned from gulping eight-degree air. Adrenaline kept her moving, kept her from paying too much attention to the pain in every stride.
She made it to the tree line but tripped over a log and face-planted in a drift of snow. Fighting to get up, she stumbled again and righted herself, barely dodging her attacker.
Screaming for help and continuing to zigzag through the evergreens, Nora felt the man closing in on her. God, if You can save me from plummeting over the side of a mountain, You can rescue me now and keep Dalton safe!
Hopefully, her prayers would be heard. Hanging a sharp right, she slipped between the narrow trees, squeezing through. He might have to go an alternate route and if so, Nora would make it to safety.
Ella Fitzgerald crooned, “Sleigh Ride” on the wintry air. She was close to the stable. She could taste freedom.
A hand grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her to the ground so hard she bit her tongue.
He raised the knife.
She grabbed a gnarly branch.
As he brought it down, she whacked him in the head.
The knife fell from his grasp and he toppled over, unmoving.
She hadn’t knocked him out, only stunned him.
Move. Move. Move. Nora forced her exhausted, protesting body to get up and get going. Before she bolted, she grabbed the knife, then fled for safety at Pine Refuge.
Tourists laughed as they imbibed hot cocoa, listened to Christmas carols and climbed into sleighs with quilts and foot warmers, never once realizing a woman had been screaming and running for her life in the woods only yards from them.
She made it to the stable and stumbled inside. A phone on the wall would give her a direct line to Dad’s office. Picking it up, she rang him.
“Yes,” Dad said.
“Daddy. Daddy, it’s me. Come...” She dropped the phone and collapsed on the stable floor. When she awoke, she was in her bed at the chalet and Dad was sitting beside her. Rush stood behind him, worry in his eyes.
“Hey, hon. How do you feel?”
Confused. Exhausted. Hanging by one little thread. “Dalton?” she asked, her throat gritty.
“He’s fine.” Rush handed her a cup of water that was on the nightstand. “Here, drink this.”
She accepted it, feeling the warmth of his fingers discreetly brushing hers and giving her security. “What happened?” The last thing she remembered was calling Dad from the stable phone.
Dad patted her leg. “You called me and said, ‘Come,’ then the line went dead. I ran out to the stable and found you passed out. John was with you.”
The stable hand.
“You had a knife and blood on your hand. I sent John to Dalton. Brought you here.”
Nora scooted up in bed and sipped her water again. “Someone was in the kitchen, Rush. When you left I went to make tea and he was there.” She finished telling them what happened and how she led the attacker away from the house to protect Dalton. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come back to the main house. I should have brought Dalton to the offices—”
“He’s safe. You were very brave, hon. And Hailey is grateful. She’s with Dalton right now.”
Grateful? She ought to be fuming. Nora had inadvertently put her nephew in danger. “I didn’t see his whole face, but his eyes were dark.”
“Good. That’s good,” Rush murmured.
“Ward McKay has dark eyes. Troy Parsons has dark eyes too,” she said.
“Troy Parsons?” Dad asked and looked at Rush. “What is going on?”
Rush frowned. “A lot of men have dark eyes. Your dad for one, and do you think he attacked you? Let’s not go off half-cocked again just yet.”
“Why would Troy Parsons want to hurt Nora?” Joshua asked.
Rush scowled again, then gave Nora a “now what are you going to do” look.
How to explain? Nora was going to have to wound her father. She should have kept her mouth shut and not been so open with her opinion like Rush had been insisting.
“He...he was seen meeting with Mom a few times before she disappeared. At Mac’s.”
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm...” Standing, he shook Rush’s hand. “Keep me abreast of the situation, Rush. And keep my baby safe.” He stalked out of the room, blinking too fast and nostrils flaring.
“You see why I’m careful with my words, Nora? Now he has that image along with so many others to battle through.”
Nora closed her eyes. “I’m exhausted, and I should have thought first, spoke second.”
Rush sighed and sat on the side of the bed, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. “Nora, you could have been killed.”
“While you were called away by Troy. Convenient.”
“Possibly. But we don’t know for sure.”
She wasn’t up for another argument. “Give me my laptop. I need to finish my weather research.”
“Right now, you’re going to sleep, and I’m going to keep watch. End of story.”
He had the no-nonsense face her dad used to have when she asked to go somewhere that wasn’t going to bring anything good. “Fine.”
Rush eyed her, suspicious.
“What? I said I’d sleep. I’ll sleep,” she insisted.
His smirk was like a tickle to her ribs, and she grinned. “If I come back in here and you’re not sleeping...”
“You’ll what?” she flirted. After all that had happened and knowing they were a l
ost cause, she couldn’t help it.
His smirk slid into a full-on lady-killer grin. “I’ll—” he seemed to be hunting for a punishment that might fit the crime “—be disappointed.”
She half laughed. “I’ve been living with disappointment most of my life, Rush. You can’t scare me.”
He leaned in as if he were going to kiss her. His lips were mere inches from hers, his hands resting on either side of the fluffy pillow she was propped up on. Panic sent her heart thrumming. He searched her eyes. “You look scared right now.”
She swallowed, couldn’t find her voice.
His warm, minty breath filled her senses with anticipation and a heavy dose of alarm. If he kissed her again she’d never recover.
“If I come back in here, Nora Beth, and catch you doing anything but sawing logs...” His eyes revealed exactly what he’d do, what he wanted to do right this second. He slowly came closer. One pucker and they’d make contact. “Just give me a reason,” he whispered.
Her brain screamed, “Run.” Her heart shouted, “Do it! Kiss me!”
“You’d regret it,” she murmured back.
“Probably, but not until it was too late to take it back.”
This was not the way to make her sleep. This was a great way to keep her awake for days! Months. Years. It wasn’t only that Rush was an amazing kisser; he’d had years to practice it to perfection on her. They’d been each other’s first kiss.
This felt like a first kiss kind of anticipation mixed with a measure of fear and excitement. It would do wild things to her physically, but what had her stomach in butterflies was what she’d feel emotionally. The way Rush would pour out his love and affection for her. Like he had so many times before. It had made her feel like she could be anyone. Do anything. That she was his alone. Those kisses had been full of beauty and promise.
Right now, something crackled between them. More than attraction. Enough to make her want to cry. Hope mixed with the tragic reality that they no longer had hope for a future and it was surely the only thing suspending Rush from dipping lower and exploring her lips.
It would be excruciating on them both when she left. Rush would have to deal with the heartache of watching her leave again—he’d said it himself. But he seemed willing to risk the pain of the future for the joy of the present.
A kiss wouldn’t last. It would be over too soon, and they’d be met with waves of confusion. She was already confused enough. Rush loved her. She loved Rush. And love—well love wasn’t enough to hold them together. It never had been.
“We were good at this once,” Rush whispered.
“We were, but we weren’t good at the rest of it.” She wasn’t good at the rest of it. Opening up. Sticking around when things got tough. “I wasn’t. I’ll own up to that. I may never be.” She knew she needed a change. But she’d run and cocooned herself for so long, she wasn’t sure change could be made. And she refused to hurt Rush in the trying process.
His cloudy brown eyes cleared and pain pulsed in them. He tipped up his lips and gently placed a kiss on her forehead. “Get some sleep.”
Yeah, right.
He turned at the door. “I’m sorry, Nora. Knowing you were out there being chased by a man with a knife...in the cold. Alone. You could have died and I...I lost it because I can’t imagine a world where you’re not in it. Even if you’re not with me...I want you around for a long time.” Emotion clogged his voice, and tears bloomed in her eyes. She didn’t have anything but a nod in her.
He quietly closed the door. When she was sure he was in the kitchen and not coming back, she snatched her laptop and powered it up. She had a few weather sites she needed to browse and sleep was not going to happen no matter what he said, or how hard she tried.
* * *
Rush collapsed on the couch, staring out the window as the snow fell, leaving a fresh, untouched surface. A clean slate. Any mud, tracks, divots had all been covered with a sheet of white as if nothing lay beneath it. Nothing dark, nothing muddy.
Like God’s mercy.
New every morning.
And yet they all lived as though there was none. As if their own lives weren’t like fresh fallen snow, pure and white each and every morning they woke. Dad still hung on to his guilt for mistakenly accusing Randy of soliciting. Nora still clung to the belief that she couldn’t truly be herself to be loved wholly. Rush’s love hadn’t been enough to convince her. God, may Your love do that. Please open her eyes to see that there’s nowhere she can go, nothing she can do that will keep You from loving her.
What about Rush? Was he showing mercy? Man’s mercy—yes. The kind where Rush offered enough to make things civil between him and Nora, but that was it. He hadn’t forgotten how much heartache Nora had inflicted in the past. He wouldn’t attempt to ask for a chance at something new. He couldn’t risk it. But how was that new mercy? How was that fresh grace like new snow? His grace, his mercy still had faint footprints of pain, reminding him that it could only be doled out in small measures.
Did that mean he was being cautious or fearful?
Did that mean he wasn’t trusting God with his heart? Was he leaving whether he found joy or sorrow up to Nora—up to himself?
He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to dig further or allow God to reveal any truths. If Rush let God do that, he’d be responsible for working through it. And Rush wasn’t ready to deal with working through his feelings for Nora. He wished it would stop snowing. That he wouldn’t have to keep seeing it laid fresh. That he wouldn’t have to fight tooth and nail to keep his heart safe.
Everything was piling up. Work. Troy’s possible involvement. A relentless killer bent on shutting Nora up for life. Did this guy realize if he murdered Nora, Rush would never stop coming after him? He’d make it his life’s mission to find him and put him away until he stopped breathing. Did this killer think he was so cunning that Rush wouldn’t find him? That he would get away scot-free? Because he wouldn’t.
Rush glanced at Nora’s bedroom door. He didn’t for one second think she was sleeping. No, she was probably on the internet right this moment searching past weather conditions and digging around social media sites for clues. But he couldn’t go in there. He’d told her what would happen if he did.
And he’d follow through if he walked in there.
Rush would kiss her, pour out his heart, and it would hurt because she’d pour hers right back. She could never withhold her feelings from him—not in a kiss. Thinking about it was only going to drive him mad.
He jumped up and put more wood on the fire, the wood smoke comforting him some. The flames warming him, but only so far. A knock on the door came. He drew his piece and looked out the window.
Troy.
The last person he wanted to see. But the one person he needed to see most. Rush was afraid of the truth. Afraid that another mentor and man he considered a father would disappoint him. Nora said she’d been disappointed so much she was used to it. So was Rush. But he didn’t want disappointment to be the norm. Didn’t want to expect everyone and everything to let him down. That was no way to live. But to choose the other meant exposing himself and being vulnerable.
Rush holstered his weapon and opened the door. “Troy. What are you doing here?”
“I heard what happened to Nora. Thought I’d come by and check on her. On you.” He peeked inside. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” He motioned Troy inside. “Have a seat.”
Troy looked around. “I’ve never been to the chalets before.”
“They’re state-of-the-art,” Rush said.
Sitting on a wingback chair by the hearth, Troy leaned forward. “What can you tell me about what happened? Did she see who did it?”
Rush wasn’t sure if Troy was asking as a concerned friend, the sheriff or someone working against them. “He was wearing all black, including a ski mask.” Did he t
ell Troy about the knife? The attacker was wearing gloves but they might be able to get prints. He hated not knowing if he could trust this man. If he accused him of sinister things, Rush would not only lose Troy’s endorsement for his run for sheriff, he’d lose a friend and mentor.
But he had to know.
“Troy, did you have any kind of relationship with Marilyn that you might not want to admit?” Rush’s stomach knotted.
Troy’s bushy eyebrows rose, and then he frowned. “Are you asking me if I betrayed my wife of thirty-two years? If I put my family at risk of falling apart over a fling with a woman who had flings with just about anyone? You really want to ask me that?”
Rush sighed. “I don’t want to believe it. But I have to ask. Because the manager at Mac’s said he saw you in there with Marilyn on a few occasions before the masquerade ball. It’s my duty to follow up.”
The sheriff rolled his signature toothpick around his lips. “I didn’t have an affair with Marilyn Livingstone. You have my word on that. I love Betty. I’d never do anything to hurt her or Dan.”
Troy held Rush’s gaze. The chalet was quiet except for the wind outside and firewood popping in the fireplace. Rush wanted to believe him. “Then what were you meeting with Marilyn about?”
Sighing, Troy stood. “I wasn’t. The only thing I’m guilty of is going out of town to have a beer. That’s my only betrayal where Betty is concerned. Her father was an alcoholic, and she didn’t want me having a drink. Not even one beer after a rough day, but some days...some days called for an ice-cold glass of relaxation. I’d go to Mac’s and have it.”
“And Marilyn?”
“Marilyn was there often. Did I ever sit down and chat with her? Yes, because she was actually a nice person, and she didn’t judge me sneaking around to have a drink, but then why would she? She was there sneaking around, I suspect, too. I saw her a few times with Ward McKay. But that wasn’t new information.”
Rush wanted desperately to trust Troy’s explanation. “Then why did the manager say you were with her?”
“I was. Sitting at a table for a while. I suppose like other men who met her there. But I promise nothing untoward happened, and I was probably wrong to do it. Clearly, it gave the impression I was one of her side-suitors. I wasn’t. Marilyn wasn’t a pariah. I don’t know what she was or why she stepped out on Joshua so often.”
Cold Case Christmas Page 14
