The Runaway Pastor's Wife (33 page)

“Annie?” He whispered her name again. “Where am
I? Why are you here? I don’t understand—” He tried to sit up, the pain shooting
through his side again. “Ahhhh! What the—”

“Careful, take it easy. You’ve got some nasty
wounds. Don’t try to sit up.”

Panic washed over him. “What kind of wounds?
What are you talking about?”

Her eyes met his. “Gunshot wounds.”

The words lingered mid-air. He searched her face
while his mind raced through the obstacles of his memory.

“Michael, you’ve been through a lot. Don’t try
to make sense of everything just yet. There will be plenty of time—”

“But where am I? Is this your home?”

Her face broke into a nervous smile. “No, I
don’t live here. This is Christine’s cabin. Up in the mountains of
Colorado
,
remember?”

His eyes remained locked on hers, searching for
meaning. “Christine?”

And then the veil lifted. Thoughts pounced his
mind all at once. It all came rushing back. Elliot. The gunshots. The muscle
relaxers. The long, exhausting drive from
Texas
.

Fear instantly replaced confusion; he gripped a
wad of quilts. “Annie, you’ve got to help me.” He threw the covers back. “I’ve
got to get out of here. Help me get up and get my clothes on. Hurry!”

She grabbed both his wrists, pinning them to his
sides. “Stop it, Michael. Listen to me! You’re in no shape to go anywhere. Now
just calm down and sit still, will you?”

“Annie, I—”

“No! You have two gunshot wounds. The one in
your side was seriously infected by the time you got here.
If
Dr.
Wilkins hadn’t made it up here in time—”

“You called a doctor? No! That’s the
worst
thing
you could have done!”

“He saved your life, you big ox!” she yelled
back, planting her hands on her hips. “You’d be dead by now if he hadn’t
operated on you! He’s just a country doctor. He’s hardly going to place a call
to
America’s Most Wanted
.” For heaven’s sake, Michael. What did you do
anyway? Rob a bank?”

His eyes narrowed at her question. The fight
with Elliot replayed vividly in his mind. The flash of his
gun . . . the echo of his own scream . . . the
grinding wheel spinning in the dirt as he slammed his foot to the floorboard.
He shivered and tried to refocus on Annie.

“Michael? What’s the matter? What is it?”

Once the tremor passed, the fatigue began to
swallow him again. Too many facts muddled his mind too soon. He looked toward
the windows as he spoke. “It’s a long story, Annie.” He sighed. “A long story.”

She paused a moment, moving in his line of
vision to search his face. Her brow knit with concern as she busied herself
smoothing his covers. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” she began. “There’s a
blizzard outside, the power has been off for several hours, and the roads are
impassable. No one is within miles of this place. And since you and I are the
only ones up on this mountain, I figure I’m a captive audience. So why don’t I
get you something to eat and you can tell me all about it. The way I see it,
we’ve got all the time in the world.”

A sense of reassurance emanated from what she
said and the tenderness he saw in her face. For the first time in days, he felt
safe. At least for the moment. He reached out for her hand and squeezed it,
unable to express the deep gratitude he felt in his heart.

The wind offered an eerie serenade as the snow
continued to fall. The once warm and cozy cabin was now chilled to its very
foundation. The glow of the oil lantern on the bedside table dimmed as
nighttime once more stretched across the hidden horizon outside.

Michael spilled the bizarre details of his story
to Annie. She listened intently, stunned by the frightening reality of his
account. When at times he grew weary, she would make excuses to give him time
to rest. She made frequent trips to heat water for tea using the old Coleman
stove. When Michael expressed a hint of hunger, she warmed some chicken soup.
Through it all she remained calm on the outside, caring for his needs while
trying to mask the growing sense of terror as she listened to his tale. Her
unspoken prayers for protection and wisdom flowed with every breath.

“I remember pulling into the drive here and
seeing the lights on, but that’s all,” he finished, taking another sip of tea.

“That’s because you passed out head-first in the
snow at the foot of the porch. You scared me to death, Michael. I peeked out
the window and all I could see was a car with its headlights on and the
driver’s door standing wide open.”

“My Escalade! Where is it?”

“Doc pulled it into the garage once we had you
stabilized. Don’t worry, no one could have— ”

The phone sliced through her reassurance. Annie
reached for the receiver. “I’ll bet that’s him, even as we speak.”

“Hello? Yes! Dr. Wilkins! He’s awake!” She
watched Michael’s face cloud with concern with each piece of information she
relayed to the doctor.

When she hung up the phone, he questioned her
before she had a chance to speak. “Annie, how long have you known this man
anyway?”

“Only two or three days, I guess, but—”

“But nothing! For all you know, he could be in
touch with the local cops. He could be feeding them information—”

“No way. You’ve got him all wrong. He promised
not to tell anyone and I trust him. He’s a Marcus Welby, y’know? So relax about
him, okay? He’s the least of your worries.”

“Why did he call just now?”

“Because he hadn’t heard from me. I had promised
to call him and when you woke up, I just forgot.” Annie stopped, her hand
covering her mouth. “Oh no—I forgot to call David. He’ll be worried sick! I
haven’t called him since you got here.”

“Who’s David?”

“My husband,” she answered as if he should know.
“I promised to call him and it’s been—I don’t even know how many nights has it
been since I’ve called him. He must be so upset.”

She scrambled around the room in confusion
before landing back in her chair and reaching for the phone. “I can’t believe I
forgot to call him,” she mumbled, dialing the phone. She stopped. Her eyes
slowly tracked to Michael’s. Then, with a heavy sigh, she put the phone down.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I can’t call David. What would I tell him? ‘Oh
hello dear, sorry you haven’t heard from me but an old boyfriend showed up on
my doorstep with a couple of gunshot wounds and now we’re snowed
in together?’” Her eyes grew wide as the implications ran through her
mind. “No. No I can’t tell him. No way. It just sounds so . . .
so—”

“Unbelievable?”

“Unbelievable. That’s right. Who would believe
such a story?” She placed the phone back on the bedside table and bundled up
again in her quilts. “I mean, this is crazy. Who would ever think, after all these
years, that you and I would—I mean, it isn’t like we
planned
this or
anything. But then it would still look a little—”

“Annie, stop. Just take it easy. Besides, you’re
making me dizzy, and it’s freezing in here. Can’t you check and see if the
power will come back on or something?”

She focused on him again. “You can forget about
the power coming back on. Doc said an accident took out the transformer. It
could be days before they get it all cleared and get the power restored. The
road is completely blocked. That’s why he can’t get back up here to check on
you. Most of the phone lines are down. I’m surprised he got through.”

 “Well, there you have it.”

“Have what?”

“When this is all over just tell your husband
the lines went down in the storm.”

She looked away from him, remembering a time he
could once read her mind.

 “Annie, you still haven’t told me what you’re
doing up here.”

She felt her face heating. After a moment, she
tossed off the quilts again and reached for her crutches. “We’ve got to get you
out of that bed. The only way to keep you warm is to get you near the
fireplace. So pull yourself together. This won’t be easy.”

The move into the great room exhausted
Michael—slow and painful, but worth the effort. Annie built a roaring fire
which quickly warmed the oversized room. The soft glow of candles scattered
around them cast a peaceful, quiet ambience and filled the room with scents of
bayberry and vanilla.

But Michael never noticed. Once comfortably
settled on the sofa, he fell into a deep sleep. His soft snores fell in rhythm
with the crackling of the blaze on the hearth and the persistent howling of the
wind outdoors.

Annie found it difficult to sleep despite her
fatigue. Her chair and ottoman pulled alongside Michael’s make-shift bed, she
gazed at the man tucked safely under quilts and blankets, his head resting
against a mound of pillows. She tried to understand the trepidation she felt
from hearing his incomprehensible story. She tried to understand the agitation
she experienced at remembering she had not called David . . .
and now
couldn’t
call him. She tried to understand it all.

And she tried to understand the strange beating
of her heart caused by the man sleeping on that sofa.

Michael awoke. He had no idea how long he had
slept. Annie sat close by, her head turned as she stared into the fire. The
golden glow outlined her features, dancing off the long, wispy curls of her
shining brown hair
. She’s hardly changed at all, even after all these years.
She’s even more beautiful than before. Amazing.

A tiny glistening sparkle appeared on her cheek.
He blinked, unsure he had seen it, until the sparkle began moving down her
face. Her eyes clenched shut as she began to rock gently back and forth.

He reached out to touch her hand. Annie turned
to look at him. She wiped her face with the quilt that enveloped her.

“Michael,” she whispered, pulling her hand back.
“How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.”

She stole a hesitant glance in his direction.
She tried to smile through the remnant of her tears, then began twisting her
hair up off her neck.