Falling Like Snowflakes (5 page)

She looked around the darkening landscape, as if a deserted cabin might magically appear. Making it back to town was out of the question. She had to get Micah out of the cold. They'd passed a few houses on the way up, but she knew better than to trust a stranger.

Up ahead, the lane heading to the small outbuilding caught her eye. The building wasn't much, and it was probably locked. But she'd break a window if she had to. She'd pay Beau Callahan back somehow.

Chapter 5

B
eau hung up the phone as he backed out of Paige's driveway. Their evening had been cut short by the phone call. Not that it had been going well before that.

Paige had been out of sorts tonight because of the canine emergency she'd dealt with. Beau had made the mistake of mentioning his need for her help at the farm. She'd made it clear she was too busy with her own work to pitch in.

Things had only gotten better with the phone call he'd just received from Aunt Trudy.

He put his truck in drive and accelerated as he speed-dialed Zac.

His brother answered on the fourth ring.

“Got some bad news,” Beau said. In the background, Roadhouse chatter and TV noise carried through the line. “You have a minute?”

“Sure, what's up?”

“Aunt Trudy just called. Her insurance won't pay for the rehab center.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means if we can't fork out the thousands of dollars it's going to cost, she's coming home tomorrow.”

“What about her therapy?”

“It'll be outpatient twice a week. Insurance will cover it, but she has to have someone to take care of her, someone to get her to therapy.”

“I can help.”

“She needs someone there all the time, Zac.” Beau sighed. This wasn't happening. Not now, just before Christmas. The timing couldn't be worse.

“Riley could—”

“I need him on the farm. He's the only experienced help I have.”

“I don't suppose Paige has extra time.”

That was a big fat no. “We're going to have to hire someone. And we're going to have to move Aunt Trudy down to the main level. And keep her off that leg. And out of the kitchen.”

“Lord, she's going to drive us crazy.”

His thoughts exactly.

“Did you say tomorrow?”

“That's what I said. Know anyone looking for a caretaker position?” Beau thought of the woman who'd appeared on his porch late this afternoon. Maybe if she had good references . . .

She had short blond hair, honey-brown eyes, and the face of an angel. A guarded and desperate angel.

“Let me give it some thought,” Zac said. “I'll call you before church.”

“Sounds good.”

Beau hung up, and a few minutes later he pulled into his driveway, his mind on the logistics of rearranging the house. There was a formal dining room in the back of the house that went unused. A bathroom nearby. He'd move Aunt Trudy's bed down there. But where would he put the dining room furniture?

The outbuilding. There was a bunch of junk stored there. The generator, old boxes of literature, broken-down equipment his dad had never thrown out. He'd have to make room. Aunt Trudy'd have a fit if he scuffed up her furniture. He'd better get that done tonight.

He swung into the lane that led to the outbuilding. It was unplowed, but there were only a few inches of snow so far.

He frowned as his headlights swept over footprints. Must belong to the woman and her kid. But no, there was only one set of prints. It was hard to gauge their size as they were partially filled with fresh snow.

His headlights swept over the building, illuminating a broken pane beside the door.

“Ah, heck no.”

He shoved the truck into park and stepped out, thinking of the expensive generator he couldn't afford to replace.

Summer Harbor was pretty safe, but as the former deputy sheriff, he'd been privy to every single incident. Not to mention the recent murder in nearby Folly Shoals. Had a way of making a man cautious.

Eden sprang upright at the sound. An engine hummed nearby, getting louder, closer. Her heart raced, her breaths becoming shallow and reedy. Lights swept across the broken window, then away, leaving the shack in darkness again.

The owner was already home. A truck had rumbled down the drive over an hour ago. It was late. Too late for anyone to be out here working in this dank shed. Dread trickled into her bloodstream, spreading fast and thoroughly.

It was Langley. Every instinct she had was screaming loud and clear. He'd found them. She could almost smell him, the acrid odor of cigarettes and the sweet scent of the cloves he sucked on.

“Micah, wake up!”

She felt for her son, lifting him to his feet. Her arms shook, her fingers trembled. The sound of her heartbeat thrashed in her ears.

The back door. They could escape that way. But they wouldn't make it far. Micah would slow them down. She had to stay and fight. Give him time to get away. It was his only hope.

She pulled him to the back door, tripping over something on the wood floor. Micah whimpered.

“Someone's here. You have to run.” She grabbed his shoulders, her fingers biting into the padded jacket, as she pierced his eyes with hers. “Do you understand? Run out into the woods, that way. Keep going. Don't stop, no matter what. Stay off the road. Go to the first house you find and ask for help.”

She unlocked the back door and pulled, panicking when it refused to budge.
Come on!
Finally it squeaked open. The hum of the engine continued outside, and shadows spilled across the back of the building.

She pushed Micah forward. “Run, Micah!” she whispered. “Don't stop!” She watched him go, her eyes following his small frame until the shadows swallowed him up.

Please, God.

The doorknob rattled behind her. She spun and stared into the darkness. She'd locked it, but that wouldn't matter with the broken window beside it. She felt around for something. Anything. Then she remembered an old rusty shovel in the corner.

The door opened as she darted for the shovel. Footsteps sounded behind her.

Please!
She fumbled in the darkness, knocking things over. They clattered at her feet.

Her hands closed over the solid wood handle just as arms came around her. They shackled her arms to her sides. She kicked, connecting with a shin. She tried for his instep, missing, and his grip tightened painfully.

“Stop it!” he said. “Let go of it!”

She tried to angle the shovel, jabbing it back toward his legs. A
thud
sounded as it connected.

He gave a grunt, but his tight grip held. “I said, let go!”

She had to keep fighting. Every second gave Micah more time to escape. Remembering her training with Walter, she leaned forward and threw her head back as hard as she could.

He grunted at the impact.

Pain exploded in the back of her head. She twisted and writhed, adrenaline giving her strength. But there was no escaping his iron grip.

He lifted her from her feet. She kicked and squirmed as he forced her forward, and then she was flat against the wall, the raw wood cutting into her cheek.

“That's enough! Be still or I'm calling the sheriff!”

His words more than anything else stilled her body. Her breath came in deep huffs. Something on the wall dug into her ribs. Her lungs fought for room to expand.

One of his arms fell away slowly, as if he didn't quite trust her. He leaned closer as he reached for something. She felt his breath on her ear, the sandpaper of his jaw against hers. A click sounded, and the dim bulb flickered on. Heart in her throat, Eden closed her eyes and prayed.

Beau clutched the jacket, holding tight as the light kicked on. Some punk kid probably, by his size. The guy's ball cap had gone askew in the skirmish. He was scrappy, Beau would give him that.

The kid's hands still grasped the shovel, and Beau pried his fingers away. “Let go!”

The shovel clunked to the ground.

“All right, punk, what do you think—” He whipped the kid around, and his words died on his lips. Wide, honey-brown eyes looked up at him from under the crooked brim of the baseball hat.

Familiar
brown eyes. Female brown eyes.

He stepped back, hands up to his sides. “Whoa! It's you. I . . . Crap, are you all right?”

“I'm sorry!” Her eyes were wide and panicked. “I'll leave right now.”

He surveyed her face as she cowered against the wall. Remembering his manacled grip on her arms, he winced.
Way to rough her up, Callahan.

“Wait.” Beau scanned the room. “Where's your boy?”

She flew through the back door, running toward the grove of Frasier firs. He had a feeling she'd find her kid and keep going.

“Jack!” she called “Jack, stop! It's okay.”

Beau followed, opening the flashlight app on his phone. The wind was frigid, blowing right through his coat and stinging his cheeks. A terrible night to be out.

Why had they been in his shed? Maybe she'd been planning to steal from him. Or maybe she had no place to go. Was that even
possible? Someone like her, with delicate blond hair and the face of an angel?

Up ahead, the light cut through the woods, revealing mother and son. She squatted by her boy, holding him, murmuring things he couldn't hear. She ran her hands over his wet face. The kid's jeans were wet to the knees from the snow.

The boy jerked away, his face panicked. He made gestures his mom seemed to understand immediately.

“Boo Bear. Don't worry, we'll go back for him.” She stood and addressed Beau, her voice trembling. “He left his bear back at the shed. I have to get it.”

“Of course.” Beau followed them, questions churning though his mind. When they entered the outbuilding, he gave voice to the most prominent one.

“What were you doing in here?” His throbbing nose made his tone sharper than he intended.

The boy picked up the bear from the floor and returned to his mom's side, plastering himself to her leg.

She wrapped an arm around him. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the window. I'll pay for it, I promise, just as soon as I can. We were just bunking down is all. We didn't mean any harm.”

He ran both hands over his face and sighed hard. “I can't let you stay here.”

“Just for tonight? Please . . . We won't take anything. We won't cause any trouble—”

“That's not what I mean. It's twenty-five degrees and falling. There's no heat in here, no running water . . . Is there someone I can call for you?”

“No. No, we're on our own. We'll be fine. I just—we need a place. Just for tonight. This is fine. More than fine.”

He wasn't sure what her normal standard of living was, but this shed was not fine. Not even during their mild summer months, much less in the dead of winter.

He scraped his fingers up the back of his neck, clutching the hair at his nape. “I have an extra bedroom right now. My aunt isn't home and—”

“No. No, thank you. It's very—generous.”

He saw retreat in her eyes an instant before her body followed.

“We should just move on. We'll be—”

“Where are you fixing to go? It's almost midnight. Everything's closed down. You know someone in town?”

“No, but—”

“I assume a hotel isn't an option.”

She shook her head. Twin pink patches bloomed on her cheeks. “We had money, but it was stolen this afternoon.”

He frowned. “Did you report it?”

“No.” She looked down, long eyelashes covering her pretty eyes. “It wasn't much.”

He wondered if she was lying or just embarrassed. “You should still report it. I can call—”

“No, thanks. I can handle it.” She reached for the door handle.

“Wait. You can't go back out there. Listen, my girlfriend has a spare room. I'm sure she wouldn't mind putting you up for the night.” This was true—if she didn't kill him first for waking her.