Chapter Seven
I opened my eyes to unfamiliar darkness and my heart rate tripled in the second and a half it took to remember I was in Aunt Vi's guestroom. I rolled over and groped for the bedside clock. Five seventeen. Too early for my aunt and uncle to be up, and little chance I'd fall back to sleep. I threw back the blankets and, shivering, dressed quickly then went to the barn. With Blackie here I'd share the horse-keeping work with Uncle Henry. Taking care of chores early was my self-imposed penance for upsetting them yesterday.
Breakfast for "the boys" was the first order of business. Eager nickers greeted me when I slid the barn door open, then subsided into noisy munching once I tossed each horse his hay. I made quick work of cleaning the stalls, then rolled up my sleeves, and scrubbed and refilled the water buckets. With hands numb from the cold, I closed up the barn and hurried back to the house.
Dawn made a weak showing through Snohomish's cloud layer, and the dampness in the air was a sure sign of rain to come. The warm glow that spilled across the yard from the kitchen window pulled me from a quick walk to a jog. With a well-timed jump honed by years of practice, I cleared the two steps to the back porch and landed on the dew-slick deck with a noisy scramble. Regaining my balance, I glanced through the window. Aunt Vi was busy pouring batter onto the waffle iron as if she hadn't noticed. I opened the door into the little vestibule off the kitchen and stepped out of my muck boots. The aroma of rich coffee and warm waffles with a hint of vanilla filled my lungs, and the familiar feeling of loving acceptance came at me with a rush. Uncle Henry sat at the table, already making progress on his waffles. He caught my eye and I steeled myself for any indication of yesterday's temper.
"Thank you for doing the chores," he said with his usual calm. "Watch your step on the porch. It's a bit slippery in the mornings."
"I noticed." I smiled and he winked.
Either our relationship was back to normal or he was doing a good job of pretending.
Pretending is okay, Thea. You do that yourself to keep the peace. Sometimes.
I washed my hands at the sink and snuck another glance at Uncle Henry, just to be sure. The anger he gave vent to yesterday was something I had no experience with, and guilt, deserved or not, still rode with me. He looked tired. I knew, without asking, he hadn't slept well.
After breakfast I packed up my overnight bag to go home. When I came back through the kitchen to say goodbye Aunt Vi held on to my hand.
"Why don't you stay?"
"I'd like to, but I have clients expecting me, and a ton of work to do. Besides, the sheriff's deputy demanded I go in to the office this morning and sign my statement."
"If you're sure." She frowned.
"Don't worry." I kissed her cheek. "Thanks for letting me stay last night. It helped."
"Well, come back tonight if you like." She pulled me back for a hug. "We don't like you being alone right now."
"I'm okay, really." I moved out of her embrace and edged closer to the door. "I'll give you a call later, okay?"
"Come by after you've talked to the sheriff. We want to know what they have to say."
"I'll call."
"Why not stop by? I can fix you something nice to eat. We're not out of the way."
Outmaneuvered, Thea. Keep the peace.
"Okay. I'll stop by after I've talked to the sheriff."
"Bring your bag in case you want to stay."
"Let the girl go, Vi," Uncle Henry said. He smiled at me. "She'll be fine."
Once home, I fell into my habitual routine of showering and agonizing over what sporty pieces to wear for work on "casual Monday." Since I worked at home and rarely dressed up anymore, it was "casual Monday through Friday." The whole decision-making thing was a game I played to get into the right frame of mind for the day ahead. Today it played the additional role of comfort-by-familiarity. I settled on jeans, a long sleeved, pink t-shirt, and my pink, fuzzy bunny slippers. They were cute, and cheered me up -- though only the left one still had its little tongue sticking out and the right one's crooked eyes made it look concussed. I started the coffee, then went to my office-in-the-spare-room and prepared to download files. I'd do that task first to free up my telephone by the time my clients opened for business. Without a dual connection on my phone line, calls would route directly to voice mail.
You're so technologically behind the times, Thea. Maybe it's time to part with some cash and upgrade. Yeah, yeah, I know. But small businesses have failed spending too much too soon. Better to be smart. Besides, anyone desperate to get hold of me knew to call my cell phone.
I pulled the cell phone out of my purse and sat it on my desk. It beeped. Low battery. Again. You need to spring for a new phone, too. I ignored the urge to spend, turned the phone off and plugged it into the recharger. It would be fully charged by the time I left for the sheriff's office. Probably.
The doorbell rang, but it was the pounding on the solid wood door that alarmed me. I jumped up, zipped down the hallway, and yanked the front door open. Greg Marshall loomed in the doorway, fist raised, ready to pound again. I sprang back to avoid a blow. His appearance shocked me, too. Besides the fact that I had no idea he knew where I lived, his clothes were untidy and wrinkled -- a state I thought foreign to him. Dark smudges under red-rimmed eyes made him look ill -- or hung over. In place of his customary, handsome smile was an ugly twist. Anyone could see Valerie's death had hit him hard.
"Greg --"
"Where is he?"
The hostility in his tone checked my sympathy and sent me back another step. "Excuse me? Who?"
"That goddamn horse of yours. He's not at Copper Creek." His unblinking blue eyes bore down on me, igniting a cold fear in my chest.
Oh crap. I should have anticipated this. "Greg, I know you're upset, and I don't blame you, but you need to leave. You should go home and get some rest. We can talk later." The tremor in my voice belied my attempt at calm.
I started to close the door, but he stepped forward and pushed it forcefully out of my hand, sending it crashing into the wall. I flinched and backed away.
"I'm so sorry about Valerie," I said.
"Yeah, well, 'sorry' won't bring her back, will it BC?"
I turned, intending to make a dash for my office and the phone, but he was faster. He caught my upper arm and pulled me back, nearly lifting me off my feet.
"Greg, you're hurting me. Stop it!"
"Where is he?" He dragged me closer, forcing me to dance on my tiptoes to keep from falling.
"I don't know." I pried at his fingers and never saw the back-handed slap that connected with my cheek. My head snapped sideways and I cried out. He grabbed my jaw and jerked my face toward him. I tasted blood.
"We were going to be married. You've taken that away from me." He spat the words at me, his voice a growl. "Where is that animal? He deserves to die like Valerie did. You're hiding him."
"No. I'm not -- Greg, please, let me go, please. I don't know where he is. Only the sheriff -- please." My voice shattered around the last word as he shook my arm wrenching my shoulder.
"Bullshit. You know."
His nostrils flared with rapid breaths as he released my jaw and hauled his fist back. I threw my free arm up. The blow connected with my forearm and half spun me in his grip as if I were a toy.
"Greg no, please, no. Please."
Again he gripped my face and hauled me to within an inch of his.
God no. Make him stop.
"Now, you tell me where he is."
His breath sprayed my face. It was -- minty fresh? He'd remembered to brush his teeth? Surprise morphed to pissed-off. I struck at him with my fist and kicked at his legs. His fingers dug into my flesh, but the pain only fed my rage. I kicked and twisted.
"You squirmy little bitch --"
"Hey! What the hell's going on here!"
I staggered backward as Greg whirled toward the voice. Paul leapt the steps, and let fly. His fist connected with Greg's jaw and, before I could blink, Greg was flat on his back on my
porch.
"Get out of here," Paul said, voice cold with authority, fists still clenched, still balanced on the balls of his feet.
Greg eyed him warily, one hand rubbing his jaw, as he struggled to get upright. Half way to his feet he paused. Paul coiled. Then Greg straightened, turned and strode down the steps. I held my breath until I heard his car door slam. The angry revving of the car's engine was followed by the squeal of tires on asphalt.
"Are you all right?" Paul's attention shifted to me.
"I -- I …." My lip was wet. I dabbed at it with the back of my shaking hand and examined the red smear. Blood. Mine. I pressed my wrist against my lip.
"Here. Let me have a look."
His hand came toward my face and I reeled back. His eyes widened and his reach turned into a point.
"Ice. You need some ice on that."
I nodded, but as I headed for the kitchen my knees wobbled. Paul's hand on my elbow steadied me. He guided me inside to the sofa.
"Sit down. I'll get it."
I sat, listened to him rummage around in my kitchen, and swallowed down a wave of nausea as the "what ifs" began. What if Paul hadn't shown up? What if I'd broken and told Greg where Blackie was? What if he hadn't stopped beating on me? My chest constricted with emotion I couldn't contain. Tears washed down my cheeks.
A loud pounding on my front door nailed me to my seat renewing the terror. Paul strode from the kitchen at a quick walk and yanked open the front door. From where I sat I couldn't see who was there.
"Is Ms. Campbell at home?"
My heart pounded in my stomach and my teeth chattered. I clamped my hands over my mouth and listened. The man's belligerent tone and raspy twang sounded somewhat familiar, but no name or face came to me.
"She's not available. I can give her a message." Paul's cool tone didn't match the tension in his shoulders.
"You Fuentes?"
Paul made a slight shift to the balls of his feet. "No."
I stopped breathing. Oh lord, not again. My shoulders hunched against the shaking.
"You can tell Ms. Campbell that Randy Rucker stopped by. I'm on my way to pick up my wife right now, so I can't wait. But you tell her I will be having words with her."
Randy Rucker? I curled into myself, grateful Paul stood between me and him. Randy was a big man. I didn't think I was up to a second confrontation today.
Paul didn't answer him, but held his ground in the doorway until footsteps retreated across my porch. Cautiously, I shifted toward the back of the sofa and craned my neck for a peek out the window. Yeah. It was Randy, all right. Cowboy hat, broad shoulders, and swagger. The sight of him walking away from my home loosened the spring coiled inside me. A little.
Paul closed the door and clicked the dead bolt into place. He returned to the kitchen then came back to the living room a moment later with an ice pack and a tea towel. He handed me the ice. I murmured a thank you and eased the plastic bag against my bruised face.
"You heard?" he asked.
I cleared my throat twice. "Yes. Thank you for sending him away."
He frowned at me for a moment. "Is he a problem, too?"
Irritation at his tone forced some steadiness into my answer. "I can't imagine why he should be. I haven't seen him or talked to him since…a year ago, maybe. We had a brief discussion about me doing the books for his business."
"Don't worry about it then." He perched, facing me, on the coffee table, frowned, and focused on my mouth.
I watched him, shoulders drawn tight, and barely breathing. He raised the tea towel and I braced.
"May I?" His eyes left my mouth briefly, checking my eyes for the answer.
I nodded a fraction. He raised the towel to my chin and wiped lightly. The damp towel showed less red than I'd anticipated. He scrutinized my lip and dabbed a couple of times. I exhaled. A little.
"That's better." He refolded the towel, then brushed it across the tear-tracks on my cheeks.
"Thank you," I said between swallows.
"No problem." He stood, handed me the tea towel, and stepped around the coffee table.
I sagged in relief.
"It's pretty humbling to be on the receiving end." He smiled as if he knew. "Keep breathing."
I tried a small smile in return. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. I exhaled a little more. He sat in my coral, wing-back chair across the room, and leaned forward, elbows on his blue-jeaned knees, hands clasped. His dark blue tweed sports jacket sat well over his light blue, cotton Oxford shirt. Open collar, no tie. A nice look. Comfortable. Friendly. Safe.
"Why was Greg here?" he asked. "What was that all about?"
Oh. An explanation, of course. He'd want to know why he just got in a fight on my front porch. "Blackie. He thinks Blackie killed Valerie. He wanted me to tell him where he was. Greg wants to … he said … he wants to …." I couldn't continue. Tears ambushed me and I wiped at them with the towel.
"Oh, jeez." Paul squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry. That's why I'm here."
The stabbing pain in my chest robbed my hands of strength. The ice pack slipped from my grip. I leapt up and raced to the phone in my office. In a fumbling few seconds I had Aunt Vi on the line.
"Blackie!" I shrieked. "What's --"
"Everything's fine now, he's fine. I'm sorry, duck. I didn't mean to alarm you."
"What happened? Is he hurt?"
"No, no, no. It all started after Henry left for the dentist. I didn't know what to do except send Paul over. I couldn't get through to you."
"What started? What happened? Are you sure he's okay?" I clutched fistfuls of hair and paced.
"He's fine, he was just behaving so oddly."
"Why? What was he doing?"
"I don't know why. He was whinnying and running the fence line -- so unlike him. But he's quiet now -- gone right back to grazing with Duke."
"You're sure he's all right?" I wadded up my hair again.
"Thea, I've seen enough sick horses over the years to know when one isn't ill. Blackie's fine."
Of course she'd know. She'd been nursing horses for forever. My blood pressure plummeted back to normal. "Sorry. I'm sorry … Aunt Vi?"
"Yes, love?"
"Greg's looking for Blackie. He'll hurt him if he finds him." My voice sounded small and scared even to my ears.
"You get to the sheriff's office like you planned and tell them. I'll have Eric come and stay here until Henry gets back. You come straight over here when you're done with your statement. I don't want Greg thinking you're standing in the way."
It was a little late for that, but he could come back. Suddenly, leaving my house for the rest of the day seemed like a good idea. "Okay. See you in a little while."
"Oh, and Thea, tell Paul 'thank you' for me. I hope I didn't make him late for work."
I disconnected and went back to the living room. Paul handed me the ice pack I'd dropped. His frown looked apologetic.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Is Blackie okay?"
"Aunt Vi said he's fine. He settled down after you left." I placed the ice pack against my lip.
"That's good. He sure had himself a run up and down the fence line earlier."
I transferred the ice to my cheek. "Aunt Vi said he was whinnying, too."
"Yeah, he was. I saw him out the bedroom window. He'd stop and look at the house, bellow like an elephant, then start running again. When I came out of the apartment I thought he was going to come through the fence at me. He slammed to a stop at the last second and screamed. That's one very loud horse."
I contemplated the air in front of my face, bit my lip, and winced. I'd forgotten. "Strange … doesn't sound like colic." I needed to check on him myself. I turned toward the front door. Paul's hand on my arm stopped me.
He shook his head once. "You should call the police."
"Why? The vet would make more sense."
Despite the lowered brows and twitch in his jaw, his voice was soft. "Greg attacked you, Thea."
>
I blinked. "Oh. Right. I'm going to the sheriff's office soon to sign my statement. I can make a report then."
"Do it now."
"I'll do it when I go there. It'll be more efficient. Eric's on his way to the farm, and I may be more able to convince the sheriff that Blackie needs protecting if he can't hang up on me."
Paul narrowed his eyes. I'd swear he was counting. He passed a hand over his mouth. The other hand went to his hip.
"You should stop at the Walk-In Clinic."
"I'm okay now, really."
"Thea." He pronounced my name with parental sternness, pushed his sports jacket open, and braced his hands on his hips. "Greg is as big a threat to you as he is to Blackie. I saw him beating on you, and I'm looking at what he's done to you. I know it was a shock, but for your own safety, don't retreat into denial."
What was it with men? Did they really have to be such --
His hands dropped to his sides. "I'm sorry. You don’t need me bullying you, too. But it would be a good idea to stop at the clinic. You want to make sure you're okay. And tell the sheriff when you go in to sign your statement." He brushed at the hair I'd wadded in my fist when I'd talked to Aunt Vi before resting his hand on my shoulder. "Please."
My tension eased under his touch, my mind stopped buzzing, and my instincts told me to trust him. I had an ally with an intelligent plan. I could breathe.
"You're right, I know."
"Good." He squeezed my shoulder and slid his hand down my arm leaving a trail of warmth.
I looked into his eyes and a staggering, kick-you-in-the-knees incendiary flash rocketed up my neck and into my face, robbing me of intelligent speech.
"Aunt Vi, um, Aunt Vi said she was sorry…sorry if she made you late for, um, work."
He glanced at his watch and his eyebrows shot up. "Can I use your phone?"
I pointed toward my office. When he turned away, I staggered to the sofa and lowered myself to the edge. Holy crap. Get a freaking grip, Thea.
The call was too short.
"I need to run," he said coming out of my office. "Are you going to be all right?"
No. "Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you." I pronounced the words carefully.
He took a breath as if to say something. Instead, he looked at the floor and exhaled. His gaze shifted to my pink bunny slippers, and he smiled. "Lock the door."
Then closing the front door softly behind him, he was gone.
I got up, went to the door, and hesitated, listening, before I turned the dead bolt.
Dammit. I leaned my head against the door and closed my eyes. My opinion of Paul Hudson had changed. Just like that. Faster. I longed for him. I didn't want to. I didn't need this in my life right now. Dammit.