Thunder Snow (Thunder On The Mountain Series) (9 page)

CHAPTER  SIXTEE
N

W
hen I woke, I was exhausted. I couldn’t wait to hop in the shower and get my body going. I had to meet the Dunlap’s in Denver in just a few hours, and I was numb from the tears and the restless sleep.

 
On my way out of town, looking a lot more refreshed than I felt, I headed over to Sam’s for my morning cup of coffee, but Sam hadn’t seen Jack that morning either. I got my coffee to go, and asked Sam to have Jack call if he should see him. Sam assured me he wouldn’t need to tell Jack, that he was sure I’d be hearing from him soon.

The coffee and the morning drive revived me. I needed to focus on the day ahead. I had spoken with the Dunlap’s on many occasions, and knew the homes I had selected were exactly what they were looking for. All were near where they would be working, and all fit exactly what their expressed needs were. I had made videos for them when I previewed homes, and we narrowed it down to three. They were excited to find their new place, and I couldn’t let what was going on in my life affect their special time.

I tried to call Jack on my drive into Denver, but it kept going to voicemail. How could he stay away like this? The enjoyment of seeing Marge after almost a month, and the arrival of the Dunlaps shortly thereafter, took my mind off Jack and wondering why he wouldn’t even answer his phone.

The Cherry Creek area of Denver was expensive and well-kept. Some brightly colored leaves still clung to the trees in their autumn glory in spite of the recent snow. The colors and the crisp air and the sun made the time seem idyllic for house hunting.

They liked the first two houses, but had I saved the best for last. The elderly lady who owned it was no longer able to live alone, and her children had put her in a nursing home. They were selling it at a greatly reduced price to get it sold in a hurry. I knew how much they had liked the others, but this, I was confident, would be a perfect fit for them. I couldn’t wait to show them.

As we pulled into the driveway, a man ran out of the front door. I knew something was wrong and took note of his license number as he hopped in his car and sped off. Feeling uneasy, I advised the Dunlaps to stay in the car until I had checked out the situation.

 Mr. Dunlap would have none of it, and accompanied me to the front door which was standing open. The first thing that registered was the amount of what appeared to be blood on the entryway walls and floor. I pulled my gun from my thigh holster and saw the shock register on Mr. Dunlap’s face.

“I’m a marksman,” I said in a whisper. “Here are my keys. Please go back to the car and call 911. Have them send an ambulance.” After hesitating only a moment, he went to make sure his wife stayed put, and made the emergency call.

 I knew I should wait, but what if the person who was bleeding was still alive? I needed to act quickly. I removed my heels and tip-toed into the main room. I had been here before and knew the layout of the house. I listened intently, but could hear no sounds.

When I was confident that no one remained on the first floor, I followed the trail of blood up the stairs, gun drawn, nerves controlled, hoping beyond hope that I was not too late.

The trail of blood led straight to the closet in the master bedroom at the top of the stairs. Making sure my back was protected, I called out, but no one answered. I crept quietly towards the door and yanked it open. What I found left my stomach heaving.

 
An older woman was lying on the floor, cowering with her hands covering her head. Clothes torn, blood everywhere, she whispered, “Please don’t hurt me.”

“It's okay, it's okay. I’m here to help you. Don’t be afraid. Who did this to you?” I whispered, panic from my own ordeal trying to crowd my mind. I wouldn’t allow it.

“There was a man here,” the woman said faintly. “He must have heard you pull up because all of a sudden he stopped and ran away." She started to cry. I comforted her and told her everything was going to be okay.

Visions of Jason kept clouding my brain. At first I wanted to scream, but understanding what she was going through gave me resolve to share my hard-won strength with this woman.

“Where are you hurt?” I asked quietly.

“All over,” the woman said, growing weaker now. “I'm Christie Baynard. I’m an agent,” she said, trying to take deep breaths. “I got a call from my office that someone wanted to see the house. I was nearby, I thought I could just swing by and show it. I didn’t think twice.”

She started to cry again as she told me the story of what happened.

“Don’t talk,” I said, “the ambulance should be here soon.”

The sirens could be heard in the distance. “Don’t leave me,” the woman said. “Please don’t leave me. What if he comes back? Please stay with me.”

“My name’s Callie, Callie Weston. It’s okay, Christie, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe now.”

“Callie Weston? I know you,” she said faintly. “Please stay.”

I took her hand and spoke gently to her, remembering the fear, remembering the pain, gently getting her hair out of the blood on her face.

“Are you married, Christie?”

“No, husband died five years ago. Three kids, all in college now.” She was growing weaker.

“Don’t talk anymore, Christie. You’re going to be just fine.”

“We’re up here,” I called as I heard the commotion downstairs. “Top of the stairs, first room.”

Guns drawn, the police came in with barrels pointing straight at me.

“It’s okay,” I said, laying my gun on the blood-soaked carpet, raising my hands so they were visible. "She’s been hurt, she needs an ambulance.”

The medics were coming in with a stretcher, so I stood up to walk away to give them access.

“Please don’t leave me, Callie,” Christie said fearfully.

“I’m right here. You’re safe. I’ll stay with you.”

“Can you tell us what happened, ma’am?” the older officer asked.

“My name’s Callie Weston. I am a real estate agent. I brought my clients to see the house. When we pulled into the driveway, a man came running out, jumped in his car and sped away. I got his license number."

“Good work,” he said as I relayed it to him.

“Her name is Christie Baynard. She came to show the property and no one was here yet, so she unlocked the front door and walked through the house, turning on all of the lights. She was expecting a husband and wife to show up.” I told them the story, just as she had told me.

“When she came down the stairs, the prospective Buyer was coming through the front door. She extended her hand
to introduce herself, and the man turned, locked the door, and pulled a knife on her.

 
“She didn’t remember much that happened after that, only that he cut her and she ran up the stairs. When he found her, he hit her and cut her several times with the knife.”

I remembered when I had walked in and found Jason. I remembered the moment it had registered that my life was in danger, and that I was confronting a crazy man. I thought about how terrifying it must have been for her, alone in the house, door locked. I knew well the shock of the unexpected, and how it would have taken her a moment to realize what was happening.

She was in the vacant house with a mad man on the loose. How many times do we show houses in similar situations with no forethought to who we are meeting? But none of it affected me so much as the thoughts of my own night, and part of me wanted to break down as I relived my own memory, my own horror.

So many thoughts ran through my mind
– how I would change my showing habits, how I would integrate this into my classes for both men and women, safety rules we would put in place. But the one thing that could always snap me out of my journey into darkness was remembering that I would not allow Jason to continue to terrorize me. I had won. He wasn’t going to hurt me ever again.

“And . . .” the officer prompted me to finish my story.

“Oh, I’m sorry. The assailant must have heard us drive up, because she said he stopped suddenly and ran from the room. She crawled into the closet to hide, knowing he could follow her blood trail. The next thing she remembered, I was opening the door."

After giving them all of the information I had, I promised to keep myself available, took the Dunlaps back to their car with a promise of contact the next day, and headed to the hospital to sit with Christie.

All of my calls to Jack went straight to voicemail.
This is Jack. Leave a message.
The first few times I heard it, I hung up. Finally I left a message.

“Jack, something has happened. I desperately need to talk with you. Please call me.”

Hours passed with no word. I called Sam.

“Have you seen him yet, Sam?” I asked plaintively.

“No, darlin’, he’s still in the wind,” he said gently.

“Something has come up, Sam. I have to stay in Denver. I’ll be back as soon as I’m able. Keep an eye on my place for me, would you?"

“Nothin’ could stop me, and yes, pun’kin, I’ll make sure he knows where ya are next time I see him.”

“Thank you, Sam. Oh, and Sam?”

“Yes, pun’kin?”

“I love you . . .” I whispered as I hung up the phone.

CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN

F
ortunately I had lots to keep me busy with more police interviews and reports and sitting at the hospital. Christie was going to be okay physically. Her family was around her.

They were very thankful that I had shown up when I did, very thankful I had stayed with her, very thankful I had gotten a license number. The police were confident they would be able to apprehend the suspect.

That night, I wrote Jack a long email, telling him all that had happened. Telling him all about Christie; hoping to put enough desperation into the story that he would at least call me.

I headed home the following morning. It had warmed, but the skies were cloudy and drizzling. Running in from the rain, I shook my umbrella and collapsed it before turning into the room. He was leaning against my desk
– as comfortable as though he’d never been gone.

I was so thrilled to see him – the heart quivers weren’t from the run, they were from the sight of him. I stared at him, drinking in his lithe form, drunk from the excitement of seeing him there. Wanting to hold him but not knowing how to react, what he’d expect. He held his arms open, and I ran into them, holding him for all I was worth. At that moment I didn’t care where he’d been, I just wanted him where he was now.

“I’m so glad you’re all right, Callie,” he said, holding me tightly, running his fingers through my hair.

“When I got your message this morning, I was going to head to Denver, but Sam told me you were coming home today. It was easier to wait here and not run the risk of missing you. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you the past few days. Are you all right?”

Tears mingled with the rain as relief swept through me.

“Where’s your car?” I asked.

“Hush, little one, I’m here. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“Where have you been, Jack?” I hadn’t meant to say the words, but I needed to know.

“I needed some time, but I’m back now.”

I unwrapped myself from his arms and looked at him. I tried to understand, tried to make sense of it. “You needed time for what?”

“Just time,” he said, stepping forward and touching my hair, drinking me in as though he had never seen me. “I'm so glad you’re safe.”

The pain of the past few days came flooding back. My heartache was real, tangible, crushing.

“There weren’t phones where you were? No internet that you could have told me you were okay? No note to tell me you were alive? No NOTHING?” I cried, tears streaming.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? You’re sorry?” I knew I sounded like a shrew. Knew it and could do nothing to stop it.

The relief I had felt just moments before became an overwhelming anger. This pain had all been because he needed TIME? Time from what? From us? From a past hurt he wasn’t willing to let go of? All of a sudden I was drained. I walked back to the door, picked up my umbrella, but didn’t open it. As I headed out the door he said, “I couldn’t explain it because even I didn’t understand.”

“Why couldn’t you have talked to me about it?”

Without a backward glance, I stepped into the rain, the blessed drenching rain. I started walking, oblivious to the elements, numb to everything.

He was still there when I got back. Soaked to the bone, I knew I had been foolish to be out in the drizzle. He had a fire blazing. He put his arms around me and led me to the bathroom. He removed my clothes and hurriedly removed his own. He guided me to the steaming shower and rubbed the feeling back into my limbs. My mind was numb.

After drying me off, he carried me to the big bed, enfolding me in his arms under the covers. Touching, rubbing, caring. Softly he said, “I needed time to think. After a few days, I realized you were hurting too, and I wanted to get back as quickly as I could.

“When I got your message, I couldn’t get back here fast enough. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me, and for that I am truly sorry. There aren't any words to make up for what I’ve done, but I ask that you forgive me. It was never my intention to hurt you.” I began to cry. “Please don’t, little one. I can’t bear that I’ve done this to you.”

I said nothing, just cried as though I had not cried a drop for the past few days. When there were no more tears, no more strength, I slept.

I awoke to the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen. My first thought was how wonderful it was to have someone like Jack to share my life with. And then it came flooding back, the past week. And for what, because he needed time?

I put on his shirt and stepped silently into the kitchen. His hair was tousled and he was standing at the stove in only his jeans.

Our eyes met. He turned off the stove and took me in his arms. “That very sight has been with me day and night. I have thought of little else. I can’t promise I won’t ever hurt you again. But I’m so sorry, angel.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“I can’t yet. I haven’t dealt with it myself. But please believe me that I never meant to hurt you like this. I wasn't expecting Callie Weston to come crashing into my life. I didn’t think I would ever have to deal with someone like you. And, dear God, you’re even more frail than when I left."

I put my head against his chest, not knowing how to respond. Jack was here, he wanted me, he had demons. Could I help him? I didn’t know.

“Can you share some of it? Give me a clue about what we’re dealing with? You have to know it affects me as well.”

“I’m not like you. My filter is much thicker than yours. I’ve never known honesty like yours. I know I shouldn't be surprised by it, but I always am. Promise me you won’t ever stop. It is so necessary to me, to us.”

“I’m not sure we can have what we want if I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, Jack. We will never be able to sustain a relationship if I’m always worried you will leave again.”

“I’ve never known anyone at all like you. Will you trust me for a little while? Will you give me some time to figure it out, and then I’ll tell you as much as I can?”

“What do you want for us?”

“I want
you
, little one. I want what we’ve had for the past few months. I want to share it all with you. I want your heart and your brains and your body and your friendship and your laughter and the way you think and the way you make me feel . . . I want it all."

The hurt, the rejection, the betrayal . . . they were raw. I
knew that what I wanted was standing right there. He had brought me such joy, and I thought about how empty I had been while he was gone. In that moment, I had the choice to decide how things would proceed. I could send him away, or I could stand by him while he tried to rid himself of his demons.

“You’ve never had the famous Callie Weston Blueberry Pecan Pancake with lavender butter before. Sit down, cowboy, you’re in for a treat."

While I fixed his meal, I told him about what had happened in the attack on Christie. How it had brought back so many unsavory memories. About how frightened she had been, and about what a blessing it was that we showed up when we did. It would have been an entirely different outcome.

He kept touching me, kept hugging me, kept telling me how glad he was that Christie was okay, but how much it upset him that it just as easily could have been me. He cleaned the pan from the bacon, washed the countertops, made fresh coffee, then sat and listened.

I had finished the story of Christie’s harrowing experience. We were reestablishing our foundation. “Where’d you go to school?" he asked as I gently folded blueberries into the batter.

“Boulder. Got my degree in business with a minor in Psychology, then did the Real Estate Certification, then my MBA in Real Estate. Found that there is so much psychology involved in selling real estate that a four-year degree was a God-send many times over.”

“I can only imagine. One of the reasons I live up here is because so many people you come in contact with are NUTS. I much prefer my own company, and obviously that of societal misfits, rather than the lunatics that wander the streets in the guise of sane people.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how do you afford to live up here? Do you have a job?”

After a short pause, he got a twinkle in his eye and said, “You could say I’m a Jack of All Trades.”

We laughed. “My father was a builder, too,” he said. “I grew up poundin’ nails from as early as I can remember. I got into building when things were hot, made some good investments that paid off well, and I’m comfortable enough to have as much free time as I want.”

“The day you found me covered in mud, you were dressed in a suit.”

“Good memory, little one. I sit on a Board of Builders for the Denver/Boulder/Longmont area. Sometimes I have to look nice. Sometimes I have to play nice.”

“THAT must be difficult for you,” I teased as I set his pancakes in front of him.

As he took his first bite, I asked, “How often do you
—”

“SHHHHHH. Don’t say another word,” he said wi
th closed eyes. “These pancakes—they have to be experienced, savored, worshiped.”

After a moment of silence he opened one eye and looked at me. “With the exception of you, I’m not sure I have ever had anything this delicious in my mouth.”

I was inordinately pleased at his reaction to being fed. There was something wonderfully sensual about this experience. I liked having him around.

“So have you heard the town is giving Sam the ‘Coolest Small Business Owner’ Award? They announced it a few days ago."

A genuine smile crossed Jack’s face. “No one else in town deserves it like he does. He must be one happy guy.”

“To say the least. He’s been having me help him with his acceptance speech for next weekend. It’s not gonna be anything but a drunken salute at the Pioneer Inn, but he’s treating it like he’s won a Nobel Prize. It’s been incredibly endearing.”

“I’ll head on down to congratulate him. Give him some speech ideas.”

I groaned. “Don’t you dare. The congratulations are fine. The ideas will get us all in trouble.”

“Do you mind if I come back?” he asked softly from the doorway, his back towards me.

“What do you mean?”

“I know I’ve been an ass. I know I have violated all kinds of trust issues. I’ll do whatever I can to rebuild the bridges I’ve torn down, but I don’t want to presume. I don’t ever want to take my welcome for granted.”

“Thank you for asking, Jack. These have been some of the longest days of my life. Just thinking of you being all the way down at the Amber Rose sets off a little spark of panic in me, but thank you. Yes, I’d appreciate it if you would. I believe I like having you around."