Make You Feel My Love

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  “Chipper!” she cried.

  But before she could run after the dog, Tom grabbed her by the arm and yanked her close to him. “You’re coming with me.”

  “No, I’m not. Let me go. You’ve hurt him. He needs me.”

  But his grip only tightened, and he began to drag her up toward the ridge. “Chelsea, I’ve had enough of this. You’re my girl. We had a few fights. So get over it.”

  “Tom,” she said, trying to sound calm, “it was more than a few fights. We don’t belong together. We aren’t right together. You know it’s true.”

  “You belong to me.”

  She pulled back, digging her heels into the loose earth. “I don’t belong to anybody.”

  He called her a foul name as he dragged her—fighting him the whole way—over the edge of the ridge. His car was parked not far away. His green car. She hadn’t been wrong. She’d seen it driving down Alexander Road on Saturday. But how had he stayed hidden for nearly a week? Where had he been? A stranger in a small town, and nobody mentioned it to her or Aunt Rosemary? What was wrong with the gossip mill in Chickadee Creek?

  The thought would have made her laugh at another time. At the moment, it wasn’t funny.

  “Get in the car.” Tom shoved her toward the rear passenger door.

  “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.” She tried again to wrench herself from his grip.

  He dropped the tire iron, then slapped her. Her head snapped to the side, hitting the roof of the car. She cried out as the world began to spin.

  “I said get in.”

  “Tom, you can’t—”

  He hit her again. She tasted blood.

  “You’ll be surprised what I can do,” he growled, his mouth close to her ear.

  She shivered. No, she wouldn’t be surprised.

  God, help me!

  * * *

  Liam checked his phone for messages as he walked through the Boise air terminal and headed outside to the short-term parking lot. Kurt was supposed to send him a few more details about the location shoot. There wasn’t a message from his agent, but there was one from Rosemary & Time. He grinned as he touched Play and listened for Chelsea’s voice.

  Only the message wasn’t from Chelsea. It was from Rosemary.

  “Liam, I don’t want to alarm you, but Chelsea went for a walk with Chipper not long after lunch, and they still haven’t returned. It’s been four hours. I’m worried. Has she called you? I don’t know if she had her cell phone with her since coverage is sketchy. But you young people seem to carry them all the time anyway. Do call me if you’ve heard from her.”

  Not waiting until he got to his truck, Liam dropped his carry-on to the ground and punched the button for a return call. When he got the answering machine, he hung up and called Rosemary’s house. She answered on the first ring.

  “Chelsea?”

  “No. Rosemary, it’s Liam.”

  “Oh, Liam. Thank goodness. Have you talked to her?”

  “No. She still isn’t back?” He didn’t wait for an answer since it was obvious. “I landed about ten minutes ago. I’m about to get in my truck and head for home.”

  “Liam, I’m worried. Friends are out looking for her. The sheriff too. But no one has seen her since she left the shop a little after one o’clock.”

  He looked at his watch. He and Chelsea had taken some long walks together, but they’d never been gone for that many hours. Something was wrong. But what? Had she fallen? Chipper probably wouldn’t leave her if she was injured. He would stay close to guard her.

  But what if the dog had stumbled upon a bear? Chipper could be the one that was injured, and Chelsea wouldn’t be strong enough to carry him back to town. She wouldn’t want to leave him either.

  Abruptly, he shut off the scenarios playing in his mind. “Rosemary, I’m on my way. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

  “Drive safe, but hurry.”

  “Will do. And Rosemary? Keep praying for her.”

  “I will, dear. I most certainly will.”

  He pressed End, slid the phone into his pocket, then picked up his carry-on and sprinted for his truck.

  Preston

  April 1897

  As he’d done every day since his wedding, Preston rushed home from the mining offices, eager to see his bride of one week. If he weren’t in negotiations for the purchase of a sawmill, he wouldn’t bother going to the offices at all. It wasn’t as if Ethan Sooner couldn’t manage whatever had to be done. In fact, the mine foreman told him that at least once each day.

  Entering the house, he removed his hat and tossed it onto a table in the entry hall. He was about to call out Cora’s name when he heard voices coming from the parlor. He walked swiftly in that direction. But he stopped abruptly when his new father-in-law came into view.

  Both Aaron and Cora looked at him, but it was only Cora he cared about. He studied her expression. He saw no distress, much to his relief. Only confidence.

  “Darling.” He crossed the parlor to kiss her cheek, then placed a hand on her shoulder as he stood by her side and turned his gaze once more upon their visitor. “Mr. Anderson.”

  His father-in-law cleared his throat. “I’ve come to talk some sense into my daughter.”

  Preston raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

  “If I’d learned about that blasted newspaper article sooner, perhaps I could have averted your . . . association with this man.” Aaron Anderson tossed a dismissive glance in Preston’s direction. “But with some care, there could be a quiet divorce. No one back East need know. Your reputation could be salvaged. You could still find a respectable match.”

  Anger rose in Preston’s chest.

  “Father.” Cora’s voice remained soft but firm. “For once in your life, please hear me. I’m sorry your detective saw that article from Christmas, because it gave you hope for something that cannot be. I’m sorry that you wasted your valuable time traveling across the country. I’m truly sorry you’ve inconvenienced yourself with not one but two trips up to our little town. But nothing you say or do will induce me to return to New York. I won’t leave my husband. I certainly won’t divorce him.”

  Her father sputtered his frustration.

  She leaned forward on her chair. “All of my life, I was nothing more to you than a pawn to be played in order to better your standing in society. I wanted your approval, your love. I wanted it so badly that I allowed you to arrange and control my life for far too long.” She reached out and briefly touched her father’s knee, then withdrew her hand and straightened again. “But I am not that girl any longer, and I am not your property. I left New York because I didn’t want to be trapped in a loveless marriage. And I found so much more than mere freedom. I found myself. I found a deeper faith in the God who loves me, even though I’m not perfect.” She turned and looked up at Preston, offering a quick smile. “And I found love with a man who doesn’t want to control me but wishes me to go through life beside him. As his equal.”

  “Rubbish!” her father exclaimed. “He’s a nobody. He didn’t even make his fortune. He’ll likely lose it all. Well, don’t come crying to me when that happens.”

  Preston took a small step forward. “You are quite right about one thing, sir. I am not your daughter’s equal. And she is wrong about one thing. She is perfect. At least she’s perfect for me.”

  Aaron Anderson rose to his feet. “I could destroy you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Cora stood and took hold of Preston’s hand. “I have prayed for you, Father. I will go on doing so. And for Mother. I hope you can be set free too.”

  The man looked as if he would say something more, but instead, he pressed his lips together, set his hat on his head, and left the parlor. Moments later, the front door slammed behind him.

  Preston turned to Cora and drew her into his arms. “Your father is right. I’m not your equal.” He kissed her forehead. “But I promise you we’ll go through life side by side, and I’ll do my best to make su
re you’re never sorry.”

  “And I promise you”—she drew her head back to look into his eyes—“that our lives will be rich with meaning and full of joy, even if sorrow comes.”

  Chapter 23

  Chelsea awakened on hard, uneven ground. She remembered little after Tom shoved her into his car. Nothing except for an odd smell as he’d put something over her face. She’d seen enough detective shows on television to suspect he’d used ether or chloroform to knock her out. She was thankful he hadn’t beaten her senseless instead.

  With a groan, she sat up. Wherever she was, it was dark. Too dark to see her own hand in front of her face. Panic threatened to rise within.

  “No,” she said, the word echoing around her. “I won’t be afraid. What can mere man do to me?”

  It might not be an exact quote, but it reminded her that God was bigger than her present circumstances.

  “It’s okay to be scared, but I won’t panic.”

  She pushed up to her feet.

  She hated to think what small creatures might be in this dark place with her, but she couldn’t stand there, helpless. She didn’t know where she was or if Tom might come back soon. She didn’t doubt he would come back. He’d put her in this dark place to punish her, and he would want to see the results.

  Stretching out her arms, she felt around. She expected to find the rocky side of a cave. Instead, she touched a metal wall. Not exactly smooth. Perhaps rusty? So she was inside some kind of metal room. There had to be a door.

  With one hand still on the wall, she stepped forward, moving her other hand through the air in front of her. Even so, she managed to smack her shin into something hard. A large wooden crate, she decided after a brief exploration. And heavy. She inched around it and continued on.

  A short while later, her heart quickened. Off to her left glimmered a sliver of light. So faint it was almost indiscernible. But it was there, and it gave her hope. She needed hope.

  At least Tom hadn’t bound her. He must have thought she would remain unconscious long enough that he could leave for a time. But for how long? How long had she been in this room? How far from Chickadee Creek had he driven before dumping her here?

  She left the relative safety of the wall and moved toward the pale light, crossing the black expanse with both arms swaying back and forth before her, feeling for any obstruction. The closer she got, the more certain she was that it was a way out. When she reached her destination, she felt around until she located a large metal latch. She jiggled it, but nothing happened.

  Should she try harder? What kind of noise would it make? If Tom was beyond this door, it would anger him that she even tried. But not trying felt worse.

  She tried pulling on the latch again. She put everything she had into it. At first, it seemed frozen, but finally, she felt something give. A little at first. Then a snap. The door flew toward her, knocking her back onto the floor. She scrambled to her feet.

  It was later than she’d thought. Gloaming blanketed the earth. A few stars could be seen overhead. But that also meant others must be looking for her. Liam would be looking for her. That thought brought a fleeting smile with it.

  A second one stole it away. What about Chipper? Had Tom killed Liam’s dog?

  She stepped into the doorway of her rusted-out prison. She didn’t recognize the small clearing, didn’t know what this place had been. Mounds of rocks were everywhere, the natural terrain disturbed long ago, judging by the overgrowth.

  The sounds of a car carried to her through the forest. Her heart quickening once again, she sprinted for the mountainside, disappearing into the trees, not worrying about any sounds she made. Not yet. Not while the car was still in motion. For now, she had to get as far away as possible.

  * * *

  “You okay, boy?” Liam knelt on the ground and looked into his dog’s eyes. There was dried blood near Chipper’s right ear.

  “We found him up the trail thataway.” Fred Bishop pointed to the west. “He didn’t cotton much to comin’ with us, so I put that baling twine around his neck. I think he’s still hurtin’, or twine wouldn’t’ve held him.”

  Liam stood. “What about Chelsea?”

  “No sign of her. Folks’re still back there, lookin’ all over the area where your dog was. Sheriff’s out there too. ’Course, we don’t know how far your dog’d come on the trail from wherever he got hurt.”

  It would be dark soon. Too dark to keep searching. Liam hated to think of Chelsea out there after the sun set. She hated the dark, and he didn’t want her to be scared. Although he didn’t think she could be more scared than he was for her.

  A car came along the road behind him, and he turned around. Even with the headlights shining in his direction, there was enough daylight that he could tell it was Rosemary’s vehicle. As she slowed to a stop, he went to meet her.

  “Grace Witherstone said there was a stranger in the store earlier. A man about your age. She said there was something about him that didn’t set right with her. But that was late this afternoon, after everyone was already looking for Chelsea, so it might be nothing. Still, Grace told the sheriff about the stranger, and she wanted you to know about him too. She said he drove a light-green car. An older model with Washington plates.”

  Liam frowned. Light-green. Washington plates. He remembered a light-green car going by Rosemary’s house earlier in the week while he waited for Chelsea. But he hadn’t noticed the plates. Was it the same car? Strangers didn’t stay strangers long in a place like Chickadee Creek. But that meant the man had been seen twice in five days. So where was he staying? Who was he?

  Liam turned to look toward the trail. That same day he’d seen the green car, that had been the day Chipper chased after somebody on the road that led to the old dredging site. He remembered the angry shout, the dog’s barks, the quick departure of the car that left a dust cloud behind it.

  Rosemary leaned a little farther out the car window. “Liam, you don’t suppose this has anything to do with . . . with that old boyfriend of hers, do you? His car would have Washington plates.”

  “Fred!” Liam spun on his heel. “Has anybody checked out the dredger location? It might not be anything, but earlier this week, Chelsea and I heard a car up on that road leading to it. If a person wanted to stay hidden, that would be a good place for it.”

  “I reckon,” Fred answered.

  “Let’s check it out. We’ll take my truck.” He turned toward Rosemary again. “I’m going to find her.”

  Rosemary’s eyes widened. “You think he found her, don’t you? That man she’s afraid of.”

  “I don’t know. It’s a guess. That’s all. But a stranger with Washington plates on his car . . .” He let his words trail into silence.

  “I’ll keep praying.”

  He spun on his heel and took off toward his truck, Chipper right beside him.

  On the winding highway up from Boise, Liam hadn’t allowed himself to go more than ten miles above the speed limit. Now he drove his truck like a maniac. The way Fred Bishop clung to the door would have been funny in other circumstances. Fortunately, it wasn’t that far to the site. Only about five miles.

  But it seemed farther.

  Daylight was completely gone by the time the truck rounded the last curve. Evidence of the old dredger remained not far from the creek. Nearby, a wooden shack tilted precariously to one side, slats missing here and there. A shipping container, brought there in the later twentieth century by persons unknown, rested against a rock wall.

  But this time, there was something else in the center of the clearing. A pale-green sedan with Washington plates.

  Liam slammed on the brakes. He couldn’t go back and stealthily make his way here. His presence must be known by now.

  “Check over there, Fred.” He pointed, then opened the truck door, flashlight in hand. “And be careful. We don’t know what to expect from this guy.” Then he took off toward the container. He was halfway there when he heard a man’s voice.
/>   “Chelsea!”

  Liam stopped.

  “You can’t hide from me forever, sweetheart. Come on now. Quit wasting time.”

  Liam’s chest thrummed as he turned toward the heavily treed mountainside rising on his right. Those few words told him Chelsea had escaped. They also told him she was still in danger.

  “You know I never meant to hurt you.” Tom Goodson’s voice was loud enough to be heard, but also sounded gentle and concerned.

  Concern and gentleness that Liam knew to be false.

  “Quit hiding and let’s go home. I came all this way. Don’t disappoint me.”

  Chipper growled. In the glow of the flashlight, Liam saw the dog’s head was lowered, the hackles on his neck raised. “Easy, boy. No going without me this time.”

  From a short distance away, Fred said softly, “They’re up there. Now what?”

  “Take my truck. Go for help. The guy must know we’re here. He’ll be feeling desperate.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. Maybe he’ll see you go and think he’s got more time to find her.” He hoped he was right.

  “Chelsea, love, I’m running out of patience.”

  “Go, Fred. And hurry.”

  The older man headed for the truck as Liam moved up the mountainside, Chipper close beside him. He didn’t dare use the flashlight now. He didn’t want Chelsea’s abductor to know where he was. For now he would have to rely on what moonlight there was and on his own instincts.

  And God. He would rely on God.

  Preston

  April 1922

  Violin music wafted from an upstairs bedchamber, filling the entire house. Preston stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. He didn’t have to join his wife to know how she looked, standing near a window, the instrument braced beneath her chin. After twenty-five years of marriage, he knew everything there was to know about her.

  Almost, he thought with a smile. Almost everything. There would always be some mystery about his beautiful Cora, some secret in her woman’s heart.