by Dana Mentink
“But you’re—” Chad began to protest.
“I’m not going.” There was an edge of hysteria in her voice. Tears started to flow down her face and her mouth went quivery.
“I’ll take her back on Zephyr,” Chad said, giving Mitch and his father a glance that meant we can change her mind when we get her back inside. Mitch and Rocky helped Dory up into Chad’s arms.
She was cradled against him, and he heard her teeth chattering. He unzipped his jacket and wrapped it around her, feeding her his warmth.
“He threw rocks at me,” she whispered.
“I...” He tried to bite back the rage. “I am going to make sure he never touches you again.” At that moment, he was filled with the iron-strong certainty that he would never let anyone hurt Dory, in any way, ever. Dory Winslow was his and she would have his protection until the last breath was drawn from his dead body.
His? Not anymore. But it was too much to fight through the forest of irrational feeling at that moment, so he did what came naturally—shut his mouth and rode his horse. Her tears wet his flannel shirt, quiet sobs absorbed by his chest until they reached Rocky’s trailer. Mitch took Zephyr along with his mare and secured them under the shelter of the oak trees as Chad guided Dory to the trailer.
Rocky led the way inside. “She’s soaked. Don’t have any suitable clothes, but I figure some of my things will probably cover her from head to toe. What about a hot shower? Some tea?”
He’d never heard his ex-soldier father sound so frantic or uncertain.
Chad bent to look Dory in the eyes. “Can you sit on a kitchen chair for a minute, honey? So we can see if you’re bleeding anywhere?”
She sat and he examined her as best he could for wounds. The cut on her forehead had stopped bleeding. Both her knees were scraped through the rips in her jeans and it seemed her shoulder was bruised. Her body trembled violently.
“Can I...take a shower?” she said in a tiny voice. “I’m so cold.”
He knelt next to her. “You know, Dory, it would be best if we went to the hospital right now.” He touched her cold fingers when she tensed. “Just for a quick checkup.”
“Please,” she said. “A shower first.”
It was wrong. It would probably mess up any evidence and cause more problems if she had a concussion or something. But that please just got all up inside him and knocked the steely determination clean out of him. He sighed. “A shower. Then we’ll go.”
He took her arm and led her into the tiny bathroom, where he started the water. When it was steaming, he left her with a clean towel his father had provided and a well-worn sweatshirt and sweatpants. “I’m going to stay in the hallway in case you need me. Okay?”
When she didn’t answer, he put a finger under her chin and eased her face to his. “Okay?” he repeated.
She nodded.
He heard her step inside and slide the shower door closed. Leaning back against the wall, he could not get the muscles in his stomach to unclench. Those rocks...her fear...his own molten rage. It took him a moment to realize Mitch and Rocky were standing at the other end of the hallway, watching him.
“She okay?” Rocky asked softly. “I feel terrible. I texted her to ask about Blaze ’cause I saw him in town. She must have been coming here to talk to me about it. I just didn’t hear her knock. I was cooking and the rain and I had the radio on...”
“Not your fault, Dad. This is all on Blaze, and as soon as I know Dory’s okay, I’m going to hunt him down.”
Mitch folded his arms. “I understand the feeling. We’ll find him, together, and then he gets handed over to Danny.”
Chad barked out the words. “He threw rocks at her, Mitch.”
His brother’s dark eyes met his. “The police,” he said quietly.
Vengeance, his gut screamed, but Chad knew Mitch was right. Blaze belonged in prison and it was the job of the police to make that happen.
But Blaze had hurt Dory, and if it took every remaining moment of Chad’s life, he would ensure that he paid in full for the pain he’d inflicted on her. The terror. All of it.
Go ahead and run, Blaze.
You’ll never get far enough away.
* * *
Dory stayed in the shower until the hot water was depleted, but it did not wash away the chill deep inside. The bruises where the rocks had impacted were red and sore, on her shoulder, her hip. The worst was the cut across her forehead, not deep but swollen and ugly.
Why hadn’t she gone to Rock Ridge right away? Back to her tiny home, her daughter, her life?
Because Rocky was going to pursue Blaze and she’d had to prevent that if she could. Rocky had already served his time in prison, but the sinking would always be a legacy of shame, one she and her father had helped shape. What was the truth about what happened that day?
The facts were still murky and distorted, but one thing was now as clear as glass in her mind. Blaze was not a misunderstood innocent. He was a cruel, self-absorbed thug. She pictured his smile as he’d coolly begun to stone her. She didn’t doubt that he would have continued until she was dead. Her hands began to shake.
And, she reminded herself as she gingerly pulled on the sweatshirt and pants, he was on a mission.
I want this over.
She piled her clothes into a filthy bundle and met Chad in the hall. His eyes burned bright and hard, softening when he saw her in a way that made her stomach jump. If he hadn’t come...
She swallowed a sob. He pulled her close and pressed his face to her neck. She fought the urge to collapse there, his damp hair pressed against her chin, the beat of his heart comforting as a lullaby.
After a moment, he took her hand and led her to the front room, where Rocky had the space heater on full. He insisted she sit on the old stuffed rocker, which was obviously Rocky’s favored seat. Meatball launched himself directly into her lap. She kissed his caramel ears and laid her head against his damp fur. Rocky and Mitch perched on the wooden kitchen chairs and Chad paced.
She remembered how he would pace the hospital corridors the few times his father had required treatment for alcohol poisoning or drunken accidents. It was not the rambling stroll of a person trying to pass the time, but the contained stalking of a wild animal forced into a cage. There was some of that same ferocity in him now. I am going to make sure he never touches you again. His passion scared her. So did his tenderness.
You just need to hold on tight. Can you do that? Hold on to me?
It was so easy to commend herself into his care, his protection. But she determined not to let the tide of feeling carry her away. You’re Ivy’s mommy. It was natural he would be protective and angered at anyone who threatened her. That was not love. It was loyalty. She accepted the steaming mug of chamomile tea from Rocky, determined to find the steel in her spine again.
“How did you find me?”
“Meatball.” Chad stared at the dog in her lap. “He led me right to you.”
She kissed Meatball again. “That’s two times you’ve rescued me.”
Mitch eyed her. “Did Blaze say anything to you?”
“He thinks I’m working for Angela.”
Rocky shook his head. “Guy’s paranoid.”
“He said he didn’t set the fire and he has some things to take care of before he claims his inheritance.”
“He’s not going to claim anything,” Chad snapped. “He assaulted you. He’s going to prison. End of story.”
“I think he intends to kill Angela so he’ll inherit a larger pot of money, just like we thought.”
“As I said, he’s not going to get his hands on one thin dime.”
“He would if...” She trailed off.
“If what?”
“If he kills Angela...and me without leaving any evidence behind to incriminate himself.” She continued before Chad’s face drew any
darker. “If we could catch him, it might not help anyway. You didn’t see him actually hurt me. There’s only my testimony. He wouldn’t necessarily be convicted.”
“I saw him with a rock in his hand,” Chad rasped.
“Did you see his face?”
“No, but...”
“It was dark, storming. He’ll say it wasn’t him. Make up some story about protecting himself or concoct an alibi.”
Rocky frowned. “He’d be a fool to put his word against yours.”
She thought of Angela’s assessment. He can make anyone believe it’s not his fault... Somehow he’s always the victim. “I don’t think he’s completely rational. He feels he’s been wronged, that his aunt’s been hunting him since Mary drowned. He’s tired of hiding out. He’s probably not going to run anymore.”
Even as she said the words, she knew she was right. He would stay put until he’d killed the people who stood in the way of his inheritance. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying until a tear plopped onto the front of her borrowed sweatshirt. Meatball whisked away the second with his tongue.
“He’s not going to hurt you again,” Chad said, taking her hand.
She gulped, forehead throbbing. It was as if she could still hear the rocks smashing down around her. In spite of Chad’s strong grip and the reassuring warmth of Meatball in her lap, Dory felt suddenly cold through and through.
I want this over, he’d said.
And he’d meant every word.
EIGHTEEN
Dory had acquiesced about going to the hospital, and that scared Chad more than the bruises and cuts. She’d never been what could be considered compliant. It was one of the things he’d relished about her. The day she was told the high school gym teacher would flunk her best friend, Jeannie, who was unable to climb the rope due to a crippling fear of heights, Dory refused to climb the rope in a show of support. When all the other girls and two boys took her lead and followed suit, the teacher capitulated. He prayed her indomitable spirit was not dulled by what had happened in the cistern.
She’d been efficiently examined and released with painkillers just before seven thirty. He walked her down to the lobby and out into the courtyard, where the streetlight caught the nasty bruise on her forehead. She’d pulled down the sleeves of the shirt he’d brought for her to cover the marks on her arms. Seeing the damage, the pain Blaze had inflicted, nearly drove him to distraction. It was all he could do not to tear off on Zephyr and comb every lonely corner in Driftwood until he tracked Blaze down.
But he would not leave Dory, not like this, when she was strangely quiet.
“Are you hurting, Dory?” She shook her head, but he guided her to a seating area with two chairs and a soft patio light. He knelt next to her and put a hand on her knee. He didn’t say anything, just tried to show her with his touch how much he hurt for her.
“I was just...” She stopped, pushed the hair back from her face and tried again. “I was trying to figure out what to say to Ivy.”
He blinked. What to say? Then he got it. Her face was bruised and battered. What would Ivy think about that? Would she be scared? The tight band in his gut cinched one more notch. Blaze hadn’t just hurt Dory. He was responsible for frightening Ivy. Now the protective fire roared inside so loud he almost didn’t catch her next words.
“I try to always tell her the truth, but I’m not sure how to explain what happened.”
“Sure. I understand. You could stay at the saddlery for a few days, until the marks fade.”
She shook her head. “I want to go home.” Her voice hitched. “I need to be with Ivy.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’ll take you right now. How would that be? Maybe we can catch her before bedtime.” He was helping her to her feet when he spotted Angela striding toward them, a wool coat wrapped snugly around her.
“I was locking up after my shift at the hospital gift shop and I heard what happened from one of the nurses,” she said. Her expression was pained, as if she had swallowed something bitter. “I am so sorry. I can’t tell you how bad I feel.”
“We’ll get Blaze.” Angela flinched, and Chad realized his tone was gruff and hard. He tried to temper it. “Have you talked to the police about your own safety?”
She sighed. “Yes. Chief Patron said he’d have an officer drive by on a regular basis to check the grounds when he can spare a man. Tom suggested I hire some private security. I suppose he must be right, but I hate the thought of strangers on my property.” A look of hope flitted across her face. “Blaze might flee now, since he’s done this terrible thing. Right?”
“Do you think that’s likely?” Dory said.
Angela’s gaze drifted from Dory’s wounded face to the evening sky. “When he was a sixth grader, he had a hard time fitting in at a new school. No friends, though that was probably because of him more than the other kids. Mary signed him up for baseball. He came home from the first practice upset because some other players laughed at him for not knowing how to throw properly. He got a bucket of balls and started practicing, day and night. At all hours, I could hear the whack of that baseball hitting the side of the barn when I stayed over. Whack, whack, all night long.” She shook her head. “Do I think he’ll give up?” Her gaze locked on Chad. “No, I don’t.”
Chad instinctively moved closer to Dory. He agreed with Angela. Blaze wasn’t going to go anywhere until he got what he wanted.
Angela bent and touched Dory’s hand. “Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. If only we could have gotten through to Blaze when he was a kid. Maybe if Scott hadn’t died so suddenly.” The look on her face was pure defeat. “I guess that water’s long past the bridge, as my father used to say.” She sighed. “I got out my gun last night. Daddy taught me how to shoot. I never in a million years imagined I’d be trying to protect myself from my nephew.” After a tired nod, she walked away.
Chad kept a wary eye out as he walked Dory to the truck and they drove to Rock Ridge. Time with Ivy would be healing, he figured, and she’d be under her mother and father’s watchful eye. They’d called from the hospital to prepare the Winslows.
Sarah ushered them into the house, looping an arm around Dory’s shoulders. Chad saw her lip tremble only once before she plastered on a calming smile. This was the kind of mother who could be counted on. The type who did not run away when the wheels were falling off the wagon. He was glad Dory had a mother like that. When Dory started to sniffle, Sarah drew her into the kitchen. “Give us just a minute, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He found himself alone in the hallway. A creak in the floor snagged his attention and he saw Ivy standing at the bottom of the stairs. The dark shadows made her look small and delicate. She wore a pink unicorn nightgown and clutched a stuffed dog that seemed to be missing an eye. Chad realized she must have sneaked out of bed when she’d heard the front door open. He wondered if she’d caught sight of Dory’s condition.
He took a knee. “Hello, Ivy.”
“Hi, Daddy.”
Daddy. He cleared the sudden clog in his throat. “Did we wake you up?”
“No. I was singing some nighttime songs in my bed. What’s wrong with Mommy?”
She had indeed seen the tearful greeting. He chose his words carefully. “Mommy got hurt. Just a little bit. She’s okay.”
“Is Grandma taking care of her?”
“Yes.” There was probably more he should say, some soothing father words. He didn’t know any. She seemed to be mulling it over. He remembered something from Charlie’s nighttime rituals. “Uh, how about I tuck you in?”
She didn’t answer, just hiked up a fistful of pink nightie and climbed the stairs. He followed her into a room with an impossibly small bed, a night-light that cast moon shapes onto the ceiling, and a box overflowing with plastic animals. On the small wooden table was a pile of Popsicle sticks and a
bottle of white glue. He also noted a glass jelly jar filled with what appeared to be Cracker Jack prizes. That gave him a silent chuckle. Dory still had her little collection.
Ivy hopped into bed and he pulled the coverlet up.
“Gonna pray, Daddy?”
“Huh?”
“Mommy always prays when she tucks me in.”
“Oh.” He felt a flush of anxiety. Praying out loud was not in his wheelhouse. “Well...what does Mommy say?”
She closed her eyes and folded her hands under her chin. “Lord, thank You for this day to live, the mistakes I’ve made today, forgive. Thank You for the sky of blue. And help me learn to love like You.”
Chad found himself staring at this wondrous child whom he had been given the esteemed privilege of parenting. He’d come late to the party and found that his tiny daughter had already learned some lessons he’d been struggling with for years, thanks to Dory.
Forgiveness, love, gratitude.
His eyes were damp and his heart so full he could not make any words come out.
“Now you say the ‘Amen’ part,” Ivy instructed.
“Amen,” he whispered, and he meant it with all the fervor of his heart. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Will you tell Mommy I love her?”
“Yes.”
“And will you ask Mommy to come lie down with me?”
“Yes.”
“And next time can you bring Meatball with you?”
He laughed. “We’ll see what we can do. Good night, Ivy.”
He had one leg across the threshold when she said it.
“I love you, Daddy.”
His insides filled with a light he did not understand. A light that was so much greater than all the dark shadows that lingered deep down. His daughter loved him? This generous, sweet soul could decide so quickly that he was her daddy and that made him worthy of love?
Though he’d only known her for a few days, he knew the truth of it, the depth of it, the power of loving someone whom God had placed squarely in his path for no other reason than because He was so very good. He resolved then and there that, no matter what, he would try with everything in him to be the best father he could possibly be to this little girl.