Winter Peril

by Pinder, Victoria

  A giggle escaped her lips. Tonight, she’d won a major battle. He’d been so sweet. It was more than that. He had held her tight and complimented her. A lightness grew in her chest. He’d even called her a nickname. Excitement raced in her pulse, and on the high she dared not open her eyes.

  A crack on the wood echoed through the night air, and she opened her eyes. Was that just an old house settling in? A clink reverberated and sounded like high heels. She sighed.

  Her pulse calmed and she rationalized. She couldn’t push Gabriel too far, too fast. Patience must be a virtue. Her mother had told her she’d learn that one day. And now she was stuck here and had to learn. It was not like she had a choice. If she did, though, then Gabriel’s huge leg muscles would be entwined with hers under some twisted sheets.

  Since her body quivered in excitement now, she wiggled on her bed to find rest. Her thoughts were the opposite of restful. Then she bit her bottom lip. She remembered the diary.

  Tiffany would be a mood killer, and hopefully, would make her go back to sleep. Normally she opted out of dark horror stories, but Tiffany had had an affair. It wasn’t that she had gone crazy from a long bout of isolation on a mountain, and Gabriel had been scarred from this woman. Erica needed to know how anyone could ever betray her angel.

  She reached out and found the book in its hiding spot. She smiled to herself and settled in. Her pillows made a restful spot for her back. Then she flipped open the book.

  My husband doesn’t love me. He never did. I know it. When we first dated, I thought he’d help me forget my less handsome fiancé, and how that all ended. Maybe I should have married Alan. He had money, and he’d not speak so cruelly to me. Gabriel wants a divorce, but I can’t let that happen.

  Besides, if not for Gabriel, then I’d have not met Raphael. The only bright spot in my life right now is Raphael. Gabriel Murphy is the son of the devil himself. He doesn’t think I should stuff my bra, and he yells at me to stop buying shoes. Who cares about the price! They are so beautiful, and that color underneath is a signature design. All women should own Jimmy Choos. But the worst part about marriage is that he’s angry I’m not pregnant. I can’t help if he thought I was the day he married me. I would have fixed the mess if I knew he’d drag me up here to this mountain. He’ll be sorry. I’ll have my revenge. He won’t know what hit him. I always win. Ask Alan or my parents the price they paid for standing in my way!

  Who was Alan? And what had Tiffany done to her parents? And why would Gabriel ask for a divorce in one paragraph and then Tiffany said he yelled about no children in the next? Had Gabriel married her because he thought she was pregnant? Gabriel was honorable. Erica rolled her head back on the pillow to stretch. It was obvious that Gabriel had married a vain woman. This much was crystal clear, and no, most women did not own fancy designer shoes. Gabriel came alive at simple kindness, and now it made more sense. She rolled her eyes at the pages Tiffany had left behind.

  No one believes me. I told my sister and his brother that Gabriel hit me, hard. And that it wasn’t a one-time accident. My sister told me to stop lying. I don’t know what to do. One day Samantha will get what’s coming to her.

  Some words were scratched out. Was Samantha her sister? Erica brought the book closer to her face and squinted to try and read in the darkness. The words slowly came together.

  But this lie was the only option I had at the time.

  Anger coursed through her. Tiffany had lied about abuse. She had lied about Gabriel. No wonder Gabriel had issues. Erica needed him to open up, but he had lived through an unimaginable betrayal of trust. Erica rolled her shoulders to calm down, and finished reading the page.

  I can’t leave him, as I’d get no money, but no one listens. If I end up dead, maybe then they’ll believe what I said. What should I do? I married him, but I’ve never expected he’d turn out just like my parents. Everyone always thinks they can beat me. I have to find a way to be with Raphael and get away from Gabriel.

  Erica’s eyes widened, and she reread the passage twice. A wolf’s howl in the air made her jerk and sit up. Her shoulder was almost healed from the wolves now. She was safe inside these walls, and she stared at the diary. This Tiffany woman sounded crazy in her own diary. And was Gabriel’s own brother as duplicitous as his wife? Blood, at least to Erica, should be thick enough to never hurt others.

  If she had Internet access, she’d look up what happened to Alan, her parents, Tiffany, and Raphael. Everyone had history that was accessible online, and Erica’s fingers ached to type in their names into a search engine.

  Her stomach hardened and her skin crawled.

  Was that a faint scream?

  Erica swallowed and sat up. She blinked and listened hard. Nothing stirred. Tonight, her sleep came with crazy thoughts that kept her up.

  She settled back down in her bed and closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe Gabriel had had this type of woman for a wife. Righteousness coursed through her. She’d fight off any ghost. The man took care of her and made her body come alive. She shook her head and almost convinced herself not to think about Tiffany or her diary.

  Erica stared at the window, now covered with snow, and settled down. The stupid wind must have moved a pile of snow. Erica’s shoulders tightened. It wasn’t the wolves. And she placed the diary under her mattress. She’d go back to sleep now.

  Under her blankets, she settled in.

  Then another scream rang out.

  In that instant, she curled her legs up to her chin and rocked in her bed. She swallowed. A moment later, Erica’s mind cleared, and she scolded herself. So much for the confidence she had in the real world. She sat up again and stared all around her. Her ears drummed so loud that it affected her hearing. To stay calm, she asked out loud, “What was that?”

  The question scared her, and scream rang out. Erica’s head whipped to the window. The scream was far in the distance. In Miami, all she knew were stray cats and dogs. All she knew out in the snow were the wolves. Her shoulder heated at the memory. She collected her thoughts and took a deep breath. She forced herself to get up and check the room.

  Another scream, this time louder and deeper.

  That one had been different and more masculine. Her mind cleared.

  Gabriel.

  His voice was distinct.

  Erica ran into the hallway and rushed to his bedroom door. She pushed, but it didn’t open. She used her hip and pushed again, and she realized his door was locked. She rattled the knob and knocked.

  The man had a deep sadness in his screams. At the door, she listened to the pain in his voice. The noise was deep and primal. Then she thought she heard the patter of feet. Erica shook the door handle and the feet scampered away. Was someone else in there? Did he suffer nightmares? With a loud knock, she yelled to wake him. “Gabriel. Get up. Now. Open this door.”

  His screams subsided, but he didn’t come to open the door. She lost her nerve. Nothing here made sense. Her mother needed her, and she scolded herself that she shouldn’t hope to comfort Gabriel. Her goals had become so strange in this chateau. In the dark hallway, she crumpled onto the ground. She didn’t know what else to do. So she waited. Deep breaths helped, but her heart still raced.

  She rested her head against his door.

  The darkness was so thick in the night. Her ears drummed and she swore she heard the clank of high heels. Nothing stirred. No monsters came out of the dark.

  She sat quiet and no one came toward her. Ghosts were figments of the imagination. And Erica’s mind kept picturing what the diary said. What could he do to her if he switched personalities? She swallowed. That thought was uncalled for.

  She rubbed her forehead. There was no escape in this place. Nowhere to run. Gabriel must have come here to heal from his wife’s treachery, if he even knew. Perhaps this was simply his hideaway. Erica swallowed. She should conserve her mind to getting home to be there for her mother’s cancer treatments.

  A tear washed down her face.

&nb
sp; Erica curled up into the fetal position at the door. Being alone meant no one helped her, and part of her shook because Erica hated this quietness. She never cried. Her eyes misted now, and she told herself she could always find the answers. The world offered solutions to any and all problems. Her sister had run off into the world alone. And Erica stayed home to take care of her mom. Everything had been handled until the car accident. Her cheeks were now moist, but she couldn’t cry. She told herself only girls, not confident women, had time to cry.

  Gabriel would heal in time. Tiffany sounded crazy, despite her size. Erica needed to get home to ensure her mother healed too. There was too much to do for Erica to sit around and mope.

  The collar of Erica’s nightgown became tighter. If Gabriel hadn’t been here, she’d be dead too, and no one would have found her body until the snow melted in spring.

  For the longest time, she sat there unmoving. Her eyes watered. She broke. All she could do was cry.

  Chapter 14

  Eventually, Erica yawned, then stood to walk stiffly back to her bedroom. Her legs were cold and weak, and she fought off dizziness. The heat of her shoulder reminded her to rest and heal.

  Her cheeks held her dried tears.

  Isolation and bleakness hadn’t been natural in her life. Normally, she spent her day with a million things to do and never had time to think about her personal demons. She rubbed her arms and opened the door to her room. Every day, she ran at full throttle to keep her mind busy, but what happened in the hallway hadn’t been that bad. Except, in this house, she turned so lonely and cold. In Miami, cold ended fast. She’d turn the air conditioner down a little and the problem was solved. But in this house, the draft seeped under the skin.

  In her room, she closed the door and plopped back in her bed. Finally, she closed her eyes and tugged the blankets on top of her. The coldness hadn’t dissipated yet. And she couldn’t sleep. So she ran her hands down her legs to get warm.

  Nothing was in this house except her and Gabriel.

  Her ears drummed louder. And her throat constricted. Sleep was impossible, and her mind raced back to the diary. What if Gabriel had been violent? Or what if Tiffany had done something so hurtful that he’d never talk about it? She couldn’t believe it, but right now, the question took on a life of its own. She tossed in the bed and hoped to find some respite.

  She sighed, then sat up in bed. Unable to stop herself, she reached for the diary, though she vowed to read only one more passage. Taking a breath for a second of sanity, she opened the book.

  I confronted my husband while he worked. I could stand no more of his constant abuse. Then he fell on top of me and claimed it was the ladder. I knew better. I clawed at him to free myself, but he pushed me back. His damn hammer and nails were more important to him than me. One day I’ll use his tools against him. I’ll use his house against him.

  He told me to leave. I threw myself on top of the wood he was drilling a hole in, and he almost hit me with the hammer. Yelling didn’t help, and I clawed at him. Again, yelling, I told him he wasn’t a good husband or lover, and it made it worse.

  He pushed himself on me, and I screamed and screamed. But then I clawed at his clothes. He threw me off him. He was supposed to love me, not want a divorce. He hates everything about me. What am I supposed to do? My sister said it’s good if I’m finally telling her the truth now, and that I should agree to the divorce. She thinks his settlement is fair. She’s a disloyal bitch. No one listens, and I’m alone. My parents used to call me names too. It’s up to me to stop this. He will not leave me. Otherwise, I’m going to die here, and Gabriel will be the one who killed me.

  Erica winced like she’d been slapped, and threw the book clear across the room. What had Tiffany done? Erica swallowed. The man steered so far from her, and she’d never have guessed he suffered from someone like Tiffany. Tiffany was his wife. Erica shook her head. That made this read worse. The poor man down the hall had lived through two hells. He had a liar for a wife. He had endured two wars. The second one, the one with Tiffany, had scarred him far more than combat.

  Erica realized facts were the truth. One person’s opinion did not make what happened the truth. Tiffany was dead, but that wasn’t enough fact. Erica’s heartbeat refused to listen. Gabriel could do so much better if he talked as it would help him heal.. They’d have a chance.

  Besides, Tiffany sounded insane about her parents too. And what had happened to Alan? Erica ran her hand through her hair. She’d not let Tiffany destroy whatever was happening between her and Gabriel.

  Reading those entries in the diary had been a mistake. Erica shook her head and sighed. She would never tell Gabriel she’d even read this trash. She’d not let the insinuations and lies in the past steal her happiness now. Despite her revulsion, she bit her lip.

  Did she finish the pack of lies? No more surprises meant nothing came out of the shadows to get her. She rubbed the back of her neck. She’d finish the book later, but tonight she had enough. Gabriel would eventually open up, and whatever someone might say about him in the future, she’d defend him. She hesitated, then picked up the book. At first, her fingers stayed clutched and she couldn’t open it. Finally, she opened her palm and the book. She took a deep breath, then scanned the next entry. Nothing about Gabriel were in that entry. She swallowed, and she slid the book back in its hiding spot.

  She lay down and tugged the covers over her shoulders. Her pulse continued to race with fear and anger. She’d have to calm down.

  The bitter, howling wind sounded like a womanly moan. The sounds played tricks with her mind. That had to be the wolves. She ought to know better. This night never ended.

  Finally, Erica fluffed her pillow, shook her head, and reminded herself that she shouldn’t have read anymore of the diary. Gabriel had been nothing but nice to her, and his wife was dead. Tiffany’s entry in her diary mentioned that she’d die, and it would be Gabriel who killed her.

  Erica’s throat thickened and she nearly choked. But tall tales never made sense, and Tiffany’s story stank.

  ***

  In the morning, Erica ran a hand over her head, but she refused to open her eyes. Her head pounded. Had she had any sleep? She needed a pain reliever, a sleeping pill, something. Her mind kept playing cruel tricks on her. And the nightmares became unbearable. All this happened because she was alone.

  Gabriel had to keep his promise today to seek her out. She’d go crazy if left alone.

  At home, her mother’s sickness never left Erica a moment for herself. She had to work. Or she had to be at the hospital. Nothing else mattered. And from constant activity, she became numb to life. She helped her mother through the pain. She had never once picked up the phone to call her sister, not that she knew where. She sucked on her bottom lip. She could have hired someone, or tried to find Kimberly, though.

  Erica realized how selfish that had been.

  Stress ate at her, but she didn’t deal with helplessness well. Finally, she opened her eyes and prayed.

  A memory floated into her mind a moment later. When she had been a girl, her mother had done yoga to relieve stress. Was there a book in the library on positions?

  Erica supposed the idea was good. She’d never let herself calm down. She reached behind her head to massage her neck. Erica had never experienced this roller-coaster of emotions and needed an anchor. Life had demanded much, and she’d always been too busy to notice.

  Despite the morning, her sleep came fitfully, and an hour later, she gave up the effort. Cook. Clean. She’d find something to stay active. Erica showered and dressed, and found the apartment deserted.

  Gabriel had woken early to work.

  Erica rubbed her chin. She decided to figure out where the back rooms might be. Gabriel had mentioned he was upgrading the staff locations, and there had to be an entryway. It was not like he walked through walls.

  She blinked. The diary had mentioned secret passageways, which reminded her she needed to go find that secret room
. Her stomach rumbled, so she’d eat first.

  No. Erica shook off the numbing coldness. The man was an angel, and wouldn’t lock her up and leave the front door open. There had to be another door.

  Her body calmed down. She pictured his sexy, smoldering, dark eyes. In candlelight, his wide pupils reflected the flames. Who was this man who excited her? The perfect lover she’d be crazy to doubt or a man married to the crazy lady from the diary? Her body ached. She marched to the kitchen. He’d be innocent of his wife’s lies, and the diary could be washed away. Her heart stayed heavy. Erica hoped the thoughts of the woman would die already.

  She opened the fridge to decide what to do. It was a stupid diary and not Erica’s problem. Tiffany’s marital affair meant trouble in paradise, and Gabriel didn’t open up easy. Erica needed to pry him open to speak. Words took effort for him. Unlike her—she could talk to anyone for hours about nothing at all.

  The refrigerator held no appeal. She stopped and picked up a muffin on the table, which, though made the day before, still tasted good and edible. After a few bites, she took a deep breath, then clenched and unclenched her hands. Another one was missing, so Gabriel had eaten one too. Good. She’d make more. Every time she baked, everything else in her life became better.

  She went to the cupboard to get ingredients. Her mind cleared as she whisked batter for muffins. Then she kneaded the dough for bread and let go of everything else.

  Food gave life and substance, and deserved to be delectable. She lost herself in the mixing.

  The moment she finished, her smile grew wide. She’d do something else. Perhaps organize something. She headed out to the library, her every step echoing on the wood floor. She entered the cold lobby. Her body kept calling her back toward the warm apartment, yet her feet kept on their forward path. If Gabriel intended to fix this place, then she’d be useful.