A Last Resort

by Brenda Sinclair

  “Where were you just now?” Lyndon inquired, softly. Touching her hair and tucking a strand behind her ear. “You seemed very far away.”

  “Just thinking about life. Teen runaways.” Emma patted his arm. “Want some coffee? It’s too early to head to bed yet.”

  “Sure. I’ll help. Have you checked your hands today? Yesterday, they appeared almost healed.”

  “Take a look. They feel better all the time, and I have absolutely no urge to scratch.” She glanced at him.

  Lyndon carefully removed the little woolen gloves and a broad smile covered his face. “Wow. Look at that!”

  Emma smiled, too. Every trace of redness had faded and there wasn’t a single blister in sight. The itchiness had stopped a few days ago, but Lyndon warned her he wasn’t taking chances. Or he didn’t fully believe her. It seemed like months since he’d first treated her, but little evidence remained of her foolishness in the forest. She’d be more careful next time and wear gloves when playing fetch with Jake. She looked into Lyndon’s eyes.

  “I’m amazed,” she whispered, her eyes tearing up. She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you so much for everything you did to help me heal. This is marvelous. I can type in my normal manner again.” She completely forgot herself in her exuberance and pressed her lips to his. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back with equal enthusiasm. She relished in his embrace, his strong arms holding her tightly, keeping her safe and warm and content. His lips cherished her mouth and she lost herself in the pure bliss of his kiss. Until she realized what she’d done and leapt away from him. “Oh my heavens. I… I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to do that,” she stammered, feeling her entire body warm. Either from embarrassment or from the unexpected kiss they’d shared so zealously.

  “That… that was all right.” Lyndon appeared a little disoriented. “Didn’t you mention coffee?”

  “Right.” Emma balled the socks up in her hands while she and Lyndon wandered into the kitchen. She ceremoniously tossed the socks in the trash. “Good riddance,” she muttered.

  Lyndon chuckled. “Those could have gone into the laundry, but nothing wrong with a symbolic gesture like that.”

  “Glad you agree.” Emma washed her hands at the kitchen sink and then stuck a pod into the coffeemaker, her hands encumbrance free for the first time in weeks. “You hungry? I could put together a snack tray and we could see if there’s anything interesting on TV.”

  “No thanks. I’m still full from dinner. Who knew vegetarian stuffed peppers would taste so good?” He chuckled when she glared at him.

  “I would know. I love them. I explained step-by-step how to make them and you succeeded like an expert. And you ate two large ones as well as the leftover meatloaf.”

  “Yummy.” He stared out the kitchen window. “Were you in the equipment shed today?”

  “Equipment shed?” She peeked over his shoulder. “Oh, you mean where Mike and Rachael keep the garden stuff and the sports gear and that big tent they put up when entertaining neighbors and friends?”

  “Yeah. I keep some of my tools in there if I won’t be using them for several days.” Lyndon scratched his head. “I haven’t been in there for ages, but I don’t think I left a light on.”

  “There’s a light on?”

  “I think there is.” Lyndon leaned closer to the window ledge. “I was certain I saw a light a minute ago. I know there was a bright flash of something.”

  They both stared at the shed for several seconds.

  “There! See that?” Lyndon exclaimed.

  “Yes. For a brief second. What is that?”

  “Darn if I know, but I’m going to check it out.” Lyndon slipped his jacket on and grabbed a large industrial flashlight off the shelf by the back door.

  “I’m coming, too.” Emma slipped her ski jacket on and shoved her feet into her boots, once again able to perform zipper closing and lace tying. “I hope it isn’t a fire.”

  “Hey, I never thought of that.” Lyndon reached for the fire extinguisher in the closet. “Let’s go.”

  Jake danced in anticipation of going on a walk.

  “Sorry, boy, you’d better stay in the cabin. I don’t want you in the way, and I have no idea what’s going on out there.” Lyndon held the door for Emma, preventing Jake from slipping by her, and then closed the door firmly. “Be careful and stay behind me,” he warned.

  Emma nodded and followed him across the yard. Her heart beat rapidly and she almost regretted accompanying him. But there was no way she’d let him face danger alone.

  Whatever lay ahead, they’d face it together.

  Chapter 12

  Emma followed Lyndon as he tentatively stepped into the shed. He completed a quick sweep of the interior and then directed the flashlight’s beam toward the figure he spotted in the corner. Her heart continued beating a mile a minute and she held her breath.

  She stared at the back of the guy who wore the black hoodie they saw on the surveillance tape earlier. This was definitely their thief sitting on a large overturned flower pot. Emma noticed a set of headphones on his head; no wonder he hadn’t heard them enter. He must be sitting listening to music with his eyes closed since he hadn’t noticed the beam of light from their flashlight either. Lyndon leaned forward, tapped the guy on the shoulder, and then quickly stepped back in preparation for his reaction.

  The person jumped a foot and then his arms wind-milled as he leapt off the flower pot. A blood-curdling scream accompanied the movement. The person tugged off the headphones pulling the hood down with them, revealing two long blonde pigtails.

  “What the heck?” Lyndon exclaimed

  Emma immediately realized the scream was distinctly female. “It’s a girl?”

  “Appears so.”

  “You nearly scared me to death!” the girl accused them. “Jeez, did you have to tap me on the shoulder like that?”

  “Hey, kid!” Lyndon grabbed her by the arm. “We’re not the ones in trouble. What are you doing in here? Have you no respect for other people’s property?”

  “You’ve been coming into our cabin and stealing food,” Emma added.

  The teen yanked her arm out of Lyndon’s grip and then burst into tears.

  “Aw, hell,” Lyndon muttered.

  Emma suppressed the comment that almost escaped her lips. Men never knew how to handle a crying woman, whether she was five or eighty-five. “What are you doing in here? Did you run away from home?” She hoped for an explanation despite the tears.

  “I… yeah… I guess so.” She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her hoodie, regaining her composure.

  “Why?” Lyndon demanded.

  The girl stared at him. “None of your business.”

  “Fine. You can talk to the cops. We’re taking you into town.”

  “No!” Her eyes darted from Lyndon to Emma and then to the door.

  “Don’t even think about it.” Emma moved to block her escape. “You’re staying right here until we get some answers.”

  The girl appeared no older than sixteen in those pigtails. Tall and slim. Light brown eyes wary of the people who’d found her. Emma couldn’t help feeling sorry for the kid, imagining all manner of things that she might be running from. “All right, we won’t take you into town.”

  Lyndon glared at her.

  “Not if you can convince us we shouldn’t.” Emma considered negotiation their best tactic for now.

  “Grab your stuff. You’re coming into the cabin because I’m not spending my evening in here.” Lyndon picked up a large backpack.

  “Hey, don’t touch my things.” She yanked the backpack out of his hands and hefted it over one shoulder. She picked up a couple other things including the headphones and stuffed them into a canvas bag. She stood glaring at them.

  Emma searched for evidence the girl had forgotten something. Nothing had been strewn about, leaving the teen ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. “Is that all of it?”

  The girl nodded. “An
d those two suitcases and that other duffle bag over there.”

  “Okay, let’s go.” Emma reached for one of the bags and the girl allowed her to take it. Lyndon grabbed the suitcases.

  Five minutes later, the girl’s gear stood at the back door and she occupied one of the kitchen barstools at the island.

  “Hi,” the teen whispered as Jake welcomed her with wagging tail, pushing his nose under her hand for petting. The girl smiled and patted his head.

  “Looks like you two know each other.” Emma suspected the two of them had become acquainted previously. No doubt, the dog would have realized the teen was hiding in the shed. “Too bad Jake can’t talk.”

  “He’s a nice dog. I’m sorry I yelled at him and scared him away from the shed so my hiding place wouldn’t be discovered,” the teen admitted, gently twisting the dog’s long ears with her fingers.

  Emma noticed the girl’s hands visibly shaking. “Are you cold? Or nervous?”

  The teen met her eyes.

  Emma heaved a sigh. “Well, we’re not going to hurt you, so forget the nerves. I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate to stop—”

  “I’m not cold.”

  “Fine. You’re getting hot chocolate anyway,” Emma replied, snippily. Then she realized she was acting as obstinately as the kid. “Then you can explain what you were doing hiding in the shed. It appeared you were prepared to stay for a while.”

  “Just until you guys left,” she muttered. “What’s the dog’s name?”

  “Jake,” Lyndon and Emma replied in unison.

  The teen scoffed. “Dumb name for a dog. That’s my boyfriend’s name.”

  “Boyfriend?” Lyndon straightened. “You’re too young to have a boyfriend.”

  “Yeah, sure. It’s not like we’re having sex or anything,” the girl grumbled.

  Lyndon paled considerably.

  “Enough. No more ‘s’ word,” Emma warned, interceding. “Lyndon appears close to heart failure and we’re too far from a hospital. Besides, I’m an author not a nurse.”

  The teen whipped around and met Emma’s eyes. “You’re an author? I love reading.”

  “She writes romance. You’re too young to read those books,” Lyndon blurted. “You wouldn’t have heard of her.”

  The thief threw up her hands. “I’m fifteen. What’s your name?”

  “Emma Sullivan, but I write as Emma Storre.”

  “Emma Storre! You’re Emma Storre? I love your books. I’ve read all of them,” the girl exclaimed, beaming. “Could you sign my copies? I brought some of them with me. The others I left with my friend.”

  Lyndon paled again. “You’ve read her books?”

  “Yeah, they’re amazing. You never know how it’s going to end until the last chapter. And I can never guess the ending. Well, except that they’ll get engaged or married.”

  Lyndon threw up his hands.

  “My books are appropriate for fifteen-year-old girls,” Emma defended herself. “There’s nothing really explicit in them. They could be considered sweet. Well, maybe warm. Certainly nothing—”

  “Don’t say it,” Lyndon interrupted, covering his ears.

  “Old people.” The teen giggled and pointed at Lyndon. “Her books are not spicy or really hot. Although I’ve read a couple of those at a former friend’s house. Until Mom found out.”

  Emma decided they needed a new topic of conversation. “What else do you like to read?”

  While the kettle boiled for the hot chocolate and the teen conversed with Lyndon, Emma slid her laptop over to the edge of the island and checked her email. A reply from Rachael to this morning’s email was waiting for her. Emma had pecked out a message this morning with her little gloves on, but now she could actually type a quick response if necessary. She caught herself smiling at the thought as she read…

  Hi Emma.

  Thank you so much for your update. I’m happy the book is coming along so well. I apologize for not contacting you again sooner, but we have a family crisis here. Mike’s niece ran away from her family’s Vancouver home on Friday, we think. She told her parents she was staying with a friend for the weekend, but when she never returned home Sunday night, they called Shelley’s friend and learned their daughter had never been there. She’s usually such a good kid: A-student, volunteers at the food bank, responsible.

  I put together a poster for her parents to use in Vancouver and for Mike and I to distribute around the city in case she comes our way to Calgary. Here’s a copy if you wouldn’t mind letting us know if you happen to see her.

  Thanks and we’ll talk soon.

  Rachael.

  Emma opened the attachment and almost collapsed from shock. Guess whose light brown eyes were looking back at her from the picture on the poster? She glanced at the teen sitting not four feet away and then clicked on REPLY. Emma had to remember not to let any cats out of the bag and mention Lyndon.

  Hi Rachael.

  Don’t bother to distribute those posters. I know exactly where your niece is. I discovered her hiding in the shed here, and she’s in the cabin with me now. Safe and healthy. She hasn’t provided a name or reason why she’s hiding out. I’ll try to get some info out of her, including why she ran away. I’ll contact you again tomorrow when I learn something. Meanwhile, don’t worry. Shelley is fine.

  We’ll talk soon.

  Emma.

  Emma read the reply again to ensure she’d only used ‘I’ and not ‘we’. The email read properly and she hit SEND and waited to ensure it was sent before closing her laptop. She added hot chocolate mix to the mugs and poured the water in while stirring. There should be some mini marshmallows here somewhere, but she’d forgo them tonight.

  Lyndon had sat drinking his beer while she was on her email mission and didn’t appear too happy at the moment. He set the empty can aside and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the teen. Emma suppressed a smile, knowing she was about to shock both of them.

  “Here you go, Shelley. It’s hot. Watch you don’t burn yourself.”

  “Okay, thanks,” the teen replied and then gasped. “What did you say?”

  “Don’t burn yourself,” Emma replied, innocently.

  “You called me Shelley.”

  “I noticed that, too,” Lyndon added, straightening on his barstool.

  “Apparently, Shelley ran away from her home in Vancouver. She’s Mike’s niece. I assume your last name is Lewis if your dad is Mike’s brother. I don’t think he has a sister.” Emma blew on her hot chocolate and took a sip.

  Shelley slowly shoved her mug across the island.

  “Suddenly not in the mood for hot chocolate?” Emma inquired, hearing a snicker escape Lyndon.

  The teen’s shoulders slumped. “How did you find out?”

  “Rachael’s my editor. She replied to my email apologizing for not contacting me earlier due to a family crisis. Her husband’s niece ran away from her home in Vancouver. Rachael included an attachment… the poster with your picture to distribute around Vancouver and Calgary.”

  Shelley gasped. “They made posters?”

  “Um… yeah. They’re worried sick about you, concerned for your safety.” Emma shook her head. “What did you think they would do? Sit around until you decided to mosey on home again?”

  Lyndon chuckled on his way to the fridge. He opened another beer and leaned against the counter by the sink. “Mosey means take your own sweet time.”

  Emma ignored his latest gibe at her author’s vocabulary.

  “I know what mosey means,” Shelley scoffed. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “She’s an A-student according to Rachael,” Emma offered.

  “Running away wasn’t so A-student intelligent,” Lyndon countered.

  “No one asked your opinion,” Shelley replied. “I had my reasons.”

  “So enlighten us.” He crossed his arms over his chest again.

  Emma heaved a sigh. The girl looked like any young lady she would observe at the mall, shopping w
ith friends, laughing and teasing each other. Talking about boys and high school and sports or other after-school activities of interest to them. Why would Shelley suddenly feel the need to run away from home?

  “Okay. Here’s the deal.” Emma decided she’d better step in before their arguing accelerated and Shelley attempted to bolt. “You’re going to stay in the guest room across from me so grab your stuff and let’s go. Take a hot shower and change into some pjs. Then we’ll talk. No accusing, no judging, just talking. If you want to share your reasons for leaving, I’ll listen. If not, then maybe tomorrow.”

  Shelley jumped down from the barstool. “I would kill for a shower, Miss Sullivan,” she muttered. Then she met Emma’s eyes. “Well, not actually… kill anyone. You know…”

  Emma burst into laughter. “I knew what you meant. And call me Emma.”

  Shelley heaved a sigh. “I won’t miss that shed,” she muttered. “I need my backpack.”

  “How on earth did you get all that stuff from Vancouver to here?” Lyndon inquired.

  “I caught a… never mind.” Shelley followed Emma down the hallway. “He’s here building the garage, right? Are you his wife?”

  “Hey, one question at a time. And I’m not his wife! But I’ll answer your inquiries, if you answer mine,” Emma negotiated.

  “Name, rank and serial number only. Shelley Lewis, teenager,” the girl mumbled, then rhymed off a bunch of digits which could be anything from her social insurance number to her bank card number.

  Emma chuckled. “ Aren’t you being cute? And how do you even know that phrase?”

  Shelley lifted her head defiantly. “I learned it from a veteran last Remembrance Day when our school’s history club visited a retirement home. We talked with some really old men who served in wars. They mentioned name, rank and serial number were all they were allowed to tell the enemy if they were a prisoner of war.”