A Place to Call Home

by Sharon Sala

  Judd nodded as he got into the car. He reached for the seat belt and then paused.

  “I know what you mean, but it seems to me that you’ve got your own sort of hell going on right now with Shuler.”

  Wade frowned. “Yeah, you’re right. You know, I really appreciate your input on this. I might have thought about that revenge angle somewhere down the road, but not this soon.”

  “What do you think?” Judd asked.

  “I think maybe you’ve gotten too close to some of old Raymond’s skeletons. He sure did turn off the congeniality when you started asking about his past.”

  Judd nodded. “Maybe when we get back to headquarters, we can do a background check on the man. I have a feeling that your answer is somewhere in Shuler’s past.”

  “Good idea. We better get cracking. I want to find out who was responsible for this. The last thing I need is a repeat performance by the perp.”

  A few miles down the road, Judd turned to Wade.

  “Before we go home tonight, I need to stop by the grocery store and get Rachel’s surprise. Even though she’s only two, I have a feeling she won’t have forgotten it.”

  Wade gave Judd a considering look.

  “She sure has bonded with you, and that’s unusual.”

  “She’s a great kid,” Judd said.

  “Got any of your own?” Wade asked.

  Judd’s expression went flat. “No, but if I did, I damn sure wouldn’t have bailed out on them like that son of a bitch did to Charlie and Rachel.”

  Judd’s indignation on Charlie’s behalf was food for thought as Wade continued toward Call City. On the one hand, he liked Judd Hanna, was even learning to trust him. But on the other, he sensed that the man wasn’t the kind who would stay in a place as small as Call City, which led him to his next concern. He was beginning to suspect that Judd and Charlie were interested in each other. His sister was a grown woman. He wasn’t about to tell her how to live her life.

  But…if Judd Hanna hurt Charlie in any way—

  He gritted his teeth and kept on driving. No need to borrow trouble. There was always plenty of the real stuff on hand to keep him busy. As for Judd and Charlie, the safest bet would be to wait and see.

  * * *

  Less than an hour before Wade Franklin’s normal quitting time, a jailbreak occurred in Cheyenne. According to reports, the three escapees were last seen heading toward Call City and points north. With the help of the state police, a roadblock was set up on the highway in and out of Call City. Once everything was in place, the officers sat down to wait. Judd’s surprise for Rachel, a large bag of multicolored miniature marshmallows, lay on the seat beside him. The longer they waited, the more tempted he was to tear into the bag and sample some of them for himself. But he kept picturing her delight and the powdered sugar that would color her smile, and he just leaned back in the seat and stretched his legs, instead. Almost an hour had come and gone before it dawned on Judd that he was actually content. In Tulsa, being static for this length of time would have gotten on his nerves. He put his hands behind his neck and flexed his shoulder muscles, wondering what it was about this place that made it seem different. Was it the slower way of life, or the people themselves?

  In the distance, he could just make out the high school band, practicing on the football field. Off to his right, a herd of cattle was grazing near the highway, oblivious to the unfolding drama only a few yards away. A young girl on a bicycle came pedaling down a dissecting street and was quickly turned back by an officer from the state police. It was calm—almost too calm.

  He turned his attention toward the highway stretching out in front of him and stared, watching the meager flow of approaching traffic. Already they’d let a couple of eighteen-wheelers through, a farmer with a truckload of hay, and a school bus loaded with junior high football players en route to a neighboring school. There was always the chance that the escapees would take another route, but until they knew for sure, here they sat.

  A few minutes later, the silhouette of another eighteen-wheeler appeared on the horizon. At first, he thought little of it, but as he continued to watch it, he began to tense. He pulled himself straight in the seat, then leaned forward over the steering wheel, staring intently at the way the truck was moving. He got out of the cruiser, then a few seconds later, his hand moved to the butt of the handgun he wore on his hip.

  “Wade.”

  Wade Franklin turned from the conversation he’d been having with one of the state police.

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  Judd nodded toward the truck. It was less than a quarter of a mile from the roadblock with no signs of slowing down. As they watched, a sudden belch of black smoke puffed from the smokestack. The trucker had shifted gears, all right, but up, not down. The truck was bearing down on them with increasing speed.

  “Oh, hell, he’s gonna run it,” he yelled, waving to the officers.

  Men scattered, taking cover behind their vehicles as they all pulled their guns, waiting for the order to shoot. Tension continued to build as the roar of the diesel engine filled their ears.

  Then suddenly, from behind them, came the persistent squeak of an unoiled wheel. Tin rattled and the men turned in dismay to see the lumbering man-child with his little red wagon, standing in the middle of the highway and staring curiously.

  Wade broke free from the group and started waving his hands.

  “Run, Davie! Get off the highway.”

  The men groaned in unison when Davie just waved back.

  Wade glanced toward the approaching truck. The engine was wide open now and running hot. He looked back at Davie, then made an instant decision. God willing, he just might make it. “Open fire!” Wade shouted. “I’m going after him.”

  “Aim for the tires,” someone yelled, but Judd knew that if they waited for the truck to reach them, it would be too late—for both Davie and Wade. Without thinking of the consequences of his actions, he darted out from behind his vehicle and began running toward the truck, moving parallel with the highway.

  When the truck was only a couple of hundred yards ahead, he stopped and took aim. Through the windshield, he could see the figures of three men. The one by the passenger side of the window suddenly leaned out, aimed a rifle across the hood of the truck and fired. Judd flinched at the sound but stood firm. It was just like qualifying at target practice, only this target wasn’t paper, and if he missed, the consequences were deadly. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of men running and knew that some of the other officers had picked up on his plan.

  His first shot hit the outside tire on the driver’s side, ripping through the rubber with deadly force. By the time the tire blew, sending shards of steel-belted rubber into the air, he had already fired his second shot into the tire beside it.

  Suddenly, the truck swerved, and Judd could see the three men in the cab scrambling to hang on. As the cab began to tilt, Judd pivoted quickly, then ran up the slope of the shoulder toward a nearby fence, vaulting it with room to spare, before turning and emptying his gun into the tires on the back axle. Other officers followed suit, moving in desperation to get clear of the truck cab that was already on its side and being pushed against the concrete by the momentum of the trailer behind it. Moments later, the trailer followed by falling onto its side. The metal surface of the cab and trailer skidded along the pavement in a high-pitched scream, sending sparks into the air like shards from a welder’s torch. It hit the first two police cars in the roadblock, buckling them like empty pop cans. Men were shouting and running, and the stench of diesel fuel was everywhere.

  Judd looked back. The little red wagon was right where Davie had been standing, but Wade and Davie were nowhere in sight. Something popped, and a police cruiser burst into flames. He flinched and dropped, covering his head as burning fuel shot into the air. In the distance, the sound of sirens could be heard, and he knew that someone had called the volunteer fire department.

  Seconds later, he raised his head. The
truck had stopped. Exhaling slowly, he got to his feet.

  “You okay, buddy?”

  Judd nodded at a highway patrolman who’d taken cover not far from him.

  “Damn, that was something,” the patrolman said, and then parted the fence wires for Judd to crawl through. He did so, then returned the favor before they headed for the wreck.

  Three police cars, as well as the truck, had been totaled. Smoke was spilling out from beneath the hood of the truck cab as the passenger’s-side door began to open. A man looked out.

  “Don’t shoot,” he yelled. “I give up.”

  “Throw out your weapons,” someone yelled.

  Two handguns and a rifle were promptly ejected.

  “I’m comin’ out,” the man yelled, then, with effort, managed to pull himself out of the overturned cab before dropping to the pavement below.

  Another man followed his lead, dropping to his knees and putting his hands behind his head as soon as he got on the ground.

  “Artie’s dead,” the man said as a state policeman cuffed him.

  “Artie should have used his brakes,” the policeman said, and escorted him to a waiting patrol car.

  Judd squinted his eyes against the blowing smoke and circled the wreck, stepping over fire hoses and looking for Wade at the same time.

  Then he saw him, standing at the edge of the highway a short distance away, with his arms around Davie, patting him gently on the back. As he neared the little red wagon, he reached for the tongue, then pulled the wagon along with him. The intermittent squeak of the unoiled wheel seemed almost comical after everything else that had occurred.

  At the sound, Davie turned. Judd could tell that he’d been crying. Poor kid. He must have been scared to death.

  “Davie, here’s your wagon, all safe and sound.”

  Davie grabbed the wagon tongue and then dropped to his knees and began frantically counting the cans inside. Judd squatted down beside him, his heart going out to the man who could not count past the number three.

  “They’re all there, son. Just like you left them, okay?”

  The calm, ordinary tone of Judd’s voice seemed to help settle the young man’s panic.

  “All there?” Davie asked.

  The lost, vacant look in Davie’s eyes struck an echo in Judd’s heart. Davie looked like Judd sometimes felt. But before he could say anything more, they heard a woman screaming Davie’s name.

  They stood. Only Judd seemed surprised by the woman’s appearance. It was the steel-jawed pharmacist, Judith Dandridge.

  “Davie! Davie!” she shouted as she raced toward them.

  Davie began to get nervous all over again. “My aunt Judy is crying,” he said, his voice shaking with every breath.

  “She’s okay,” Wade said. “You just scared her, that’s all.”

  Judith reached them moments later and grabbed Davie by the shoulders in a desperate embrace.

  “What happened? What happened?” she cried.

  “Some prisoners escaped out of the Cheyenne jail. Davie wandered into the middle of a state police roadblock, but he’s okay.”

  Judith paled as she pulled Davie’s head down to her shoulders and patted him on the back.

  “Davie, darling, you could have been hurt.”

  “Cans, Aunt Judy. I was lookin’ for cans.”

  Judd watched a muscle jerking at the side of her jaw as she struggled to maintain composure. When they suddenly made eye contact, Judd was struck by how different she appeared now from the woman behind the counter.

  “Take him on home,” Wade said. “I think he’s had enough excitement for one day.”

  Judith Dandridge nodded, then, taking Davie by the hand, they walked away, accompanied by the rattle and squeak of the little red wagon.

  “Damn,” Wade said as he watched them walk away. “It’s times like these that make me so grateful that Rachel was born healthy and whole.”

  “So she’s his aunt?” Judd asked.

  Wade shrugged. “Not really. Judith’s parents kept foster children. Davie was the one that never left, so to speak. I think they adopted him when he was around seven, maybe eight. Anyway, her father, Henry Dandridge, owned the pharmacy. After college, she came back to work with him, but when her parents were killed in an accident, she inherited his business…and Davie.”

  “Hell of a load,” Judd muttered.

  “Her shoulders are broad,” Wade said, then clapped Judd on the back. “Gutsy move back there, going after the truck like you did. It bought me enough time to get Davie out of harm’s way.” Then he added, “Let’s see what’s left to do here. Personally, I’ve had just about enough of this day.”

  Judd glanced around, taking note of the fact that the police car he’d been driving had come out of the mess unharmed. He thought of Rachel’s marshmallows, and of the little girl waiting back home for her surprise.

  “Yeah,” Judd said. “Besides, I’ve got a date with a certain little angel and a bag of marshmallows.”

  Chapter 6

  Wade was quiet on the long drive home, and without the need for constant conversation, Judd had the time to appreciate the sunset from the front seat of the car. Tomorrow, the repairs on his Jeep would be finished, but he wouldn’t be leaving—not until Wade’s absent deputy got back from his honeymoon. He’d promised. Even though the initial condition of his stay had hinged upon the missing banker who had since turned up, Judd knew he wasn’t ready to leave. Using the deputy’s honeymoon for an excuse did both him and Wade a favor.

  As he watched, a bright streak of orange began appearing across the sky, adding a new layer to the purple-hued clouds on the horizon. He sighed. It would be a long time before the images of this day faded from his mind. From the moment he’d walked into the kitchen and had seen Charlie making breakfast and laughing at her child, to the image of Wade standing at the edge of the highway with his arms around Davie’s shoulders, it had been a day like no other. The bag of marshmallows he’d bought for Rachel was on the seat beside him. He picked it up, imagining the baby’s delight when he handed it over. An awareness came suddenly, like a fist to the gut, frightening him more than any shootout had ever done. He was letting himself become attached—too damned attached—to Wade Franklin’s family. In their eyes, he was just a man passing through. But sometime during the past few days, he’d let himself ignore the fact that he’d be moving on. He stared at the sky, watching until all light was gone and there was nothing to see but the first evening star. A distance ahead, a coyote suddenly ran across the highway in front of Wade’s car, momentarily caught in the glare of the headlights, and then it was gone. A loner—just like him.

  A few minutes later, Wade began slowing down and Judd noticed that they were almost home. As he looked to his right, the headlights revealed the ruts his tires had left as he had spun out through the bar ditch and then through Wade’s fence, trying to beat a bull to a little baby girl. That single action, done without a second thought, had changed his life forever.

  Then Wade topped the hill just above the old house. There, shining in the window was a lamp, like a beacon to the lost.

  Judd pointed. “Charlie must be reading to Rachel. The lamp by your easy chair is on.”

  Wade chuckled. “No. That’s just a family tradition that Mom started years ago when our father worked away from home. She turned on that lamp every night about dusk, and didn’t turn it off until Daddy was home.”

  A shiver ran up the back of Judd’s neck as he stared at the warmth of that yellow light piercing the surrounding dark.

  “You mean Charlie leaves that on for you every night until you’re home.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Every night?”

  Wade nodded.

  A knot formed in the back of Judd’s throat. He kept thinking of the years of his childhood, and the countless times he’d come home to a dark and empty house to fend for himself. Not once had he ever known that kind of safety. He glanced at Wade and tried not to covet that
which was not his. But as they drove into the yard and then parked, Judd knew he was fighting a losing battle. He got out of the car with the marshmallows in his hand and took a deep breath. In his heart, he suddenly knew this was what had been missing. He wanted to be loved—and missed—and trusted like this. And he wanted it bad.

  * * *

  When Charlie saw the headlights of the approaching car, her heart skipped a beat. They were home! It didn’t occur to her until she was moving toward the hall mirror to check her hair that she was doing something she never did for Wade—checking her appearance. Added to that, she was wearing a dress and she’d put up her hair. Ignoring the implications of her own actions, she looked at herself in the mirror, making sure she was still in one piece.

  The woman looking back seemed scared—but she also looked more alive than she’d been in years. Just for a moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like to welcome Judd Hanna home every night—to be enfolded within his embrace and feel the warmth of his breath on her face…just before he kissed her hello. Angry with herself, she frowned. This was stupid. She’d played with fire once and had gotten burned. But Judd Hanna was a far cry from Pete Tucker. Something told her his fire would consume her. As footsteps sounded on the porch outside, she bit her lip and then turned away.

  “Rachel! Uncle Wade is home!”

  A faint squeal, accompanied by the pitter-pat of stocking feet, sounded up the hall. Moments later, Rachel came into the room, her face wreathed in smiles as the two men came inside.

  Wade grinned and swung her up in his arms, burying his nose in the place below her ear and kissing it soundly, which sent Rachel into giggles. Charlie watched, a smile on her face as the familiarity of the scene played out before her.

  But Judd was caught in a very different web—not Rachel’s, but Charlotte’s. Then he realized the connotation of what he’d thought and almost grinned. Charlotte’s web. Wasn’t that some children’s book—about a pig and a spider? Yes, that was him. Caught in the web of Charlotte Franklin’s love. But what dug at him most was that the joy on her face was for her brother and her child, not for him.