A Memory Away

by Melinda Curtis

  “Sleep in. Nap. Go to bed early.” She yawned.

  “Exciting times.”

  Jess gazed out the window, presumably at the rain, the rain and more rain. “Is it safe to drive around town?”

  “Some parts, I’m sure.”

  “It’d be nice to get out.” She snuck a glance at him, the beginnings of a smile showing. “You could check on the vineyards. We could take your truck.”

  “We?”

  She patted her stomach and grinned. “Baby’s bored.”

  “I don’t want to put you two in danger.” But Duffy couldn’t shake his curiosity. A vineyard manager needed to know how the properties under his care received the weather.

  “I’d settle for a drive down Main Street and back.”

  Main Street? Where the bakery was located? She didn’t have the money to open the bakery.

  She must have sensed his knee-jerk reaction, because she backpedaled. “Oh, shoot. I don’t need to see the bakery. I can’t afford it, and I wouldn’t take your money if you offered.” She fixed him with an obey-me glare. “Don’t you dare offer.”

  Duffy measured her words with the same yardstick he’d have used on Greg—the one that delved for secret agendas and next moves. But she wasn’t Greg and where she was concerned there was nothing to measure but sincerity. “I gave everything Greg had to my parents.”

  “Don’t sweat it. My time will come.” But there was a resigned note in her voice. She didn’t think her time would ever come.

  Duffy knew exactly how she felt. Fifteen years of waiting and his time had finally come. “After we check on those vines, we can drive by the place.” What was the harm in that? He was rewarded with a small smile. “But only if you promise to wear my coat. If I recall, Baby doesn’t like the rain.”

  “Baby doesn’t like the rain,” she repeated, rising. “Give me a couple minutes to change.”

  “Don’t bother. We’re just going for a drive.”

  She glanced down at his clothes. Granted, with the pants bagging shapelessly at her ankles and the sleeves rolled up, she looked dumpy. But then she smiled and the clothes she wore didn’t matter. “At least I’m comfortable.”

  They bundled up. Jessica practically disappeared in his yellow rain slicker. Only her loosely laced sneakers were showing.

  As they were backing out in Duffy’s truck, the sheriff pulled up.

  Upon hearing their plan, Nate said, “Make sure you stay north and west.” He hesitated, and then added, “If you head up Parish Hill, could you check on Rutgar? I haven’t been able to make it up that way yet. He hasn’t answered his phone, but maybe he lost power.”

  “Or maybe Rutgar just doesn’t want to be disturbed,” Duffy guessed, pulling away.

  “Greg didn’t like to be disturbed,” Jessica said in her memory-cradling voice. “I had to call first before I came over.”

  Duffy could imagine why, but he didn’t want to say anything to upset Jess. He drove, leaving her to think as he marked time by the speed of his windshield wipers.

  “You can say it.” Jess didn’t allow more than a few wiper swipes before confronting the issue head-on. “Whatever you think Greg was doing and didn’t want me to know about.” When he didn’t rise to the bait, she added, “The knowing is better than not, trust me.”

  Duffy pulled into the main winery property, driving past the old farmhouse and around to the back. “When it came to Greg, the truth is kind of brutal. Remember, there were other women he took advantage of.”

  She drew a shuddering breath.

  “Married women. Wealthy women. They...uh...”

  “Wow.” She cut him off. “That’s a side of him I definitely don’t remember and didn’t suspect. Thankfully.”

  Enough said. Duffy drove along the edge of the property, down by the river.

  “There’s something peaceful about a vineyard.” Jessica gazed out over the drenched rows. “What is it you’re looking for exactly?”

  “Fallen trees or limbs. Flooding. General storm damage so I can manage the crews scheduled to work this week.” The property had weathered the leading edge of the storm well.

  He took her to the Mionetti property next. It was one big puddle.

  They drove past two other vineyards that had minimal damage. Cleanup could be taken care of with the caning crew. If he hadn’t had Jess in the truck, he might have seen if he could drive to the properties on the eastern side of town. Instead, he headed toward the only other property left to visit. The one on Parish Hill located down the slope from Rutgar’s house.

  He navigated the switchbacks slowly. Water rushed down a ditch next to the hillside. The higher they climbed, the closer they came to the gray, low-hanging clouds. The rain seemed to hit the windshield harder. A tree was uprooted alongside the road, its hold to the earth weakened by years of drought and brush fires.

  “Whew. Baby gets carsick.” Jess cracked her window and breathed deeply.

  “Here we are.” Duffy turned into the vineyard’s drive, but didn’t get far. Another large oak had lost its hold on the higher bank and tumbled across the lane.

  Jess leaned forward. “Those roots are taller than I am.”

  “I should have brought my chain saw.” It was tucked away in the small single-car garage.

  “Isn’t it dangerous to wield power tools in the middle of a thunderstorm?”

  “I haven’t heard thunder in a long time.”

  Of course, thunder took its cue and rumbled across the valley.

  “A lightning storm wouldn’t stop you, would it?” He didn’t have to look at Jess to know she was smiling.

  Her words created some chest-swelling pride. “Depends upon the severity of the storm.” She was right. The elements called to Duffy as the wind whipped tree branches around them. If she hadn’t been with him, he might have gone back to get his equipment.

  “In your own way, you’re living on the wild side, just like Greg used to.”

  A fatalistic feeling grabbed hold of his gut. “I’m nothing like Greg.” He didn’t lie or cheat or steal.

  “I think you’re more like him than you’re comfortable admitting.” She closed her eyes and stroked a hand over her belly. “You’re both good at what you do. You keep to yourselves. You like everything, including people, in its place or their place.”

  Duffy felt wrung out, too wrung out to speak.

  “Greg may have done bad things,” Jess was saying, “but he wasn’t all bad. Just like you and I aren’t all good.”

  Duffy wasn’t ready to think about Greg in those terms. And if Jess wasn’t 100 percent good, shouldn’t he take that as a warning?

  He put the truck in Reverse. “We’ve got one more stop.” Rutgar’s. Now that he’d seen some trees down, he wondered if the old coot might really be in trouble. He drove higher up the mountain until they reached a driveway that was marked: Trespassers Will Be Shot.

  “Is this winery property?” Jess stared at the sign as they passed it, worry ridging her brow.

  “No.” Duffy considered backing out. After all, he wasn’t sure what their reception would be, and he had Jessica’s safety to think about. But he could see a roof through the tree line, which meant that most likely they could be seen. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? He wasn’t sure.

  They rounded a bend and the house came into full view. The two-story home was built on stilts and painted a dreary brown. The front porch jutted out at an awkward angle, holding up a large pine tree that had come from the hillside above. It was amazing that the roofline hadn’t given way.

  Duffy parked a safe distance from the house. “Wait here.” He ran though the rain and took the porch steps two at a time. “Rutgar!”

  The front window was broken, the frame bowed inward, a breath away from falling free. The front d
oor frame was similarly damaged. The door hung askew on one hinge and banged in the wind. Add some creepy music and it could be a location for a horror film.

  “Rutgar!”

  “I’ve got my gun,” came a weak voice from inside, causing Duffy to slow.

  “Well, don’t use it. It’s Duffy. The sheriff sent me.”

  The sound of a shotgun being cocked cut through the heavy patter of rainfall. Adrenaline surged through Duffy’s veins.

  Where was the old man? Would he shoot? If he hadn’t pulled the trigger by now, chances were slim he’d do so. Weren’t they?

  Thank heavens Jess was safe in the cab.

  “Don’t shoot.” Duffy tossed his hood back so that the old man might more easily recognize him. He walked cautiously toward the doorway. “I’ve got a pregnant woman with me.”

  “Hiding behind a woman. Ha! I knew the kind of man you were the first day I saw you on the mountain.” Rutgar’s voice may have lacked the booming quality that had annoyed Duffy on previous occasions, but he was still in turf-defending mode.

  Duffy gritted his teeth and stepped through the arch, refusing to hold his hands up like a hostage. “I need to make sure you’re okay, and then I’ll leave.” He peered into the gloomy house. There were heads of snarling dead animals and beasts with antlers mounted on walls. Definitely slasher movie location potential. Duffy’s pulse kicked up another few notches.

  Despite his every sense advising him to make a run for it, Duffy took a few more steps inside. “Did you lose power?”

  “Don’t come any closer.” Rutgar sat on the brown shag carpet beneath the worst of the roof damage. Blood shadowed one side of his face and darkened his golden beard. He held the shotgun in his lap, barrel wavering in Duffy’s direction.

  “You’re hurt.” Duffy surveyed the ceiling above the old man, looking for studs poking through the wall, listening for tell-tale creaks that the place was about to crumble.

  Nothing.

  A river-rock fireplace was to Rutgar’s right, the broken window to his left. The curtains and the rain blew in on the old man. Why hadn’t he moved to a drier, safer place?

  “You’re a liar, Duffy. Where’s that pregnant woman?” Rutgar raised the gun barrel with hands that shook.

  “I’m right here.” Jess stepped through the doorway, bundled up like a yellow-robed wizard in Duffy’s rain slicker.

  The gun barrel swung in her direction.

  Duffy’s pulse pounded an SOS at his temples. Translation: Run!

  He stepped between Jess and the gun, and said as calmly as possible in what might be the last seconds of his life, “Could you wait outside, Jess? I don’t know if this house is stable, but I know Rutgar isn’t.”

  “I can hear you plotting against me.” Rutgar’s gun remained pointed at Duffy’s chest, except when the old man’s hand tremors sent the barrel pointing toward Duffy’s head.

  Duffy hoped Rutgar’s trigger finger didn’t convulse. “He’s got a head wound, Jess. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.” Duffy glanced over his shoulder at her and mouthed, Get out.

  Her arms cradled her belly. She drew a deep breath and took a step...in the wrong direction. “I’m Jess. You must be Rutgar.”

  “Jess,” Duffy hissed, reaching for her.

  Jess dodged, moving closer to the old man and his gun.

  Had he thought her being with Greg an anomaly? She was strong and took risks, unlike any woman he’d ever known.

  She did a quick survey of her surroundings. “And this is your home. Looks like you’re a mighty hunter.”

  Time slowed. Duffy played out several scenarios in his mind—dragging Jess to safety, rushing Rutgar, holding his ground and calling the sheriff. None of his scenarios ended well. His breath became leaden. Blood rushed in his ears. Jess. He had to protect Jess, and Greg’s baby.

  He snagged her arm, drawing her behind him once more. Clasping her hand to hold her in place. “If anyone gets shot today, it’ll be me.”

  “You got that right.” Rutgar’s voice rumbled through the house like an upset grizzly’s.

  “Men can be so annoying.” Jess peeked around Duffy’s shoulder, seemingly unconcerned, but there was a tremble in the hand he held that gave her away. “Can I get you a glass of water, Rutgar? And maybe a dry blanket?”

  “Go,” Duffy whispered.

  “Not without you,” she whispered back.

  Duffy spared her a glance. “You’re beautiful and brave.” He spoke the truth, because he might not be alive to tell her so tomorrow.

  Jessica’s eyes widened. Her other hand slipped around his forearm.

  He almost hated to add, “And stupid. Run.”

  “She stays.” Rutgar licked his lips. This close, Duffy could see his eyes were dazed. Water had soaked him and the carpet beneath the broken window. When the wind blew the curtains in, rain splattered Rutgar. Wet, cold, bleeding, no wonder the old man was irrational. More irrational than normal, anyway.

  “I’ll get you that water.” Jess disappeared around a corner. “And then we’ll take a look at your forehead.”

  Duffy drew a relieved breath. She hadn’t obeyed him. But for now, she was safe.

  “You play dirty.” Rutgar lowered his gun. “Bringing your woman here.”

  “She’s not mine. And you shouldn’t point guns at people.” Duffy couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice as he dialed the sheriff. After speaking to Nate, Duffy felt calmer and more sympathetic to Rutgar’s plight. “When did the tree fall?”

  “This morning.” Rutgar gestured a few feet away to a sideways coffee mug and dark stain. “Crack-boom. No warning. Every time I try to get up, I fall down. So I’ve been sitting.”

  Duffy had taken basic first aid, but that meant he knew CPR and how to bandage cuts, not much else. Certainly nothing about concussions. “So nothing hurts other than your head?”

  “Correct.” Rutgar lifted bloodstained fingers and tentatively touched his temple, wincing. “That burl-wood clock fell off the wall onto my head.” A thick round piece of wood lay near his hip.

  “Ouch.” Duffy dropped to his knees next to him. “How about you put the safety on that gun before Jess comes back?”

  Rutgar scowled at him, but did as he asked, placing the shotgun on the stone hearth next to him.

  Duffy hadn’t realized how much he wanted that gun out of the equation until the old man set it aside. “Your house looks solid, but I’d like to get you out of here.”

  “I built this place. It’s not coming down from just one tree. It’d take a dozen or more.” There was annoyance in the old man’s voice. And pride. And perhaps a slap of arrogance.

  “A dozen?” Duffy took the quilt from the back of the couch across the room, covering the old man and the vomit next to him. “That’s about how many trees are on the slope above this place.”

  Jess appeared with a glass of water and a wet dish towel. She handed Rutgar the glass and knelt beside him. She sniffed and glanced up at Duffy.

  “Don’t look under the quilt,” he said.

  Rutgar had either drifted into unconsciousness or was refusing to acknowledge he’d been sick to preserve his dignity.

  She pressed the back of her hand against her nose, and then put on a falsely cheerful smile. “I’m going to clean you up a bit so you don’t look so scary.”

  “I always look scary.” Rutgar chuckled the way a man does when he’s pleased with a woman’s attention. “My looks keep everyone on their toes.”

  “How many fingers am I holding up?” Duffy held up two.

  “At least make it hard.” Rutgar raised the glass in a wavering toast before taking a sip that sent water dribbling onto his already wet flannel shirt. “The light is dim in here, but I can see all five of your digits. I’m shaken up, not delirious
.”

  “I’ll argue that last point,” Duffy said, making sure Jess saw he only had two fingers on display. “You pointed a gun at me. And Jess and her baby.” It was hard to keep the exasperation from his voice. The man was injured. But what if Rutgar had shot first and asked questions later?

  Rutgar’s cheeks finally showed some color. “Trespassers always get the gun.”

  “That’s not very nice.” Jess glanced up at Duffy. “Can I help you get him out to the truck?”

  “No.” Duffy gestured to the very large, possibly concussed old man. “I can help Rutgar up, but if he pulls a drunken sailor on me, we’ll all hit the floor. I won’t risk you and the baby.”

  “A real man could hold me up.” Rutgar’s acerbic tone might have carried more weight if his head hadn’t lolled to one side.

  Jess plucked the glass from his hand before it spilled.

  “You’re not tiny, Rutgar,” Duffy countered, working hard to soften the edge of his words. “It’s going to take two real men to keep you upright. We’ll wait for the sheriff.”

  “Oh, don’t start with the melodrama.” Rutgar continued listing to one side, until his shoulder met the edge of the fireplace. “I’m fine. Get me upstairs to bed and tomorrow I’ll be running around, same as always.” Jess touched his temple with the dishcloth and he winced. “I’ll give you that I might need a stitch or two, but I won’t be put on a stretcher and into an ambulance. If the sheriff can’t stitch me up, I’ll drive myself to the urgent care clinic in Cloverdale.”

  “You’d have better luck taking a boat down the Harmony River,” Duffy said. “The roads are still flooded and closed.”

  “Who needs a doctor? I bet your little woman could sew me up.” Rutgar glanced up at Jess. His eyes rolled back and his head jerked as if he was fighting sleep. He gathered the quilt to his chest, exposing his puke.

  “Don’t take that bet.” Jessica’s mouth worked. She looked green. “Baby doesn’t like blood.”