Hometown Girl

by Margaret Watson

  It wasn’t hard to find the exact spot where Janice’s car had broken through the guardrail. That part of the low barrier was shiny and new. The rest of the rail was a weathered pewter gray.

  She drove past slowly, her heartbeat speeding up as she looked down the incline at the black waters of the lake. Once she was past the lake, she turned around and backtracked.

  Another turn brought her to the replaced section of guardrail. The car rolled to a stop on the soft shoulder as she stared at the guardrail. Its newness stood out against the dirt and grass like a fresh wound. Finally she got out of the car and walked to the spot where Janice had died.

  Thunder rumbled far in the distance and the rain had almost stopped, but a chilly wind whipped her hair around her face and plastered her clothes to her body. Still wet from her earlier dash to the car, she shivered as she stood next to the flimsy barrier.

  One car, then another sped by on the opposite side of the road. Then there was nothing but the moaning of the wind and the splash of the waves against the rocks. The shoulder of the road dropped off steeply, and the embankment was rocky and uneven. In the gathering darkness she saw fresh scars on the dark gray rocks, mute witnesses to Janice’s plunge into the lake.

  Horrible images crowded her mind. Janice, trapped in her car, bouncing down the rocks to the lake. The crack of noise like a gunshot as the car hit the water, the splash of the waves as they rose into the stormy sky. Then the car disappearing silently beneath the black surface of the water, leaving the lake smooth again, swallowing Janice and her car as if they’d never existed.

  Had Chief Broderick been telling her the truth, or was he merely trying to spare her pain? Had Janice really been dead when her car went into the water? Had she been aware of what was happening? Was she afraid? Or in pain?

  She couldn’t bear to think of her sister’s life being snuffed out so easily, so quickly. Claire turned away. This had been a mistake. There were no answers here. Nothing of Janice lingered at this desolate, dark place.

  The headlights of an approaching car bore down on her, blinding her in their glare. She raised her hand to shield her eyes. As she watched, the car swerved onto the shoulder of the road and surged forward.

  Straight for her. For a stunned moment she stared at the oncoming vehicle, unable to move. At the last moment she dove over the guardrail.

  The air from the car’s wake swirled around her as she tumbled down the embankment. She slammed into a rock and her side screamed in pain. Another rock gouged her hip and something sharp scraped her leg. She scrabbled frantically for a handhold.

  Her fingers closed around the branch of a bush, yanking it out of the ground as she continued to tumble down the slope. But the flimsy bush slowed her progress, and she dug her heels into the rocky mud. Sliding on her stomach, she saw a thick root to her right and grabbed at it. It stretched as her hand closed around it and her body jerked against it, but it held.

  For a long moment she hung there, her toes searching for a hold, her hand burning from the effort of holding on to the root. Desperately she reached her other hand to the root and managed to grab on. At the same time, her feet found a narrow ledge of rock to cling to.

  The rain began again, the warm splatter of water almost comforting. But the mud beneath her hands was cold and slimy and her feet skidded off the slippery ledge.

  She looked down as she struggled to regain her footing. The black water of the lake waited below her, the waves churning in the wind like a hungry mouth ready to devour her. Waiting for her to fall.

  She would not die here and leave Nick alone again. Shaking her wet, muddy hair out of her eyes, she saw a thin branch above her and reached for it.

  After testing her weight against it, she dragged herself a few inches higher. Refusing to look down, refusing to accept the possibility of falling, she moved up the embankment inch by inch. Her feet skidded in the mud, her hands slipped off the branches and rocks in her way, but she continued to crawl up the slope.

  Finally the guardrail was within reach, and she hauled herself up the last foot. As she crawled beneath the rail, she collapsed onto the shoulder.

  Her hands burned, her body ached and the heavy, earthy smell of mud filled her mouth and nose. She struggled to her hands and knees, then used the guardrail to pull herself upright.

  Her legs wobbled, but she staggered to the car. Her hand shook so badly with the cold she could barely open the car door.

  It was barely warmer inside the car. She huddled on the seat, wracked with convulsive shivers. She managed to start the car but couldn’t put it into gear.

  Remembering a blanket she kept in the trunk, she hobbled through the rain to get it. She wrapped it around herself, but it was no help against the bone-deep cold.

  She had to get home. She had to get warm and cleaned up. And she had to do it before Nick got back.

  The thought of Nick seeing her like this, muddy, bruised and bloody, gave her the strength to put the car in gear. Holding grimly to the steering wheel, she pressed on the accelerator and turned the wheel.

  Nothing happened.

  The engine revved and the tires screamed, but the car didn’t move. When she stumbled into the rain again, she saw that two tires were mired deep in the mud.

  She sagged against the car, her frozen brain working slowly through her options. The garage in town was closed. She could call a tow truck from Bakersfield, but it could be hours before they arrived. Hours she didn’t have.

  She had no family besides Nick to call. And Nick wasn’t an option.

  Tucker.

  She could call Tucker. He’d help her.

  His image floated in her mind like a lifeline. Fumbling for her cell phone, she punched in his number with trembling fingers.

  “Hello.” His voice warmed her, and she closed her eyes.

  “Tucker?” she said, steadying her voice. “This is Claire. Can you pick me up?”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice sharp. “Claire, what happened?”

  “Car’s stuck. Out by the lake. Where Janice died.”

  “On Route 32?”

  “Yes.” Thank goodness he understood.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  The phone clicked in her ear, and she closed her cell phone. She tried to drop it back in her purse, but her hand was still shaking so it ended up on the passenger seat.

  Tucker was coming. He’d help her. She held that thought in her head and closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  RAIN SPATTERED against the windshield of Tucker’s truck as he sped along the road to the lake. Anxiety hummed through him as he watched for Claire’s car. What the hell was she doing out here at this time of night?

  Finally he saw a white blur on the side of the road in front of him and he rolled to a stop behind the car. Even before he got out of his truck he could see what had happened. The car listed heavily to the right, the tires almost buried in the mud.

  Climbing out of the truck, he hunched his shoulders against the rain as he ran to her door. Yanking it open, he said, “Hurry and get into the tru—”

  He stopped abruptly when he looked at her.

  “My God,” he finally managed to say.

  He barely recognized Claire. Her face and hair were smeared with mud, which had begun to dry and harden like a mask. Droplets of brown water dripped on the blanket she’d wrapped around her shoulders, and her hands trembled as she held the ends together in front of her.

  Smears of blood mixed with the mud coating her hands.

  She was hurt.

  He reached for her blindly, dragging her into his arms. The chill from her wet clothes seeped through the blanket, dampening his shirt and jeans. Her convulsive shivering tore at his composure and he tightened his hold on her. “I’ll call an ambulance. Where are you hurt?”

  “No ambulance,” she said, her teeth chattering. “Just cold and wet. Need to get home.”

  “You’re damn well more than cold and wet. Look at yo
ur hands.” He peeled one of her hands away from the blanket and stared at the ugly network of scratches. He used the blanket to wipe the mud off her palm, then noticed the scrapes on her arms. “What the hell happened, Claire?”

  She closed her eyes and drew a deep, shaky breath. “I fell off the edge of the road, but I’m okay. Really. I couldn’t drive home because my car is stuck.”

  He studied her, noting the stubborn set to her jaw. And the way she trembled uncontrollably with the cold.

  “All right. No ambulance. Let’s get you warmed up.”

  He swept her into his arms and she curled into him, trusting him to help her. He wouldn’t let her down.

  She held on to him when he slid her into the passenger seat of the truck, clutched him as he buckled her in right next to him.

  He needed her there, needed to feel her pressed against him and know she was safe. She leaned into him and he wrapped his arm around her.

  He drove as fast as he dared on the dark, winding road. Her arm felt small and delicate beneath his hand, far too delicate to survive a tumble down that steep embankment. A surge of fierce protectiveness rose up inside him. Glancing down at her, he said, “You want to tell me what the hell happened back there, sweetheart?”

  She squeezed his hand. “I wanted to see the place where Janice died,” she said in a low voice. “I was standing there, looking at the lake, when a car veered onto the shoulder of the road. It looked like it was coming right at me. I jumped over the guardrail to get out of the way.”

  “Did it hit you?” he asked, swerving the car to the shoulder and slamming on the brakes. He grabbed her upper arms and held on tightly, examining her. “Is that why you’re so beat up?”

  “No. I rolled down the hill. The mud was slippery and it took a while to get back up to my car.”

  His hands tightened on her arms. “My God, Claire! You could have been killed!” He wrapped his arms around her, and she burrowed into him.

  “I know,” she whispered.

  He felt her hands grabbing desperately at his T-shirt, as if she needed to hold on to something solid.

  “God!” As he closed his eyes, picturing the car coming at her, picturing her diving over the guardrail, a killing rage welled up inside him. He wanted to get his hands on the driver of that car and rip him apart.

  When she flinched, he realized he’d been holding her too tightly. Appalled, he eased his grip.

  He’d worked so hard to control his temper. The struggle had been the driving force of his life since he’d retired from football. Now Claire had made him forget all the lessons he’d learned so painfully.

  He was horrified at how quickly he’d forgotten, terrified at how he’d slipped into the old patterns.

  His hand shook when he brushed strands of wet, muddy hair from her face. “Let’s get you someplace warm.”

  “Wait,” she said, holding onto his arms. “Nick is at the Johnsons’ with Booger. I need to call Judy and ask her to keep Nick there for a while. I don’t want him to see me like this, so soon after his mother’s accident.”

  “I’ll call her.”

  He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around Claire. It only took a moment for Judy to answer her phone.

  “Judy, this is Tucker. Is Nick still with Booger?”

  “They’re up in his room. Do you need to talk to him?”

  “No. But could you keep him over there for a while? Maybe two, three hours?” He looked at Claire and she nodded. “Claire had a little accident and she wants to get cleaned up before Nick sees her.”

  “Of course Nick can stay. What happened? Is Claire okay?”

  “She’s fine. Just cold, wet and a little shaken up. She’ll tell you about it later. Thanks, Judy.”

  He snapped the phone closed before Judy could ask anything more, and turned to Claire. “Judy will keep him for a couple of hours. Okay?”

  She nodded, shivering violently, and he eased the truck into gear again. When he reached his own house, he made a quick decision and swung into the driveway. Claire needed to be warmed up fast. And her house was still some minutes away.

  He pulled her off the seat and into his arms, then carried her up the steps and into the house. Kicking the door closed behind him, he headed for the stairs.

  Claire raised her mud-smeared face and looked around. “Why are we at your house? What are you doing?”

  “My house was closer than yours. And you need to get warmed up as quickly as possible.”

  “I could have waited a few more minutes,” she said, her arms tensing around his neck.

  “Yeah, but I couldn’t have. I want to make sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted. “Just cold.”

  He looked down at her mud-smeared face. “You can’t always be in control, Claire. Sometimes you have to let go. And this is one of those times.”

  Her gaze shifted away from him. “I don’t like to feel helpless,” she muttered.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” He brushed his lips over the top of her head. “Figure that you’re doing me a favor. You’re giving me a chance to show off my muscles.”

  “You’re an idiot, Hall,” she said, but he got a weak smile out of her.

  He swung toward the bathroom at the top of the stairs. Maneuvering Claire through the door, he stood in the middle of the room, reluctant to let her go. He glanced at the whirlpool tub, big enough for two, and looked away.

  “Shower or bath?” His arms tightened around her.

  “Shower.”

  He set her down on the floor but held her close to his side. He could hear her teeth rattling together.

  “Shower it is.” He turned on the water in the shower stall, then crouched in front of her. “Do you need help?”

  She gave him a halfhearted grin. “I think I can manage to undress myself.”

  “Darn it,” he said, rubbing her hand between his. “I was hoping this would be one of those lingerie assistance occasions we talked about the other day.”

  “Don’t you ever give up, Hall?”

  “Nope. I’m relentless. That’s why you might as well give in now.”

  “Are you trying to take advantage of my weakened condition?” she asked with a half smile.

  “Absolutely. I warned you that I play dirty.”

  “I can see that.” She rubbed at a smear of mud on his T-shirt, then pressed her hand against it. “Thank you, Tucker. For rescuing me.” Her smile wobbled. “For making me laugh and forget how dirty and wet and cold I am.”

  “You rescued yourself,” he said, using his thumbs to brush dried mud off her face. “I just came in at the end and hogged all the credit.”

  Her hand trembled against his chest. “I was so scared,” she whispered. “I thought I was going to fall into the lake.”

  The blanket fell away as he gathered her in his arms, held her close. “I was terrified when I saw you,” he said, burying his face in her hair. Beneath the stench of mud and fear he could smell the essence of Claire and he focused desperately on that. “But I have you now.”

  Her arms tightened around him and she pressed her face into his neck. “Don’t let me go,” she whispered.

  “Not a chance of that, sweetheart.”

  He held her tightly, feeling her heart beating in rhythm with his, feeling her shivering lessen as she soaked up his warmth. The wet chill of her clothes seeped into him, but he didn’t notice the cold as her heart bumped against his. It began to race, and her hands slid into his hair.

  He set her away from him, feeling as if he had ripped off one of his limbs. “Take your shower,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You need to warm up.”

  And he needed to leave if he wasn’t going to take advantage of her. He wanted Claire to come to him freely, not because she was shaken and scared.

  “Okay.” She gave him a shaky smile. “Can I borrow some clean clothes?”

  “I’ll find you something warm,” he said.<
br />
  “Thank you.” She touched him, pulled her hand back. “I won’t be long.”

  “Stay in there until you’re warmed up.”

  “I will.”

  Just before he closed the door, he stuck his head back in the room. “You sure you don’t need help washing your back? That’s one of my specialties.”

  Longing flashed in her eyes, but she shook her head. “You don’t need to be dirty, too.”

  “Call if you need me.”

  She nodded slowly. “I will.”

  His hand shook as he closed the door.

  CLAIRE LISTENED to the click of the door closing behind Tucker and shut her eyes. It was only because she was tired, sore and scared that she’d almost asked him to stay. To keep holding her like he’d never let her go.

  She adjusted the water with a quick flick of her wrist. She’d be fine once she cleaned up and got warm. She’d regain her balance and her sanity.

  She tried not to visualize Tucker standing in the shower with her, holding her close as the warm water sluiced down their joined bodies. When her body softened and heated, she caught herself and yanked her mind back to reality.

  Rivulets of brown water swirled down the drain as she stood beneath the shower, letting the warm water soothe her aching muscles and sore limbs. By the time she warmed up and washed away all the mud and blood, the water was cool.

  Her hands burned as she rubbed at her hair with a towel. Angry scratches crisscrossed her palms and fingers. It was all right, she told herself. They weren’t serious. They’d heal soon.

  So would the scratches on her arms and legs and the ugly purple bruise on her side. She touched it and moved experimentally, encouraged when it didn’t hurt too badly. All her injuries were superficial and soon mended.

  If only her fears were as easily banished.

  When she closed her eyes, she saw the car bearing down on her, accelerating as it got closer. Felt the sweep of air as it rushed past, smelled its exhaust as she tumbled down the embankment.