The Runaway Pastor's Wife

by Diane Moody

  “Have you ever thought of selling him? I’m sure there’s somebody out there who needs a munchkin with a big mouth.”

  “Not a bad idea. Look, I’m done with this,” she said, lifting the last piece of chicken out of the skillet. “Why don’t you go out in the back yard. I’ll be right there.”

  A few minutes later, she joined him in the tree swing, handing him a glass of Coke. “Sorry about Seth. I think he’s happiest when he’s torturing me.”

  “It comes with his age. He can’t help himself.” He sipped his drink then smiled.

  Megan leaned back in the swing. He rested his arm along the top of it gently squeezing her shoulder.

  “So have you forgiven me or what?”

  She looked across the yard, avoiding his gaze. “This isn’t a joke, Max. It’s serious. We have to work through this. We have to learn how to handle our relationship when you get upset about something. I don’t want to be your punching bag any more.”

  “I never punched you! I would never do that!”

  “No, but you know what I mean. I’m talking about using me as a verbal punching bag. Taking your temper out on me. It’s not right. I want to always be here for you, but I don’t want to be on the receiving end of your fury every time Mr. Harrison or anybody else gives you a hard time. It’s got to stop.”

  “I know, I know. You’re right.”

  She turned to face him. “Max, I love you with all my heart. And I want to be your best friend. But please—promise me the next time you get angry, you won’t make me your target. I’ll be here for you. And you can share anything with me. You surely know that by now. Just don’t push me away. Let me help you work through it.” She reached for his hand. “All right?”

  Max felt a lump the size of a baseball in his throat. He wasn’t sure he could speak. Looking into her eyes, his heart pounded against his chest. He set his Coke on the ground beside them, then took her into his arms. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. Don’t give up on me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “I’ll never give up on you,” she whispered. She sat back in the swing resting her head against his shoulder. “Talk to me about your mom. What’s going on?”

  He pushed his foot against the ground, setting the swing in motion, then looked directly at her. “I don’t know how we’re going to do it, but we’re going to find her. We’ve got to find her.”

  “I think I’ve got it!”

  “Got what?” Max cradled his phone while checking his digital clock. It was after eleven. “And Megan, why are you whispering?” He stretched out across his bed, his cell phone lodged against his shoulder.

  “A way to find your mom. I think I know a way to access the files at the phone company! We can trace her calls!”

  “You can’t just call up—”

  “Max, just be quiet and listen to me,” she scolded gently.

  “She’s not using her cell phone so you can’t just—”

  “Listen to me!”

  “Okay, okay! I’m listening!”

  “Good. Remember Denton, that guy my mom dated last year? The one with the Harley? ”

  “Yeah, the one who was always taking her on trips. Nice guy. Why’d she ever ditch him?”

  “She didn’t ditch him. Anyway, he still calls now and then because they’re still friends. So guess who called after you left?”

  “Um, give me a second here, I’m thinking.”

  “Max, this is really important! I remembered that Denton works for the phone company. So I asked him if he could help us and he said he could check your records and easily trace the number your mom’s been calling from!”

  He sat up. “He can really do that?”

  “Yes! I gave him your home number so he could look up the records. He said he’ll call me back as soon as he knows anything. And he promised not to mention it to my mom or anybody. He said he could get in a lot of trouble so we have to keep our mouths shut. I think he really wants to help. And just between you and me, I think he’s hoping I’ll put in a good word about him to Mom. The guy’s hopelessly in love with her.”

  “This is awesome! Call me when you hear something, okay?”

  “I will, Max. But be sure not to say anything to your dad or your grandmother.”

  “I won’t. And Megan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re incredible.”

  Megan laughed. “Of course I am. But how come you’re just now figuring that out?”

  CHAPTER 21

  Eagle’s Nest

  For Michael Dean, an urgency laced with raw fear would no longer allow him to sleep. Fighting to drag himself from the depths of the vast black abyss, he called on every ounce of will he possessed. Slowly, slowly . . . not unlike a swimmer stroking his way toward the surface of the water, he found his way. With a final surge of strength and determination, he broke through the barrier, his eyes flashing open.

  Gasping, he lifted his head from the pillow only for a millisecond before the pain in his side knifed a reminder of his injuries. His head fell back on the pillows. He cursed his weakness. Michael looked around, taking in his surroundings. He had no clue where he was, but he felt oddly at ease. There was something nagging at him inside his soul . . . something wrong, yet a quiet calmness in not remembering what it was.

  A mound of quilts kept his body warm, though his arms were exposed above the covers. A shiver raced across him. Why is the room so cold? Abruptly, he sensed he was not alone. His eyes darted far to his left. Out of his periphery he could see someone’s feet covered with blankets and propped up on an ottoman. He swallowed, letting his eyes trail up the body until—

  Annie?

  Seeing her, the realization hit him. Of course. I’m still asleep. Or unconscious. Amused at himself, he let a lazy smile crawl up the side of his mouth as he mumbled. “Dreamin’ . . . still dreamin’ . . .”

  “Michael?”

  His eyes flew open.

  “Michael! You’re awake!”

  He blinked at her.

  “Michael, you’re awake!” she cried out again.

  He stared at her, disbelieving. “Annie?” he croaked.

  She threw off her covers and moved to his side, grasping his hand in hers. “Oh Michael! I wasn’t sure if you’d—” Her eyes pooled with tears as she reached to touch his face. “Oh thank God! Your fever finally broke. You’re okay!”

  I’m obviously hallucinating. Can’t be right. Can’t be—

  He felt a wet kiss on his cheek.

  “I’m so glad you’re all right. I prayed so hard! And look at you—you’re really alive!” She laughed, gulping back a sob in the process.

  “Annie?” He whispered her name again. “Where am I? Why are you here? I don’t understand—” He tried to sit up, the pain shooting through his side again. “Ahhhh! What the—”

  “Careful, take it easy. You’ve got some nasty wounds. Don’t try to sit up.”

  Panic washed over him. “What kind of wounds? What are you talking about?”

  Her eyes met his. “Gunshot wounds.”

  The words lingered mid-air. He searched her face while his mind raced through the obstacles of his memory.

  “Michael, you’ve been through a lot. Don’t try to make sense of everything just yet. There will be plenty of time—”

  “But where am I? Is this your home?”

  Her face broke into a nervous smile. “No, I don’t live here. This is Christine’s cabin. Up in the mountains of Colorado, remember?”

  His eyes remained locked on hers, searching for meaning. “Christine?”

  And then the veil lifted. Thoughts pounced his mind all at once. It all came rushing back. Elliot. The gunshots. The muscle relaxers. The long, exhausting drive from Texas.

  Fear instantly replaced confusion; he gripped a wad of quilts. “Annie, you’ve got to help me.” He threw the covers back. “I’ve got to get out of here. Help me get up and get my clothes on. Hurry!”

  She grabbed both his wrists, pinnin
g them to his sides. “Stop it, Michael. Listen to me! You’re in no shape to go anywhere. Now just calm down and sit still, will you?”

  “Annie, I—”

  “No! You have two gunshot wounds. The one in your side was seriously infected by the time you got here. If Dr. Wilkins hadn’t made it up here in time—”

  “You called a doctor? No! That’s the worst thing you could have done!”

  “He saved your life, you big ox!” she yelled back, planting her hands on her hips. “You’d be dead by now if he hadn’t operated on you! He’s just a country doctor. He’s hardly going to place a call to America’s Most Wanted.” For heaven’s sake, Michael. What did you do anyway? Rob a bank?”

  His eyes narrowed at her question. The fight with Elliot replayed vividly in his mind. The flash of his gun . . . the echo of his own scream . . . the grinding wheel spinning in the dirt as he slammed his foot to the floorboard. He shivered and tried to refocus on Annie.

  “Michael? What’s the matter? What is it?”

  Once the tremor passed, the fatigue began to swallow him again. Too many facts muddled his mind too soon. He looked toward the windows as he spoke. “It’s a long story, Annie.” He sighed. “A long story.”

  She paused a moment, moving in his line of vision to search his face. Her brow knit with concern as she busied herself smoothing his covers. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” she began. “There’s a blizzard outside, the power has been off for several hours, and the roads are impassable. No one is within miles of this place. And since you and I are the only ones up on this mountain, I figure I’m a captive audience. So why don’t I get you something to eat and you can tell me all about it. The way I see it, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

  A sense of reassurance emanated from what she said and the tenderness he saw in her face. For the first time in days, he felt safe. At least for the moment. He reached out for her hand and squeezed it, unable to express the deep gratitude he felt in his heart.

  The wind offered an eerie serenade as the snow continued to fall. The once warm and cozy cabin was now chilled to its very foundation. The glow of the oil lantern on the bedside table dimmed as nighttime once more stretched across the hidden horizon outside.

  Michael spilled the bizarre details of his story to Annie. She listened intently, stunned by the frightening reality of his account. When at times he grew weary, she would make excuses to give him time to rest. She made frequent trips to heat water for tea using the old Coleman stove. When Michael expressed a hint of hunger, she warmed some chicken soup. Through it all she remained calm on the outside, caring for his needs while trying to mask the growing sense of terror as she listened to his tale. Her unspoken prayers for protection and wisdom flowed with every breath.

  “I remember pulling into the drive here and seeing the lights on, but that’s all,” he finished, taking another sip of tea.

  “That’s because you passed out head-first in the snow at the foot of the porch. You scared me to death, Michael. I peeked out the window and all I could see was a car with its headlights on and the driver’s door standing wide open.”

  “My Escalade! Where is it?”

  “Doc pulled it into the garage once we had you stabilized. Don’t worry, no one could have— ”

  The phone sliced through her reassurance. Annie reached for the receiver. “I’ll bet that’s him, even as we speak.”

  “Hello? Yes! Dr. Wilkins! He’s awake!” She watched Michael’s face cloud with concern with each piece of information she relayed to the doctor.

  When she hung up the phone, he questioned her before she had a chance to speak. “Annie, how long have you known this man anyway?”

  “Only two or three days, I guess, but—”

  “But nothing! For all you know, he could be in touch with the local cops. He could be feeding them information—”

  “No way. You’ve got him all wrong. He promised not to tell anyone and I trust him. He’s a Marcus Welby, y’know? So relax about him, okay? He’s the least of your worries.”

  “Why did he call just now?”

  “Because he hadn’t heard from me. I had promised to call him and when you woke up, I just forgot.” Annie stopped, her hand covering her mouth. “Oh no—I forgot to call David. He’ll be worried sick! I haven’t called him since you got here.”

  “Who’s David?”

  “My husband,” she answered as if he should know. “I promised to call him and it’s been—I don’t even know how many nights has it been since I’ve called him. He must be so upset.”

  She scrambled around the room in confusion before landing back in her chair and reaching for the phone. “I can’t believe I forgot to call him,” she mumbled, dialing the phone. She stopped. Her eyes slowly tracked to Michael’s. Then, with a heavy sigh, she put the phone down.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I can’t call David. What would I tell him? ‘Oh hello dear, sorry you haven’t heard from me but an old boyfriend showed up on my doorstep with a couple of gunshot wounds and now we’re snowed in together?’” Her eyes grew wide as the implications ran through her mind. “No. No I can’t tell him. No way. It just sounds so . . . so—”

  “Unbelievable?”

  “Unbelievable. That’s right. Who would believe such a story?” She placed the phone back on the bedside table and bundled up again in her quilts. “I mean, this is crazy. Who would ever think, after all these years, that you and I would—I mean, it isn’t like we planned this or anything. But then it would still look a little—”

  “Annie, stop. Just take it easy. Besides, you’re making me dizzy, and it’s freezing in here. Can’t you check and see if the power will come back on or something?”

  She focused on him again. “You can forget about the power coming back on. Doc said an accident took out the transformer. It could be days before they get it all cleared and get the power restored. The road is completely blocked. That’s why he can’t get back up here to check on you. Most of the phone lines are down. I’m surprised he got through.”

  “Well, there you have it.”

  “Have what?”

  “When this is all over just tell your husband the lines went down in the storm.”

  She looked away from him, remembering a time he could once read her mind.

  “Annie, you still haven’t told me what you’re doing up here.”

  She felt her face heating. After a moment, she tossed off the quilts again and reached for her crutches. “We’ve got to get you out of that bed. The only way to keep you warm is to get you near the fireplace. So pull yourself together. This won’t be easy.”

  The move into the great room exhausted Michael—slow and painful, but worth the effort. Annie built a roaring fire which quickly warmed the oversized room. The soft glow of candles scattered around them cast a peaceful, quiet ambience and filled the room with scents of bayberry and vanilla.

  But Michael never noticed. Once comfortably settled on the sofa, he fell into a deep sleep. His soft snores fell in rhythm with the crackling of the blaze on the hearth and the persistent howling of the wind outdoors.

  Annie found it difficult to sleep despite her fatigue. Her chair and ottoman pulled alongside Michael’s make-shift bed, she gazed at the man tucked safely under quilts and blankets, his head resting against a mound of pillows. She tried to understand the trepidation she felt from hearing his incomprehensible story. She tried to understand the agitation she experienced at remembering she had not called David . . . and now couldn’t call him. She tried to understand it all.

  And she tried to understand the strange beating of her heart caused by the man sleeping on that sofa.

  Michael awoke. He had no idea how long he had slept. Annie sat close by, her head turned as she stared into the fire. The golden glow outlined her features, dancing off the long, wispy curls of her shining brown hair. She’s hardly changed at all, even after all these years. She’s even more beautiful than before.
Amazing.

  A tiny glistening sparkle appeared on her cheek. He blinked, unsure he had seen it, until the sparkle began moving down her face. Her eyes clenched shut as she began to rock gently back and forth.

  He reached out to touch her hand. Annie turned to look at him. She wiped her face with the quilt that enveloped her.

  “Michael,” she whispered, pulling her hand back. “How long have you been awake?”

  “Long enough.”

  She stole a hesitant glance in his direction. She tried to smile through the remnant of her tears, then began twisting her hair up off her neck.

  “Leave it down. I always liked it down.”

  She stopped, her hand in mid-air, then let the brown trusses fall back down. She dropped her head, unable to look at him. “Michael, please. Don’t.”

  “It’s not like we’re strangers,” he spoke barely above a whisper. “Why won’t you talk to me? Why won’t you tell me what you’re doing up here, all alone on this mountain?”

  She sniffed, rubbing her face with her hand.

  He reached again, grasping her hand firmly in his. “I’ve told you everything. Everything. It never crossed my mind to lie to you about what happened to me. After all these years, I never even questioned trusting you. I knew I could. I haven’t seen you or talked to you in, what—fifteen, sixteen years or so? Yet I knew in a heartbeat I could still trust you. So what is it? You’re obviously upset about something. Why can’t you talk to me?”

  Annie unwrapped herself from the quilts and stood up. She hobbled over to the fire, occupying herself by stoking it. “Look, it isn’t that easy. You make it sound like it’s perfectly all right for me to cry all over your shoulder when I don’t even really know you any more. Sure, I used to see you play ball on television sometimes. And I read all about your big wedding—” She stopped suddenly and turned around. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s all right. Go on. What are you getting at?”