A Promise Of Home (A Lake Howling Novel Book 1)

by Wendy Vella

  “You should let Jake know, Branna.”

  “What is it with you and him?” Branna said, poking the boy in the stomach, which made him squirm. “He got a big S on his chest or something?”

  “He’d make a fine superman, though, you know it’s the truth,” Belle muttered from behind her camera.

  “I’m going inside and this conversation is at an end.” Branna made her way back into the house and sagged against the door when she was out of sight. Who had done this to her garden and why? It terrified her to think that someone this angry had stood and destroyed her garden while she slept just above. Making her way to the kitchen, she started cooking the waffles, and wondered how the hell she was going to get any sleep tonight.

  The day was spent cleaning the garden up, and by the time Belle and Mikey had gone, she’d just about convinced herself that it was a random attack…just about. When she finally climbed into bed, exhausted, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Something woke Branna; lying still in the dark, she tried to identify what. The faint whisper of voices and then the sound of breaking glass drifted up from below her. Someone was inside, and anyone who entered a home uninvited in the middle of the night was not paying a social call. Fear momentarily rooted her to the bed, and her heart thumped so hard it hurt.

  Move!

  Edging the covers aside, she forced herself to get up. Finding her shorts on the chair where she’d left them, Branna quickly pulled them up her legs under the large T-shirt she slept in. Moving silently towards the door, she eased it open, then listened. Something was ripping, and then there was more glass breaking, followed by a muffled curse. Shaking her head to clear it, she hurried to the window and opened it, then swinging a leg over the sill, Branna climbed out and rested on the small ledge. There was a ladder here somewhere, because Georgie had said that Dan had it fitted to the side of the house in case of fire; she just needed to work out how to lower it.

  Feeling along the boards, she found it, and then fumbled with the latches until she had them opened. Hoping it didn’t make too much noise, she slowly lowered it to the ground.

  Branna turned and stepped onto the ladder, and then worked her way down as fast as she could without falling. Fear made her clumsy; occasionally missing a step, she was reduced to clutching the sides of the ladder to stop herself from falling. She hoped whoever was inside the house stayed downstairs while she escaped, because if they came outside now, they’d find her before she had a chance to run, and Branna didn’t want to think about what they would do to her then.

  When she finally reached it, the ground was cold on her bare feet. Running to the garden, she found the old boots she’d left there earlier and pulled them on, then sprinted to the driveway. The moon was high and showed her the way, but would also show anyone else who was looking. Running down the road, Branna searched for the entrance to the trail that would lead her to Jake. She needed to get off the road, because if they came looking for her, she’d be easily spotted in their headlights.

  Her eyes began to adjust and she saw the opening in the trees. Running up it, she tripped on a root and landed on her knees; thankfully, she hadn’t put her injured wrist out to stop her fall. Regaining her feet, she started again, this time more slowly.

  Don’t panic, Branna, it won’t help you. Her father had often used those words when he had been in her life and still loved her enough to care. She’d always been a panicker. Things used to unsettle her easily, small things that really didn’t justify her jitters, so he’d taught her to say that, courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—not absence of fear, and it had often worked enough to calm her down, help focus her attention elsewhere.

  I need it now, Dad.

  The big trees towered over her, and she knew they weren’t dangerous. She knew she was the only person out here, but still the fear nearly choked her. It was hard to walk without knowing what was ahead, but she took it slow and stumbled a few times, but didn’t fall again. Every noise and rustle made her flinch and fear made her imagine that at any second, someone would spring out of the dark and grab her and she would never be seen again. She’d never used this track, but Branna knew Jake’s house was close, because she’d run past it a few times.

  It felt like she’d been walking for hours when she saw it, the long low house bathed in moonlight. Running off the path as quickly as her shaky legs would let her, she made for the front door. She’d never seen his house, but this had to be it. Hammering on the wood door seconds later, she hoped he was there. Branna battled to subdue the sting of tears as a light came on through the windows. The door opened and revealed a bare-chested Jake, clad in shorts.

  “Branna?”

  “I-I need your help, Jake.”

  “What’s happened?”

  Her body shook as the adrenaline that had coursed through her and kept her moving drained away. She was suddenly weak and fighting the hopeless tears that wanted to fall as she scrambled to find her voice.

  “I-I need to use your phone, please.”

  He gently pulled her inside, then led her to a chair, which he lowered her into. Are you hurt?” He crouched in front of her.

  “No.”

  “You’re frozen,” his big hands rubbed her arms. Did you walk here?”

  “I just need to use your phone, please, Jake.”

  “Branna, it’s three in the morning, honey, tell me what’s going on?”

  “Men, Jake, there were men in my house.”

  His fingers bit into her skin briefly, before they unclenched.

  “Tell me what happened, Branna.”

  His hair stood on end, and his skin would be warm from the sleep she had dragged him from and she desperately wanted to fall into his arms, needed to so badly she had to restrain herself by gripping the arms of the chair. She wasn’t weak, and wouldn’t fall apart now that she was safe.

  “Something woke me and I heard them, the sound of footsteps downstairs. I listened, and I-I th-think they were trashing my house.”

  His body had gone still, alert, as he listened and watched.

  “I d-didn’t wait around, just climbed out the window and lowered the ladder that Georgie—”

  “I know about the ladder, Branna.”

  “I didn’t stop; just kept climbing down, and then when I reached the bottom, I found my boots and ran here. I remembered that Belle said the path led to you, so I was sure I was going in the right direction. I didn’t think I’d make it to town and was worried they’d see me if I tried.” She hadn’t even thought of running into town. He’d been the safety she wanted, and so she’d run to him, not that she’d ever tell him that.

  “Christ!”

  She was slammed into his chest and two strong arms banded around her as he held her so tight she thought her ribs would crack. It was bliss.

  “You stay here, and I’ll go and check your house.”

  “No!” Branna grabbed his arms as he released her. “You won’t go there and be hurt; I won’t let you.”

  “I’ll be okay, Branna. I’ll be armed.”

  “No, I won’t be responsible for you getting hurt; I can’t go through that again.”

  “Hey, shhh, it’s okay.” He pulled her into his arms again. She wouldn’t lose another person she cared about because of something she’d done. The vision of Jake broken and lifeless slipped into her head. “Promise me you’ll stay here.”

  “I promise, but I have to call Cubby Hawker.”

  “Okay.”

  Jake’s first reaction was to go to Branna’s house anyway, and see if they were still there, then shoot them. Of course, he couldn’t do that, but looking at her, huddled and scared in his chair, made anger twist in his gut. The scenarios of what could have happened to her were making him feel sick. Even now, she could be broken and bloody, some man could be…no, don’t go there Jake, she’s here safe with you and he’d make sure she stayed that way. Suddenly, all the reasons why he’d walked awa
y from her the morning after they’d made love had disappeared. He wanted her here in his house, safe from whoever was intent on harming her. He’d wanted to follow her last night, after she left the Howler, but something had stopped him; now, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what.

  Her eyes were wide and dry, but he knew she was battling tears. Branna O’Donnell’s composure had deserted her and she was scrambling hard to regain it.

  No, I won’t be responsible for you getting hurt; I can’t go through that again. Jake knew that when the shock had passed, Branna would hate herself for saying those words, showing weakness.

  He took one of her hands, warming the icy fingers in his. He didn’t want to think about her running along that dark trail through the trees to reach him, or the terror that must have gripped her while he’d been lying warm and safe in his bed.

  “I need to get my phone, Rosebud.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just a few seconds, baby, that’s all and I’ll be back.” He ran a hand over her head before he stood.

  “I’m okay, Jake, really.” She nodded, her green eyes huge in her pale face, and he didn’t believe her words; she was far from okay.

  Running to the bedroom, Jake found his phone, then pulled a blanket from the bed and ran back. Wrapping the blanket around her body, he then took off her boots and tucked it around her feet. She huddled into it, looking so tiny and vulnerable he swore his heart just sighed.

  “It’s all right now.” He kissed her softly, brushing those chilled lips again as he reassured her once more.

  “I’m not hurt; it was just a shock.”

  “It’s okay to admit you were scared, Rosebud. Okay to cry about something that no sane person wouldn’t feel traumatized about.”

  “I don’t like to cry.”

  He lowered himself onto the arm of her chair, then called Cubby. Her hand stole into his while he waited, and the gesture was telling. Branna O’Donnell didn’t reach for people, she was insular and contained, but she’d reached for him.

  “Cubby, its Jake. Branna’s just run here along the trail because she heard someone in her house and she thinks they were trashing it. Yeah, okay, see you soon.”

  “So, why don’t you like crying?” he asked, pocketing his phone.

  “Crying doesn’t help anything.”

  Jake lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the cold knuckles as he thought about that.

  “Sure it does, it’s like releasing the water after a bath, let’s all that excess emotion spill down the drain. Keeping all that pent up inside you isn’t healthy, Rosebud.”

  She was tense and nervous and her eyes still took up far too much space in her face. He knew about shock, knew how it worked, so he gave her hand one more kiss before he regained his feet.

  “I’m going to make some hot chocolate.” He couldn’t stop touching her, his hands pushed the hair back from her forehead.

  “Yes, I’d like some of that please.”

  So polite, Jake thought, moving to his kitchen. Big and open plan, his living, kitchen and dining areas all opened onto each other.

  “I like your home.”

  “Thanks, my dad, some friends, and I built it.”

  It was a man’s place; he knew that. Not much decoration, just a few paintings and rugs and the prerequisite pillows on the large sofas that his mother had insisted on supplying. But there was a big TV and a view of the lake, and it was his. For months after his return, it had been his haven…the bolt hole where he licked his wounds.

  Shooting her a look, he saw Branna was resting her head on the back of the chair watching him. Leaving the milk to heat, he dropped down in front of her again. Touching her reassured him that she was here and safe.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re not much of liar.”

  “I was a pretty nervous child, used to get panicked easily, and my dad taught me to say, courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—not absence of fear, over and over in my head when I felt it coming on.”

  “Mark Twain.”

  “Yes,” she nodded, her eyes focused on his. “I said it over and over again on the way to you, Jake.”

  “I’m glad you ran to me, Branna.”

  “I-I,” she frowned, as if the words confused her. “I didn’t think about it. I just ran.”

  “And here I am.”

  “Here you are.” She placed a hand on his chest, as if to check that he really was there. Who had she run to before he came into her life? Were there times when she needed someone, but no one was there because she’d shut everyone out?

  “I thought about my father as I ran and suddenly I missed him, which is strange, because I thought I’d gotten past that.”

  How did a person ever get past missing a parent? Jake wondered. Slipping a hand beneath the blanket, he then ran it up her leg, stroking the cold skin, soothing and reassuring both himself and her.

  “I’m not sure why I’m talking about this now.”

  She looked genuinely confused, but he knew that she was reacting to what had happened, wasn’t really back in control yet, as much as she wanted to believe she was.

  “Where is he now?” Jake rose and finished making the hot chocolate. Then, bringing a large mug back, he placed it on the table beside her; she didn’t resist when he lifted her up and sat with her on his lap. Picking up the mug, he then handed it to her.

  She drank slowly, taking small sips, letting the chocolate slide down her throat, and then handed it back to him.

  “Thank you, that tastes good.”

  “Of course it’s good. I made it.”

  Her snuffle fell way short of a laugh.

  “Do you know where your father is?”

  “No, we lost touch.”

  Jake couldn’t fathom that because, even when he’d been in another country, he’d known where his parents and sister were and how soon he could reach them if he needed to.

  “What happened?”

  She turned and rested her cheek against his chest, and Jake wondered if she would answer his question, but it seemed that fear had loosened her tongue.

  “He couldn’t forgive me for killing the only woman he had ever loved.”

  Jake didn’t buy that, but he also didn’t know enough about the situation to make a call. However, he had a hunch that somewhere along the line, Branna and her dad had driven each other away in their grief.

  “You didn’t kill her.”

  “He believed so, and didn’t love me enough to forgive me.”

  He didn’t believe that either. He listened as she talked about her father, about the life they’d had before her mother’s death and contrary to what Branna believed, he formed the picture of a man who loved his daughter, a man who helped to do projects, and went on school trips, and even made her a tutu when his wife had to work. That was not a cold-hearted man; it was a man who loved his daughter.

  The flash of light through the windows told him Cubby had arrived. He lifted her off his lap and went to open the door to his old friend, who appeared looking rumpled and sleep mussed.

  “Evening, Jake.”

  “Cubby.” Leading him to where Branna sat, Jake went to make coffee for the sheriff.

  “Hey there, Miss O’Donnell, remember me from school?”

  “Of course and thank you for coming here at such an hour. Please, call me Branna.”

  She sounded like the teacher she’d once been, polite and distant and Jake wondered when she’d let the tears he knew had to be inside her, fall.

  Pulling up another chair, the sheriff dropped into it and took the mug Jake handed him.

  “Jake said you had some trouble, Branna, so I called by your house to check things over. I’m sorry to say, they’ve made a mess over there, and destroyed some of your property.”

  She lowered her head, letting her hair hide her face. Jake saw her shoulders rise and fall as she drew in several deep breaths before looking at Cubby again.

  “I-I
th-thought that’s what was happening. I heard the sound of glass breaking and something tearing.”

  “I’m sorry for it, and will say that this is not something common for Howling, Branna. I hope you know that.”

  She managed a smile for Cubby. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Would you mind telling me about it, and start from the beginning with anything you can remember. I’ll make notes, if that’s all right with you?”

  After handing Branna her chocolate again, Jake sat on the arm of the chair as she began her story. He’d heard it, but hearing it the second time made him angrier, probably because he’d had time to think about the what ifs.

  “You heard no voices?” Cubby questioned.

  “Whispers, but no loud voices. Whatever was happening down there, they did not want me to wake up and witness it.”

  Jake touched her shoulder, then ran his fingers over the skin the loose neck of her shirt exposed. Cubby was scratching away in his notebook as she talked.

  The childhood friend he and Buster had was now a man. Solid, with a shock of red hair, Cubby was a man the citizens of Howling had come to depend upon and often did.

  “Now, Branna, I know you haven’t been back in town long, but have you had any altercations with anyone? Been threatened in any way?”

  Jake felt her twitch, the gesture was small, but her body jerked in response to Cubby’s question.

  “I need to know everything, Branna, no matter how small the detail is.”

  She shot Jake a look, then turned back to Cubby.

  “Yesterday morning, I went out to inspect my garden, and found someone had destroyed it.”

  “Destroyed it how?” Jake demanded.

  “Jake,” Cubby warned, hearing the anger in his voice.

  “Totally destroyed it. Tore out all the plants, stripped off leaves and flowers, uprooted everything and stomped all over it. Even my new plants were ruined.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me, Branna?” Jake questioned.

  “Why would I tell you?” She looked genuinely confused as she looked up at him.