by Renee Blare
She continued into the recesses of the storage area, sweeping the dark corners with the flashlight. A box of burlap bags caught her eye and Bianca kicked it. Somehow, burlap and soot didn’t sound too appetizing. Maybe red meat would end up on the menu after all. Icicles slid down her spine. Ewww. Not in this lifetime.
“Time to return to the land of the living before I starve to death.” Bianca gave the back wall one last swing with the light. She hesitated when it landed on a pile of blue totes. New, plastic, and uniform, the containers contrasted sharply with the remainder of the room. Next to the stack lay a long box. A round, flat one rested on top of it.
Bianca inched closer, squinting to decipher the scrawl across the packages.
“Oh.” The soft whisper slipped past her lips. Bianca clapped her hands and managed a little jig in the darkness. She’d actually found the Christmas decorations.
Chapter Six
Pete Kolceski downed the rest of his coffee. The rain outside the kitchen window fell in sheets. The weather had closed in on the area this afternoon and matched his mood. He didn’t want to think what it was doing to his wife.
The light fixture above his head flickered as he pressed the phone to his ear. “Yes, sir. I understand and thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate your efforts, and we’ll be waiting for further reports.”
He hung up and rubbed the stubble on his chin. Time wasn’t on their side—or should he say Bianca’s? The roads in northern Wyoming were still closed, and nobody had heard from his daughter in over twenty-four hours. The wind and snow had everything shut down, including plows and emergency management. The local sheriff’s office was hopeful they’d be able to start the search in a day or so.
Rain pelted the window and drew his attention to their own storm outside. He bowed his head against the onslaught. His wife spent most of her time in their bedroom now. He’d tried to pray with her a couple of times but been met with resistance, if not rage. Pete didn’t know if she was mad at him or God. As far as he was concerned, he’d happily take her wrath if he knew she was praying for their daughter.
Pete dug his palm into his watering eyes. “Father, please help my daughter. Keep her safe from harm. Guide and protect her. You know where she is and what she faces. Hold her in Your protective, loving arms and show her the way home. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.”
* * *
Her fist slammed into the pillow, the impact vibrating down her arm. She pulled her hand from the crater and smashed it into the feathers once more. Folding the pillow in half, Angela cradled it under her head and stared at the black and white portrait of her daughter on the bedside table. A lone tear slid down her cheekbone and was quickly followed by another…and another.
The rain pelted the tree outside the window and Angela covered her ears. She didn’t want to hear anything. All she wanted was her sweet baby girl. A guttural moan tore from her throat.
Bianca had been on her way home. After years of the fighting and running, she’d finally been coming home. Angela threw the pillow across the room. It bounced off the dresser, sending makeup and perfume bottles rolling to the floor. “Why would You do that to me? To us?”
She curled into a ball as deep sobs wrenched from her body. Pressing the heel of her hand to her chest, Angela struggled to breathe as the pain tried to split her in half. “I don’t understand. What did we do to deserve this?”
Her whispered words blended with the rumble of thunder as the lights blinked out and darkness swallowed the room.
* * *
The hot sun beat down, and Devon reached for his hat on his saddle horn, only to feel the beat of a hammer against his thigh. Dismay battled with confusion when he realized he couldn’t move his hand. A splinter of fear crawled into his throat when he glanced down.
The normal weathered skin tone was now a pale milky white, and the bleached hue traveled up to his elbow and under his shirtsleeve. In that instant, the numbness in his left hand spread to his neck and lips.
Devon sat upright in the saddle, his chest pounding with the force of his heartbeat. A spike of icy pain spread through his shoulder and he rubbed it gingerly, flinching when the joint didn’t move.
The air turned frigid, and he trembled. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled. A frosty cloud exploded from his lips. When a large black crow squawked at him from the fence post, Devon stiffened. Dark clouds drifted over the afternoon sun and a snowflake hit his cheek.
Suddenly, a high-pitched noise pierced the air. His steed reared and Devon hunched forward, gripping the animal with his thighs. The sound intensified until it reached earsplitting proportions, and a loud blast rang through the pasture. His left shoulder had exploded into a million tiny pieces.
Devon’s eyes popped open. Shivers shook him as his body throbbed. He stared at the ceiling and pushed a breath past his constricted throat.
He touched each of his fingers on his left hand to his thumb, only stopping when the twitch of his pinky caused his shoulder to come apart at the seams. He flexed his right hand before raking it through his soaked hair.
The pain of his ribs made him wince with every movement, but the thought of closing his eyes caused him to shudder. He crawled out from under the covers, his body slick with sweat. A couple of pats down his arm verified that the skin beneath his fingers was warm and supple although sensitive.
Before his mind could jump back into the nightmare, he dragged himself off the mattress with a groan. Shoving one leg into his jeans, Devon cocked his head to the side. It was quiet. Too quiet. He finished dressing and opened the door.
Chester was stretched out like a throw rug in the kitchen when he stepped out of his bedroom. The dog’s tail began its eager thump the instant the collie saw him, and Devon gave the pup a quick ear scratch. “Hey, boy.”
Devon straightened and collapsed against the door jam. Pistol lifted his head and blinked at him from Chester’s bed next to the fireplace. His chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest and shook the dishes in the sink. He looked down at the old collie next to his knee. “So that’s why you’re over here. Pistol stole your spot. You’re a good ol’ dog.”
He squinted at the unbearable light beaming through the vaulted windows. Couldn’t the woman pull the shades? This place was hard enough to heat when it wasn’t ice cold outside. The yapping of Bianca’s dog combined with the scream of his ribs, and Devon snapped his teeth together. He couldn’t do this. He should’ve stayed in bed.
Chester gave a small whimper. Devon rubbed the dog’s soft fur with his bare toe. “Where’s our guest, boy?”
“You’re awake.” Bianca materialized from the cellar, her southern lilt sailing through the room. She dropped a couple of jars of jelly on the island. Her beautiful sea-blue eyes swept his hunched frame. Concern etched into her face, evident by the drawn eyebrows and quick frown.
He sniffed. “Something smells good.”
Her cheeks blossomed to the color of the roses that bloomed in the flower bed next to the house…a delicious light pink. Devon’s fingers itched to touch them. How soft would they be?
“I made crepes this morning.” She shoved her hands under her apron. “Want one?”
Crepes…what the heck was a crepe? But if it was something he could eat and didn’t have to make? “Uh, sure.”
Devon cradled his injured arm to his side and tried to take a step. Pain lanced up his ribcage and he eased against the wall.
Bianca’s hand fluttered as she reached toward him but stopped inches shy of his bare and bruised shoulder. “Why don’t you rest on the couch? I’ll bring it to you in there. Which do you prefer? Raspberry or Blueberry?”
Devon eyed the blonde but didn’t answer. She returned to the island and picked up her wooden spoon. He fought to stay upright in his tilting world and wandered into the den. His eyes burned. Raspberry? The only raspberry items he remembered were his mother’s wild raspberry jams.
The cushions welcomed his sore body and Devon groaned. As bad as it was, he had to adm
it, things were looking up. A beautiful woman stood in his kitchen making crepes. Crepes. He still wasn’t familiar with a crepe. His mom always told him he needed to branch out and try new things.
* * *
Bianca halted mid-stir. She peeked at the man slouched on the couch in the other room and sighed. Maybe the trip to the pantry was a bad idea. Devon’s expression hadn’t been one of joy when she’d brought up the preserves. And the Lord knew, she already carried disgrace and shame. She shouldn’t add to it by trespassing in forbidden territory.
Why? She hung her head. Because the man who’d saved her life deserved better. She may not be the same person she was two years ago—or even a year ago, for that matter. Oh, her boss thought so. Her mother may too. A ton of bricks landed on her shoulders. If the truth be known, she’d probably let her parents down again, just like before.
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. Her eyes darted to the refrigerator.
Heat scorched her neck as she gazed at the bare appliance. Bianca shook her head. The memory card with 2 Corinthians 5:17 scrawled across it was tucked in her Bible, not on Devon Dawson’s fridge. She’d removed it from her own refrigerator before leaving Seattle.
“I get your point, God.” Her voice bounced through the quiet room. She cleared her throat. “I’m not the same person.”
I’ve been made new. Old things are passed away. He promised me and He keeps His promises. She squared her shoulders. Picking up the spoon, Bianca returned to her breakfast.
Ten minutes later, Bianca scooped the last crepe off the skillet and plopped it on the plate. She turned the burner off and the flames died a quick death. After adding a bit of raspberry jam next to the blueberry, she poured two glasses of milk. “A breakfast fit for a king.”
She chewed her lower lip a second before shooting a look to the hearth. “What do you think, y’all? Call or take it to him?”
Her whispers elicited a pathetic stare from Chester and small woof by Pistol. Mimi never twitched a muscle. Bianca glared at the pack of canines. “Thanks. You’re a lot of help.”
Scooping up the food into her arms, she straightened to her full five foot, two inches and walked into the other room. “It’s a good thing I waitressed my way through culinary school or your master would starve. Either that or be a miserable whelp at the table. I hope he appreciates what he found by the side of the road. He needs someone around here who can cook something besides a hunk of meat.”
Fire flew to her cheekbones when Devon met her eyes and quirked an eyebrow. Bianca bit her cheek and promptly tried to swallow her tongue. She dipped her head at the man lounging on the sofa. He may be a grumpy sort, but she had to admit, he made her heart pound…even with a black eye and swollen lip.
“What’s wrong with a good hunk of meat?” Devon shifted, a wince contorting his whiskered cheeks. A hand pushed against his side. “It makes a great meal.”
She ducked. I really need to stop talking to animals…and plants…and the sugar bowl. It gets me into so much trouble. Bianca met his silver gray eyes and lifted her shoulder. “If you eat meat, sure. But if you don’t—”
“You don’t eat meat?” His palm landed against the armrest with a slap. “What have I picked up? One of those nutty people who only eats green things?”
The plates tilted and Bianca eased them to the coffee table as the giggles burst from deep within her. “Oh, no. I eat all kinds of colors. Green, purple. I can even manage yellow once in a while.”
Chapter Seven
His mind stalled as tinkling laughter washed over him. When was the last time these walls heard the sound of joy? Pain squeaked in the vicinity of his heart. How could I forget so soon?
“By the way, breakfast is ready.” Her whisper-soft voice caressed his ears. “And it’s not green, it’s blue and red too. Appropriate for Christmas, don’t you think?”
Her sea-blue gaze flowed over him but her words slapped him. His own hung in his throat, choked by the mixture of grief and images roiling around in his mind. Her head tilted to the side, and the questions poured from her face directly to his ears…loud and clear. Devon flinched.
His back molars slammed against each other. He wanted to pitch breakfast in the garbage and order the angel home. He didn’t want her here. Or her crepes. He wasn’t ready for any of this. Or Christmas. Maybe he’d try to drive her into town tonight—a cough ripped through his ribcage and he doubled over.
“Are you all right?” Bianca rushed to his side.
His chest wall screamed in agony when he pushed to the edge of the couch. Daggers dug deeper into his shoulder and he clenched his teeth. “I’m fine.”
Her wounded look spurred the guilt to spike through him. “Hey, I’m sorry—” Devon shoved a breath through his tight chest and held out a hand for his plate. “What do those things taste like, anyway?”
A small smile trembled on her lips. “Try one and find out.”
“I think I might.” Devon sliced the paper-thin treat and paused when she hovered next to him.
She pointed at the dollops of dark blue and red on his plate. “I love them with fresh fruit, but preserves are good too. I like strawberry the best.”
The fork trembled above the two messy pools of jelly. His vision blurred. He’d thought to keep his mother’s last canned goods forever. Alas, that wouldn’t happen now. Still, his mom would want him to enjoy them, not memorialize them. “Thanks.”
His first bite liquefied the second it hit his tongue. Devon swallowed a groan. He glanced up and mumbled, “Good.”
An uncertain smile lifted the edge of her lips. “I’m glad you like it.”
He shoveled the last couple of bites into his mouth and grinned as Bianca’s doubt shook the room. “I do. Really.”
When she held her hand out for his empty plate, he scraped the last of the blueberry jam from the rim with his finger. “You’ll have to make me another batch when I get back.”
Bianca relieved him of the dish and stared, her brows wrinkling in confusion. “Where are you going?”
Devon leaned back and winced. “I need to tend to the animals.”
“You can’t go out there.”
“Oh really?” Frustration at the woman’s naiveté swamped him. He swallowed a groan. Fatigue beat at him now that he’d eaten, and Devon yawned. “And who’s gonna do it? You? They can’t feed themselves.” His lids fluttered closed even as the blanket on the back of the couch landed on his legs with a snap. “Thanks for breakfast, Bee. Don’t worry, I’ll be good in an hour.”
* * *
Bee. A warm shiver enveloped Bianca as the cowboy dozed. He’d used her nickname. Other guys did, including that deadbeat boss of hers, but she’d never experienced such a deep response before.
She bit her lip when his low snore vibrated her ears. He was asleep. Returning to the kitchen, she eased the dishes into the suds-filled sink.
After finishing her own meal, she cleaned the mess and doctored Pistol. The fire roared to life with a couple of logs. Noting the dwindling wood pile, she put her hands on her hips. “Not cool, guys. There’s more somewhere else, right?”
Chester gave her a soft bark and stretched. He padded to her side. “Show me where it is, boy.”
The Border collie licked her knuckles and lumbered away. The old dog plodded through the kitchen and into the mudroom. When his claws scraped at the door, Bianca dropped to her knees beside him. “It’s outside?”
His head pushed against her chest. His soulful brown eyes blinked at her and he whined. She rubbed his silky back. “It’s okay, Chester. You can stay here.”
She studied the room. The door to the pantry stood beside a large rack. Coats, scarves, and hats hung on hooks above a large box. Dropping a kiss on the pup’s head, she leapt to her feet. “I may as well be warm.”
After snagging a thick brown coat which reminded her of one of her father’s coveralls, Bianca opened the box. She
sifted through the numerous gloves and found a smaller pair and a fur-lined hat. “This’ll do it.”
Lifting out two black boots, she showed them to the dog. “These have to be warm. Look at that lining. And they’re rubber.”
She zipped up her coat, donned the winter gear, and wrapped a scarf around the thick layers. “What do you think?”
Chester cocked his head to the side, and she giggled. “Don’t say a word or no dessert for you tonight. Hold down the fort.” Bianca opened the door.
Snow blasted through the doorway and she stumbled backwards, holding on to the door. After catching her reflection in the glass, a howl of laughter made its way past the stocking cap. “Oh, if only my dad could see me now. He’d never believe this.”
Chester nudged her with his nose and barked. She pushed him back into the house with her foot. “No, boy. Stay.”
The door closed with a click and Bianca stumbled into the storm. She couldn’t make out a thing, but it didn’t matter. The wood was outside. She needed to find it.
A few minutes later, the cut timber connected with her knee. Located in the corner of the deck, the stack of logs seemed fairly dry beneath a large tarp. She hauled several armloads inside before covering the pile with the plastic sheet once again and securing it to the railing with the strap.
Bianca almost made it back to the house when a faint noise cut through the howling wind. The wind shrieked but, amidst the whine, rose a horse’s whinny. The animals…
Before Devon had slipped into his slumber, he’d mentioned tending the stock. The horses must be in the barn. She didn’t have a clue what other critters were around, but what did it matter? If she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her.
Bianca surveyed the blustery landscape and shivered. Conditions hadn’t improved. It was daylight but it may as well be nighttime with the lack of visibility. Snowfall and wind slowed her progress but she finally made it back to the mudroom.