Paradise County, page 13
“You fired me, remember? That kind of takes the edge off your authority, in my book.” Clothes in hand, he headed toward the bathroom.
“What I remember is giving you thirty days’ notice, which you refused to accept. At least until the end of that thirty days, you still work for me. Which makes me the boss.”
“Yeah, well, the signature on my paycheck reads Whistledown Farm Inc., not Alexandra Haywood, last time I looked. Not that it matters, anyway. I’m going into the bathroom to get dressed now. If you need help getting into those sweats, just wait till I get back, and I’ll be glad to oblige.”
With that not so lightly veiled threat, he disappeared into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him. Alex glared at the closed door. Maybe he was right, and maybe she did need to go to the hospital. Her aversion wasn’t so strong that she would deliberately harm herself to keep from going. But she didn’t like him just telling her what she was going to do. She’d been making her own decisions for a long time now, and she liked it that way.
His cool assumption of authority was infuriating.
Nevertheless, she struggled into the clothes, and only then fully appreciated his aside on the lack of women’s underwear. The laundered-to-softness sweats felt awkward against her bare skin, but that was the least of her concerns. She’d seen enough of how he operated by this time to have little doubt that he would put the clothes on her by force if he had to. And to allow that to happen would be to sacrifice her dignity.
A brisk knock on the bathroom door just as she was gingerly removing the towel from around her head and checking her makeshift pad for blood warned her that he was about to emerge. Dropping the bloodstained white towel over the side of the bed as hastily as if it had burned her, she snatched up the blue and white towel and began, rather gingerly, to towel-dry her hair. When she didn’t answer, he opened the door and came out anyway. A single glance showed him that she had done as he’d said.
“Good girl,” he said. Once again sitting propped up against the headboard, now rubbing the wet strands of her hair with the towel as if the cut were the farthest thing from her mind, Alex glowered at him. Dressed now, in jeans and the navy sweatshirt, he looked almost cheerful. Which was quite a stretch, in her experience of him.
“I was cold,” she said with bite, dropping the damp towel over the side of the bed to hide the other one, with its visible bloodstains. She had on no underclothes, his sweats were miles too big, her hair would be frizzing out like dandelion fluff as soon as it dried, and, most maddening of all, her head ached and pounded and swam. Maybe he was right, maybe she did need to go to the hospital and get herself checked out, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of admitting any such thing. His self-satisfied expression as he came around the foot of the bed already made her want to throw something at him. If she had it to do over again, she would still be sitting there in the towel and would dare him to do something about it.
His expression goaded her into adding, “Don’t think I got dressed because I’m going to the hospital, because I’m not.”
He stopped at the side of the bed, cast a single, keen-eyed glance at her crown, and handed her a folded washcloth. “Press this down on the cut until we get there,” he said.
“Did you not hear what I said?” Her voice was sharp. Her hand closed into a fist around the washcloth, which she had accepted without thought.
He stood for a moment, arms crossed over his chest, looking down at her with a contemplative expression on his face. “Are you always this much trouble, or am I just getting lucky here?”
“Look, Mr. Welch, all I need is a . . .” She was going to say a couple of aspirin, but she got no further because, just like that, he scooped her out of the bed into his arms.
“If you’re going to argue with me the rest of the night, you might as well call me Joe while you’re doing it.”
“Listen, damn it, Joe, I’m not going!” His name came easily to her lips. Indeed, it was hard to think of the man as Mr. Welch when she’d practically melted all over him in the shower. But instead of wrapping her arms around his neck, she pushed at his shoulder. “Put me down!”
“Fine.” He set her on her feet so abruptly that the room spun. “Show me that you don’t need to go to the hospital. Go on, show me. Walk across the room.”
The arm that had been around her waist was withdrawn, although he stayed close behind her. Alex blinked as the floor seemed to tilt. Determined to show him, she lifted her chin and took a step, followed by another. Then her knees quivered, and she staggered. He caught her as she groped instinctively toward the bed for support, swinging her up in his arms again.
“Still feel like arguing?”
“Okay, so maybe I do need to go to the hospital,” she muttered resentfully, one arm sliding around his neck. Her other hand still held the washcloth; surrendering, she pressed it against the cut, lifted it, looked at the blood staining it, and winced. He glanced at her, one corner of his mouth twisting up in a wry smile.
“You think?”
Alex’s head fell back against his shoulder in a silent gesture of defeat. Holding the washcloth to her throbbing head, she was so dizzy that she could have been riding a carnival tilt-a-whirl as he carried her downstairs.
“Alex! Is something wrong?” Clad in a yellow terry-cloth bathrobe over what looked like a pair of boys’ pajamas, her curly hair as unruly as Alex felt her own straighter locks were starting to be, Neely jumped up and hurried toward them as Joe carried her into the lamp-lit kitchen. Neely had been sitting at the big rectangular table with Joe’s three kids: a prepubescent girl with boyishly cut brown hair wearing white, waffle-weave long johns; the scalped-looking boy in jeans and a white T-shirt; and another, older boy, also in jeans with a flannel shirt, who looked like a younger, leaner, long-haired version of Joe himself. They broke off what had been an animated conversation as their father entered with his burden. All of them stared curiously at Alex. Even the dog emerged from beneath the table to take a good look.
“I’m taking your sister to the hospital for stitches,” Joe said to Neely before Alex could answer.
“Stitches!” Neely exclaimed as Joe walked past her to deposit Alex in the chair she had vacated. Alex clung to his neck for an instant as her head cleared. Her weakness was not lost on Joe.
“Don’t fall over,” he whispered in her ear with a hint of mockery, then stepped away. His place was immediately taken by Neely, who hovered over her, her eyes wide with alarm as she took in the washcloth Alex was pressing against her head.
“I cut my head when I fell down. No big deal.” Alex was determined to downplay the extent of her injury as she reassured her anxious-looking sister. Neely had suffered so many losses in her life that she was far more sensitive than most teenagers to the fact that a loved one could be snatched away from her at any moment without warning, and Alex knew that. Unconvinced, Neely moved around behind her.
“Let me see.”
Alex lifted the washcloth.
“Oh, Alex!”
“That bad, huh?” Alex asked ruefully, reapplying the washcloth to the wound.
“A couple of stitches and she’ll be fine.” Joe was back, wearing a dark green rain poncho that reached halfway down his thighs and dropping a huge trench coat that from the size of it could only be his own around Alex’s shoulders. As she slid her arms into the sleeves, he crouched in front of her. Looking down at him, she registered that his broad shoulders looked massive in the enveloping poncho, and the lamplight picked up blue highlights in his black hair.
“Put your feet in here,” he said. Then, glancing around, “Eli, find me an umbrella, would you?”
Here meant a pair of rubber boots, too small to be his. One of the boys’, maybe? Alex did as he told her, sliding her feet into the shanks. The boots went on easily. Standing, bundling the trench coat around her like a blanket, he picked her up again. Having accepted the inevitable, she held the washcloth to her head with one hand and curled an arm around his neck, feeling more than a little self-conscious under the interested gazes of four children.
“These are my kids, by the way. Jenny, Eli, and you remember Josh,” he said, nodding at each in turn. Then, to them, “We’ll be at the hospital if you need me. This is probably going to take a while, so you guys might as well go on back to bed.” He looked at Neely. “There’s an extra bed in Jen’s room. You can sleep in there, if you want. Your sister can have my bed when we get back, and I’ll sleep on the couch. Unless you’re planning to go back up to Whistledown for what’s left of the night.”
Alex and Neely exchanged glances, and both simultaneously shook their heads. Their recent terrifying experience within its walls had definitely robbed Whistledown of some of its charm.
“It’s probably burned down by now anyway,” Alex muttered for his ears alone as he turned and headed for the back door.
“Nah,” he said. “We’d see the flames from here.” He nodded at the uncurtained windows. Beyond them, the night was black.
“Alex, do you want me to come with you?” Neely trailed them anxiously.
Looking over Joe’s shoulder, Alex managed a smile for her sister. “In that getup? No way. Stay here and go to bed.”
“Dad, here’s an umbrella.” The oldest boy, Eli, passed an unopened umbrella to Joe.
“Thanks. You’re baby-sitting.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“He’s not baby-sitting me. I’m almost as old as he is.” Josh, who had materialized on his father’s other side, sounded surly.
“He’s baby-sitting Jen. In fact, you both are.” Joe said it in a quelling tone. Then someone—Eli, Alex guessed—opened the back door. Cold, gusty air laden with moisture and the rushing sound of falling rain swirled around them as Joe stepped onto the small back stoop. It was, fortunately, covered, which gave him time get the umbrella positioned over their heads before braving the monsoon.
“I’ll hold it,” Alex volunteered, as he seemed to be having a little difficulty managing to hang on to both her and the umbrella. He passed her the umbrella without comment. Hastily tucking the washcloth into a pocket of the coat, she held the umbrella in a precarious, one-handed grip over both their heads while rain pounded the taut nylon like pellets on a kettledrum and the wind tried to tear it away from her altogether. With her in his arms, he ran nimbly down the back steps toward the vehicle parked in the driveway below. Rain pelted her legs below the knees, and her feet. If it had not been for the water-repellent properties of the coat and boots, she would have been soaked. Tiny windblown droplets struck her face, icy cold. A narrow rectangle of light from the door vanished abruptly as it closed behind them. Darkness wrapped around them like a blanket.
Fifteen
They’ll lock the door, won’t they?” Alex raised her voice to be heard over the rain as Joe tipped her onto her feet beside the car, which was some kind of dark-colored SUV. Being back outside in the storm reminded her of how afraid she’d been until he’d shown up to rescue her. Opening the door and then all but thrusting her inside, he didn’t answer. Alex waited until he was sliding into the driver’s seat beside her, tossing the dripping umbrella into the back and slamming his own door, before repeating the question.
“One of them probably will, but I wouldn’t worry about it either way: there’s no crime around here to speak of.” He started the car, turned on the lights, windshield wipers, and defrost, and put the engine into reverse. The headlights revealed shiny curtains of falling rain. The rumble of thunder overhead all but blocked out the sound of the wheels crunching down the gravel driveway. It was cold inside the vehicle, but sheltered from the rain, and surprisingly cozy.
“Oh, really? Let me remind you, there was someone in my bedroom tonight!” Alex’s voice was tart. Her head rested back against the leather seat, and she was once more pressing the washcloth to the wound.
“Sure you didn’t dream it?”
“I’m sure I didn’t dream getting hit over the head!”
“No, you didn’t dream that.”
They reached the road, and he glanced at her as he backed out and then put the car into drive. The faint glow from the instrument panel was the only illumination, making it difficult to discern more than his general outline. Alex hoped that he could see better than she could; except for the twin beams of light bouncing off the driving rain, the night around them was black as the inside of a coal mine.
“Head hurt much?” He glanced her way as he spoke.
“Some.”
“You know, the chances of somebody breaking into Whistledown are pretty remote, especially on a night like this. Even criminals like to stay dry.”
“If you can think of another expla . . .”
She broke off as a flash of lightning split the sky. They had almost reached Whistledown’s driveway. At the top of the hill, the house was lit up suddenly as if caught in a camera’s flash. A dark form on the second-story porch stood out clearly against the white stone. A human form. A man.
Alex’s eyes went huge. Her pulse raced. She sat bolt upright in the seat, riveted, gaping, as the lightning faded away and night dropped over the house once more like a magician’s scarf.
“Look! Did you see . . . ? Someone’s on the porch! There’s a man on the upstairs porch!” She grabbed at his arm, pointing.
The SUV veered sharply to the right, then recovered as Joe slammed on the brake and pulled his arm free.
“Damn it, Alex, don’t you know better than to grab someone’s arm when they’re driving?”
Alex didn’t even register that, or his use of her name. Her gaze was still fixed on the house. There had been someone on the porch. She was sure of it. She glanced at him almost wildly.
“Did you see him? He must have been the one who was in my bedroom—the one who hit me! He’s still in the house! We’ve got to get the police!”
He was looking at her narrow-eyed. “You really think you saw someone?”
“Yes! On the second-floor porch! I’m sure of it!”
“You are more trouble than anyone I ever met,” he growled under his breath, and put his foot on the accelerator. Seconds later he was turning the SUV up Whistledown’s driveway.
“What are you doing?” As they swooshed up the rain-washed asphalt her surprised gaze swung from the house to him.
“I’m going to take five minutes and check this out.”
“You can’t! We need the police! He might have a gun, or . . .”
“I doubt it,” he said dryly.
“You think I’m imagining this?” Alex’s voice was shrill with outrage.
“I think that, if you’d use just an ounce of common sense, you’d see that what you’re suggesting is almost impossible. This isn’t Philadelphia, you know: distances are pretty far out here. You’ve got to ask yourself, if there’s someone in the house, where did he come from? How did he get here? I don’t see a car, do you? Did he walk? From where? Simpsonville? It’s a good five miles away, and Simpsonville’s the nearest town. For God’s sake, Alex, use your brain: it’s been raining cats and dogs all night. Even wanna-be rapists have enough sense not to walk for miles in the pouring rain!”
They reached the top of the driveway, and he parked the car at the foot of the stone walk that led to Whistledown’s front door. With the lights still on and the engine still running, he leaned over and opened the glove compartment. Horrified, Alex watched as he withdrew a standardsize black flashlight. As far as weapons went, if he got close enough to club someone over the head with it it might raise a pretty good bump.
“Oh, no!” she said, grasping the back of the seat as she slewed around to look at him. A wave of dizziness assaulted her at the sudden movement, but she ignored it. “Don’t do this! Please don’t do this! Let’s go get the police! This is really stupid. I . . .”
But he was already opening the door. The interior light flicked on, allowing her to see the determined expression on his face. She supposed her appalled one was equally apparent to him. Their eyes met.
“Lock the doors and sit tight. I’ll be back as quick as I can. If you need me, honk the horn.”
“Oh, Joe, please . . .” she moaned.
He slammed the door behind him, and was gone, swallowed up by the night.
Alex hit the button that locked all the doors, then huddled in her seat, her gaze searching for him in vain. She was clutching the bloody washcloth in one hand, she discovered, and pressed it once again to her oozing head. The falling rain seemed suddenly very loud. It was a steady rushing sound, much like the roar of traffic on a busy highway. The headlights were twin swords of yellow slicing through the darkness directly ahead. The rain looked like dozens of falling icicles as it passed through the light. She debated turning off the lights, but the thought of sitting all alone in the darkness dissuaded her. Anyway, what would be the point? If the intruder had remained on the upstairs porch, he had certainly seen them coming up the driveway, and if he had stayed around to watch he would even have seen them park. But of course he hadn’t stayed around. If he had any sense at all, he would have left the house when he saw them approach, and was very likely outside right now. He could be right beside the car . . .
The skin on the back of Alex’s nape prickled as she glanced swiftly around. She could see nothing outside the windows except the rain falling through the twin shafts of light. She could hear nothing over the rain and the hum of the engine, either. She was alone with the darkness and relentless rain, effectively deaf and blind, her only defense against anyone who might choose to attack her the locked doors of the car.
Oh, God, if he had a hammer or something similar, he could smash right through the window.
Alex scrambled over into the driver’s seat, ignoring the resultant pain in her head and her subsequent dizziness, the better to have access to both the horn and the gear shift. Thunder crashed; if she was attacked now, Joe wouldn’t hear the window smash, wouldn’t hear the horn sound. Would she have time to slam the car into reverse and drive away?
