Run Fast, My Love, page 13
At this, Taryn fell prone on the bed and let the tears flow. . . for her dear Irish mother, whose letters proved she had more strength than she knew. . .for Patrick, her long-lost friend, who’d become a frightening stranger when he started dabbling in drugs. . .for herself, at losing the people closest to her heart. Her mother. Patrick. Dan.
Dear, wonderful Dan. He had tried so hard to trust her despite all his just doubts. Her loss of him was the freshest and hurt the most. How could she live without him, without Paul and Gram and the cozy little inn on the other side of the mountain, five hours away?
Feeling hollow, the well of her tears run dry, she made herself rise from the rumpled bedspread and wearily head for the shower. Once she peeled off the velvet dress she’d bought for the Christmas party, knowing Dan loved her in forest green, she turned on the faucets and stepped inside. The water scalded her skin, but it was no worse than the burning remorse that ate away at her soul like acid.
Wrapped inside a towel, she stepped back into the main room. The sounds from next door had dimmed. Needing a distraction, Taryn clicked on the TV. Maybe she could lose herself in a movie, as she’d done repeatedly these past weeks.
She had just slipped into her flannel pajamas when her face flashed across the screen. In dread she turned up the volume and listened to the news reporter tell how she’d disappeared and was wanted for questioning. The reporter urged anyone with information to contact the toll-free number at the bottom of the screen.
Panic locked Taryn in a stranglehold. She’d left her glasses at the inn and had little disguise without them. The motel clerk had commented on what pretty hair she had. Hair like her mother’s. Hair like the picture now plastered across the TV screen.
Fear spurring her into action, Taryn seized the nail scissors from her kit. Capturing a thick hank of her hair, she frantically sawed and cut at the damp chunk with the scissors. Her rapid breath came in whimpered gasps. Her teeth clenched in determination. Long auburn spirals came away in her hand.
She stared down at the shiny curls she clutched. Then her eyes turned upward to the destruction she’d wrought, and she realized what she’d done.
She was a destructive force—damaging herself. Damaging all those she loved. Her lies had dug her into a pit, a pit she had no idea how to escape. She was wanted by the police. Hunted. A criminal. . .
“Oh, God!” She threw the scissors at the mirror and sank to her knees, her forehead hitting the scarred dresser. “I can’t go on! I’m scared, and I don’t know where to run anymore! Help me!”
Like an ornament precariously dangling from a strand of garland, she might lose her hold at any moment. Plummet to the earth. Shatter. She leaned against the dresser, gulping back sobs. Trembling with fright. Feeling close to losing her sanity.
Memory of her mother’s words drifted through her mind. Her mother had done what she had to do, even though it pained her, even though it wasn’t easy. She hadn’t given up. She hadn’t chosen to hide in a corner when life got hard. She’d fought back. Strong. Courageous. Determined. A woman who knew how to brave her Goliath.
You can have what gave your mother strength, too. You just have to reach out and take it.
Taryn wasn’t sure where the thought came from, but it quieted her. She did want it. Badly. But she didn’t know how to take it. Or even what “it” was.
She stared at the water-stained rug. Minutes passed, but she didn’t move. As she grew calmer, a strange confidence seeped into her being, and she rose from the threadbare carpet and slipped on her coat and shoes. Hiding her mangled hair in a scarf, she pocketed her motel key and a handful of quarters and set out to find a pay phone.
❧
“Paul, stop that racket!”
With wounded eyes, Paul looked up from wrapping a flat box in holly-sprigged paper. Dan instantly felt remorse.
“Sorry, buddy. Your old dad’s just been on edge lately. What’ve you got there?” He tried to show interest.
“A picture I drew for Great-Grammy. I first made her a church nativity with some toothpicks I glued together, but it broke. So I drew her one with colored pencils instead. I drew a picture for Terri, too. Do you think she’ll come back for Christmas?”
At the wistful words, Dan turned away from his son to look past the decorated tree to the overcast day outside. Overcast. Like his heart. “I don’t think so, Paul. But I’m sure Great-Grammy will like the picture you drew for her.”
“But I don’t understand why Terri went away.”
“She just had to go.” Both he and Gram considered it best not to tell Paul about what happened. The boy had been in bed when Laura blew in with her shocking news and had slept through the entire thing. The small party was canceled and everyone had gone home.
Dan studied the snow-laden pines. He pictured romping through them and throwing snowballs with Terri and his son. Taryn, he mentally corrected. Taryn Rutherford. Wealthy socialite, and who knew what else. Not a struggling maid.
His initial anger and shock had diminished over the past four lonely days. Now all he felt was a dull ache in the center of his chest. He didn’t want to celebrate Christmas, though for Paul he would go through the motions. Any joy over the holiday had left with Taryn. She’d had an impact on all their lives. On him.
Dan wasn’t sure where the money was going to come from—he was in debt up to his eyeballs—but he’d made the difficult decision not to take the second job as a ski instructor. He wasn’t going to spend any more time away from Paul, not when his son needed him so much. He’d talked to Pastor Trent two days ago and was surprised at how wise the young minister was. Dan felt an instant affinity for him and told him his troubles. The pastor listened then prayed with Dan, affirming that he was making the right choice and that his son was more important than taking the well-paying job. Soon the guests would start coming to rent rooms. Reservations had already been made. That was sure to boost finances.
Gram whisked into the room, a stack of colorful envelopes clutched in one hand. Paul grabbed his half-wrapped box to his chest and scrambled out the door.
“Something I did?” Gram’s eyebrows lifted.
“He doesn’t want his surprise spoiled.”
“Oh, that’s right. Christmas is tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Like you’d forgotten?” Dan countered with a grin.
Chuckling, she started to shuffle through the cards and study their addresses. “Oh, we got a card from the Robinsons this year! I’m not sure if I remembered to send them one. . . and here’s one from the MacIntyres and the Braxtons. . . .”
Dan stared at the lush tree that Terri and Paul had worked so hard to decorate. The colored tinsel hung in perfect loops. First a row of green, then one of gold, then one of blue. . .
“You should call her.”
“What?” He focused on his grandmother. “Who?”
“What do you mean, ‘who’? Terri, of course.”
“Gram, even if I wanted to call her, I have no idea where she is. Besides, why should I want to talk to her? You read the newspaper report.”
“Oh, pish-posh. Terri is no more involved in conspiracy to commit murder than I am. Reporters speculate all the time.” She continued flipping through the cards. “I’m sure she had a very good reason for leaving California as she did. She seems like such a nice girl, and in my morning times with the Lord, He never told me otherwise.”
Dan blew out a resigned breath. It did no good to argue.
“Why, what’s this?” Gram plucked a gold-embossed ivory envelope from the stack and set the rest down. “It’s from an S. L. Sothby. Do you know an S. L. Sothby?”
“No. But you send and receive hundreds of Christmas cards every year. How can you expect to keep all the names straight?”
Gram was busily tearing into the envelope. She withdrew a card. Engraved on the front was a cheery hearth with a cozy fire. A cat and mouse snoozed on a braided rug underneath a row of hung stockings. The mouse lay nestled in the cat’s fur, using the cat’s tail for a cover. “Oh, isn’t this just adorable!” She opened the card and something fluttered to the floor. She continued to stare at the inside of the card. “Why, that’s odd. It’s signed, ‘From a pleased guest.’ There’s no name.”
Dan stooped to pick up the paper from the carpet and stared at it. Shock made his eyes go wide, and a sense of unreality hit him.
In his hands was a bank-certified check for twenty-five thousand dollars.
❧
On Christmas Eve, Taryn drove through the thickening dusk, hoping she wouldn’t have to try to find the cabin in the dark. After locating a pay phone last night outside the rundown motel, she contacted her uncle. He was relieved to hear from her and promised not to tell anyone about her phone call—on one condition. That she come home for Christmas.
“I—I need more time,” she’d sputtered. “I’ll come home after New Year’s, I promise.”
“Pat’s been worried about you,” he scolded. “He asked me to call him the minute I heard anything.”
“No!” Her uncle’s admission chilled her soul. “I mean, I’d rather no one know yet.”
“You two should talk,” her uncle said gruffly. “He needs you.”
“I can’t—not yet.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I, um, don’t have enough money to tide me over for the next few weeks. Can you send some? I’ll pay you back. I used most of what was in my wallet to get the motel room where I’m staying—in Colorado.” She gave him the name of the town.
“That’s about a half day’s ride from where my cabin is. Why don’t you stay there?” he added more quietly after a few seconds elapsed. “It’s stocked with non-perishables, so you shouldn’t starve.”
Relief surged through Taryn at the offer. “Thanks, Uncle Matt. I will.”
She’d gotten directions and, after assuring him that she would return home soon, hung up the phone. Now she continued to drive down the winding road, past occasional buildings and homes decked out in glowing Christmas finery. She spotted a gas station on the left, recognized the name on the sign from her uncle’s directions, and turned right at the next street. Her thoughts skittered to her brother. The idea of betraying her twin was hard. She was sure she would be forced to testify. And that meant telling the truth, the truth that only she and Pat knew.
Patrick had murdered their father in cold blood. Taryn saw him. And what’s more, he’d seen her near the trees once he lowered the shotgun.
Taryn withheld a shiver and flicked the car’s heater up a notch. The sky was now a canopy of inky blue-blackness. Her headlights caught a deer, and she eased on the brake, thankful she was going well under the speed limit and hadn’t struck it. The graceful doe looked at her then loped into the thick woods. Taryn slowly accelerated, paying close attention to the landscape as she hunted for the narrow lane leading to the cabin.
At last she spotted the turnoff. The rutted road was narrow. Tall, massive trees gave the impression of closing in on her. Just ahead, she could see her uncle’s log cabin. Its curtained windows were flooded with yellow light, and a plume of smoke curled from the chimney.
That was odd. Or maybe not. Uncle Matt must have called a neighbor to ready the place for her. She only hoped he had neglected to reveal the identity of his visitor. She wasn’t ready for her whereabouts to be known by anyone. Even a stranger in a remote mountain town.
Her tires scrunched over the slushy U-drive, and she parked the car. Weary, she grabbed her luggage from the back seat and headed up the walk. Her eyes searched the ground for the round gray rocklike safe that held the concealed cabin key.
The door swung inward, and she glanced up. Her heart froze to a solid lump. The glaring porch light exposed the features of the man who blocked her entrance.
Patrick!
Her suitcases crashed to the ground. Shaking her head, she backed away. Spun on her heel. Ran for her very life. Past the car. To the safety of the thick trees.
A strong hand seized her arm. Yanked her around.
She screamed loud and long—then raised her arm to block Patrick’s hand swinging down to her face.
Twelve
“Taryn—stop it!”
The sting of his slap stifled her hysterical screams. She sucked in gasping gulps of air as if she’d been drowning. Lifting a shaky hand to her red-hot cheek, she stared at him, her eyes brimming with tears.
He grabbed her other arm and shook her slightly. “What’s gotten into you?”
“You should know the answer to that!”
He hissed out a breath, releasing her. “We need to talk.” His voice was low.
“I don’t want to talk!”
“Then why did you come?”
“Well, I sure didn’t know you would be here!”
Surprise etched his features. “Uncle Matt didn’t tell you? He phoned this morning to tell me you were on the way.”
Betrayed by her own uncle! Taryn briskly rubbed her coat sleeves, wondering if she dared attempt another getaway. As though sensing her intentions, Patrick again grabbed her arm.
“Come on. You’ll freeze to death out here. Let’s talk inside where it’s warm.”
She tried to break loose, but his hold was firm. “I told you. I don’t want to talk to you.” Suddenly she noticed another figure standing in the doorway. Her cousin Luke. “Why’s Luke here?”
“He’s staying with me. I found it necessary to hide out from the media and curiosity seekers.”
That she could understand. Taryn allowed Patrick to lead her into the cabin. With her cousin there, surely she would be safe.
Luke hugged her. “It’s good to see you again, Taryn. Come on inside. I’ll put your luggage in the spare room. Oh—you dropped this.” He pushed her purse into her hand. Automatically she clutched it and brought it to her chest.
“If you two need me for anything, holler,” Luke said. “I’ll be in the kitchen making some coffee.”
Taryn could only nod. Patrick motioned to the next room. Two brown sofas formed an L in the sunken den. One of her uncle’s hunting trophies hung from the paneled walls. She avoided looking at the glassy eyes of the poor creature—shot, stuffed, its head exhibited for display. She abhorred her family’s desire to hunt whatever happened to be in season. Walking stiffly over the polished wooden floor, she jammed her hands deep into her pockets, took a seat on one of the sofas, and stared straight ahead. The couch shifted as Patrick sank to the cushion beside hers and clasped his hands between his knees. She managed not to flee to the other sofa. Tense seconds crackled by like the fire in the grate.
“Maybe you’d better tell me what happened out there,” Patrick said at last. “Why’d you run from me?”
“How can you even ask that?” Taryn shot back bitterly. “I saw what you did to our father.”
“I’m not sure what you think you saw, but you’d better tell me.”
“No.” She shivered despite the warm room. “I’d rather forget that night.”
“You can’t, Taryn. None of us can. And it won’t be over for a long time. So just tell me what you saw.”
His voice sounded dead, emotionless. Taryn turned her head to look at him. His jaw was taut, and moisture skimmed his blue-green eyes as he stared into the fire.
She looked back at the flames. Tightness clogged her throat, making it difficult to speak. Still, she skirted the issue, wanting to put off speaking of that horrible moment for as long as she could. “I had a blind date that night—a favor to a friend—Lisa. But the guy was a jerk. After we had dinner, he drove me to the park not far from our house and was all over me within seconds. I told him to stop. When he didn’t, I kneed him in the groin, pushed him off me, and slammed the door in his face. Then I walked home. Thankfully, he didn’t come after me, though I saw his car race past when I hit the main road.”
She didn’t look at Patrick though she could sense his tension.
“I took a shortcut through the woods by our house,” she continued. “I was trying to hurry home, because it was almost dark and I didn’t want that guy to find me if he changed his mind and came back looking. That’s when I heard the shot.” She swallowed and forced herself to go on. “I reached the clearing and saw you standing there with the shotgun. And I saw him lying on the leaves. You just stood there—then you looked my way. I panicked and ran.”
Thick silence smothered Taryn. She fought to steady her breathing.
“I stumbled,” Patrick said.
“What?” She turned her head sharply to look at him.
“I stumbled.” His sad gaze met hers. “I was upset—he yelled at me for scaring the ducks with my crazy shot when I tried to bag one. Taryn, we shouldn’t even have been hunting. There were three weeks left until the season started, but you know our father. He argued that he should be allowed to do what he wanted on his own land, and. . .” He looked away, as if ashamed. “And I was coming down off a high. The shotgun’s safety wasn’t on. He kept yelling at me, telling me what a loser I was. Then he walked ahead of me. I wasn’t watching where I was going. I tripped over a stump, and the gun went off.”
“The news report said the maid heard you fighting.”
“We were. I’d been gone for two days with my friends, and when I came home, Father was walking out the door. He ordered me to grab my shotgun and join him. But, Taryn, I didn’t mean to kill him. I’ve thought it at times, sure, like when he would give me a bloody lip or a black eye. But I never meant to kill him. Maybe I’m paying for all those bad thoughts I had. I don’t know. But the thought never crossed my mind that night. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself.”
Taryn mulled over his words. A number of times their father had taken his anger out on Patrick. Taryn had never been hit, but she’d been wounded by the man’s words, which inflicted their own brand of pain. There were even times when his vicious taunts and cruel remarks hurt her so deeply she also wished him dead, and for that she felt doubly sorry now.
