Beyond the Shadow (Above & Beyond Book 1) Page 2

  Matthews had noticed her hand clench.

  “You gonna hit me?” A dark brow raised.

  Lake seethed. Better to get out of there and away from this . . . this . . . Her jeep couldn’t be that far—just a matter of following the drive to the main road. She turned toward the door, but the six-foot something wall of him blocked the way.

  “Don’t even think about it. You’d freeze to death.”

  “Like my parents did?” Lake snapped. Well, well—that drew a wince. Did he have any remorse? Any realization of how much devastation his mistake had caused?

  “Get out of my way.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Listen.” He rubbed his jaw, considering her. “We should talk. I know what you think of me. Believe me, I’ve heard it around town . . . but, right now, you need to get dry. Sit by the fire. Let me get those towels and dry clothes.”

  Lake wanted none of it, but couldn’t very well pick him up and move him out of the way, so she conceded—for the moment. Her mind whirring to figure out an escape, she sat down by the fire, next to the dog.

  With her move back to the hearth, Hawk Matthews unlaced and pulled off his boots, then headed toward the back of the cabin. “Take your boots off. Like it or not, you’re stuck here for a while.”

  Don’t bet on it. Lake thought the words loudly. She could have sworn he heard them when he shot her a dark look, then disappeared down the hall.

  Stuck here? Forget that. Fate worse than death. The late afternoon light was fading fast. Situated between mountains, twilight—what there was of it—lasted only a few minutes. Lake squinted at the view out the expansive windows. The snow hadn’t stopped, but it had let up considerably, now falling in a soft Christmas card vertical, instead of the blinding horizontal of earlier.

  It was then she spotted it. A truck—a silver four by four—parked in front of the cabin. A plan bloomed. This could be her ticket out. A lot of people out on these ranches left the keys in everything. If Matthews followed the local norm, she could use the truck to get to her jeep. It couldn’t be more than a quarter mile or so. Then, she could get home . . . home to River and out of this Hitchockian nightmare.

  The fire had revived Lake, but the anger roiling within her set her on fire. With hearing tuned to the noise of drawers opening and closing in the back rooms, she pulled her wet boots back on over her wet socks and sneaked to the front door. It was a testament to the builders that the golden pine floors didn’t make one squeak as she stole across them.

  Well, he was right about one thing. Her chances of walking back to her jeep in this weather—not good. Huh—Matthews should know about freezing—he’d condemned her parents to it.

  Stop it Lake. Don’t think about it now. She forced her mind back to the present. Get to the truck, drive to the jeep.

  Lake opened the door, but not before pulling off Matthews’s stocking hat and throwing it to the floor in disgust. She opened the door and slipped outside—which set off a barkfest from the dog.

  The dog. She hadn’t considered the dog. The commotion sent her in a slippery sprint to the truck.

  She slipped and slid across the yard, slamming into the driver’s door. Unlocked. Her eyes darted to the steering column. Keys. Yes.

  She swung in and started the engine just as Matthews came charging out the front door, hopping and pulling on a boot, the barking dog close behind. It gave Lake a new visual to associate with the term—hopping mad. Satisfaction at putting that expression on his face gave her a charge of adrenaline. She stomped the gas pedal and sent the truck in a fishtail away from the cabin, the vision of an angry Hawk Matthews and his dog receding quickly in the rearview mirror.

  “Whoooooa!” The truck skidded around the first curve sobering her to a rational speed. The road was slick and covered with small drifts. Her heart threatened to beat through her chest. Deep breaths. Calm down. She was losing daylight, but the last thing she needed was to send Matthews’s truck—and herself—down the side of the mountain.

  Thankfully, the snow had all but stopped. Good thing the truck was four-wheel drive. Pretty much mandatory around here.

  It was slow going with the edge of the road barely visible. After only a couple minutes of white-knuckle driving, her jeep came into view. It was at the side of the road—surrounded by a foot and a half drift.

  You’ve got to be kidding.

  The wind had packed the snow against, around, and under the jeep. Efforts to drive out only left it high-centered. Four-wheel drives were great, but not invincible.

  Chilled to the bone, with spirits sinking, Lake looked around. The light was almost gone. She needed to get home to River before dark . . . and get as far away from Matthews as she could.

  Only one option seemed available.

  Desperate times—desperate measures and all that. She’d borrow the truck a little longer and get it back to him tomorrow, somehow. A stop at Sheriff Patrick’s in the morning was a definite priority, too. Early. It had been Sam Patrick’s voice on the shortwave. Fran must have called him.

  In her frenzy to get away from Matthews, Lake hadn’t spent much time considering the consequences of her—borrowing—plan until now. She sure hoped Sam saw the difference between borrowing and grand theft auto the same way she did. Her gaze swept the road behind, half expecting Matthews to appear out of the dusk.

  Twenty minutes later, a relieved Lake pried ice-cold fingers from the steering wheel and trudged up the stairs to her apartment over the studio. What a day—what luck—running into the man she would least want to run into in the entire world—let alone be obligated to in any way.

  Now that she was safe, exhaustion and near hypothermia, hit like a freight train. Fran’s anxious face greeted her from the window. She practically bowled Lake over at the door.

  “Oh. Thank the Lord you’re home. You had me so worried. I called the sheriff’s office,” she added in a whisper, glancing toward River’s room. Then, looking back out the window, “Is that Hawk’s truck? Is he outside? Where’s your Jeep?”

  “You know Matthews?” Lake was taken aback.

  “A little. Pretty much everyone knows Hawk around here.”

  “I’ve been here all winter. How come I’ve never seen him?”

  “He’s been on the news.”

  “I guess I haven’t watched the news much since—” Lake stopped.

  Her parents’ plane crash had been reported incessantly at first, and even now, random reports popped up for one reason or another. The therapist said children are resilient, but, every plane crash reported on TV triggered stress for River. It had been easier to avoid the news altogether—for his sake—or was it for hers?

  Fran seemed to catch her train of thought and hurried past, “It’s been a hard winter, Lake. Slowed us all down.” Placing a gentle hand on Lake’s shoulder, she said, “Now that spring is here, it’ll get better. And, I’m sure we’ll all be getting reacquainted.”

  Lake’s tone was flat. “You forget, Matthews was responsible for postponing the search for Mom and Dad. I talked to him from Chicago, the night of the crash. He’d called off the search and we argued. I want nothing more to do with him. I have absolutely no desire to get reacquainted with the man who botched the search for Mom and Dad. All I want to do is get his truck back to him—A. S. A. P.”

  “Lake! Lake! You’re home!” River burst upon the scene dressed in his PJs, plowing full force into Lake, wrapping his arms around her legs tightly. “You’re late.” He frowned, and backed up. “And you’re all cold ‘n’ wet.”

  Lake bent over and hugged him. “I’m okay, buddy. Everything’s okay. I had a little trouble with the jeep.” She kissed his cheek. “Sorry it took so long. My phone wouldn’t work in the mountains and with this storm.”

  She hugged him tighter. “Did you have a fun day with Fran?” She needed to get things back on a normal note.

  “Yeah. Lots. We watched Ranger Randy and I ate oatmeal and then
we drew horses, then we drew dinosaurs, then we colored cars, then we ate hot dogs. Oh! Lake. You should make these little wrapped up hot dogs Fran makes. They’re pigs in blankets. Isn’t that funny? They’re really good and-”

  “Hey, hey buddy—take a breath.” Lake couldn’t help but smile at River’s enthusiasm. It was the only fuel able to recharge her lately. The first two months were especially rough, but since he’d discovered Ranger Randy on a local children’s TV show, and with River’s intense interest in animals and drawing, she’d been able to channel his attention. “But now that I’m here, we better let Fran get home and you,” she tweaked his nose, “to bed.” She gave him another hug and turned him toward his room. “Thank Fran and go hop in bed. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes to tuck you in.”

  “Ooo—kay.” He dragged out the word in a descending sing-song. “G’night Fran. Thank you. I had a fun day.”

  Fran answered River, then turned her attention to Lake, looking her over.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “You would not believe the day I’ve had . . . I hardly believe it myself. What. A. Nightmare.” She plopped down on the couch shaking her head. “I got some of the best shots ever, up on Shadow, then lost them . . . and my best camera. Then . . .” Lake pulled her wet socks off in a ball and fast-pitched them to the corner. “Then, I ran into Matthews.” Lake’s shoulders slumped.

  Fran came over and put an arm around her. “What in the world?”

  She gave Fran the short synopsis, ending with a defensive explanation of just how Hawk Matthews’s truck ended up outside her apartment.

  “You know, Lake, Hawk was in a tough position the night you talked to him . . .”

  “You’re defending him?” She didn’t want to be angry with Fran, but there was no discussion on the subject. “Mom and Dad were the ones in a tough position. Those guys are supposed to be trained for extreme rescues—,” she trailed off.

  Fran moved the subject away from the crash—though not far enough. “Decent of him to let you borrow his truck . . . though I’m kind of surprised he didn’t drive you himself.” She frowned, considering.

  “A . . . He didn’t . . . well . . . I mean . . . didn’t exactly . . . give his permission . . .”

  Fran’s eyebrows raised and jaw dropped at the same time. “Lake . . . what did you do?”

  Lake’s explanation tumbled out faster than River’s had a few minutes before. “I had to get out of there. All I wanted to do was get to my jeep, but it was drifted in. I’m heading to Sam’s first thing tomorrow to straighten things out.” Was Fran smirking? She was a little put off by the older woman’s amusement at her predicament.

  “I’d like to hear about it, but you look like you’re about to drop. Get into some nice warm jammies and get some sleep.” She made a few shoo-ing motions, then picked up her coat and put it on. “Call me in the morning if you need bail money.” Fran gave her another hug. “I’m so relieved you’re home safe, hon. G’night.”

  With Fran’s exit, Lake stripped off her wet jeans and shirt. She pulled on a dry sweatshirt, pants and socks from the purple laundry basket on the dryer and headed for River’s room. Passing the couch, she decided to sit for a moment to calm her thoughts—or push thoughts—like Matthews, out of her head. Just a couple minutes . . . just to rest her eyes . . . as she . . . slowly . . . tipped . . . over . . .

  ***

  A patient River waited for his “tuck in,” but after twenty minutes, peeked out his door to see what was keeping his sister. He found her on the couch, sound asleep. Moving to the end of the couch, he pulled the double wedding ring quilt his mom had made from her mom’s and grandmother’s dresses over them and snuggled beside her.

  “I miss mom and dad,” he whispered.

  Lake cuddled River closer. “I miss them too, Riv.”

  “’Night. Love you”.

  “Love you too.” Lake mumbled into his dark hair and kissed the top of his head, half-conscious as she pulled the quilt up tighter around them both.

  ***

  Hawk ended a frustrating day with another frustration when the snowmobile wouldn’t start. The wrench clanked as it slammed into the other tools in the box—the victim of an uncharacteristic show of frustration.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. That just tops—” followed by a string of words that made Myron’s ears twitch. The normally calm, old stallion stomped the floor in his stall at the other end of the barn.

  Hawk’s intentions had been to cut the truck off with the snowmobile by crossing over a couple of foothills to the south of his place. Carrying the thought further, there probably wasn’t enough time to catch her anyway. Hawk eyed the yellow dirt bike in the corner. No, too much snow.

  Elle tilted her head sideways at him, the way dogs do when trying to make sense of their human. The gesture always brought a smile to Hawk’s face. Well, maybe half-smile today.

  “Not you, girl.” He squatted down and wrapped an arm around the dog, ruffling the fur on her chest then patting her on the side. “You were great. Good dog. Very good dog.” Elle responded with wagging tail and slobbery kisses.

  A soft nicker, followed by a loud snort, sounded from the back of the building.

  “Myron?” Hawk smiled at the old horse. “No guy, not today.”

  The horse stomped its foot and gave another snort.

  “No way old boy. Not on a day like this.”

  Myron was a three-year old when Hawk’s grandfather gave him the buckskin quarter horse for his fourteenth birthday. Now, eighteen years later, the sweet old horse was still rarin’ to go.

  He walked over and rubbed the horse’s muzzle and neck. “I know you’d try if I asked you to.” After another rub to the horse’s neck, he went back to the snowmobile.

  It was imperative he get that machine working soon. Not good to be out here without it. He mentally kicked himself for letting a crucial piece of equipment go down, too much time—in the zone—working his art and not enough in the shed working on vehicles. But the Colorado show was coming up fast. He needed to get the promised pieces done.

  Hawk crossed his arms over his chest and exhaled. “No truck, a snowmobile that won’t start and not enough sleep.” Hawk rubbed his forehead. “McDonald . . . Lake McDonald . . . What are the chances?” Elle listened attentively. “You know what?” Elle’s head tilted again, this time in the opposite direction, as if it might help. “Tomorrow better bring a truck sitting back in the drive or someone’s going to jail for grand theft auto.” Hawk ground out the threat. The threat he knew he could never carry out against her. Too much heartache of his own about the way the McDonalds’ recovery had gone.

  Why can’t I shake it, Lord? I know You’re the only miracle worker around here . . . But why . . . why couldn’t I have had one—just one miracle, that night?

  “Woof.”

  Elle’s response pulled a little of his frown away. Hawk patted her side again. Like it or not, he had sympathy for Lake. “I guess I might have high-tailed it away from me too,” he thought aloud. Her comments about him around town had gotten back to him—and hit him where it hurt. All he wanted to do, trained to do, was help people. In a town the size of Harmony, the grapevine wasn’t long.

  “Woo-oof.”

  “Hey. No comments. You grumbled plenty when you had to get off the couch earlier.” He gave the dog a good-natured pat.

  He didn’t want to send anyone to jail. Well, maybe John Colter. He’d better go radio Sam to do a drive by and see if Lake McDonald and his truck made it back to town okay. The snow had tapered off about the time she left. She shouldn’t experience a problem from the weather—but the emotional state she was in when she peeled out—that was another story.

  “C’mon girl. I’m hungry. You hungry? Want some grub?”

  Ahh . . . the magic word.

  “Woo-ooo-oof.”

  What would he do without this dog? “Let’s grab supper and call it a night. We’
ve got a truck to track down and a whole lot to sort out tomorrow.”

  THREE

  Hit & Run

  F

  lllummp. Lake awoke with a start to the sound of River and the quilt slipping off the couch.

  “Oh. Buddy. Are you okay?”

  River giggled and stretched. “You hogged practically all the room on the couch last night.”

  “I’m sooo sorry, bud. I fell asleep before I could tuck you in.”

  What kind of a “mom” was she going to be if she couldn’t even handle tucking-in-to-bed duties?

  “That’s okay. I came to see what was taking you so long and then I decided to cover you, but I was tired too, so I just snuggled up.”

  Lake pulled him over for a hug. “Thanks, Riv.” He was the sweetest kid. He deserved the best—big sis-mom—she could be.

  “C’mon tiger . . . let’s eat breakfast. Then, we’ll get ready for church. I’m starving.”

  “Me too. Can you make those mouse pancakes with the blueberry eyes?”

  “Sure thing, kiddo. But it’ll have to be fast. You’ll have to jump into your clothes after pancakes. And be quick.”

  She checked her watch. Ten to eight. They should leave for church by eight forty-five.

  Her struggles shouldn’t keep River from attending. No matter where their parents had been working, they always attempted to find a church and Riv needed all the continuity she could provide right now. Faith, and practicing what you preach had always been important to their parents. She would make sure to honor those values for River.

  But, anymore, the only prayer—if you could even call it a prayer—she could manage was, “Why, God?”

  River ate his pancakes with gusto. While he got dressed, Lake took a speed shower. She had to address the matter of the truck as soon as possible.

  She pulled the peachy towel tighter around her and walked to the window, parting the curtains slightly. The silver problem still sat in the street in front of the apartment. She’d been wishing Matthews’s four-by-four would have disintegrated during the night like a bad dream. No such luck. There it sat, chrome grill grinning her direction. Sheriff Patrick would have to be called—ASAP—preferably before he came looking for her—warrant in hand.