Читать книгу Cornered At Christmas - Barb Han - Страница 11

The weather was warmer than usual for a late fall morning in North Texas, the heavy air loaded with the threat of a thunderstorm. Mitch Kent was gripping the handlebar of the double stroller so tightly as he stalked toward the medical plaza that his knuckles were turning white. Anger roared through him as reality sucker punched him. He’d already lost so much. A father twenty-three months ago. A wife less than that. The possibility of losing Rea, his infant daughter, gnawed away what was left of his gut.

Granted, all signs pointed toward positive news this visit for his younger and smaller twin. Life had taught Mitch how fast it could reverse and how devastating it could be when it took a wrong turn. He felt like he had about as much control as a sailboat in a hurricane. And that made him all kinds of frustrated. Mitch didn’t go the helpless-victim route.

His cell buzzed in his pocket, breaking the pressure building between his shoulders that was threatening to crack him in half. He fished it out and checked the screen. It was Amber, his sister and the youngest of six Kent siblings.

“Wish I could be there with you, Mitch.” She skipped over hellos.

“It’s fine,” he said probably a little too fast.

“You’re not and you don’t have to be,” she countered, her voice strained. He appreciated the concern, just not the fuss.

“We talked about it last night when you called. You’re needed at the ranch and I can handle this,” he reassured her. He hoped she didn’t pick up on the emptiness in those words.

There was a long pause.

“Are you sure you want to do this by yourself?” she finally asked. He didn’t want to do any of it alone but life had detoured, leaving him to roll with the turns and try not to get sucked into the current.

“I haven’t had two minutes of privacy since the twins were born,” he said with a half laugh. That part was true enough and he tried to lighten the mood with humor. Anything to keep his thoughts from taking the headfirst dive that always left him wondering how he’d do any of this without Kimberly.

“You know what I mean.” She was the last of his siblings to call before the twins’ one-year checkup. Each of his brothers—Will, Devin, Nate and Jordan—had done their best to lift Mitch’s mood. During the appointment, he’d learn if his younger twin, the little girl, was in the clear or headed for surgery. The thought of anyone cracking open her tiny body was a hot poker in his chest.

“I know you’d be here if you could, Amber. The ranch needs you more than I do.” The Kent siblings had inherited their parents’ North Texas cattle ranch nearly two years ago, following their father’s death. Their mother had passed six months prior.

The one-hour drive into Fort Worth had been smooth and the twins had slept most of the way. But the two were wide-awake now and taking in the scenery as he pushed their stroller onto the center of the medical plaza. A maze of buildings surrounded them and there was a memorial fountain that was catching the twins’ attention in the center of the complex. Mitch stopped in front of the three-story glass-walled structure attached to the hospital in the state-of-the-art building that contained the doctor his wife had handpicked for their babies.

“She’s going to be okay, Mitch. You know that, right?” Amber said, and he could hear the concern in her voice even though she tried to mask it.

“There’s every reason to hope based on the last couple of appointments,” he responded. The last eleven months without Kimberly had been hell. Mitch Kent missed his wife. He missed the way her hair smelled like freshly cut lilies when she would curl into the crook of his arm every night in bed. He missed the feel of her warm body pressed to his, long into the night. The easy way they had with each other, talking until the sun came up. And he missed coming home to her smile every night after a long day of working his family’s cattle ranch. Losing her had damn near shattered him.

First his mother, followed by his father. Then his wife. He’d lost so much.

Mitch realized he was still tightly gripping the stroller with his left hand. He flexed and released his fingers to get the blood flowing again.

“Those babies couldn’t have asked for a better father.” With five rough-and-tumble brothers, Amber was the emotional voice of the Kent brood.

“They need their mother.” There were more times than Mitch could count that he’d wished his wife was still alive. They might have dated only a few months before tying the knot, but he’d fallen hard. When a man met the woman he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with, he knew it. Hers had been cut way too short. “I’m glad they have you.”

“Good. Because I’m not going anywhere. Call me Super Aunt.” He could tell she was getting emotional based on the change in her tone and the lame attempt at humor.

“Sounds like a plan.” He went with it.

“And don’t forget Amy.” She was referring to their cousin. Amber and Amy were close in age, and both were mostly sweet with wild streaks that got them in trouble from time to time. Both had hearts of gold, and he couldn’t have asked for better women to be in his twins’ lives.

“Call or text the minute you get word.” Amber made him promise.

“I will,” he said before ending the call.

Mitch would learn today if his daughter, born two minutes after his son and almost two pounds lighter, was in the clear. In the best-case scenario, the small hole in the wall that separated the two lower chambers of Rea’s heart was still too small to cause any serious damage, like overworking her heart and lungs or sending blood flowing in the wrong direction. Mitch blocked out another possibility. The one that involved a lot of medical jargon, some kind of fabric patch and cracking open the center of his baby girl’s chest.

The appointment last month had gone off without a hitch. The doctor had said he was encouraged by what he heard when he listened to her chest. All signs were pointing toward good news. But doing any of this without his Kimberly seemed wrong. Then again everything that had happened in the past eleven months since her devastating car crash had been all wrong.

An all-consuming fist of guilt took another punch at him for not stopping her from walking out the door that day with her car keys in hand. For the sake of his children, he pushed the unproductive emotion aside. Reliving hell didn’t ease the burns.

His courtship with Kimberly might’ve been a whirlwind but his feelings for his wife were anything but a passing storm. He’d known her barely two months before popping the question, which had surprised him even more than his siblings. They’d gone along with the wedding without protest after meeting Kimberly and seeing the two of them together. And they’d stood by his side on that cold rainy day when he’d first heard about the crash.

Mitch rubbed the scruff on his chin and blinked his blurry eyes, forcing back the barrage of thoughts racing through him. Letting his mind run wild wouldn’t bring his wife back.

Exhaustion had thrown him off today. He gave himself a mental slap to shake off the bad mood.

He needed more caffeine.

Sleep and twins went together about as well as hot sauce and ice cream, and Mitch was beginning to feel the effects of being up for most of the night with the kiddos. Both were teething, which pretty much meant drippy chins.

The sounds of his daughter’s babbling floated on top of the heavy fall air. He’d insisted on naming their little girl after her mother, but Kimberly had argued against it. They’d finally agreed on Andrea if she could go by Rea instead—Aaron and Andrea. Of course, he’d take back every disagreement if he could get back that last day with her and tell her to stay home instead of walking her out the door, handing her the car keys and telling her how much she needed a break.

Rea was growing into a talker. Mitch had no idea what the little tyke was saying, but that didn’t stop his daughter from prattling on and on. Both he and Kimberly were quiet people, so he wasn’t sure how his daughter had gotten the trait. Aaron was the silent one. He’d pick something up and examine it rather than chuck it across the room. Mitch had a babbler and a thinker.

Mitch thought about the labels he’d picked up in the past two years. Ranch owner. Husband. Father. Widower.

The worst part about being the latter—aside from the sobering fact that he’d lost the only woman he could ever love—was the cursed feeling that Kimberly was somehow still alive.

Granted, her body was never found. But Mitch’s other cousin, Sheriff Zachary McWilliams, had assured him that there was no way she’d survived the accident. The car, her car, had been pulled out of the ravine with barely half a windshield. Based on estimates, she’d shot out of the driver’s side like a cannon and ejected some twenty-five feet across the water before sinking. The official search had lasted six days. Flash floods and more severe storms had complicated the effort, and her body had most likely been swept away. Extra divers had volunteered to work on their days off once word had gotten around that Mitch Kent’s wife had been involved in a terrible accident. But getting a late start because of worsening conditions had meant recovering a body was less likely.

He’d requested privacy from the media, which was something he was certain his wife would’ve wanted. Zach had also assured him that it would minimize the number of crackpots coming out of the woodwork, trying to get a piece of the Kent fortune. Mostly he’d done it for his wife. She’d insisted on staying out of the spotlight. The family attorney, Harley Durant, had kept the entire story limited to a blurb on the last page of the Fort Worth Star Telegram. Harley knew how to move mountains. He also knew how to keep a secret, and he had enough connections to back it up.

Since losing Dad and inheriting the cattle ranch with his five siblings two years ago, Mitch had been getting a good feel for running the place, and that was in large part due to Harley. So far Mitch was the only one living on the land full-time, but construction was planned or in process for the others to join him on the property with homes of their own.

It had been him and his wife living on the ranch up until now. Mitch still half expected her to walk through the front door.

He’d been told by a well-meaning aunt that he couldn’t expect closure because her body had never been found. The same person had encouraged him to join a support group and find a way to move on. Mitch didn’t especially believe in that mumbo jumbo. It was most likely the fact that Rea’s eyes and thick black hair made her look more like her mother every day. Both twins reminded him of Kimberly. And maybe that was the reason he saw her everywhere.

Mitch pushed the babies toward the double glass doors of the three-story building attached to the east side of the hospital.

His cell buzzed in his pocket again, so he fished it out and checked the screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of someone staring at him and a chill raced up his spine. Coming up on the anniversary of Kimberly’s death must be playing tricks on him, because the woman was her height and had her figure, so his mind immediately snapped to thinking it could be her. Damn, he needed to get a grip.

Did he really think Kimberly would be at the plaza near the hospital and pediatrician’s office? That was impossible. He’d buried Kimberly Kent at least mentally if not physically. Her grave was in the meadow she loved, not a hundred yards from the house, from her family.

“What’s going on?” he asked his top cowhand, Lonnie Roark, aka Lone Star Lonnie.

“Found something near the base of Rushing Creek that I thought you might want to take a look at personally,” Lone Star said.

“Okay. What will I see?” Mitch asked impatiently. He wasn’t frustrated with Lonnie; he was aggravated with himself for imagining his dead wife in the plaza.

Curiosity got the best of him, so he turned to get a better look at the woman. She shifted her purse to her other shoulder and he could’ve sworn her movements mimicked Kimberly’s.

It couldn’t be her, though. His wife had blue-black hair the color of a cloudless night sky that cascaded down her back. This woman had short, curly hair with so much bleach that it had turned white.

For a split second he locked gazes with her. She spun around, putting her back to him and tucking her chin to her chest. That was odd and it sent a cold ripple down his back. He strained to get a better look from this distance, but she’d moved next to a sculpture of some sort. He supposed it was modern art but he never did understand what that meant. The woman glanced back at him and his gut coiled.

Or maybe it wasn’t that strange and he was just overly on edge. She sidestepped, breaking his line of sight as she blocked herself with the sculpture. What was Bleached-Blonde up to?

“It’s one of the herd.” Lone Star hesitated, which wasn’t like him and set off a firework display of warning lights inside Mitch. This day was going to hell fast.

“What’s going on?” Mitch tried to stifle his annoyance. He couldn’t take his eyes off the partially blocked mystery woman. His need to get a closer look to prove she wasn’t Kimberly set him off. If he knew what was best, he’d walk away. Leave it alone.

So why the hell couldn’t he?

“One of the heifers must’ve caught hold of something and it tore one of her hooves off. Thing is I’ve searched everywhere within a fifty-foot radius and can’t find the darn thing. What’s left of her leg is a mess.”

“You got an opinion on what could’ve happened?” Mitch didn’t like the sound of this and it darkened his already somber mood.

“I’d be throwing spaghetti against the wall. There’s no other sign of trouble and it looks like she died from bleeding out.”

Mitch winced at the slow death that would’ve been for her. He bit back a curse. “Any tracks leading up to her?”

“Nothing I can see.”

“You were right to call,” he said on a sharp sigh. The stress of the day that had barely started already wore on him.

“I know you have enough on your plate this morning, boss.” The people closest to Mitch knew about Rea’s condition. Lone Star was in Mitch’s inner circle. Even though Mitch was the boss, he and Lonnie were longtime friends. Mitch knew most folks in town, having grown up in Jacobstown, and he and Lonnie had been schoolmates.

“This was worth the interruption. Keep her right where she is until I can get back. You were right about me wanting to see for myself. Do me a favor and keep everyone else out of the area until I can check it out.” Mitch didn’t like the sound of this one bit. It could involve anything from bored teens who were up to no good or acting on a dare to cultists, and Mitch wanted answers. If this was a prank gone wrong, he’d deal with it. Anger fisted his free hand. There was no excuse for making an animal suffer. “Thanks for the heads-up. Give me a call if you find any others. For now I’m assuming this is the only issue.”

“Haven’t found others but I have the boys counting heads,” Lone Star Lonnie confirmed. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled just in case.”

“Let’s keep the rest of the herd away from the area.” Mitch figured it would be a good idea to keep them closer to the south-facing pasture.

He glanced up to see the woman had disappeared. Curiosity had him scanning the area, searching for her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a streak of blond hair jutting out from the front of a hoodie. The woman wore jeans, tennis shoes and sunglasses. He did a double take to make sure it was the same person. Had she noticed that he’d been staring?

Of course she had; otherwise why put on the hoodie that had been tied around her waist? Mitch needed to turn around and get his tail in gear so he wouldn’t be late for the doctor visit.

So why couldn’t he force his boots to move?

Mitch rubbed his blurry eyes before ending the call with Lone Star. All kinds of scenarios ran through his mind about the mystery woman. Could Kimberly have survived the accident but had no idea who she was? Had someone saved her from the wreckage? Been keeping her all of this time?

No, someone would’ve put two and two together by now.

Lack of sleep wasn’t doing great things for his brain. The woman couldn’t be Kimberly. His wife was dead.

For whatever reason he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Curiosity? Something else? Something more primal?

An ache formed in his chest. It was wishful thinking that had him wanting to get a closer look at the blonde. He’d already calculated the odds and knew this was a losing hand. Try getting his fool heart to listen to logic.

Mitch checked his watch. Technically he was ten minutes early.

Turning the stroller toward the mystery woman, he decided to double down on his bad luck. He scanned the area and noticed a pair of men on the opposite side of the plaza, standing with their faces angled toward her. She turned her head slightly toward the men and he could see her tense up. She took a step closer to a light pole and Mitch realized she was trying to block their line of sight.

Now Mitch’s curiosity really skyrocketed.

Call it the cowboy code, but he needed to know that she would be okay. The blonde seemed to be in some kind of trouble, and he didn’t like the looks of the two men wearing their jacket collars upturned, reflective sunglasses and ball caps. Very little of their faces were visible and his experience had taught him that law-abiding citizens didn’t hide their faces in public. Nothing about either of them said they were law enforcement, so he assumed the blonde wasn’t doing anything illegal.

One of the men moved enough to see around the light pole. He had his phone out, angled toward the blonde. Was he stalking her? Was he an ex? Someone she’d rejected? More thoughts along those lines crossed his mind, and none of them sat well.

Of course, a stalker would be alone. The guy standing next to the picture taker seemed just as interested in her, and didn’t that jack up more of Mitch’s danger radar? Were the men targeting her?

The blonde seemed to realize something was going on. Good for her. She wouldn’t be an easy mark that way.

Once again his thoughts circled back to how familiar this woman seemed. Was there any chance his wife had survived the accident but lost her memory? Could she have been walking around for the past eleven months with no idea who she was or where she came from?

It might be a stretch but he’d heard stranger things had happened.

Or did he want to see his wife again so badly that he was confusing her with a stranger? A woman who was similar in size and shape, who also seemed to be alone and in trouble? Was he grasping at any sign of hope?

There was only one way to find out.