Читать книгу Where He Belongs - Gail Barrett - Страница 8

Wade Winslow wanted only one thing as he cranked the throttle on his Harley V-Rod and rumbled down the main street of Millstown, Maryland—to get the hell back out. Millstown. His home sweet hometown, where he was White Trash Winslow, no matter how many years had passed. Where bad reputations lingered longer than the antebellum town houses lording over the narrow street. Where even the ancient oak trees sneered down at him, their twisted branches reaching out like fingers of condemnation, trapping him in the past.

Battling the urge to kick up a gear and blast himself back into sanity, he tightened his grip on the throttle. Norm. He had to reach Norm. That goal had driven him for the past two days, straight from Miami, ever since he’d gotten the message that the cancer had spread and the man who’d taken him in as a kid lay dying. Dying. Hell. Didn’t anyone he loved survive?

With dread settling deep in his gut, he downshifted at the Stone Mill Café, edged into the narrow alley beside the abandoned theater, and turned the wrong way onto the one-way street that served as a shortcut through town. Then he twisted back on the throttle and rocketed to the end of the lane, the roar of the engine matching his mounting frustration.

Norm had lived out of town back then, on a few rocky acres tucked against South Mountain on the fringes of Appalachia. A lousy farm, but the perfect place to teach a rebellious kid to survive. But Norm had sold the farm and moved into town when Rose died and Wade had left, and the smoking finally caught up to him.

At the end of the road, Wade dropped a gear and pulled into the driveway beside the duplex Norm called home. He parked the Harley beside a row of cars in the driveway, hooked his helmet over the backrest and straightened his aching body. Then he raked back his hair and tucked in the T-shirt he wore under his leather jacket. Sick or not, Norm didn’t tolerate disrespect. And he was the one man Wade owed too much to ever defy.

And now he was going to lose him.

His nerves tight, he strode to the door and entered a small, coffee-scented kitchen packed with neighbors: Jack Fleagle, who’d run the theater before it closed; Mrs. Cline, retired from the post office last year. And Battle-Ax Bester, a linebacker of a woman with a rigid, beehive hairdo. Good God. As if he didn’t have enough to contend with.

Her crayoned lips curled down. “You have some nerve showing up.”

Hell. A dozen years after high school and she still acted as if he’d kill a man and end up in prison like his father. No wonder he hated this town.

“Wade, you made it.” Norm’s younger brother, Max, in his fifties himself now, stepped around Mrs. Bester and reached out his hand.

Wade shook it and caught the tension in his eyes. His stomach dipped. “He hasn’t—”

“No.” Max clapped his shoulder. “Go on back. The nurse is there, but he’s been asking to see you.”

With foreboding weighting his steps, Wade threaded his way through the crowd and headed down the hall to Norm’s bedroom. He tapped on the door and pushed it open. “Norm?”

A woman he didn’t know turned toward him. “Excuse me, but Mr. Decker needs to—”

“Wade,” Norm wheezed. “You came…”

Wade’s heart stalled as the nurse moved away from the bed, and he forced himself to breathe. Good God. Was that Norm? Glazed eyes stared out from his bloodless face. Wrinkled skin sagged from his bones, as withered as the dry leaves clinging to the oak trees outside.

Sick dread speared his gut. What happened? Norm had looked fine last spring when he’d stopped on his way to Montana.

“You can only stay a minute,” the nurse warned. “He just took his medicine. If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

“So what’s with the Mr. Decker bit?” Struggling to mask his shock, Wade pulled a straight-backed chair close to the bed and eased himself down. “You putting on airs now that you live in town? Hell, if I’d known you were getting formal, I’d have worn a suit.”

“Heard the bike. Knew you’d come…”

Damn right he’d come, instantly, stopping only for a few hours to sleep at the North Carolina border.

“Where…?”

“Florida. Found a great beach. You wouldn’t believe the babes down there.”

“Not…California?”

Still reeling, he fought to keep his tone light. “Nah. I went to San Diego as soon as the fire season ended, but the traffic got to me. It’s one big freeway from L.A. to the border now. So I headed to Florida instead. Thought maybe I’d fly to the Bahamas and hide out for a while.” And let his wrecked knee heal so he wouldn’t lose his smokejumping job. He stretched out his throbbing leg.

“Hurt?”

He grimaced. Cancer had ravaged Norm’s body, but not his mind. “Jolted my knee. Hit some down air on my last jump and landed hard. Nothing serious. I had to hike over the mountain after we got the fire out, though, so it could use a rest.”

Norm closed his eyes. “Good place, Millstown. Stay…” He winced, then wheezed.

Wade’s heart lunged. “What’s wrong? Should I call the nurse?”

“No.” He opened his glassy eyes. “Damn morphine…”

Wade glanced at the morphine pump hanging from the IV bag. The oxygen tank beside the bed. The wheelchair in the corner. Props to ease the descent into death. He tried to speak but failed. He swallowed hard.

Norm’s mouth moved and he leaned closer to catch the words. “Stay…”

“I’d planned on it.”

“Promise. Need you to…”

Norm wasn’t asking him to live in Millstown. He always knew Wade couldn’t stay. He just wanted him here when he died. Died. Oh, God.

“You need me to what? Cook you Thanksgiving dinner? Hell, Norm. Next thing I know you’ll be wanting me to polish the silver.” Like when Rose was alive. Panic surged, then buzzed in his head.

“Not here. Promise me, Wade…”

He was going to lose Norm. Oh God, no. Not Norm, too.

“Wade…”

Sweat formed on his brow. He couldn’t take this. Norm dying. Staying in Millstown. But he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t let down Norm. “I’ll be here.” For as long as he needed him.

“Not here,” Norm repeated.

“What’s not here?”

“Rent…room…”

Rent a room? He frowned. What was he saying? “I’m not leaving you, Norm.” His heart jerked at the thought. “I’ll crash on the couch, same as I always do.”

“No.” Norm’s voice was suddenly sharp. “Nurse is here. Max. Need you to stay…Mills Ferry…”

Mills Ferry? The old mansion on the outskirts of town? Why would he stay there? And why would Norm want him to? Unless….

His shoulders stiffened. “What am I, company now? Is that it? I’m not wel—”

“No, Wade.” Norm’s hand snaked from beneath the sheet and grabbed his wrist. The slight weight trembled cold on his skin. “Son. Always my son… Need help. Please…” His voice faded.

Dread knifed through Wade’s gut. “But—”

“Promise me. Promise…” Norm’s hand slid from his wrist.

His lungs squeezed shut. He’d do anything for this man, no matter how odd the request. “Fine, I’ll stay there.”

“Good.” Norm slumped back and closed his eyes.

“Norm? Norm?”

“Sir?” The nurse spoke from behind him. “Mr. Decker needs to rest now.”

He sucked in a shallow breath. Norm hadn’t died. He was just sleeping, thank God.

But for how much longer?

His legs unsteady, he stood. Norm had always seemed invincible to Wade, a big, burly man with thick arms and calloused hands. A quiet man who taught him to track and shoot deer. How to rebuild the truck he rolled when he took that curve too fast, and what to do when the girls started calling.

A calm, patient man who’d lost his temper only once in all those years, when Wade had smarted off to Rose. Wade had never done it again.

And now that strong man lay dying.

“Sir?”

A deep ache gutting his chest, he moved to the foot of the bed. His eyes burned as the nurse slipped the oxygen mask over Norm’s face and adjusted the pillows.

And suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed space. Air. He strode from the room and straight through the crowded kitchen.

“Wade. Hey, Wade!”

He shoved open the door and stalked outside. Damned cancer! He jerked his helmet off his bike and dragged it over his head. How could it spread that fast? And why hadn’t Max called him sooner? He yanked on his leather gloves.

“Wade, wait up.”

He straddled the Harley, then scowled at Max, who’d followed him outside. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d had a relapse?” he demanded. “I’ve got money, for God’s sake. I could have taken him to Baltimore to a specialist instead of using that quack out here.”

“He’s been seeing a specialist. At Johns Hopkins. He’s been going there for over a year.”

His stomach plunged. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I wanted to. We all did, but Norm convinced us to wait.”

“I see.” And suddenly he did. Clearly. The whole town had known Norm was dying and no one had bothered to tell him.

“We thought, well, with everything else you’ve been through…” Max spread his hands. “We didn’t want you to worry.”

“Right.” He snapped down the visor on his helmet, cranked the key in the Harley’s ignition and revved the engine. Like hell they didn’t want him to worry. They didn’t tell him because he wasn’t family. Because he didn’t belong here. Never had, never would.

Because in Millstown, nothing changed. He rammed the bike into gear and shot off.

The cold wind gusted across the Potomac River, thrashing the woods at Mills Ferry and rattling the stone mansion’s windows. Erin McCuen leaned against the bubbled glass and shivered. She couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to turn up the heat before her grandmother got sick.

Desperation surged but she ruthlessly quelled it. She couldn’t panic, no matter how deep in debt she was sinking. Somehow she’d pay those bills.

“Did you go to the bank?” her grandmother asked from the chair beside her.

“Yes, Grandma.” She sighed. “Everything’s fine.”

“…stealing my money. They think I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry. The bank account’s just how you left it.” Empty, and likely to stay that way. She glanced at the red bird perched on the feeder outside the window. “Look, a cardinal. I think those sunflower seeds did the trick.”

She helped her grandmother hold the binoculars in her trembling hands so she could get a closer look. Thank goodness cardinals didn’t migrate. Her grandmother had lost so much in the car wreck—some speech and motor skills, short-term memory, the ability to make her beloved quilts. Watching birds from her sunroom was the only pleasure she had left.

And Erin was going to make sure her grandmother could watch those birds from the security of her home until she died—no matter how dire their finances.

Pushing back the familiar swell of anxiety, she set the binoculars aside. Then she picked up the faded quilt from a nearby chair and wrapped it around Grandma’s shoulders. Ever since that accident, the bills had mounted. Medicare covered the bulk, thank goodness, but without a supplement, she had to pay the rest. And while she struggled through the insurance nightmare, submitting claims and juggling payments, her historic home rotted away. She couldn’t begin to fund the repairs that money pit demanded.

So she’d started tutoring after teaching high school all day. She’d slashed expenses, sold furniture and even mortgaged Mills Ferry, the family’s estate for ten generations. In desperation, she’d borrowed money from their neighbor, Norm Decker. Still, the bills piled up.

Her stomach roiled. She was frugal by nature and any debt made her nervous. Hovering on the edge of bankruptcy like this drove her wild. But what could she do? Even small changes confused her grandmother and agitated her for days. Losing her home would destroy her.

So she struggled to hold on to the house. But unless a miracle happened soon…

She heard the front door close and she patted her grandmother’s shoulder. “Lottie’s here, Grandma. You keep watching the cardinal. I’ll be back as soon as I set out dinner.”

She crossed the front parlor they used as their family room and entered the spacious foyer. She’d closed off most of the house after the accident to cut utility bills—the attic and cellar, every spare bedroom, the dining room and entire third floor. She’d moved her grandmother into the first floor library for easier access, and herself into the smallest bedroom upstairs.

She’d also tried to rent out the master bedroom. Unfortunately, Millstown didn’t attract tourists and no one had answered her ad.

“It’s getting cold out there.” Lottie removed her long, woolen coat and looped it over the coat tree in the entry. “If this keeps up, we’ll get snow for Thanksgiving.”

“I sure hope not.” With their ongoing drought, they needed the moisture, but snow meant higher heating bills, which she couldn’t afford.

Lottie removed her beret and fluffed out her short, gray curls. “I put your mail on the hutch.”

“Thanks, Lottie. I appreciate it.” She glanced at the basket heaped with bills and rubbed the insistent throb in her forehead.

“Another headache?”

“I’m fine.” She forced a smile. A retired nurse, Lottie had moved into their renovated spring house when her husband died. In exchange for room and board, she cared for Grandma while Erin worked. And she was a godsend. Erin couldn’t have managed without her.

She headed into the kitchen. “The casserole’s ready. I hope you don’t mind tuna again.”

“Tuna’s fine, but I thought you were going out with Mike tonight.”

“No time. I’ve got essays to correct.”

“You keep turning that man down and he’s going to lose interest,” Lottie scolded from behind her. “He’s a good man, too, something you can’t take for granted these days.”

Erin grabbed the hot pads from the counter and opened the oven door. Lottie was right. Mike was a good man, the type who’d cheerfully settle down and support a family. And she enjoyed talking to him at work. A lot. But she didn’t have time to date these days. “He’s got his own grades to do. He understands.”

“Maybe, but you still need to relax. You’re always working and volunteering.”

“Being busy isn’t a crime.”

“No, but people take advantage of you, hon. The town won’t fall apart if you say no for once.”

She removed the casserole from the oven, set it on the counter and took out the side dish of beans. So she did more than her share. She didn’t mind. She loved helping her community.

Lottie sighed and opened the silverware drawer. “Well, don’t blame me when you drop from exhaustion. By the way, I stopped at Norm’s on the way home.”

“How is he?”

“Not good.”

A heavy feeling weighted her heart. Norm was her grandmother’s closest friend and the most generous person she knew. She couldn’t bear to think of him dying.

“At least Wade made it here in time,” Lottie said.

Wade. Erin froze and for long seconds struggled to breathe. Lottie couldn’t know, she told herself desperately. No one knew, aside from herself and Wade. Lottie was just making conversation.

“That’s good.” She carefully hung the hot pads on the hook beside the stove and prayed that her voice sounded normal.

“And Norm said he’s staying with us.”

“What?” Erin’s mind blanked. “Who’s staying with us? Norm?”

“No, of course not. Wade is.” Lottie pulled out the silverware and closed the drawer. “Norm asked about the room the other day, but I forgot to tell you. I assumed it was fine since you keep running that ad.”

Erin’s heart tripped, then careened through her chest. Wade would be in her house? Renting her room? Wade?

“In fact, he’ll probably be here soon,” Lottie added. “I’ll set an extra place in case he’s hungry.”

Erin gaped at Lottie. Wade was on his way here?

Lottie cocked her head to the side. “Are you okay, hon?”

She blinked. “I’m fine. I just…I mean, I’d better check the room. Make sure the vent’s open so he’ll get heat. Do you mind helping Grandma?”

Lottie waved her off. “Go on. I’ll get Mae.”

Erin whirled from the kitchen. She took the stairs two at a time, rushed into the master bedroom and slammed the door. Then she leaned against the wall and gasped for breath.

Wade Winslow. Here. In her house.

Oh, Lord.

She placed her palm over her heart and dragged in a steadying breath. She had to get a grip. Wade had happened years ago. Twelve long years ago. One incredible, passionate night that had meant the world to her and nothing to him.

Not that she’d blamed him. She’d always known he wouldn’t stay. Even though she had hoped….

But she wasn’t the type to delude herself. Not then, and certainly not now. Especially when it came to Wade Winslow.

She straightened and crossed to the bed. Reaching up, she removed a picture frame from the wall. Then, for an endless moment, she gazed at the wrinkled paper inside and let herself drift to the past. Wade’s poem. That night. The sound of him driving away.

A huge ache lodged in her chest, that painful mix of longing and passion, sympathy and desolation that comprised her feelings for Wade.

Then she sighed. More than a decade had passed since then, and Wade was just an old friend now, a former high school classmate. A houseguest, whose rent would help pay her bills.

And she could handle him. She could. She marched to the dresser and stuck the frame beneath the quilt in the bottom drawer. She opened the heating vent, straightened the bedspread, and hung clean towels in the bathroom. Satisfied, she walked to the bedroom door.

And stopped. Handle him? Wade Winslow? Who was she fooling?

Oh, Lord. She’d better hold tight to her heart.