Chapter 20 #2
Almost immediately, she discarded that foolish notion. Already, she had asked Daryl and Dottie to inquire if there was a Zachary Floyd or Sammy Floyd anywhere in the region. There was not. The only Sammy was a child named Sammy Smith, and his father’s name was Frank.
“It’s Thanksgiving, Britta, we should celebrate,” Dottie said as the two of them set the dining table.
“I am thankful. I just wish I had been able to contact Zachary by now.”
Daryl and Dottie had helped her dial Zachary’s telephone number, which she had remembered, thank the gods, but when she called, someone told her, “This number has been disconnected.” Her friends explained that it meant he had probably gotten a new number.
Everyone else that Britta tried to call had unlisted numbers: Hilda, Madrene, the other SEALs.
Daryl knew someone who knew someone at a telephone place, and they told him that there was no new number for Zachary, that he must have moved, whereas the other numbers were merely unlisted for privacy and safety concerns. In fact, the number Britta had for Zachary had been unlisted, too.
So, her only choice was to travel to California next week, with the aid of her new friends, and see in person what was happening. In the meantime, she was tired all the time, weepy, hungry and ready to relieve her bladder every other moment.
After a fabulous turkey feast, Britta needed a nap. She was still sleeping on the sofa in front of the fireplace in the solar when Dottie shook her shoulders gently. “Britta, it’s time to get up. We’re going to the dance.”
Britta blinked to clear her head, then sat up, yawning widely. “Methinks I should stay here and tend the fire.”
“Now, you promised,” Dottie cajoled.
“Besides, I doubt anyone besides you two would dance with me,” Daryl said.
Britta smiled at the deviltry in his dancing eyes. “I have naught to wear.”
“Ta da!” Dottie tossed a pile of clothing at her.
Another pair of Daryl’s den-ham braies, a white tea-ing shert, a flannel over-shert, thick wool hose, and a pair of Daryl’s boots.
Daryl was her height and thin, whilst Dottie was short and well-curved.
A pair of Dottie’s braies would come only to her calves.
So, it was that a resigned Britta went to her first ever Thanksgiving dance in a barn. These Americans were very strange.
Oooh, wait till I get my hands on you...
Zach and Sammy had been at the Thanksgiving dance at the Grange Hall for an hour, and Zach had to admit it was fun...the first time he’d smiled in what seemed like ages.
Sammy was off chasing some of his friends, rather than dance to the country band playing what he called “dorky music.” Zach had been teaching him how to dance the last few nights, and the two of them had laughed more than learned any new steps.
Besides, Sammy said he wasn’t going to touch any stinky girls anyhow, not even their hands.
Zach leaned against the wall and watched. There were at least two hundred people here, of all ages, and about half of them were out on the dance floor. As his eyes scanned the crowd, he saw Francine Doucet, Sammy’s schoolteacher. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
Okay. Zach had been a player for too long not to recognize the message given by her particular smile. In the old days, people would have called it a come-hither smile. He called it a “Come on over here, cowboy, and let’s rodeo” smile.
He hesitated, then figured “What the hell!” It was only a dance. He did in fact dance with her. Then he danced with her again, and again.
Sammy came over to ask him if he could stay overnight with a friend.
As he stood talking to the boy, his hand wrapped around Francine’s waist, tucking her into his side.
It felt good to be with a woman again. And she got along well with Sammy.
Not that he was planning anything...yet.
He and Francine were both laughing at Sammy’s long-winded explanation for why he really, really needed a dog.
In the midst of their laughter, he glanced across the room and saw a blonde woman dancing with a tall guy who had one arm around her waist, and her right hand held up to his chest in one of his hands.
The woman matched the man in height, probably six foot tall.
She was slim, but she filled out the tight jeans very well.
Then she turned.
And the blood drained from Zach’s skull.
It was Britta.
“Oh, my God!” He clutched Francine’s waist tighter.
Francine asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Sorry. I thought I just saw...”
“...a ghost?” She laughed.
“You could say that.” Zach’s heart was beating so fast he feared it might burst.
Then the woman, who resembled Britta, but couldn’t possibly be Britta, noticed him, and she stopped dead in her dancing shoes...boots.
He started to smile.
She bared her teeth. And then she bolted.
By the time Zach made his escape, rushing across the room and to the doorway, there was no one there. It couldn’t have been Britta. This woman had been pure Alaskan with her flannel shirt, heavy jeans and boots. His eyes must have been playing games with him. Wishful thinking.
But he had no heart for the dance, or Francine, anymore. After going in to give permission for Sammy to stay with his friend, and saying his good-byes to a clearly disappointed Francine, he left the hall and headed for home.
He had thought before tonight that he was getting better, but he was right back to step one. He missed Britta so much he could almost cry.
And, yeah, there were tears in his eyes.
He almost hated her for how she’d ruined his life.
Almost.
Life does not always have happy endings...
Britta was so miserable and angry that she could scarce keep her balance as she stomped along the icy road, heading toward the Woolever home.
The lecherous, traitorous, slimy, fornicating maggot!
Here she was, getting bigger by the day with his child and he had his paws all over that woman’s body. A painful thought occurred to her. Oh, my gods! Mayhap he has married the wench in the months since I have been gone. That hurt.
Knuckling her eyes so that she could see better, she plodded on. She needed to get back to the Woolever home and make plans to leave, as soon as possible. She could not stay within such close proximity to Zachary. She just could not.
Her heart felt as if it were being crushed.
It could have been someone else.
Hah! It was him.
Why would he leave the warm lands of California for this frigid place?
Arsallah. He must be hiding from Sammy’s grandfather.
He is not hiding that much, if he thinks naught of public displays of affection with a woman.
The randy cur cannot help himself. He is a man, after all, a prisoner to his lustsome inclinations.
I wonder if he gives her multiple orgasms?
Of course he does.
More tears flowed from her eyes. She had never been a weepy woman afore. It must be the pregnancy.
Which prompted her to reach inside her fur-lined cape and cradle her small belly. It is just you and me now, baby. We must needs find a place in this new world.
Mayhap I can go to Hilda and ask her for help.
Nay, she would tell Zachary, and then he would feel obligated to come to me.
Not if he is married to another woman.
The headlights from a car came at her from behind and she stepped farther off the road’s edge to give it room. After it passed, she continued her walk.
Once she was calmer, Britta had to admit that she wanted to be here in the future, even if it was alone, without Zachary.
She fingered the amber pendant handing from her neck.
..one of the few pieces of her mother’s jewelry that had been left at Everstead.
Mayhap it could be exchanged for coin so that she could set up a home for her and the child. Far from Alaska.
Her heart was breaking, but that would pass, she promised herself. She was not about to sip the bane drink over the worthless whoreson. She had a child to think of. Enough!
Yea, that was what she would do. No pining after the clodpole. No contacting Hilda or Madrene...leastways, not till after the babe was born. She was proud, and she was strong. She would survive.
A new chapter in her ever-chaotic life!
There are the bonds of love, and then there is BONDAGE...
Zach was halfway home when he passed the figure walking alongside the road. He should probably stop and offer a lift, but he was in no mood for company.
He had driven a mile farther when an unbelievable thought entered his mind. It was crazy. He was crazy. But still, he turned his SUV around and headed back.
Yep, there was the person still walking along the berm of the road. Which was nuts with the slippery ice. But then, in the clearer focus of his headlights, he saw that it was a tall figure wearing a long black cloak with a hood, which seemed to be lined with fur. An odd garment even for Alaska.
Holy crap, it was a woman, he realized, when a long strand of hair blew out of her hood. Blonde hair.
What did Sammy say about a woman in a long fur coat?
He felt almost lightheaded as he drove a few yards past the woman, turned around, then came up alongside her. It was impossible to see exactly who it was. But his body was on red alert, and it had never let him down before.
The woman refused to even glance his way, or slow down.
He pulled over to the side of the road, and got out. Quickly, he caught up with her.
“Britta!”
The woman didn’t even look at him, but snarled, “Begone!”
Oh, my God! Oh, my God! It is Britta. The how and why of it didn’t matter right now; he just knew that all his prayers had been answered. She was back.
“Britta, honey, you’re back. Thank God, you’re back.”
She muttered something that sounded like, “Slimy maggot.”
“Britta, stop, you’re giving me a tic in my side.”
“I’d like to give you something, but it’s not a tic.”
“What’s wrong? Why won’t you talk to me?” He was in front of her now, walking backward as he tried to see her face.
She refused to answer him.
“I have missed you so much.”
Still no response.