Chapter 23
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Alex excuses himself to prepare his generators in case the storm knocks out the power, and I pace the kitchen trying to think. I’m grateful that I’m not stuck in the car, of course, but I don’t know this guy. How do I know he’s telling the truth? Men lie as easily as they breathe.
My gaze falls on the refrigerator magnet with the repair shop phone number. Once Alex is outside, I call and a woman answers. “Seller Brothers Auto Repair.”
“Hi, my car’s broken down. It needs a fuel pump and I was told—”
“Oh, you’re the one stranded out at Alex’s place! Jerry just told me about the bridge. I already called salvage to have them look for a new pump so we’ll be ready to go once we can get to you.”
Well, he wasn’t lying. “Is there any other way I can get to the hotel from here?”
“Not from Hale Creek Road with the bridge out.”
I’m glad that a woman answered my call. “Have you worked for Alex long…like, do you know him well?”
She immediately understands what I’m getting at and her voice softens. “Yes, I’ve been here for eight years. Alex is the sweetest guy. He’s even babysat for my kids a few times. I trust him. You’re safe with him.”
A little sigh of relief escapes me. “Thank you.”
“Of course. And I’ll be sure to call if I have any updates.”
Alex walks in as soon as she hangs up. The phone’s still against my ear, and I’m struck by another idea for my safety. “Yes,” I say to no one. “That’s right. Hale Creek Road. Okay, I have to go.”
I put the phone down and turn to him. “I just wanted to let a friend know where I am. I hope you don’t mind that I gave him your name and address.” I think my message is clear. If you murder me and hide me under your bed someone will come looking.
He doesn’t even blink. “Not at all.”
I don’t have any other choice but to take him up on his offer to stay.
I can’t call the police for help. The closest town is clearly a small one that will be overwhelmed by the blizzard.
Even if they don’t find out who I am, I doubt they’ll make rescuing me from a nice warm house a priority when they’re likely to have people stranded in the snow to worry about.
“You don’t have a dry well and a basket on a rope in the basement, do you?” I ask. That book really freaked me out.
A wide smile grows on his face. “I’m not a serial killer. Or any kind of killer for that matter. Well, I’m not good with plants.”
“That’s exactly the kind of thing a serial killer would say, but I’ll have to risk it.
” His laugh is deep and smooth. That, and his quick smile set me at ease.
I’ve had lots of experience with terrible men and I’m good at spotting them.
He doesn’t seem threatening in the least, and I do feel better now that a woman who knows him has also vouched for him.
“Do you have any luggage you want to bring inside?” he asks.
“Oh, yes, I should grab my bag.” He accompanies me outside and we walk to the car. At least an inch of new snow already covers it. “I can’t believe how fast it’s coming down.” I open the door and sling the bag of clothes over my shoulder.
“They said it could fall close to two inches an hour.”
As we head back up his driveway, I look around. It’s beautiful out here. The only other building in sight is a barn at the right rear of his house. Forest surrounds us on all sides. “Do you keep animals?” I ask.
“Just goats,” he replies, nodding toward the barn. “I’ve got them squared away for the night.”
It’s quickly becoming dark. I’m really lucky that the car decided to crap out on me here. Being stuck in it all night would’ve been terrifying, not to mention the risk of freezing to death.
“Thank you for taking me in,” I tell him once we get inside. “It’s really kind of you. I’m sure you didn’t plan to get snowed in with a stranger.”
His smile is genuine. “Don’t be silly. I’m happy to have some company. Let me show you the guest room. My sister stayed here last winter and left a lot of her things when she moved out. Feel free to use whatever you like. It’s all getting donated eventually.”
“Thanks,” I say, picking up my bag as he leads the way up the staircase. “I didn’t bring a coat or anything.”
The light from the lamp in the corner spills across the first few steps, and the rest is lit by a ceiling fixture at the top. The house is bright and warm. If it weren’t for the howl of the wind, you’d never know a blizzard was raging.
“Well, you thought you were going to be on a beach.”
The steps creak a little under our weight. I run my hand along the banister, enjoying the feel of the wood smooth from years of use. At the top, the staircase opens into a long hallway that runs the length of the house.
The floorboards are the same dark wood as the stairs. A narrow runner rug stretches down the center of the hall. The walls are painted a soft cream color and decorated with a few pictures of landscapes and nature.
“I’m in the bedroom on the first floor,” he says, as we walk past two closed doors until he opens a third. “This one has a full bathroom attached so you’ll have plenty of privacy.”
It’s a beautiful room furnished with a queen size bed, dresser, and nightstands. A recliner sits in one corner, alongside a small bookshelf overflowing with novels. They immediately draw my attention. “Your sister likes to read,” I remark, perusing the titles.
“Yes, the town library has a big book sale every year. She came home with boxes of them. When she decided to move to Britain last spring, she couldn’t take much and told me to donate everything.
I just haven’t got around to it.” He opens a small closet.
“Fresh sheets and extra blankets are in here.”
The other door opens to a spacious bathroom, complete with an old-fashioned clawfoot bathtub with a shower, and a small sink. He gestures to a skinny cabinet in the corner. “Soap, shampoo, and towels are in there. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
“Thank you.”
He walks back out and pauses by the bedroom door. “I’ll let you get settled in then. Make yourself at home. I threw some beef stew into the crock pot this morning that should be ready in about half an hour if you’re hungry.”
I’m starving and just the thought of a warm bowl of stew makes my mouth water. “That sounds great.”
Once he goes back downstairs, I perch on the edge of the bed to take a few deep breaths and get my thoughts together.
This definitely isn’t where I’m supposed to be but it’s better than where I’ve spent the last eleven years.
I may be temporarily trapped but I’m still free for the first time in my life.
I’m safe for now. The smashed bridge is a double-edged sword. Even if they locate me, they can’t get to me here. As soon as the storm is over, I’ll be on my way again. The two big cities in Kentucky are Louisville and Lexington. Whichever one is closest will be my new destination.
The wind howls again and I pull open the curtains to see nothing but a riot of snow. A dark gray radiator hums against one wall, keeping the space warm. It feels nice and comfy. I’ll be fine here.
After I make up the bed and toss my bag in a corner, I step into the bathroom to wash my hands before dinner. That’s weird. There’s no mirror over this sink either.
Keeper always said that mirrors encouraged vanity, which is a sin.
Only the married women were allowed one in the bathroom so they could fix their appearance for their husband’s approval.
It was something I thought would be different in the outside world.
I thought I remembered mirrors in bathrooms and bedrooms. Was I wrong?
It’s hard to trust childhood memories. It doesn’t matter. I have no desire to look at myself.
Alex is cutting a loaf of bread into thick slices when I return to the kitchen, and he flashes a smile at me. “What would you like to drink? I have Coke, sweet tea, or juice.”
If he only knew how amazing everything sounds after so long without. It’s hard to choose. “Sweet tea, please. Can I help with anything?”
“It’s all done,” he says, pulling a pitcher of tea and a bottle of Coke from the fridge. He turns his back to get a glass from the cabinet and sets it on the counter to pour the tea.
It feels so odd to see a man cooking and serving. Other than Troy, I’m not sure a man has ever handed me a drink or food. He fills our bowls with beef stew, places the plate of bread in the center of the table, along with butter, salt, and pepper, then joins me.
The stew is thick and savory, and the buttery bread tastes like heaven. “This is delicious,” I say, taking another bite. “Do you like to cook?”
“Thank you. I prefer to grill but I don’t mind cooking. Baking isn’t my strong suit unless it’s a simple brownie mix with instructions. Or those cinnamon rolls that come in a biscuit can. Do you enjoy cooking?”
“I do. Baking too sometimes.” The silence that falls between us feels awkward and I can’t resist breaking it. “What do you like to do? When you aren’t working on cars.”
The question seems to please him. “Woodworking and building furniture using resins.” He reaches over to retrieve a beautiful wooden tray from the counter. The dark wood is split down the middle by a deep blue streak that looks like a stream flowing through it.
“You made this? It’s gorgeous.”
“Thank you. I like to find different ways to incorporate dyed resins into the wood.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it. Do you sell them?” These would’ve flown off the shelf at the flea market.
“I do. Mostly tables, but some headboards and bookshelves too. My workshop is in the barn. I’ll show you tomorrow if you’d like to see.”
My stomach twists at the thought of still being here tomorrow while Troy waits in that cell. Act normal, Sybil. I force a smile, hand the tray back to him, and return to my food. “I’d love to.”
“What do you like to do?” he asks.
“I love to read. And listen to music. I almost always have a radio playing. I also like to knit.” It’s not untrue, but it’s been years since I’ve been allowed to do anything else.
I look up to see his grin but there’s no ridicule in it. “You knit?”
“I know, it’s a grandma hobby, but I’m good at it.” It’s one of the few things I was taught to do that I actually miss.
His easy laugh puts a smile on my face. “I was just going to say that my sister tried out knitting for awhile. There’s a bag of yarn in the closet of your room, but I don’t know if she left the hooks or needles or whatever. You’re welcome to it if you get bored.”
“Needles. Knitting uses needles, and crochet uses hooks. I’m awful at crochet. No matter how hard I try I can’t get it right, but knitting came naturally.”
We spend the rest of the meal talking about our hobbies and he tells me a funny story about one of his goats that won’t stop headbutting him.
Maybe it’s knowing that no one can reach me here, that I’m safe at least temporarily, but I’m starting to relax a little.
The last twenty-four hours catch up with me, despite the sleep I got in the car, making my body feel sluggish and my eyes heavy.
“You look exhausted,” Alex says in a soft voice. “I was going to suggest a movie since the cable’s out. I have a decent collection of VHS tapes, but if you’d like to get to bed early…”
“I am tired,” I confess. “I think I’ll get some sleep. Raincheck on the movie?”
“Sure. We have nothing but time.”
We both glance at the window where the wind whipped snow continues and I nod. “Very true.” If only I could be sure that Troy has that time.
The bath I was looking forward to in that claw foot tub will have to wait until morning. By the time I get back upstairs, brush my teeth and wash my face, I barely have the energy left to crawl into bed.
Running for your life is damn tiring.