Sunrise Crossing Page 15

  All three looked up. Rose spoke first. “What do you think they’re doing up there this time of night?”

  “Well, I’m not going up to take a look. He’s a deputy sheriff and she was a lieutenant, so that makes her a veteran. Both probably not only carry guns, but know how to use them.” Daisy straightened as if about to say the Pledge of Allegiance. “I’m sure whatever they are doing is highly classified government business.”

  Gabe nearly choked on his last bite of pie. “I say we leave them to their work.”

  The sisters nodded. Daisy stood and refilled all three cups, and they went back to talking about everyone in town except the two giants upstairs.

  Later, when Gabe passed the deputy’s closed door, he realized his jaw hurt from fighting not to smile all evening.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Compassion

  TORI HADN’T BEEN out of the house for two days. The supplies had shown up on their porch two days after she’d got the warning ticket. So instead of worrying about having left her first trail, she spent the entire time painting.

  The work was all-consuming, as usual. Several times, if Parker hadn’t brought up food, Tori would have forgotten to eat. Most people wouldn’t have understood, but Parker did. Sometimes the work came in wave after wave, and Tori got lost in the current. She’d paint until she was so tired she’d fall asleep with a brush in her hand and then wake with ideas flooding her brain.

  Even if she’d wanted to walk over and see Yancy, the rains kept her inside just as they seemed to keep Parker from walking to the end of her lane.

  On the third night, the sky was still cloudy, but Tori decided Yancy would be worried if she didn’t show up for at least a while.

  She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him until she circled by his house and found both it and the barn dark. She tried to think of reasons he hadn’t come. He said he never missed a town meeting, and he’d mentioned there was going to be one soon. Maybe he was at the meeting. He’d told her that he worried about the old folks he worked with. Maybe one of them was sick or in the hospital. If so, Yancy would be with them. He cared about every one of the residents of the Evening Shadows Retirement Community as if they were family.

  She’d told him no details of how to find her, so he had no way of telling her what might be keeping him away. Maybe he’d come the past two nights and had worried where she was. He might have even worried that she’d disappear as suddenly as she’d appeared.

  Closing her eyes, she tried to remember the feel of his arms around her. He never held on too tightly. He made her feel treasured; only sometimes, she thought he might think of himself as temporary, as if one day someone else might take his place.

  She was midway through her twenties; she should have experienced so much more of life, but with Yancy, she knew that what she had was real. He wasn’t just someone to hang around with until someone better came along. He mattered more to her every day and it was time she let him know.

  On impulse, Tori pulled down a tiny sample jar of paint from a shelf in his barn and printed Missed you. T on a rough piece of wood. That way he’d know that she’d tried to contact him.

  She propped the note on his toolbox.

  After looking at it, Tori tossed the board aside and started over on another. Missed you. Love, Rabbit.

  When she saw Yancy again, she’d tell him who she was. He’d listen. He’d care. And probably he’d have no idea who Victoria Vilanie was to the art world anyway. All he cared about was a girl he called Rabbit.

  The memory of him offering her all his money, of him saying he was rich, made her smile. He was richer right here in this little town with this old house than she’d ever be.

  Taking one last glance at the note, she clicked off the workroom light and opened the door. As she stepped out into the night, she noticed that the rain had started falling again. Moisture whipped in the wind, so hard it seemed to be raining sideways. Tori pulled Yancy’s coat close around her, wishing she were brave enough to walk into town and find him.

  A shadowy figure moved slowly along the road about twenty yards away. The man carried a flashlight with a single beam lighting his way. His thin form blinked in and out between the tree branches. For a moment, she thought it might be Yancy. Same height, almost the same build.

  Only Yancy didn’t wear a hat and this man’s steps were slower, more cautious. Something about him looked familiar, like maybe she’d seen him out walking before. A night walker, like her. She’d noticed a few over the weeks, but they kept to themselves as she did.

  Tori remained still, waiting for him to pass. If he’d seen the workshop light, he might be aware of her, but once she turned it off and stepped outside, she doubted he could see even her outline.

  The stranger suddenly stepped sideways, as if avoiding something in the road, and tumbled down into the ditch that had been dug five feet into the ground between the road and Yancy’s property.

  Tori moved closer, staying well into the shadow of the house so the stranger wouldn’t see her.

  She watched as he tried—once, twice, three times—to get up in the shallow stream that ran along the ditch whenever it rained.

  Something was wrong with his leg. It wouldn’t seem to take his weight.

  Tori watched him, feeling sorry for the man, but knowing she shouldn’t get involved. He’d be fine, she told herself. He’d get his footing and move on. Parker had preached the importance of no one knowing she was here and Tori had said Yancy would be the only breach in their plan.

  But the man didn’t stand on his next try. He tumbled. She heard him hit hard against the side of the road and splash backward into the ditch.

  A low cry whirled in the night. Like a wounded animal. Like a man in pain.

  Tori moved closer until she could see his dark form half in the water and half in mud.

  The stranger had curled into a ball, as if giving up.

  Tori cried out, almost feeling his pain, not from the fall, but from the helplessness of his situation. The sides of the ditch had to be slippery, and if his leg were hurt, he might have little chance of climbing out.

  She had to help.

  “You all right, mister?” she shouted over the rain. “Do you need some help?”

  He didn’t answer.

  She moved closer. Maybe he’d passed out? He wouldn’t freeze out here in the mud, but if he was seriously hurt, he could bleed to death. If he died and she hadn’t helped, she’d never forgive herself. If he died in front of Yancy’s house, the people in town really would think the old house was haunted.

  Five feet from the ditch, Tori stepped on the flashlight he must have dropped in the fall. She reached down and clicked it on as she pointed the light toward the man. The first thing she saw was his hat sitting by the road, as if it had been placed there just before he tumbled.

  It wasn’t easy getting a good look at the stranger; he was covered in mud. “Mister! Are you all right?”

  He looked up into the light and all she saw was blood.

  Tori moved closer, splashing her way through the water as she crossed the ditch. “You’re hurt!”

  The man rubbed his head, smearing blood. “I seem to be. I tried to stand, but I think I’ve twisted my ankle. The third time I fell over I must have hit my head.” His voice was calm, almost as if he were logging the accident for a report.

  Tori brushed her hand over his dark, wet hair. She felt the cool rain and the warmth of blood at his temple. He was wet and cold and appeared a bit lost.

  “Come on. Lean on me. I’ll get you inside.”

  The man put his arm around her shoulders and let her lead him to Yancy’s house. He was dressed nicely—a dress shirt, a vest and a very muddy jacket—but blood kept dripping from his hairline and he kept apologizing, as if he were inconveniencing her.
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  Every other step she felt his weight and they both almost tumbled a few times before reaching the side door of the house.

  Once she got him into Yancy’s kitchen and cleaned off the wound with cold water and a clean rag, she saw that the head injury wasn’t serious.

  “It’s not deep,” she said with a relieved breath.

  “Head wounds do tend to bleed. I’m sure I’ll be fine,” he replied. “I’m so sorry to worry you, miss. I’m afraid I simply took too long a walk tonight and the rain caught up with me. I’m so glad you were near. All I could think to do was curl up and wait out the storm.”

  “You could have drowned if you’d passed out in the ditch.” Tori fought down a smile. She was sounding like this man’s mother, and he was easily twice her age. The dear man looked even more helpless than she often thought she was. He didn’t have an umbrella with him.

  Tori cleaned him up and pressed on the wound until the bleeding stopped while he told her what seemed like his whole life story.

  He was a professor at the University of Texas down in Austin. A widower, living alone for the past ten years. He was researching families in the area and asked if she’d lived in Crossroads long.

  Tori distracted him by handing him his hat. He seemed so pleased it wasn’t ruined that he forgot that he’d asked her a question.

  “I’m staying at the Franklin Bed-and-Breakfast. Lovely place. You know the Franklin sisters, I’m sure.”

  “No. I’m afraid not.” She almost added that Yancy was the only person in Crossroads whom she did know, but that would be too much information.

  He laughed a silly kind of laugh. “I thought everyone around these parts knew the sisters. They run the only bed-and-breakfast in town a few blocks from here. When you meet them they’ll ask all kinds of questions, and before you know it, they will have figured out how they are related to you.”

  “Oh,” Tori said and changed the subject, asking him about his ankle.

  The professor twisted to look at his foot and said he didn’t think it was broken, but she could see that he was in pain. “I’ve been getting a little wobbly lately. Messed my knee and ankle up years ago, and sometimes it still seems they want to mutiny against the rest of my body.”

  “Maybe you should walk in daylight. If I hadn’t been here no one would have seen you from the road this time of night.”

  “Good advice, but I like the night. It’s as though I’ve got the world to myself. I can think. Plan my lectures.”

  “I know how you feel.” She wrapped a rag around his ankle, hoping it might help keep the guy steady.

  “You must be a friend of Yancy Grey’s if you knew the key would be next to the door,” he said. “I met him the other day. He was working in the shop, but didn’t invite me into his house. My, my, he’s done a great job of this place.”

  “Yes. He’s a dear friend,” she answered, figuring that was a safe thing to say. “Everyone knows the key’s beside the door, he claims. He says he only keeps the door locked because he likes unlocking it.”

  “Even though I now think Mr. Grey may be a little nuts, he’s a nice man.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  The professor nodded once. “Well, any friend of Yancy’s is a friend of mine. I wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart for saving me.”

  “You’re welcome. I don’t have a car, but I’ll walk you home when the rain stops.”

  “Thank you, dear. I feel like such a fool. I’ve read that being too sedentary isn’t good for men my age, but exercise will probably kill me.”

  She noticed the professor was more interested in talking than listening. He didn’t seem aware that she’d never introduced herself. If she could keep him talking, she’d leave him at the bed-and-breakfast knowing nothing about her except that she was a friend of Yancy’s.

  With the rain only a drizzle, she held on to the professor as they walked in the center of the road.

  “What startled you earlier?” she asked when he paused.

  He went into detail about how it must have been a snake or maybe only a twisted branch that looked like a snake. He was tumbling off the road before he got a second look.

  “How long do you plan to stay?” Tori had the second question ready.

  The professor gave her a detailed account of all his plans. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he had the class outline in his vest pocket.

  “Have you always loved Texas history?”

  And on and on. She asked question after question until they were at the door of the bed-and-breakfast.

  He was in the middle of inviting her in when the sisters opened the door and took over being Florence Nightingale the moment they saw the cotton strip around his head.

  Tori vanished in the confusion. A block away, she smiled, realizing that she’d helped someone tonight. It felt good.

  As she passed the Evening Shadows Retirement Community, she saw Yancy in a long office window with scattered chairs circled around him.

  He was sweeping the floor of a front room, moving chairs into place as he worked. An ordinary task. Probably part of his job every night.

  Tori neared the window and watched him. He was smiling to himself, almost dancing with the broom.

  Tori placed her hand on the glass as though she could reach out and touch him. It was late. He’d obviously had a long day, but she couldn’t turn away.

  The second he noticed her, he was running out the side door and pulling her to him as if he hadn’t seen her in months.

  Without a word, he lifted her up and took her inside.

  Tori laughed. “I’m not a toy you left in the rain, Yancy. I can walk.”

  “You’re wet and covered in mud.” He tugged his old coat off her and saw the blood on her shirt. “You’re bleeding, Rabbit. What happened? Should I take you to a hospital? Were you in a wreck? I feared something had happened to you when you didn’t show up last night.”

  “No. I’m fine. I just helped a man who fell down in that muddy ditch in front of your house. He was the one bleeding, but not hurt badly.”

  Yancy looked toward the flowerbed she’d been standing in. “Where is he?”

  Tori looked into his eyes, trying to calm him. “I walked him to the bed-and-breakfast. He’s fine.” She cupped his face in her hands. “Are you aware that one of your eyes is more brown than blue and the other is slightly more blue than brown?”

  Yancy calmed. “Of course I’m aware of that, Rabbit. I look at myself every morning.”

  He pulled her hands from his face and leaned back, relaxing, but he didn’t turn her hands loose for a long moment.

  “It must have been the professor, then. I’ve seen him pass here a few times.” He tried brushing off some of the mud on her jeans. “You’re wet and muddy and bloody. How about jumping in a hot shower? I’ll toss your clothes in the washer.”

  “Sounds like a good idea. I’ve been so wet and cold I feel like my blood has icicles.”

  Five minutes later she was standing in a hot shower in a tiny bathroom. The water felt so good, but being near Yancy felt even better. As steam filled the room, she could smell him. The soap he used, the aftershave, even the clean smell of his shampoo.

  When she finally stepped out from under the water, she dried off, wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into a robe he said that one of the retired teachers had given him last Christmas. It would have circled her twice, and it went all the way to the floor, but she didn’t care. It was warm.

  As she moved into Yancy’s bedroom apartment in back of the office and sunroom, she saw him heating up a can of soup on a hot plate.

  He pulled the one chair out from his tiny desk and offered her the seat.

  She leaned over and toweled off her long hair. When she raised her head, he was standing before her, offeri
ng her a comb. “The soup will be ready in a few minutes. Need anything else?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  When he handed her a hot mug, she had just tied her hair back in a loose braid. The room was cool, almost drafty, on this windy night, and each wall was painted a different color. The bookshelves along one wall were all different hues and none of the furniture matched. It occurred to her that he might be color-blind.

  “I like your choice of color.” She could not bring herself to ask the question.

  “Thanks. I like it, but I didn’t exactly choose the colors. They were just left over from whatever I painted around here in the cottages. Now the residents just look at my place and say ‘Paint my kitchen the color of your third shelf’ or ‘I’d like that color of green for my porch.’”

  Tori laughed. “I can see how this room could help.”

  “Oh, it does. I brought home ten samples before I found the right yellow for Miss Bees’s sunroom. I used up the samples behind the door. Some mornings I open my eyes and see the strips and I imagine the sun is coming up behind my door.”

  He sat cross-legged on the bed, mug in hand, and ate his soup while she studied the walls.

  “I’m glad you came by,” he finally said. “The teachers had a party tonight. It was over by nine, but I’d already decided you probably wouldn’t be at the house on a night like this.”

  “What were they celebrating?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not on that committee. I just set the place up before and clean up afterward.” He stood. “Oh, I almost forgot the best part of party nights. I get to eat the leftover desserts.”

  He disappeared and brought back a tray of cookies and two Cokes.

  She moved to the other side of his bed and picked out her favorites. “I love cookies, but I hate ice cream. It makes my head hurt.”

  “Maybe you should eat it slowly.”

  She giggled. “Then it freezes my mouth.” She picked two more cookies. “But I love every kind of cookie ever made.” She took a nibble.

  “You can have them all, Rabbit.”