Thunder Snow (Thunder On The Mountain Series) Page 8

  “Weston? Are you the daughter of Charles?” he asked, surprised, looking at Jack.

  A look passed between them that I didn’t understand, but was confusing when Jack shook his head, “She is the daughter of Charles.”

  “Let me lead you to your table. It is good to see you again,” he said, gesturing to a corner table that was secluded from other diners. “Gianna will be right with you. Will you both have wine?”

  “Yes, please,” we said in unison.

  “What was that about?”

  “What specifically are you asking, angel?”

  “How does he know my father?”

  “Your father and I came here while Charles was building his Fortress of Solitude,” Jack chuckled. “I always loved that name. It was so appropriate."

  “And the other thing . . .”

  Just then, Gianna showed up with our wine and menus. After pleasant hellos and introductions as Angelo’s daughter, Gianna asked if we might like to share the evening special, a family recipe that had been passed down from her great-grandmother.

  “How could we refuse?” I smiled sweetly as the lovely young woman, obviously with child, turned to ready our meals.

  Angelo brought bread straight from the oven, grated cheese and cracked pepper onto a dipping plate and explained how they made their own oils. “You will find none to compare, Bella,” he said with an exaggerated bow.

  “You need to watch him,” Jack said, sotto voce. “He is the consummate ladies’ man.”

  Angelo looked from one to the other of us, and said, “You have chosen well, my friend.”

  Without addressing Angelo’s remark, Jack said, “And it looks like congratulations are in order, old man. When are Gianna and Teo expecting?”

  “She has three more months. Teo believes he has invented fatherhood, and sometimes I shoo him away because he hovers like an old hen over his young chick. She would get nothing done if I didn’t send him on regular errands." The men laughed as Gianna arrived with our meal.

  “Enjoy yourselves. We will leave you in peace. If you have need of anything, you know you have only to ask.”

  There was a scoop of polenta on each end of the oval plate, with a delectable looking dish in the middle.

  “Oh, my gosh, Jack, this food is almost orgasmic,” I said after taking my first bite. “How long have you known Alberto?"

  “I discovered him while I was doing my graduate work in Boulder, so it’s been at least a decade.”

  The door opened behind us, and a couple came in laughing. “What did you major in?” I asked, taking another delicious bite.

  When he didn’t answer, I looked up and saw Jack frozen in place. I heard Angelo say in a friendly manner, “What a coincidence, Clark, that Jack is also here.”

  Clark was an attractive man who appeared to be about Jack’s age. He was with a picturesque woman with long, dark hair whose eyes lit up like a Cheshire Cat when she saw Jack. “Well, well, who is your friend, lover, and why haven't I met him before?” she almost purred.

  I was watching Jack, motionless, no expression whatsoever, staring at the man standing before us. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Clark?” his willowy date said seductively.

  “No, he’s not,” said the sudden stranger sitting rigid

  and cold next to me, his eyes never leaving Clark. "He’s going to remember he has an engagement elsewhere and leave while he still can.”

  While all eyes had been on Jack during his surprising outbreak, they were all now focused on Clark.

  “He’s absolutely right, Ali, I just remembered we have reservations elsewhere,” said the man who was leading her out the door. "Sorry for any trouble, old man,” he said, hitting Angelo on the shoulder. “Maybe some other time.”

  I tried to make things normal. I tried to ignore what had just happened, but Jack ignored me. I tried to interact with Angelo or Gianna, but the entire evening had been ruined.

  “Would you like a canoli to finish off your meal?” asked Gianna quietly.

  “No, just the check,” Jack said, no smile, no light in his eyes at all, almost frightening.

  He stood, dropped a $100 bill on the table, and held the door open for me. I told Angelo and Gianna goodbye, but it was subdued.

  When we were in the car heading home, I very quietly asked, “May I ask who that was?”

  “No,” he said abruptly.

  We traveled the dark canyon in silence. I felt cheated that my dream day had become a nightmare. This man bore no resemblance to the friend I had come to cherish over the past few weeks. The minutes grew longer, the dark pressed in, and I wanted to scream, to get at least some small explanation of what had just happened.

  When we pulled into the driveway, Jack got out, opened my door, opened the back door and got out my equipment. He unlocked the house door, put my things on the counter, and turned without looking at me. He said, “I’ll see you soon, Callie."

  I couldn’t recall he had ever called me Callie before. I stood in front of him as he turned to leave. “Jack, listen to me,” I pleaded, "I’m not the enemy. I’m your friend. Won’t you please talk to me? If we can't communicate, we don’t have much foundation.”

  He finally looked down at me, as though focusing for the first time in over an hour, as though coming back to some kind of reality. “No, you’re not the enemy, Callie,” he said as he kissed me on the forehead and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I was lost. Things had been so good, and earlier today was something I never could have even imagined, even hoped for. How can he DO this? Who was Clark and what could have happened between them that could have caused such a violent reaction in my otherwise level-headed Jack?

  My night was restless. I kept reliving the morning, the afternoon, seeing the perfection of it. And then I remembered the evening, and it shattered at my feet. The circles under my eyes were dark the next morning, but I didn’t care. I needed to see Jack, needed to know that everything was going to be okay. I needed the familiar around me. I needed to know I wasn’t crazy. It was starting to snow, but I bundled up and headed down to the Amber Rose. At the sound of the bell, Sam looked up. Seeing my face, he lost his smile and opened his arms. I was in them immediately.

  “Don’t cry, pun’kin. Don’t cry. Tell ol’ Sam what has ya so sad.”

  “He’s gone. Just left. No word. Just gone.”

  “He gets it in him every now and again. I’m derned sure he don’t know what ta do with ya. Ya fry all his circuits. He knows what he knows, and ya don’t look anything like what he knows his truth is. Jest ya wait. He’ll come ‘round soon.”

  “Do you know where he might be, Sam?” I asked as I sat down at the counter and put my head down.

  What a tender soul my Sam was. He patted my hair and said briskly, “If I knew that, I’d track him down m’self and whip the daylights outta him."

  I raised my head and we both started laughing at the image that created. “I’ll pay admission to see it when it happens.”

  “Ya want some coffee, pun’kin?”

  “Just a half a cup, Sam. Thanks for making me laugh. But it isn’t me that has him running,” I wanted to tell him what had happened without telling too much. “Do you know his friend, Clark?”

  “Ain’t seen or heard of Clark in a long while. He was Jack’s best friend. What’s he done?”

  Jack’s best friend? How do people go from being best friends to the combative strangers I saw last night? Then I remembered Angie, and knew that sometimes life happens, and people don’t always stay the same.

  “He and Jack seem to have had a falling out,” I said, noncommittally. “Jack seemed pretty upset when we ran into Clark yesterday. There was certainly no love lost between them.”

  Sam was as puzzled as I was. “He sure got his share a demons.” My father had said the same thing. What was I missing? What was chasing Jack? I was confused, but knew I wanted to see him, needed reassurance.

  “I want to head back
while the gettin’ is good, Sam. Will you close up here and head on home? It’s beginning to fall pretty hard."

  “I’ll be right behind ya. Ya skedaddle now.”

  But I wasn’t about to leave him to take care of it, especially not with how heavily the snow was falling. It took less than ten minutes with us working together to get everything shut down and locked up.

  I wanted to walk, but Sam wouldn’t hear of it. If I had been secure at home, it would have been delightful, the fat snowflakes falling furiously. All of a sudden, there was a deafening crack that shook the building to its core.

  “What in the world was that?”

  “That’s what they call Thunder Snow. The clouds be pourin’ out the white, and then all a sudden ya get either the crack or the rollin' thunder. Thunder Snow . . .”

  We hopped into his battered Jeep which took to the white covered roads like they were clear. Dropping me at the door, Sam said, “I’ll wait until ya get in. Don’t leave fer nothin’ ‘til this stops. This one’s gonna be a doozie.”

  “Sure, sure,” I replied with a jaunty salute. I was so thankful that I hadn’t tried to make the walk because just getting to the front door was a chore. I waved but wasn’t sure he could see me, so I flipped on the light a few times and he rumbled out of the drive in reverse.

  Walking in the front door was difficult. Everything about my hideout reminded me of Jack. There weren’t many parts of it that he didn’t occupy. I opened my computer hoping in vain there would be a message. Of course none of the emails were from him, but still I wanted to talk.

  The next morning turned to evening, and the snow was at least a foot deep with drifts much deeper. Had it only been two days ago we had shared a lifetime; that we had been as close as two people can be; that my world had been rocked to its foundation not once, but twice, in totally different ways? Where was he? He wasn’t answering his phone, it kept going to voice mail. A few times I called just to hear his voice on his message, “This is Jack. Leave a message.” But I never did leave a message. He had to know I was calling.

  Editing the photos consumed my mind. Every one brought back sweet memories. I had gotten random shots of Jack, and the wonder of what we were sharing returned. Would he read it if I emailed him? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I had no idea where he was. I just wanted so much to touch him in some way. Maybe he’d see them.

  When I woke the next morning after a fitful night, the snow had stopped, but no one was going to be getting out today. I was conscious enough to appreciate the scenery, but my pain was shutting out any other thoughts. How I wished that Jack and I could be snowed in together.

  One of the things I love most about Colorado is how fast the weather changes. An afternoon and night of snow had ended, and the sun was shining in a crisp, clear sky. It was breathtaking. The landscape appeared to have been dusted with white diamonds in the night. Although I wasn’t foolish enough to venture out yet, I opened two panels of glass doors that opened from the kitchen, grabbed the shovel from the coat closet, and set about making a trail for myself on the deck. The air was still. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

  Pulling on a sweater and retrieving the camera from my office, I wanted a diversion. For a few minutes it worked, but everywhere I looked I saw Jack. Even the blinding beauty of my surroundings couldn’t bring me solace for long. He had to have been hurting to have left like this, didn’t he? I wanted to be sympathetic, but at that point I didn’t care. It was all-consuming, and I felt like I had been thrown into the middle of a vortex. Had I been SO off base to have trusted him?

  I needed something to do to take my mind off of things. I edited pictures, I wrote letters to clients I hadn’t had contact with for a while, I cleaned an already spotless house, I prepped food for the coming week. I called Sam to make sure he was okay. He let me know, without my having to ask, that Jack was still ‘gone to ground.’ I went hours without thinking of him – but the only consecutive ones were when I was asleep. The sleep was hard to come by, but a bucket of tears helped me to find it. When I did, it was a blessed relief.

  I wanted to touch him somehow. I wanted to hear his voice and know where he was, if he was all right, if he was ever coming back. There was a sadness at whatever had caused this reaction in him, and an anger that he was doing this to me, to us.

  Finally deciding to send him an email, I wanted him to know I was hurting:

  Dear Jack.

  I miss our words.

  I miss your lips.

  I miss the words from your lips

  that make my body burn.

  I miss your lips on mine.

  I miss your lips on me.

  I miss standing in your arms

  and melting at your feet.

  I miss the passion

  that only your words can excite.

  I miss your voice. It has become

  the loudest thing in my head.

  I miss the way you touch me

  with just your words.

  I miss how you ignite desire

  as no one else can.

  My body aches for you

  I miss you

  I miss us . . . passionately

  After working for a while, I closed my computer and just sat there. Was I foolish to think he was coming back? Could he leave this behind? Was his distrust so great that this was the only way he could deal with it? While I knew that Clark was a big part of what was going on, was there a woman behind their animosity? How could I not take some of this personally? I was too alone with my thoughts.

  Who was she and what had she done to him? Were we not building something that could overcome whatever heartache she had caused? Could he not even talk to me about it? Had she run off with Clark?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When I woke, I was exhausted. I couldn’t wait to hop in the shower and get my body going. I had to meet the Dunlap’s in Denver in just a few hours, and I was numb from the tears and the restless sleep.

  On my way out of town, looking a lot more refreshed than I felt, I headed over to Sam’s for my morning cup of coffee, but Sam hadn’t seen Jack that morning either. I got my coffee to go, and asked Sam to have Jack call if he should see him. Sam assured me he wouldn’t need to tell Jack, that he was sure I’d be hearing from him soon.

  The coffee and the morning drive revived me. I needed to focus on the day ahead. I had spoken with the Dunlap’s on many occasions, and knew the homes I had selected were exactly what they were looking for. All were near where they would be working, and all fit exactly what their expressed needs were. I had made videos for them when I previewed homes, and we narrowed it down to three. They were excited to find their new place, and I couldn’t let what was going on in my life affect their special time.

  I tried to call Jack on my drive into Denver, but it kept going to voicemail. How could he stay away like this? The enjoyment of seeing Marge after almost a month, and the arrival of the Dunlaps shortly thereafter, took my mind off Jack and wondering why he wouldn’t even answer his phone.

  The Cherry Creek area of Denver was expensive and well-kept. Some brightly colored leaves still clung to the trees in their autumn glory in spite of the recent snow. The colors and the crisp air and the sun made the time seem idyllic for house hunting.

  They liked the first two houses, but had I saved the best for last. The elderly lady who owned it was no longer able to live alone, and her children had put her in a nursing home. They were selling it at a greatly reduced price to get it sold in a hurry. I knew how much they had liked the others, but this, I was confident, would be a perfect fit for them. I couldn’t wait to show them.

  As we pulled into the driveway, a man ran out of the front door. I knew something was wrong and took note of his license number as he hopped in his car and sped off. Feeling uneasy, I advised the Dunlaps to stay in the car until I had checked out the situation.

  Mr. Dunlap would have none of it, and accompanied me to the front door which was standing open. The first thing that
registered was the amount of what appeared to be blood on the entryway walls and floor. I pulled my gun from my thigh holster and saw the shock register on Mr. Dunlap’s face.

  “I’m a marksman,” I said in a whisper. “Here are my keys. Please go back to the car and call 911. Have them send an ambulance.” After hesitating only a moment, he went to make sure his wife stayed put, and made the emergency call.

  I knew I should wait, but what if the person who was bleeding was still alive? I needed to act quickly. I removed my heels and tip-toed into the main room. I had been here before and knew the layout of the house. I listened intently, but could hear no sounds.

  When I was confident that no one remained on the first floor, I followed the trail of blood up the stairs, gun drawn, nerves controlled, hoping beyond hope that I was not too late.

  The trail of blood led straight to the closet in the master bedroom at the top of the stairs. Making sure my back was protected, I called out, but no one answered. I crept quietly towards the door and yanked it open. What I found left my stomach heaving.

  An older woman was lying on the floor, cowering with her hands covering her head. Clothes torn, blood everywhere, she whispered, “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “It's okay, it's okay. I’m here to help you. Don’t be afraid. Who did this to you?” I whispered, panic from my own ordeal trying to crowd my mind. I wouldn’t allow it.

  “There was a man here,” the woman said faintly. “He must have heard you pull up because all of a sudden he stopped and ran away." She started to cry. I comforted her and told her everything was going to be okay.

  Visions of Jason kept clouding my brain. At first I wanted to scream, but understanding what she was going through gave me resolve to share my hard-won strength with this woman.

  “Where are you hurt?” I asked quietly.

  “All over,” the woman said, growing weaker now. “I'm Christie Baynard. I’m an agent,” she said, trying to take deep breaths. “I got a call from my office that someone wanted to see the house. I was nearby, I thought I could just swing by and show it. I didn’t think twice.”