Peppermint Creek Inn (15 page)

A low rumbling sound captured her attention and she lifted her gaze to the sky. “Uh-oh,” she murmured to the twins. “Looks like Indian summer’s over.”

On the western horizon, just above the tree line, icy gray swollen clouds raced toward the moon with lightning speed. An earsplitting crack of thunder made her jump involuntarily and she laughed at her reaction. And giggled at the wonderful growl of thunder.

The thunder was an excuse. It was all she needed to tear Jack away from the paperwork. And this storm was it. Storms always made Jack horny. They brought out the best in their lovemaking. Starting out slow and torturous, then quickly reaching its peak with wildly ecstatic jolts and then they would lay in each other’s arms, his sexual desires quenched for another little while and hers never quite fulfilled.

Now, suddenly in a hurry with delightful anticipation, Sara lifted the mobile over her head, ready to place it on the hook, when she heard it.

A strange sound. Something. A strangled cry?

Some horrible premonition of doom, an intense feeling of dread made her drop the handmade item. Made her heart begin to race wildly. Made the cold sweat smother her forehead and sent the intense feeling of fear rippling through her entire being.

She jumped as lightning flashed and thunder crackled a warning. Frosty air breathed against her through the open window, urging her to run through the nursery slamming all the windows shut. Running down the stairs, the overwhelming uneasiness stuck to her like glue. In the kitchen, she shook wildly as she stomped into her shiny black rubber boots and slipped on her yellow rain coat.

She’d never felt this uneasy before. Why was she so frightened? Why couldn’t she stop shaking? Why did she have the feeling as if something horrible was happening?

Flicking on the porch light, she opened the front door and cried out as a cruel gasp of wind wrenched the door from her grasp, slamming it against the house wall with such force, Sara swore it sounded like a gunshot.

Swallowing the uneasy taste of fear clutching her throat she watched in surprise as a tuning fork of lightning stroked the stormy clouds not more than a quarter of a mile away. Thunder cracked another menacing warning. A prickle of shivers slithered down her neck as a wall of rain and wind hurtled through the pine trees toward her.

The tall meadow grass in the front yard fell under the groaning wind. Crinkled autumn leaves rolled around in tornadoes as if being chased by the devil himself. Shards of rain blew across the veranda in frightening sheets, slamming into her face. Sara blinked the cold rain from her eyes, braced herself and headed into the violent storm half expecting to see Jack racing across the parking lot toward her.

He didn’t appear.

Instantly her boots plunged into mud as she took a shortcut across the yard, but with determined strides, she continued toward the glow cast by the office windows. The strong wind
fought her every step of the way. In the end, she won the battle as she pushed the office door inward. The wicked wind blew her, along with a bushel full of colorful autumn leaves, into the room.

Breathless, she closed the door. She fully expected to see Jack sitting behind his giant desk, but when she turned around after closing the door, her husband wasn’t there. Sara frowned as the eerie feeling of finding Jack intensified.

The room looked normal. The old weathered oak desk overflowed with papers and part of the wall behind the desk was taken up by a heavily loaded bookshelf. Aside from a few papers strewn across the floor, probably from when she’d entered, nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.

Except—

A distinct smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air. Unexpected visitors? She hadn’t seen a car outside.

A slow shiver began at the base of her neck giving her the feeling she was being watched. She glanced around the room. A flash of light glinted outside the window immediately drawing her attention.

“Jack!” she shouted at the fleeting shadow.

“Sara.” A low, trembling whisper froze her dead in her tracks. It sounded so far away.

She stood still and listened. A tingling sensation prickled across her scalp as the howling wind frantically rattled the window frames. Leaves spit against the glass panes. Lightning flashed in the windows. Thunder roared. But she didn’t hear another whisper.

Maybe she’d imagined the voice and the movement outside the window. Sara strolled toward the door. Jack was probably back at the house looking for her.

Her hand rested on the doorknob.

“God… Sara.” The voice was a low harsh whisper filling her with horrific dread. This voice had not been her imagination.

Sara whirled around.

Her suddenly alert eyes raked across the room and she froze when she spied the bright red splotch staining a white sheet of paper on the floor.

Blood?

Had Jack cut himself and returned to the house? Had she passed him and they hadn’t seen each other? Sure that’s what had happened. Nothing unusual going on here. Just her overactive imagination, right?

Then, who was calling her?

The nagging feeling of unease crowded in around her. Her chest tightened painfully. Something was wrong. She could feel it.

Easing closer to the desk, Sara became even more uneasy as she spotted the trail of red drops until…

A scream found its way from her throat and her knuckles flew to her mouth as she spied someone slumped facedown on the floor behind the desk. A widening pool of blood spread dark crimson on the back of the man’s white muscle T-shirt.

Please, God. No!

Jack didn’t wear that shirt today, did he? He didn’t, she said sternly. It’s not Jack. Oh, God. Please. It’s not Jack.

Closing her eyes, she blocked out the sight, reluctant to confront the possibility that this was actually happening. It is just a dream, a horrible nightmare. In a minute she’ll wake up.

But his low moan of pain made Sara’s eyes snap open propelling her to rush to the man’s aid. Even before she cleared the side of the giant desk, she knew it was Jack. She crouched down beside him, touching his cold flesh feeling for his pulse. The pulse was very weak, but it was there.

“Jack? Jack, can you hear me?” He answered with a low moan. Immediately Sara grabbed for the phone on the desk.

The phone.

Her lifeline. Help. An ambulance.

A dial tone hummed loudly in her ears. Immediately she dialed 911.

It rang once. Twice.

White lightning flashed wickedly at the windows and she cringed as a horrible loud bolt of thunder ripped through the room.

They were plunged into instant darkness.

The phone rang a third time.

Suddenly the dial tone died.

“Hello! Hello?” she screamed into the receiver wishing she could climb into the telephone, and whiz along the lines to a place where she could find help.

Crying, she slammed the handset into the cradle.

Through the flickering lightning, she again thought she spotted movement at the window. Branches from a nearby tree? Or a person?

A weak groan erupted from Jack, demanding her immediate attention. She crashed to her knees and wiped the sweat from his cold forehead.

“I’m here. I’m here. My God! What happened?” Hysteria tinged her voice. She hoped she didn’t frighten him.

“Sara—watch…” came Jack’s gurgled moan.

He was trying to tell her something, but she couldn’t make it out.

“Hush, Jack. Hush. The phones are down. I’ve got to get you over to the door. Then I’ll get the truck and bring it up. We’ll drive to the hospital and everything will be fine. You’ll see, you’ll see.”

Hot tears slid down her face as she slid her hands under his armpits. She pulled at him. God, he was so heavy. But by sheer adrenaline, she managed to move him slowly from behind the desk.

She dragged her husband’s limp form across the carpet, toward the door. From the corner of her eye, she tried not to look at the dark stream of blood following them across the floor. When she reached the door, she hurriedly lifted his blood-soaked shirt and swallowed at the sight of the red liquid bubbling from a hole in the middle of his upper back.

God! She had to stop the flow of blood. She should have done it earlier. Done it the moment she’d found him. Done it before anything else. And now his life’s blood lay useless on the carpet.

Shit!

She was panicking. Not thinking straight.

Calm down!

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! The words resounded in her ears as she examined the puncture wound in his back.

A knife?

A bullet?

Automatically her eyes lifted to scan the various windows. Nothing there. No movement and yet the wind still clawed frantically at the window frames, as if trying to get in at them. As if trying to finish the job.

Why would someone do this? Robbery? It was the only thing she could think of.

“Sara. Promise me.” Jack’s shaky voice interrupted her thoughts.

More tears sprang to her eyes. Everything blurred. She could barely see his moustache tremble as he tried to speak. Barely saw his gorgeous cornflower blue eyes as they stared unseeingly into space.

She was losing him.

She was losing it herself. She felt like screaming and screaming.

Hold on, Sara. Hold on. This is not the time to lose it. But the hot tears kept spilling.

“Shhh! Don’t talk now. Save your strength.”

She struggled out of her raincoat and thin white sweater. Bunching up the sweater, she pressed it securely against the wound, stemming the blood flow.

“Promise you’ll find someone—else,” he mumbled weakly.

Reaching out he placed his trembling hand on her slightly swollen stomach. “A father…f-for the babies. For yourself.”

Oh, sweet God!

Horror stricken by his words, Sara quickly reassured him. “You’re going to be fine. Hush now.”

His hand fell down limply at his side.

Pulling hard at his heavy frame, she was able to angle him back first against the wall. She pressed the red wad of what used to be her white sweater in between her husband’s shoulder blades and the wall and tenderly wiped off the perspiration beading his forehead.

“I’m going to get the truck. I’ll be gone but a minute.”

“Don’t… Leave… Promise… First.” His voice grew weaker.

“This is insane. We’ll get out of this.”

“Promise.” His voice was fading.

She could see talking was taxing his remaining strength so she reluctantly agreed.

“All right. I promise. But I know I won’t have to keep it.”

She was glad to see the serene smile relax his tortured features, and then said quickly, “I’ll be back.”

Leaning over she kissed his cool, dry lips, feeling the urgency of getting help intensifying every split second.

Ripping open the door, she gasped as the cold wind bit deep into her skin. With one final look at Jack, she hesitantly closed the door behind her.

Was she doing the right thing? Should she stay with him?

No! She had to go for help!

Grey swirls of rain crashed down around her as she dashed through the storm. Terror grabbed at her legs. She couldn’t run fast enough.

Lightning flashed illuminating her home.

She scrambled up the porch stairs and fell, her knees cracking against the hard wood. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she sobbed, got up and stopped abruptly at the screen door. Her breath came in painful gasps. Her gaze swung to the muddy footprints on her veranda.

Her heart sunk.

The footsteps led into her home.

The robber was inside!

Chewing on her lower lip, she whipped through her alternatives. She could surprise the culprit and smash a lamp over his head. But it would take time to locate him or them. The odds were stacked against her. And what would happen to Jack if the intruder got her first?

She needed to check the phone.

In the darkness, she opened the screen door slowly. Once inside she used her instincts to hone in on the phone. Grabbing it, she cried out at the dead dial tone.

Dammit!

The keys to the truck! She had to get the keys.

Tremors shook her as she waited for another flash of lightning. When it came, she quickly checked the rack where they kept all the keys to the buildings and to the truck. The key she was searching for was gone! It was always there!

Panic welled again.

She took a couple deep breaths willing herself to calm down. It helped because she suddenly remembered the emergency key.

Creeping further into the kitchen, she warily listened for any unusual sounds. Her footsteps echoed loudly as she tiptoed to the fridge. In the darkness, her hands frantically searched on top of the fridge and fell upon the welcome ceramic of an unused cookie jar where she kept the emergency key. She lifted the lid, and grabbed the key, slid open a nearby drawer and grabbed a steak knife.

Then she sprinted for the door.

Outside, it had started hailing. A volley of ice pellets attacked her, stinging her face, forcing her to lift her arms to fend them off as she blindly stumbled down the slippery steps.

Halfway across the yard, a sudden overwhelming gut-wrenching pain sliced through her abdomen. Crying into the frantic wind, Sara crashed to her knees. The knife flew out of her hands.

Dear Lord, they’d shot her!

After a split second, her worst fears came to light. The babies! Something was wrong with her babies.