Wait Until Dark (36 page)

Sure enough, on the coffee table sat a stack of current magazines. Someone had taken the time to dust all of the surfaces, and the rugs appeared newly vacuumed. The windows had been opened to allow the scent of pine to drift in and drench her senses, reminding her, in the event she'd forgotten, that she belonged nowhere on this earth if not here. It was the only place where Val had ever felt at home, the only place she ever longed to return to.

On the small maple dining table that overlooked the woods, an ivory envelope bearing her name stood propped against a vase of cobalt blue glass holding a handful of wildflowers. Recognizing the handwriting as that of Catherine Hollister, Quinn's mother, Val opened it, and scanned the message.

Our dear Valerie, welcome home! Please let us know what you'll need for your stay and we'll be happy to pick it up for you. We've missed you.
C.H.

How like Mrs. Hollister, Val thought as she folded the note and tucked it back into the envelope, to offer to pick up something as if she had only to pop down to the corner store. Out here, the corner store was miles away. Following her nose, Val went into the kitchen and found a still-warm huckleberry pie on the counter. She looked inside the refrigerator, and found eggs, milk, butter, and even cream for her morning coffee.

"Mrs. C, you will never change," Val murmured aloud. "And I love you for your thoughtfulness."

Promising herself a slice of that fabulous pie as soon as she changed, Val carried her bags into her bedroom at the back of the cabin and sat down on the edge of the bed. Here, too, she could see Mrs. Hollister's touch. The bed was turned down and sported fresh sheets, and Val knew that the bathroom would have been tidied up and clean towels would be piled on the top of the wicker hamper.

Val sat on the edge of the bed and knew that there was nothing she could ever do to repay Catherine Hollister for all the many ways over the years she'd made Val feel as if she mattered. Coming on the heels of the past week, the loving gestures the older woman had made on Val's behalf caused emotions to spill over and seek release in the form of hot tears that streamed down her face. It was the first time since the attack that Val had really been alone, and the first time she'd permitted herself a good cry. Val wept for the terror she'd felt during those few moments when her assailant had her in his grip. She wept for the pain he had inflicted on her. She wept for the feeling of violation, for the anguish of having been victimized. And she wept for her lost career.

Oh, the doctors had assured her that plastic surgery could do wonders, but Val knew that by the time the wound had healed enough for surgery on the scar, she'd be yesterday's news. This wasn't a business where you could drop in and drop out. And if she did go back, would her assailant come looking for her, maybe to finish her off this time? Maybe she was better off out of the limelight.

Maybe Cale was right. Maybe she was safer here....

She lay back upon the soft pillow and rested her head for only a moment. The windows were open, the curtains drawn back and an easy breeze blew in, coaxing her to close her eyes for just a moment. To relax, and to leave her worries back in L.A., where they belonged.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the minute she closed her eyes, she just drifted. She awoke from a dreamless sleep to find that the sun now slanted in through the windows at a much different angle, and the cool of the afternoon was beginning to settle in.

And that she had company.

"Oh, my God, Schuyler Hollister, you damn near gave me a heart attack." Val scrambled to sit up.

"Whoa, Val, calm down." He walked toward her from the open door and sat down next to her and attempted to take her hands.

"How long have you been here?" she demanded.

"Just a few minutes. How are you?"

"Fine. I'm fine," Suddenly terribly conscious of her wound, she wondered how she could get him to leave without seeing the left side of her face. "I thought you were at your grandparents' farm."

"I was. But when I heard about what happened ... and Quinn said she was bringing you home, I... well, I wanted to be here when you got here," he told her, and she knew that he meant it.

But her face. She couldn't let him see her face.

"Well." Val cleared her throat. "Thanks for stopping by. I think I'll be ... I'll be taking a shower now. So thank your mom for..."

He moved closer to her on the bed and reached out a hand to touch her face. When she pulled away, he cradled her chin, then without a word, turned her face, wound side, toward his.

"Sky, stop. Please don't," she asked, a flood of panic rising, though she did not move away.

"I just think we need to get this out of the way as soon as possible, Val. I can see you're self-conscious about how you look, but..."

"Self-conscious! Sky, my face was sliced open with a scalpel. I've got enough stitches running along my hairline to knit a sweater for a small child. I look in the mirror and I don't even recognize myself...."

She was trembling now, and he eased her into his arms.

"Shhhh, Val. Hush." He comforted her, rocking her slightly against his broad chest. Then, when he felt she was ready to hear it, he stroked her back and said, "Valerie, you are - now and always - the most beautiful woman I ever knew. That scar on your face doesn't change a damned thing."

"That scar has changed everything," Val whispered.

Nothing that really matters has changed,
Sky could have said, to assure her. But knowing that timing was everything, and that
now
was not the time for that particular conversation, he patted her twice on the back before pulling her onto her feet and pointing her toward the door.

"It might interest you to know that out there on that little dining table, there's a plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes that my mother sent up for you. I have been instructed to stay here until you have eaten every bite."

"Your mother's meat loaf?" Val stopped in the doorway. "Her mashed potatoes with the little tiny pieces of chopped onion...?"

"The same." Sky draped a casual arm over her shoulder and walked her to the large open room that served as both living room and dining room.

"I have had dreams about your mother's meat loaf, Sky."

"Well, dream no more, miss," he said, pulling a chair out and gesturing for her to sit.

"Oh, it smells like heaven." Val grinned in spite of herself as she removed the heavy foil that covered the plate and leaned close to take a long whiff. "What does she put in here that makes it smell so good?"

"You'll have to watch her sometime and find out," Sky said as he went in search of a fork for her. When he returned a moment later, she asked, "Will you sit with me while I eat? Will you stay for a while?"

"I'll stay for however long you want me to," Sky said as he pulled up the chair next to her and sat. "I have all the time in the world...."

6

HE PUNCHED THE WALL
with an angry swing, then ignored both the resulting pain and the blood that ran from a knuckle to pool in his hand.

"SHIT!" he screamed, and punched the wall again.

They had taken her. Who were they to have taken her away from him?

He forced himself to take deep breaths, leaned against the wall and concentrated on calming himself. Nothing good was ever born of anger, his mother used to say. And she was right. Of course, she was right. She was always right.

He punched the wall again.

Five minutes later, he was in his car, willing himself to stay within the speed limit. He couldn't afford to call attention to himself this day. He had errands to run and things to do in preparation for his trip. There was no time to spare.

First stop, the dry cleaners, where he picked up his neatly pressed tuxedo, bought special for the occasion at a consignment shop not far from Beverly Hills. He'd have preferred to have bought new, but this one looked as if it had never been worn, and besides, he himself would only wear it this one time. After all, a guy only married the girl of his dreams once.

The second stop was at the ATM machine, where he cleaned out his savings account. Must have cash for the trip, he reasoned. He did have credit cards, of course, but all things considered, cash was harder to trace.

He walked from the bank to the florist shop across the street. A little bell tinkled merrily as he opened the door. A good sign, he thought, that little bell.

"How may I help you?" A young man emerged from the back room carrying a tall, narrow metal bucket overflowing with some purple flower.

"I need a bouquet."

"Anything particular in mind?" The young man opened one of the glass refrigerated compartments and placed the bucket on the center rack. "A mixed bouquet, perhaps? We have some lovely summer mixes already made up." He pointed to a selection of vibrantly colored flowers in a container near the cash register.

"No, something white."

"Roses perhaps?"

"Maybe." He peered through the glass doors where the purple flowers had been set, unsure of just what protocol might be. There didn't seem to be much of a variety of white flowers. It occurred to him then that perhaps one just did not walk into a florist's shop and order a bridal bouquet to be made up on the spot. Was one supposed to do this in advance?

"What I actually wanted, well, was something that would make a... a wedding bouquet." There. He got it out.

"A wedding bouquet?"

"Is that a problem?" His eyes narrowed. Why should that be a problem?

"Well, no, of course not. But usually, you know, the bride orders her flowers...."

"The bride in this case is out of the country on business and asked the groom to take over." He forced a grin and pretended to throw up his hands as a sign of helplessness.

"Oh, I see." The young man chuckled. "Well, then, tell me when you need them, what the color scheme of the wedding will be...."

"Color scheme?"

"You know, what the bridesmaids are wearing."

"There are no bridesmaids. She is wearing a white dress, I am wearing a black tux." He fairly snapped. "And I need them now."

"I'm afraid I don't have much of a selection in white right now." The young man backed toward the counter as if spooked, "Perhaps if you stopped back on Thursday..."

"I don't have until Thursday." He ran his long fingers through his hair. "The wedding is Thursday."

"Anything I could give you today, would be wilted by then." The shopkeeper leaned an elbow on the counter. "Unless you want to pick them up that morning."

"The wedding is out of state."

"Well, then." The young man's eyes brightened, understanding now his customer's dilemma. "I think we want to consider silks. I have something in the back that's absolutely stunning."

Silks? Did he mean fake flowers? Fake flowers for his bride?

Before he could protest, the young man had re-emerged from the back carrying a large bouquet.

"Isn't this elegant? I made it for a bridal show we did last weekend." He held it up for inspection. "It's got your roses, your stephanotis, your orange blossoms ... all made from the finest silk, absolutely one of a kind, designer quality. And one of the nicest things about it is, your bride will always have it. It will never fade or wilt. It will make a lovely keepsake of your special day."

He touched the petals of a rose tentatively. "Do people actually buy these, instead of fresh flowers?"

"Oh, absolutely," the shopkeeper crowed, closing in on the sale. "They've become very popular over the past ten or so years."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. And since I made this for a show, instead of a customer, I can give it to you at a special price."

"I wasn't looking for a bargain." He stiffened slightly at the suggestion.

"I wasn't implying that you were." The shopkeeper forced a smile. The price had just gone up another twenty dollars.”

''Well, it would probably travel better than fresh flowers."

"Oh, absolutely."

"I'll take it."

"Shall I wrap it, then, since you said you're traveling with it?"

"That would be fine. Thank you." He sighed a sigh of relief. One more detail tended to.

"My pleasure. I'll wrap it in a way that none of the flowers can get crushed. Now, while I do that, tell me about the wedding. Where did you say it would be?"

"In Montana." He smiled, his sense of calm returning. "On a quiet hillside in Montana..."

7

VALERIE STOOD
in front of the bathroom mirror and tried to decide if the floppy straw hat made her look carefree and country, or silly and immature. The important thing, she reminded herself, is that it could keep her face in shadow, the only hope she had to obscure the scar which, while healing, was doing so at its own leisurely pace. She craned her neck, studied the jagged line and acknowledged grudgingly that the doctors had done a pretty decent job of putting that side of her face back together again. And, as Sky had reminded her the evening before, she was really lucky that no nerves had been severed, that the muscles were intact.

Everyone seemed intent on assuring her that the scar would be barely noticeable. Sky's easy dismissal of its importance aside, both his brother, Trevor, and Trevor's twin sister, CeCe, had stopped at the cabin after dinner her first night back to welcome her home. Both of them had commented on the fact that they'd expected the scar to be so much worse after all they'd heard on the news.

And the very next morning, Mrs. Hollister had appeared at the cabin door with a basket of fresh, warm muffins and Val's two nephews in tow. Before she'd been able to protest, Mrs. H. had tucked Val's hair behind her ear to take a good look at the subject scar, and had nodded as if in approval.

"Why, your doctors have done a fine job, Valerie. Once the redness fades and those stitches disintegrate, and you can put a little makeup on, you'll be hard-pressed to tell where the cut was. You're a very lucky young woman."

Val had fought back a sharp retort. The last thing she felt right about then was lucky.

And while Val understood that everyone meant well, it was pretty clear to her that the scar couldn't be much more noticeable if it was blinking neon. The fact that everyone insisted on assuring her that it would barely be noticeable made her feel patronized. Even the doctors up in Lewistown she'd seen yesterday, on referral from her surgeon in Los Angeles, had assured her that the gash was healing wonderfully, yet anyone could see it was huge and red and ugly.

Besides, Val noted, everyone isn't standing on
this
side of the mirror.

Still, it was impossible to stay annoyed at any of the Hollisters for very long. Mrs. H.'s excellent cooking and loving heart aside, CeCe and Trevor still treated Val as if she were just another of their younger siblings, just as they always had. There was something comforting in this, Val acknowledged.

And then of course, there was Sky, who definitely did
not
treat her like a little sister.

Thank God.

Over the years, Val and Sky had sparred with each other, flirted with each other, teased each other. After the marriage of her brother to his sister, Quinn, there had almost seemed to be some sort of understanding between them, though neither of them had spoken of it. They'd not had the luxury of time to explore what might have been building between them before her workload had exploded from
in demand
to
frenzy.
She'd barely had a weekend free.

Until now, she reminded herself. Now, all of her weekends would be free - weekdays, too, most likely - probably for a very long time. And most of them, for the foreseeable future anyway, would be spent right here in Jed's cabin, with an occasional appearance at the High Meadow Ranch. Her presence at dinner the night before had made that clear. More a summons than an invitation, Mrs. H. had sent Sky up to the cabin with the instructions to accept no excuses.

It had been Val's first time out with a group since the attack, and though she'd dreaded it, she couldn't come up with a good enough reason not to go. Besides, she reminded herself, it was something she'd have to do sooner or later, and while
later
would have suited her just fine,
sooner
it had turned out to be. She just couldn't say no to Catherine Hollister.

All in all, it had been fine. Better than fine, Val had to admit. And before the night was over, she'd found herself so engrossed in conversation that, for a while, she'd forgotten herself and had not put her head down when all at the table had turned to her when she'd offered a comment or two on this or that. And though she'd planned on slipping out as soon as the meal had ended, she'd stayed to have coffee and dessert on the wide deck that overlooked the pastures where sheep grazed and the barn where the Black Angus had settled in for the night.

The conversation drifted from the best breed of sheep for wool - they all agreed that rambouillet was the finest - to the need to diversify beyond sheep and cattle to make the ranch more self-sufficient.

Val had settled in and sipped at her coffee, savoring the night and the conversation and the sense of belonging that had always seeped inside her when she was under this roof.

"Val, if you need something to read, I have a few books upstairs I've recently finished that you might enjoy," CeCe offered.

"Thanks. That's one thing I didn't think to bring with me. I'd appreciate a loan." Val smiled gratefully at the thoughtful gesture.

"I'll run upstairs and get them for you while I'm thinking of it" CeCe excused herself to seek out the books.

Evan and Eric, Cale's twin sons, ran noisily up the steps with mason jars filled with lightning bugs, which they brought to their aunt Val to admire.

"Look at 'em all." Eric held the jar up in front of her face. "We never find this many in Maryland."

"I've got more than you do." Evan held his jar up to compare.

"No, you don't," Eric protested.

"Yes, I do."

"Boys, it seems to me that you both have more than enough," Val told them. "Now, why don't you just set those jars on the railing there and open the lids so the lightning bugs can fly away?"

"It's too early. I want to catch more."

"It's almost time for your showers, guys," Quinn told them from the doorway. "Do as Aunt Val said, then come in to get cleaned up for the night."

"Gramma and Aunt CeCe let us stay up till eight...
nine
o'clock." Eric told his stepmother pointedly.

"Well, Gramma and Aunt CeCe are much nicer than I am. Let's go, buckos." Quinn stepped onto the deck, her arms crossed over her chest. "And besides, we need to have a little talk about the two of you going off up into the hills by yourselves."

"We knew where we were going," Evan told her. "Honest. We weren't lost."

"Lost
is not the issue, guys." Sky sat down in the chair next to Val. "No one thought you'd get lost. Don't either of you remember what I told you about what you might come across up in the hills this time of year?"

"Mountain lions," Eric said. "Rattlesnakes."

"Wolves and bears," Evan added.

"Guys, you have to take this seriously. The momma bears are very protective of their babies." Trevor joined the conversation, leaning against the deck railing and lifting a jar of lightning bugs as if inspecting them.

"We know what to do if we see a bear, Uncle Trev," Evan assured him. "You make lots of noise to scare them away, or you run up the nearest tree.
^”

"And if you can't get to a tree, you fall on the ground like this." Eric dropped to the deck and curled into a ball, clasped his hands behind his neck, and played dead.

"All well and good, but you really don't want to be in that situation. A bear can take an arm or a leg with one swipe of that big paw, whether you've rolled into a ball or not," Sky reminded them.

"Did you ever see one, Uncle Sky?" Eric asked as he uncurled himself. "Did you ever see a real bear?"

"Several times. I was very lucky that I was never chased by one."

"Sunny was chased by one once," CeCe said, referring to their sister, Susannah, as she eased around Quinn, who stood in the doorway. "Elizabeth saved her."

"Elizabeth is a ghost," Eric told Val, as if she didn't know, though of course she'd heard the legend. How Elizabeth Dunham, Catherine Hollister's great-great-great-grandmother, a full-blooded Cherokee, had lived in a tiny cabin for years after her beloved husband Stephen had died and was said to still walk the hills.

"How did she save Aunt Sunny?" The boys sat at her feet.

"She stood in front of Sunny so that the bear couldn't see her."

"Didn't the bear see Elizabeth?" Eric asked.

"Apparently not."

"Is Elizabeth a real ghost or not?" Evan asked, his eyes narrowing, adding, "My teacher says there are no ghosts."

"She's sort of what we think of as a ghost" Quinn answered. "But not a scary one. And she only comes around when someone in the family is in trouble. And whether or not ghosts really exist, well, all I can tell you is that I saw her with my own eyes."

"You did?" The boys were wide-eyed.

"I did," Quinn nodded solemnly.

"What did she look like?" Evan leaned forward.

"She had black hair that she wore in one long braid over her shoulder. It reached almost to her waist. And she had a blanket around her." Quinn gazed out across the landscape, remembering.

"What did she do, the time you saw her?" Eric asked.

"She led me through a terrible snowstorm to Jedidiah's cabin once. That was the day I met you boys, remember?"

"You didn't tell us you came there with a
ghost."
Eric scowled. "Why didn't you let us see her?"

"I think you were sleeping when I got there."

"You should have called her back."

"She doesn't come when she's called. She just appears when she thinks someone needs help."

"You're making that up," Evan accused.

"No, she's not," Catherine Hollister joined the conversation. "I've seen Elizabeth more times than I can count."

"I've seen her, too," CeCe added. "One time when Liza was little, I took her swimming in Golden Lake. On the way home, a mountain lion started following us. We were so scared, I just didn't know what to do. Then, the next thing we knew, Elizabeth was there. We followed her down to the stream and crossed it where she did, but the mountain lion didn't follow us."

"Wow. A real ghost in the hills." Eric nodded to his brother. "Cool."

"So even if a bear did try to follow us, Elizabeth would know that we were in danger and come and save us." Evan turned to Quinn. "So what's the problem?"

"The problem is that you can't rely on a spirit showing up," Quinn told them.

"And here's another thing you need to know about." Trevor joined them. "The rattlesnakes are really bad this year. I've seen dozens of them. I can't recall ever seeing so many. Last week I'll bet there were a dozen or so sunning themselves on that outcrop of rock up there beyond Jed's cabin."

"That makes me about as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs." Eric nodded solemnly.

"Now where did you hear that expression?" Sky laughed.

"From Charlie," Eric admitted.

"It figures. Charlie's from Texas. And that sounds like Texas to me." Trevor got up and lifted one small boy under each arm. "Come on, fellows, I'll carry you in for your momma."

"We don't want to... " The boys' wails trailed behind them all the way through the house.

"So much for the tranquillity of the hills." Quinn laughed as she followed them inside.

"Oh, I almost forgot." CeCe glanced at her watch. "I was supposed to call my cousin Alexa at eight. I need to let her know what time to be at the dressmaker's on Saturday for the fitting of her bridesmaid dress."

CeCe excused herself.

"I swear there should be a ban on more than one family wedding in any given year." Catherine shook her head. "First my nephew, Christian - he was married last month - then my niece Selena announced that she was getting married at the end of July. And then CeCe and Dalton in September... my nerves can't take it all."

Catherine paused for a moment, then sighed, "I forgot to tell CeCe that the caterer called this morning. Excuse me," she said somewhat absently and she, too, went into the house and closed the door.

"Tired?" Sky leaned over and stroked the back of Val's hand.

"A little." She nodded.

"Come on, then." He helped her to her feet. "I'll take you back to the cabin."

Sky's battered old pickup was parked out near the barn. Cautioning her to watch her step, Sky took Val's hand and led her across the uneven ground behind the house, where years of ranch equipment and trucks of various weights had rutted the earth. He opened her door and gave her a gentle assist up into the cab, then climbed into the driver's side without comment. The radio came on with the ignition, spewing static. He turned it off with one hand while he backed the truck from its parking place.

The moon was high, and generously shed its soft glow across the hills. A golden stream of pale light led from the Hollisters' barn to the old dirt road that led to the McAllister cabin. Sky drove slowly, making small talk, until they reached the cabin.