Home For A Hero. Mary Anne Wilson

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СКАЧАТЬ gave away nothing. His eyes hid any indication of what he was feeling, and despite the crackling intensity she could sense, his face seemed oddly neutral, even when he was being abrupt with her.

      It struck her that she’d seen people like this man when she’d been in therapy in the months following Graham’s death. She’d reluctantly visited a psychologist and gone to group therapy for a while. A man who’s name was Roy had been there. He’d come twice, then had never shown up again. This man’s expression was an echo of Roy’s, down to the totally unreadable eyes. Shay tried to remember why Roy had been there, but couldn’t.

      Unable to take the odd silence any longer, she said, “The shower was wonderful. Thanks so much.”

      He nodded, his usual way of responding to any thanks she gave him she realized from the short time she’d been around him.

      “One more thing?” she said.

      His eyes narrowed as if he were wary of what she’d ask for this time. “What?”

      “Your name. You never told me your name.”

      There was the oddest hesitation before he finally said, “Luke.”

      Just Luke. At least now she knew he must be the caretaker. “Do you think you could give me the owner’s address or maybe phone number so I could thank him for all you’ve done for me?”

      He studied her, then said succinctly, “No, I can’t.”

      “Please, I really should thank him.”

      He shook his head, his back still to the open door and the cold air that was getting almost unbearable for Shay. “He wouldn’t expect that,” he said.

      “Then at least tell me what his name is?”

      “It’s on the mailbox,” he said.

      There wasn’t a mailbox—she knew from her trips out here to try to talk to the owner. “If I wanted to get in touch with the owner, how could I do it?”

      “Write a letter,” he said and turned to the open door.

      “Okay,” she said softly, trying to stem her growing anger. “Then will you thank him for me?”

      “Sure,” he said, his back to her.

      She looked away from him and turned to sit on one of the heavy leather sofas arranged in a half circle in front of the hearth. The leather was chilly, and the coldness seeped through her. “One more thing?” she said.

      He turned slowly, frowning at her. “What?”

      Asking him anything else about the owner clearly wasn’t an option. She swallowed. “I was just wondering if we could turn on the furnace. It’s so damp and—”

      Before she could finish, he closed the door. “Sorry,” he said.

      “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I was noticing the art and antique collection the owner has and it seems that maybe they shouldn’t be exposed to the cold and the dampness.”

      He looked at her as if he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, then shrugged. “Whatever.”

      A buzzer sounded deep in the house, and Luke moved to go past her. “Your clothes are ready,” he said and headed toward the kitchen. When he came back, his arms were full, and she stood to meet him halfway across the room. He handed her the clothes that were still warm from the dryer.

      “Thanks,” she said, and hurried back to the bedroom and into the bathroom. She dressed quickly, relishing the heat against her skin wanting to hug it to herself. Then she felt something in her jeans pocket and pulled out her wallet. It was distorted and still very damp, but when she opened it, she found crumpled bills and her credit cards. If she only had her shoes now. She didn’t remember them coming off, but she likely pushed them off when she was in the water so she could swim better.

      Her jacket was still damp, but she shrugged it on over the white shirt and jeans, then hung the robe back in the closet. She headed to the great room, but when she got there Luke was nowhere in sight. She looked around, and if his jacket hadn’t been lying over one of the couches, and his boots hadn’t been on the floor, she would have wondered if he existed at all.

      She crossed to the door he’d been standing in front of, and the fog outside was so thick it looked like a solid wall. “Luke?” she called as she opened the door and stepped out onto the flat terrace stones.

      As she opened her mouth to call out again, he materialized out of the fog without a sound. “Ready to go?” he asked.

      “As ready as I can be,” she said and turned to go back inside.

      He was right behind her, then passed her to grab his jacket. He stepped into his boots, pulled on his jacket and started back the way they’d first come into the room. “Don’t you want me to close the back door?” she called after him.

      “Don’t bother,” he said over his shoulder as he kept walking.

      She went after him, through the utility room and out the open door. She stepped out and felt the slippery cold of the stones at the steps under her feet and pulled the door shut after her. The chill in the air cut right through her still-damp jacket, and she barely covered a shudder. Luke was crossing the side terrace, dissolving into the night and fog, and she hurried to catch up. She paid for it when her tender feet objected to the roughness of the stones under them, but she didn’t break stride.

      “Can you walk a bit slower? I don’t have any shoes on and it’s so dark out here, I can’t see where I’m going.”

      Luke slowed, but didn’t turn. A flashlight was suddenly in his hand and he aimed it back in her direction and on the ground. “Thanks,” she said.

      “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll get the truck.” Then he was gone, taking the light with him.

      She would have thought that a house like this would have at least a six-car garage and access from the house itself, but that obviously wasn’t the case. She waited in the isolated darkness until she heard the faint rumble of an engine. The next thing she knew the glow of headlights cut through the fog and darkness.

      The low beams caught her for a moment before they swung left and an old pickup truck slid up beside her. The passenger door opened, almost hitting her.

      “Get in,” Luke said from behind the wheel with his usual abruptness.

      She grabbed the door and got into the cab. Sinking back in the hard seat, she let the heat that came from under the dash wrap around her sore feet.

      Luke drove off, inching along, obviously seeing where he was going even if she couldn’t. The next thing she knew, the massive entry gates suddenly appeared in front of them out of the fog. The truck was literally within inches of striking the barrier when it came to a shuddering stop.

      She turned to Luke, expecting him to hit a remote to open the gates. He just stared at the barrier. “Do you want me to get out and open the gates?” she offered, despite not wanting to step on anything wet and cold again.

      “Dammit all,” Luke muttered as if she hadn’t spoken.

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