Home For A Hero

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.

“What?” she asked. “Do you want me to get out and help with the gates?”

She reached for the handle, but Luke stopped her when he said, “We aren’t going anywhere.”

“I thought you said you’d drive me into town?”

He finally turned to her, and the low glow from the dash cut odd shadows around his eyes and mouth. She’d been so thankful when he’d first found her on the beach, then excited about being in Lost Point, but now she felt a bit afraid. She remembered right then why Roy, the man in her therapy group, had been there. He’d returned from being overseas, had settled back into his life, then he’d gone to work one day and erupted over his boss’s choice of coffee for the office.

She’d almost laughed at him when he’d explained it to the group. At the time, she’d been there because of her husband’s sudden death, and she had been floundering in a life that had made no sense to her. Roy had been mad at his boss? Then she found out more about his background in the army and the troubles he’d had since being discharged.

Now she could see that tension in Luke, and something she should have thought about from the start came to her in a rush. She was alone with a stranger, a man she didn’t know. Her stomach clenched. She made herself take a breath, calm down, and speak gently, the way the therapist had spoken to Roy. “That’s okay, I can open the gate,” she said. “Not a problem at all.” Before she’d wanted to stay longer, but now she knew she just wanted to get into Shelter Bay.

SHAY’S OFFER WAS SIMPLE, but Luke had heard that tone before, far too many times. The don’t-make-him-mad placating tone that people took when they were afraid of upsetting someone they perceived as irrational. He hated it. “We can’t leave because the fog’s too heavy. I almost didn’t see the gates in time to stop.”

“Okay.” Still the tone of her voice ran over his nerves in the most unpleasant way. “Then what do you think we should do?”

Stay right here. But he didn’t want that. He wanted her gone. He’d lived on Shelter Island long enough to know that driving in this fog was a stupid thing to do. If they’d left earlier, maybe he could have taken her into town before it had gotten this bad. Now there were no choices left except to stay right here…both of them. He’d learned the hard way that there were few options in this life. His last decision had been to stay where he could be found or come here. He’d chosen here, Lost Point. From then on, his options had been simple—get up in the morning or don’t, live or don’t.

He knew she was staring at him, waiting for something. Anything.

“What are we going to do?” she asked again patiently.

“Go back,” he finally said. He’d drop her where he’d picked her up, park the truck, then figure this all out. But as he turned the wheel, she grabbed at his arm. “Wait, we can figure out—”

He didn’t have any control over his reaction. He jerked away from her touch so sharply that he pulled the wheel left—hard. He braked but it was too late. He heard the squeal of tires on the wet cobbled drive, then a jerk up at the curb, followed by the truck hitting the ground with a thud.

The front end of the old truck started to sink into the muddy ground immediately. The land was so soggy from the persistent rain over the past week, the tires spun uselessly.

“We’re stuck,” he said, thinking that was one of the most obvious truths he’d ever stated. He grabbed the door handle to get out.

“What happened?” she asked.

He couldn’t tell her that she’d caused it, that her touch had panicked him. Instead, he lied as he jumped out, “I don’t know.”

He took one look at the situation, then reached back into the truck to turn off the engine. “Mud up to the axles,” he said without looking across at her.