A Bridge Unbroken (A Miller's Creek Novel) (2 page)

Chance lowered his head, took a quick sip, and sat his cup down with a little more force than intended. “Don’t have time.”

“Then make time.”

Really? Were they going to have this discussion again? “C’mon, Grampa, cut it out. With a face like this no girl my age is interested in anything other than friendship.”

“Hogwash.” His grandfather's typical smile disappeared. “You just need to quit feeling sorry for yourself and get out there and start living."

“And just when do you suggest I do that, huh? I work twelve-hour shifts, and then come home to help you.” As soon as the words flew from his lips, he wished them back in his mouth. Chance shook his head. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.”

Grampa’s shoulders slumped. “It’s the truth. Sorry to be such a bother. If you want me to hire somebo—”

“No way.” When he moved here for nursing school, his plan had been to take care of Grampa, pay off student loans, and hopefully one day re-open the family drugstore. He was right on track, even though the hours were long and hard at the moment. Chance looked his grandfather straight in the eye. “I’m here because I want to be. One day I’ll have the opportunity to get out there and start living, as you put it. But right now, I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to do, and wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Grampa turned his head away quickly, but not quick enough to hide the tears welling in his eyes. A sniffle sounded. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Not a problem.”

“And I need you to do it before you go to work.”

Chance eyed the old kitchen clock, which sported a knife, spoon, and fork for hands. Just now 5:30 a.m. He should still have time to follow his routine, shower, and have enough time to run a quick errand before his shift started at seven. “Also not a problem. What is it?”

“I want you to run out to Levi’s farm.”

“What on earth for?”

“Just wanna make sure the place is secure. With the weather turning cooler, we might have some unsavory characters trying to camp out there over the winter.” Grampa's jaw clamped in a stubborn pose.

“And why can’t I do it after work?”

“Dagnab it, boy. Will you just do what I ask?”

Chance’s eyebrows jumped up his scalp. Never had he seen his grandfather so testy. Was he really so bothered by possible vagrants, or was something else at play? “Okay.”

His grandfather stood in one liquid motion, and almost knocked his chair over in the process. He swiveled around and tottered from the room, mumbling under his breath. What aliens had abducted his kind and gentle grandfather? And what crotchety old grump had they left in his place?

At 6 a.m. on the dot, Chance hurriedly backed his Ford 150 out of the driveway and headed toward the late Levi Kelly’s farm. Frustration headed the list of a myriad of emotions colliding within. To fulfill his grandfather's strange request, he’d showered without reading his Bible or his workout, without taking the time to finish his one lousy cup of coffee. In addition, there was no fruit in the house, which meant Grampa had finished off the bananas and forgotten to write them down on the grocery list.

He rubbed the nape of his neck. But the one thing that bothered him most, like a hidden undercurrent beneath it all, was a crippling fear. Fear that being on the farm would resurrect memories he’d worked long and hard to forget.

The sky took on pale purple hues as he headed south on the farm-to-market road which led to the dirt road where the old farmhouse stood. As much as he tried to put Amy out of his mind on this foggy fall morning, he could not. Instead, thoughts of her elbowed their way to the forefront of his memory--her perfect smile, curly blond hair, infectious laugh, and flirtatious emerald eyes. Why were the memories as vivid as though they'd happened only yesterday?

He gritted his teeth and gunned the motor as familiar questions returned. Why had she left so suddenly? He played over the events of their last night together. How the evening ended was her fault, not his. But the resulting heartache was due to his own poor judgment. That’s what he got for falling for a girl of questionable character.

Chance reached the turn-off and slowed his speed to make the turn onto the seldom-traveled bumpy dirt road. As expected, the washboard-like road rattled his new truck and threw up a cloud of chalk-white dust behind him.

Great. Add washing the truck to his grievance list.

A few minutes later he pulled onto the private road that stretched over rolling hills until it came to rest behind a grove of pecan trees. Right beyond the pecan orchard sat the two-story farmhouse, secluded enough that only those who knew it existed could find it. And a mile past that the creek and old bridge where...

He rounded the final corner, so over grown it no longer seemed familiar, and his jaw dropped. The old house, once a beautiful yellow among a forest of green, was sorely in need of a paint job, raw wood exposed, bleached gray by the hot Texas sun. No lights shone from the windows, but a rusty old jalopy of a truck sat out front. Grampa had been right after all.

Chance pulled his pickup as close as he dared and killed the engine, his eyes trained on the house for even a flicker of movement.

Nothing.

Gravel crunched beneath his boots, the only sound in the mostly dark morning. He made his way all the way around the house to look for any sign of the intruder. Quietly, he climbed the steps to the front porch, weathered wood sagging beneath his weight. Add new decking to the much-needed paint job for the old house. Chance paused at the front door, his ears strained for any sound within the old house.

Suddenly from behind, the distinctive sound of a shotgun being pumped reached his ears, made louder by the quiet of the countryside.

Heart in throat, he instinctively raised his hands. But before he could speak, a female voice sounded, a voice he never expected to hear again.

“I don’t know who you are, Mister, but you’re about two seconds shy of getting your backside loaded with buckshot.”

Chapter Two

D
akota’s pulse roared in her ears. Really? Her first twenty-four hours back at the farm, and already she had a gun pulled on an intruder. But whatever she had to do to get him off the property and keep him off. She took a step back, the shotgun still trained in the general direction. It had been pure luck when she'd located Pawpaw's shotgun in his secret hiding place after all these years. Hopefully the intruder wouldn't figure out she'd never shot a gun before, and that she didn’t even have ammo.

Her writer’s imagination took over and imagined all sorts of terrible outcomes while she did all she could to keep from shaking—partly from the cold, partly from fear. Okay, it didn’t help that she was barefoot in below-freezing weather.

The man raised both hands up and slowly turned around. “It’s me, Amy.”

Her mouth went dry. Now the trembling began in earnest, her worst fear realized. She’d known when she decided to come to Miller’s Creek that she might run into him, she just didn’t count on it being this soon. Dakota focused her attention on keeping her tone even and steady. “Hello, Chance.”

“Mind pointing that shotgun elsewhere?” His face masked by darkness, his voice was flat and dry.

“Oh, sorry.” Was he dressed in scrubs? She brought the gun to her side, careful to aim it away from her bare feet. How did one un-cock a shotgun? “I guess J.C. told you I was here?”

“You dyed your hair.”

Actually she’d let it return to its natural color in keeping with her decision to run away from Kane, but that information didn’t concern Chance. “There’s no need to check up on me, especially at this hour. I’m fine.”

“It’s six o’clock in the morning. As I recall, you used to be an early riser.”

True, but that was when she went to bed with the chickens during her summer stays, not after she’d spent fourteen hours in an old truck trying to evade Black Hoodie Man. Besides, without electricity it wasn’t like she had anything else to do but sleep. Her teeth chattered in her head, and her tummy rumbled. “Well, I was up a little later than normal. Now if you’ll be so kind as to leave, I’ll go back to bed.”

“Are you barefooted?”

Even in the dark she could imagine the scolding look on his face. He obviously still had the objectionable quality of judging others by his own high standards. Too bad those high standards applied to everyone else besides him.

“You are, aren’t you?” He stepped closer, peering down at the ground. The lily-white skin of her feet glowed in the dark. “It’s gotta be in the twenties out here. You’ll get frostbite.” Before she had time to react, he scooped her up in his arms. “Front door unlocked?”

“There isn’t a working lock on the front door anymore.” Which was why she’d moved every stick of furniture she could find to put behind it. “But it’s—uh, blocked.” Now if she could only put a block over her out-of-control thoughts and emotions.

Chance headed to the back door, soon gasping for air. “You’ve gained weight.”

It was all she could do to bite her tongue. He’d learned a long time ago how to get under her skin, but she couldn’t afford to let him get her riled. That was the surest way to start a raging wildfire with her Irish tongue, one where she blasted him for the way he’d treated her and told him exactly what his judgmental attitude had done to her. But the last thing she wanted or needed right now was for him to learn the truth.

They reached the back door of the old farmhouse, and he set her down on the bottom step. “Mind if I come in for a minute? I’d like to talk.”

Something deep within her welcomed the idea, but she’d learned this lesson over and over again when it came to men. Other than Pawpaw and J.C., men just weren’t trustworthy, and she wouldn’t open herself up for any more heartbreak in her life, especially after she'd worked so hard to turn over a new leaf. “There’s nothing to talk about. Thank you for your kindness in carrying me to the back door, but I’m a big girl now. What’s in the past will stay there. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.” Sarcasm oozed from his voice. “I see you still haven’t forgiven me for whatever imagined wrong I committed against you.”

Imagined!?
“Forgiveness is a two-way street, Chance, but obviously you still haven’t figured that out. Please leave.”

“But I’ll have a better day knowing you’re safe out here all by yourself.”

It was still too dark to see his face, but the tone of his voice painted a clear picture of his curled lip and accusing eyes. “I’m not afraid.”

“Which explains why you pulled a shotgun on me.”

Touché. “Really, Chance, go home.” She turned to make her way up the rickety back steps. Without warning, one cracked and gave way and sent her spiraling toward the ground. The shotgun hit the ground right before she did and went off, the noisy blast echoing through the cold fall morning. It was loaded?

“Amy, are you all right?” Chance’s voice held panic.

“I—I think so.”

Strong arms wrapped around her and lifted her into the air before she could protest. Carefully, Chance made the step from the ground to the back door without putting a foot on the back steps. Once inside, he set her down on the dusty kitchen floor. “Where are the lights?”

“No lights without electricity.” The leg that went through the wooden steps began to sting as though she had ants in her pants. Was she bleeding?

“What?” Now his voice held an angry edge. “You mean to tell me you’re staying out here without electricity or heat?”

“I built a small fire in the wood stove.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant. Did it ever occur to you that the chimney might need to be cleaned before you built a fire? What if you died from carbon monoxide poisoning?”

The thought sobered her. She clearly hadn’t thought things through. But staying in an old farmhouse was surely safer than spending the night at the side of the road.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Chance left, slamming the back door behind him.

Dakota gingerly felt of her sore leg, her fingers immediately sticky. This wasn’t good.

Chance returned with a flashlight and black bag and beamed the light on her bare feet and bloody leg. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bleeding?”

“I didn’t know for sure until I just felt it while you were gone. I’m sure it’s just a scratch.”

“Sit down and let me take a closer look at it.”

No way would that happen. “Look, it’s not that big a deal. Besides, you’re an architect, not a doctor.”

“Actually I’m a nurse.”

“Yeah, right. Since when?”

“As a matter of fact, since May.”

Well, that explained the scrubs. “But I thought—”

“People change, Amy. I’ve changed, as I’m certain you have. I made the call to become a nurse shortly after you left Miller’s Creek.” Fatigue lined his words. “Now sit down and let me look at that leg, or I’ll make you sit down.”

Anger flared, but she managed to keep it in check. She sat on the kitchen floor, amidst the dust and no telling what kind of insects and critters, and stuck her leg in front of the light. A large gash snaked down the inside of her lower calf, oozing blood. The sight made her woozy, so she leaned back against both hands and struggled to stop her spinning head. “Am I gonna need stitches?”