Choices of the Heart (25 page)

“What is wrong with you?” she screamed. “I’m your daughter, for goodness sake.” Tears formed in her eyes. How could the man have deteriorated this far? When she was young, he was a clean-cut, well-mannered, God-loving man. She couldn’t see any of that left in him.

“I’m just claiming what’s mine.”

“What do you mean?” She sidestepped him, wary of his words.

“Oh, baby, come on. I got some manly needs with no one to fill ’em. You’re about the prettiest damn thing. Look just like your mama. You owe me, too. Had me thrown in jail for wanting to be with you.”

He fell against her, shoving her into the icebox. She wiggled against him, trying to break free, but that only seemed to excite him more.

“Come on,” he whispered, his hideous, alcohol-scented breath making her gag. “You know what I like.”

“Get off me!” She pulled her hands free and kneed him in the groin.

He doubled over, hands between his legs, and she tried to get around him, but he was too quick. He grabbed her arm, but she yanked hard and broke free and made for the door. She’d nearly made it when he leaped at her, catching a handful of her skirt.

“Not so fast.”

She turned, kicking his shin. His big, meaty palm cracked against her cheek, and she staggered. Dazed, she tried to pull away, but he hit her again. Through tears of shock and pain, she spied the telephone, hanging on the wall beside her. She reached out, knocking it off its cradle.

Praying Myrtle, the operator, had picked up the call, Chloe yelled, “This is Chloe Lloyd. Get Lowell Jacks out here!”

“Come on, doll.” Her father reached down, scooping up the phone and hanging it back up, as casual as could be. He smiled an evil, hate-filled smile. “Show your Pa how much you love him.”

He leaned in close, as if planning to kiss her, and she spit in his face. He reacted with rage, punching her in the eye, the force of the blow catapulting her backward. Colors of the rainbow exploded in her head, and she was sure her skull would explode as it cracked against the edge of the counter.

Pain unlike anything she’d ever felt pushed her into a silent darkness.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Pa! Pa, you gotta come quick like!”

Reese took a swig of water then looked around, trying to find the origin of the small voice. Michael and Mark climbed up in the wagon to see who was yelling. They were about to call it quits for the day. Reese had big plans for his wife that evening.

“Holy smokes, that’s Lucas screaming.” Michael jumped down.

“Lucas?” Mark asked. “He don’t talk.”

“He ain’t talking, Mark. He’s screaming bloody murder.”

“Chloe.” Reese dropped the water jug and ran to meet the boy halfway. Rosie was trailing after him.

“Pa.” Lucas cleared his throat. “Ma’s nasty Pa came, and he’s being mean to her. She told me to come get you.”

“You children get in the house,” he told them all. “Pa!” Reese yelled. “Get out here quick. Michael”—he turned to the eldest boy—“tell Grandma to call the police and have them go out to our place.”

“What’s all the ruckus?” Pa asked from the porch. Ma stood right behind him.

“Gus is at the house.”

“Damn.” Pa shuffled to the wagon and climbed up.

“Here comes Bobby. Damn, this doesn’t look good.” Reese clicked the reins just as Ma hurried off the porch and scooped up the littlest boy.

They raced the short distance to the house, Reese’s anger and frustration climbing with every passing second. Couldn’t the horses go any faster? They held on as Bessie and Boots hit low ruts in the road, and although it seemed like hours, only minutes later they were at Reese’s home.

Reese pulled the wagon up to the porch and hopped down. He rushed into the house. The quiet calm disturbed him more than anything. He’d expected to hear screams, find Chloe fighting with her father, but instead only silence filled the house. Had Gus taken her somewhere?  He ran a hand through is hair and scanned the kitchen.

“Oh, dear Lord.”

Chloe lay on the floor, a puddle of blood pooling beneath her head. He fell to his knees and touched her neck to find the pulse he prayed still pounded in her neck. It was there, thank the Lord. He sat back on his heels, fighting the urge to wrap her in his arms and carry her to the bed. He had no idea what injuries she may have suffered. He could hurt her worse if he moved her. The red, puffy areas on her face and neck would soon be bruises, but he didn’t know what else his father-in-law might have done.

“Son?” his pa called from the doorway.

Reese’s brain kicked in, and he started barking orders.

“Call Dr. Babcock. Get him out here to treat her. I’m going to go kill Gus.”

He stood up hastily, dizziness making his head swim. He knelt back down over Chloe. Anger and pain mingled in his heart, and Reese found tears rolling down his cheeks. He was helpless. He took her hand in his and gripped it, hoping she would wake up but knowing her slumber was anything but a simple nap.

As if through the fog of a dream, Reese heard Pa talking on the telephone to Myrtle and then heard the kitchen door open and Lowell Jacks asking Pa what had happened. Reese couldn’t understand what was being said. Maybe he was in shock, or maybe he was losing his mind.

“Reese, you all right, buddy?” Lowell slapped him on the shoulder. “What’s happened here?”

“
I’m
fine.” He brushed away the tears on his face and turned to look at the taller man standing over him. “He tried to kill her this time, Lowell. If you don’t handle it, I will.”

“Who we talking about?” Lowell stood with his legs spread slightly apart, hands on his hips. A tall, stocky man, he wasn’t one to mess with.

“Gus Brandt.”

“Well, thank God, Reese.” His body relaxed. “For a minute there, I thought you’d done this.”

“Hell would freeze over before I touched Chloe with an angry hand.” Reese tried to stand again. His legs feeling like mush, he leaned heavily on the table. “Didn’t Ma call you?”

Reese noticed the latest quilt Chloe had been working on, hanging over the edge of a chair, and he grabbed it. He bent over Chloe again, covering her to keep the late September breeze blowing through the kitchen door from giving her a chill.

“She might have.” Lowell shrugged. “Chloe called first, asking us to get out here as soon as we could. She didn’t tell Myrtle what the problem was, just that she needed us.” He looked down at Chloe’s body. “Wish we’d made it here quicker.” He met Reese’s eyes. “Did you call Babcock?”

“Pa did.” Reese nodded. “Think we should carry her to bed, or put her on the sofa?”

“Wait for the doctor. Ben and I will run out and pick up Gus.” Lowell turned to Pa. “Mr. Lloyd, keep your son here. I don’t want him to do nothing foolish right now. He needs to be with Chloe. We’ll take care of Gus.”

Reese heard the back door shut and then the gravel crunch under the wheels of the police vehicle as it sped away. He had faith Lowell and Ben would take care of Gus and see that justice was brought on behalf of Chloe. That knowledge didn’t prevent Reese from wanting to kill the bastard, anyway.

“Where’s the baby?” Pa asked quietly.

“Damn. I forgot all about Charlie.” Reese shook his head and turned toward his father. “You don’t think…”

“I’ll go see if he’s up in his crib.”

Rather than stepping over Reese and Chloe, his pa left the room through the other door, the one leading into the dining room.

If she would move, even a little, tiny bit, Reese knew he would feel better. But she lay there totally still. He checked her pulse again, found it remained as strong as before. Why had her father done this? Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?

“Safe and sound.” Pa came back into the room, carrying Charlie. “I reckon we best call Ma, tell her what’s happening.”

“Hope that’s the doctor.” Reese said, hearing the sure noise of an engine.

“Yep, it is.” His pa looked out the kitchen window. “’Bout damn time.”

Reese leaned back against the wall next to Chloe and stretched his legs in front of him. He’d wiped up some of the blood from the floor. It looked like the cut had stopped bleeding, and Reese wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Her cute, bobbed hair was matted sticky with blood, and her face had lost its peachy tint. She looked half-dead, and Reese’s throat grew thick with tears again as the thought of life without Chloe filled his mind.

“What happened?” Babcock quickly came through the back door.

“Her father beat her to a pulp.” Reese got to his feet and stepped back so the doctor could get a better look at his wife.

“Did you move her?” Babcock pulled out different instruments from his black leather satchel.

“No. Figured we’d better wait ’til you got here,” Reese told him.

“Good choice.” Babcock nodded and listened to her heart. “Has she been unconscious long?”

“Since we got here a while ago. Twenty minutes, maybe?” Reese answered.

He glanced at his pa, who nodded.

“Her heart is fine. Breathing is normal, as if she’s just asleep.” Babcock pushed open her right eyelid, nodded and then checked her left. “Eyes respond well to light.” He tilted her head gently from side to side. “She looks just fine. Head cuts usually bleed heavily.” He probed her head with his fingertips. “Huge lump right here. I’ll go ahead and stitch the cut. Jaw might be sore, might be dislocated. We’ll wait ‘til she wakes up to see to that. She could use some ice to keep the swelling down.”

Reese looked to his father.

“I’ll get it.” Pa headed out of the kitchen, still carrying Charlie.

Babcock stood and looked around the area. “What would he have hit her with to cut her head?”

“I wondered the same thing,” Reese said, looking around the neat, clean kitchen. “We haven’t moved anything, except the quilt I covered her with.”

“Ah, here it is.” Babcock rubbed the corner of the counter. “He must have pushed her or hit her, and then she lost her balance and fell onto the corner here.”

Reese peered over the doctor’s shoulder. Blood droplets discolored the white counter and some had spilled onto the floor below.

“She’ll have extensive bruises on her face.” Babcock frowned. “She will probably have an awful headache when she wakes.”

“How long will that be?”

“I can’t say.” Babcock frowned but didn’t take his eyes off of her. “I’ll sew her up, give her some aspirin, and leave some for you to give her in a few hours again.”

“Can we put her in bed?”

“Once she’s sewed up. I don’t want to risk her losing more blood.”

Pa came back, carrying some chunks of ice in a bucket, Charlie propped on his other hip. “I’m going to take care of the chores, Reese. You stay with Chloe. I’ll take the baby to your ma first and tell her what’s going on.”

“Thank you.” He swallowed back the lump in his throat. If only Chloe would wake up so he could see her beautiful eyes.

“Help me hold her up and keep her head still so I can make small stitches. We don’t want her to have a scar on her face.”

Reese sat back on the floor, gently angling her so the doctor had enough light to clean and sew up her head. Reese looked away. Never fond of needles in the first place, having to watch the woman he loved more than anything in the world endure such a thing made him sick.

It didn’t take very long for the doc to sew her up—eleven stitches—and when he finished, he followed Reese as he carried Chloe upstairs to their bedroom. He settled her on the bed and covered up her bloodied, ripped dress with another quilt. He didn’t want to undress her in front of her boss.

“Watch for signs of infection, give her some more aspirin in four hours, even if she isn’t awake yet. If the pain is greater than what aspirin can take care of, call me, and I’ll bring over something. Keep ice on the wound. Call me when she wakes up, even if it’s the middle of the night.”

“Would you like to just stay here tonight?”

The doctor shook his head. “I have to be home in case I get any other calls.” Dr. Babcock rested a hand on Reese’s shoulder. “I think she will be fine. And you’ll do fine with her. Just keep watch over her. I’ll be sure to stop by in the morning if I don’t hear from you sooner.”

Dr. Babcock took another long look at Chloe and then left the room. Reese heard the screen door slam shut minutes later. The sudden silence left him feeling as if he was all alone in the world.

Reese plopped on the chair next to the bed. He and Dr. Babcock had propped up Chloe with pillows so her head was cushioned. He’d never sat watch over anyone before. He imagined Chloe had done this often at the hospital in Lincoln. What a switch.

Reece’s shotgun was still resting next to the window. He wouldn’t hesitate to use it if his father-in-law reappeared. Reese was a good shot. Gus wouldn’t leave here alive.

Maybe Lowell had captured her father already. Jail was too good for the bastard. He deserved to die. He’d killed Chloe’s Mama and abused Daisy and hurt Chloe. The world was too good to have such a bad man roaming free. Reese bent forward and captured his head in his hands.

Lucas talked! At least one good thing came from the situation. Whether the boy would continue to speak was anyone’s guess, but his fast feet and newly found voice might have saved Chloe. Maybe Gus thought the fall had killed her, and that’s why he’d disappeared by the time Reese got here.

Reese lit the gas lamp next to the bed as the waning sun finally made its way home for the night, sinking below the horizon. It felt so much later to him. Two days could have passed with all the activity of this one, single day.

~*~

The minute Chloe opened her eyes she knew something wasn’t right.

Her head throbbed like a train was running through it. She couldn’t quite get her left eye open and her mouth, while very dry and sticky, was so swollen, she found it hard to stick out her tongue and lick her lips.

Everything came back to her in an instant, faster than one of her father’s vicious blows. He’d punched her, kicked her and slapped her, finally pushing her against the counter. After that, she couldn’t remember anything, had no idea how she ended up in her bed.

In the soft light from the lamp burning next to the bed, Chloe saw Reese sleeping in the chair beside her. Lucas must have fetched him home. She reached up and felt her head, wondering why it ached so much. A lump the size of an egg protruded from her scalp. Her hair was matted, no doubt with crusted-over blood, and a large bandage covered her wound.

Dr. Babcock must have been there. She felt dopey, as if he’d given her something for the pain. She turned her head and with her good eye looked through the window into the inky darkness. It had to be late, although she couldn’t quite make out the clock on the opposite wall.

She must have been knocked unconscious; nothing else would explain why she couldn’t remember how she got patched up and into bed.

“Reese.” Her voice sounded like a slurred croak. “Reese,” she tried again, louder.

He stirred and quit snoring but didn’t wake.

She couldn’t lift her head too high without dizziness and a vicious pounding making her nauseated. The swaying, spinning sensation made her feel as if the bed was twirling underneath her.

“Reese.”