A Bridge Unbroken (A Miller's Creek Novel) (24 page)

Dakota weakly brought a hand to her hair. Though tangled, it was devoid of the mud she'd caked on it earlier. The mud. More memories of recent events filtered through her mind. The note. The knife. The overwhelming need to run.

Chance. Was he okay? Did he miss her as much as she missed him? Was the farm still okay? The house nearing completion? Were her new friends in Miller's Creek safe from the monster who pursued her?

Her things. Where were they? For the first time she noticed the strange clothes she wore. Clean, but strange nonetheless. Her eyes scanned the room for her backpack, boots, and clothing. Nowhere in sight.

God, help me.

I am with you.

The reassuring and still, small voice brought immediate comfort. Whoever had found her might be able to confine her physically, but never again would she be held hostage in any other way. Christ had bought her freedom, and it was a freedom no man could take away.

Newfound resolve steeled her backbone, and once more she tried to sit. The room spun in circles, her arms like wet noodles, but she managed to scoot her weight against the rusty metal bed frame. She sat for a moment, her head leaned back until the wooziness passed.

From somewhere beyond the closed door another door opened and shut, followed by the sound of shuffling--or was it something being dragged?--across the floor.

Dakota trained her ears on the slightest of sounds. The dragging sound continued, followed by thumps and bumps.

In a single motion, she threw off the ragged quilt and sheet under which she'd slept. Bare feet on the floor, she stood, holding the head rail for support until her weakened leg muscles at least partially responded to her brain's demands. As quietly as possible, she took the few steps to the door and laid her ear against the dusty bare wood, hoping for any clue. Nothing. Dakota grasped hold of the antique metal doorknob, and turned, but it didn't budge. Locked.

Panic galloped inside. She pounded the door and yelled at the top of her lungs. "Let me out of here!" A rustle of movement outside the door, followed by hushed whispers, caught her attention. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

More hushed whispers, indecipherable through the wooden door. Finally a man's gruff voice sounded. "Step away from the door, and don't try nothing funny."

Dakota did as the voice commanded, backing as far as the bed, but she chose not to sit. "Okay, I'm away from the door."

A click, then the door swung open to reveal an elderly man and woman, their faces weathered and frozen. The man clutched a shotgun.

"Who are you?" Dakota tried to keep the tremor from her voice, but to no avail.

Neither answered, but continued to stare with hard, cold eyes. Great, she'd evaded Kane only to end up with an unfriendly version of Ma and Pa Kettle.

"Where am I?"

"At our house, on our property," replied the woman, with an emphasis on the word 'our.' "Who are you?"

Rather than give out too much information, Dakota countered the woman's question with one of her own. "How long have I been here?"

"Since about midnight Monday, when I caught you trespassin'." The old man growled and raised the drooping shotgun a little higher.

The missing pieces of her puzzled memory fell slowly into place. She'd run into something or someone on her escape. "What day is it?"

"Thursday. Thanksgiving."

Her eyes widened. She'd been asleep for three whole days? No wonder her mouth felt as though she'd tried to ingest the beige-colored sands of Monahans. No wonder she was so weak. No wonder she really needed to go to the bathroom.

Dakota grimaced. "I--uh--is there a restroom nearby?"

At this the old woman grinned and released a high-pitched cackle. "Well, it ain't exactly nearby, but we do have facilities." The witchy laugh continued, and she pointed to a pair of men's slippers at the foot of the bed. "Put those on and follow me."

"And I'll follow both of you with the gun, just in case she decides to try sump'n' funny."

A few seconds later Dakota found herself escorted outdoors to a little hut several feet away from the main house. "You still use an outhouse?"

The old woman's eyes twinkled. "More cost-effective than modern-day plumbin', if you ask me."

But not as convenient. Or sanitary. Dakota stepped into the tin-covered building. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, but not her nose to the horrendous smell. She held her breath, one hand over her nose, emptied her bladder, then quickly exited the building.

The old woman's grin revealed a few missing teeth, but the man's piercing and unyielding gaze never wavered.

In tandem, they moved back inside the house. The man brought his gun down and closed the door behind them. "You remind me of someone I used to know. A man by the name of Levi Kelly."

Elation mixed with surprise, and her mouth popped open in response. "You're kidding. Levi Kelly was my grandfather."

From that point on, it was as though they'd all known each other forever. Over a delicious Thanksgiving meal of venison, mashed potatoes, and fried okra, they swapped stories of her grandfather. Finally, unable to eat more, Dakota leaned back in the rickety old chair, both hands on her stomach, and groaned. "I haven't had a meal like that since I don't know when."

The woman, who'd identified herself as Emma, stood and gathered plates. "And thin as a rail, you are. Looks like I need to fatten you up." She cackled again.

Dakota moved to help her clean the small kitchen, really just a small corner of the entire living space, but Emma waved her off. "No, you been sick. Just sit there and talk to us."

"How sick was I?"

"With that fever of yers, I's afraid you just might not make it." Hank hurried the words, then looked at her from the bottom of his bifocals, bearded chin in air. "Didn't your grandparents teach you not to roll around in muddy water when it's freezing outside?"

Dakota shrunk a little lower. They knew nothing, but did she dare tell them? Not since her grandparents were alive had she felt so safe and cared for. Maybe God had provided the listening ears. "Yes sir."

"Then why in tarnation did you do it?"

One word followed another as the story spilled from her mouth. She stopped only when they asked a question. At last, the whole story told, Dakota leaned forward, both hands in her palms.

"How long you been holding that in fer?" Emma's face held astonishment and weariness.

Dakota laughed, a laugh like she hadn't enjoyed in such a long time. "Too long. Thanks for listening. I really needed to get that off my chest."

Hank turned sideways in the chair and rested his elbow along the chair's back, his head leaned on one fist. "Boy, I'll say." The room grew quiet, and he turned to look at her, a quizzical air about him. "So all that time on the run, and you finally ended back on Levi's farm with J.C.'s grandson helpin' ya. Well, don't that beat all?" A brief laugh sounded from his white-bearded face, then he returned his head to his fist, deep in thought.

Emma disappeared from the room, then returned, Dakota's cleaned clothes folded in her hands. "Here are yer clothes. Liked to a' never got those things clean."

"Thank you, Emma." Knowing that the woman had most likely cleaned her soiled clothes by hand humbled her. Dakota glanced over at Hank, his eyes now closed. "Is Hank okay?"

Emma waved a hand. "Aah, he's either sleepin' or prayin'. I try not to interrupt either one."

"I heard that, old woman."

"Good, old man." Emma cackled as she walked away from the table to clean the dishes.

Hank faced her once more. "Just so you both know, I's a-prayin'."

"And?" came Emma's voice from the sink.

He looked Dakota square in the face. "You may not much like this, missy, but I hafta treat you as though you were my own. Tomorrow I'll be takin' you back to Miller's Creek and all the good people worried about cha. There comes a point when you hafta stop runnin' and start trustin'. Don't much think it was an accident that you ended back on the farm workin' with that young man. Now ya gotta wait on the Lord and see what He has for ya."

Her heart felt like he'd filled it full of buckshot. "But the sheriff's department will most likely arrest me on trumped-up charges."

Hank stood wearily, bending toward her. "Then you gotta pray that the Almighty will deliver ya." He tottered away from the table, but turned as he reached his rocking chair, wagging a finger in the air. "And then you need to get things worked out between you and this young man. Sounds like he's willing to rebuild a bridge, and you gotta meet him halfway, no matter what happened in the past."

Without another word, he parked himself in the chair and rocked, eyes closed.

As though to let her know it was time to think and not talk, Emma hummed loud enough to bring in all the bees from surrounding counties.

Chapter Twenty-Two

"I
'm on my way." Tension mounted, tightening his shoulder muscles. With a quick glance at Daisy who sat in the seat beside him, Chance punched the gas pedal. As if it weren't bad enough that he'd been thrown off schedule by the lack of checkers at the hardware store, now the electrician had beat him out to the farm. He'd sounded none-too-happy on the phone, and even threatened to leave if Chance didn't arrive pronto.

His thoughts turned to the previous day. As much as he'd loved spending time with his friends yesterday at the surprise Thanksgiving dinner at the farm, his goal to finish some projects had not been met. Though his friends had held an impromptu prayer meeting for Dakota, there was still no word.

The familiar prayer floated from his heart once more as he sped down the dirt road, a cloud of dust and gravel in his wake.
Lord, keep her safe and bring her home soon.

Two minutes later he came to a quick stop next to Dakota's pickup. Jake Downey leaned against his truck, arms crossed and sour-faced.

"Sorry I'm late, Jake." Chance grabbed hold of Daisy's leash as she jumped from the front seat of his pickup.

"Your dime, not mine."

Chance clamped his lips together and took the front steps two at a time to unlock the old wooden door that would soon be replaced with the metal door he'd just purchased. He swung it open and stepped aside so Downey could enter with his tools.

"Let me show you what I got done on Wednesday." Downey's tone demanded rather than asked.

Chance resisted the urge to tell him that he'd already inspected the work and followed him into the kitchen instead. Hopefully, the man wouldn't take too long, which would only make him even further behind than he already was.

Downey unscrewed the electrical panel cover to reveal the new board. "Almost got through the other day, but didn't wanna leave you without power over Thanksgiving. Just a few more connections to make."

"Looks good." Chance made a move toward the front door to get started on his own work.

"Y'all have done a lot of work to this old place. Have it looking mighty nice."

Yeah, and if he wanted it to look even nicer, he needed to get busy. He faced Downey, more than a little impatient. "Thanks. Dakota did most of it."

The man's eyebrows raised. "Well, she's good at what she does. Might could even make a living at it."

"I'll tell her you said so." If he ever got the chance. "I'll be out front if you need me." Once outside, Chance penned Daisy up, then located the screwdriver he needed and set to work on the front door, the gash in the center of the old door yet another reminder of Dakota. In a matter of minutes, he'd removed the hinges from the frame. How had this thing even opened and closed properly? And what had kept a good stiff wind from blowing it down? The new door would definitely provide more safety. Especially after the special treatment he had in mind.

He hoisted the old door onto his back and started toward the barn. Knowing Dakota, she'd find another use for the door as a table or headboard. While at the barn, Chance fed the chickens Coot had bestowed on Dakota and picked up another round of fresh eggs.

As he strode back toward the house cradling the eggs in the hem of his t-shirt, Ernie's car pulled around the corner down the driveway and then came to a stop next to the truck. Both Ernie and Carter climbed from the police car. Neither one looked hopeful.

Chance met them in the driveway. "Hey, guys. What's going on?"

Ernie shook his head. "Not much. Wish I had some good news for you."

The air caught in his lungs. Bad news instead?

"The forensic report on the knife and note didn't turn up anything. Pretty much what we expected."

Chance nodded, still waiting. The other men exchanged glances, seemingly reticent to say more. "And Dakota? Any news on her?"

Carter looked his way. "Haven't found her."

Chance's chin dropped to his chest. If only they could hear something. Some little snippet of information on her whereabouts.

"But I do have some other news."

His head snapped up, eyes wide. "What?"

Ernie's mouth twisted, and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "There's an APB out for her arrest under the name of Amy Barnes."