“I’d better give Steve another call on the way over so he’ll know where we’re going.” Taking Jennifer’s arm, she guided her toward the front door. “And when we’re at the hospital, we’re going to call the police. You’re pressing charges against the bastard who assaulted you.”
Jennifer drew back, pulling away from Kelly, her face pale white beneath the ugly red scratches. “
No! No!
I can’t!” she cried.
“Yes, you can, Jennifer.” Kelly reached for Jennifer’s arm again. “I’ll be right beside you the entire time.”
Jennifer shook off Kelly’s hand and backed up. “I can’t press charges, Kelly. No one would believe me!”
Kelly shook her head, trying to dismiss her friend’s fears. “Of course, they will, Jennifer—”
“Of course they
won’t
!” Jennifer insisted. “I’m at the bar all the time, and I’m always leaving with guys. You know that. Face it, Kelly. Nobody would believe me if I said some guy raped me. They saw me drinking and joking around with him. They wouldn’t believe me, Kelly!”
Kelly sought for an answer to Jennifer’s claims, searched for a way to refute them. She believed Jen and so would all of Jennifer’s closest friends. But those regular bar patrons, the “barflies” as Jen called them, they weren’t real friends. And maybe they wouldn’t believe her. Maybe Jennifer was right. “But, Jen . . .” she tried again.
Jennifer’s face started to crumple, tears spilling out of her eyes and down her cheeks. “They wouldn’t believe me, Kelly. They’d laugh . . . they’d laugh . . .” She choked back a sob.
Kelly felt her heart break, and she opened her arms to her wounded friend. Jennifer collapsed against Kelly’s chest and wept, great wracking sobs shaking her body. Kelly held her friend as tears ran down her own face.
One
Early May, three months later
Kelly
yanked open the door to House of Lambspun, the knitting shop directly across the driveway from her cottage. Both cottage and knitting shop were identical in design—beige stucco, red-tiled roof, Spanish colonial. But where the cottage was getting cramped with Steve and Kelly bumping into each other, the sprawling knitting shop was spacious and inviting. Rooms opened and flowed one into another, and all of them spilled over with yarns and fibers.
Springtime bright colors greeted Kelly as soon as she entered the foyer, beckoning her to touch. Fluffy balls of eyelash yarns—yellows, greens, reds—and glistening skeins of multihued ribbons, all waiting to be turned into scarves, warm weather tops, sleeveless vests, or whatever. Kelly fingered the soft fibers, stroking the ribbons as she passed by, getting her tactile “fix” for the day.
She spied her friend Megan in the adjoining room, seated at the long library table where knitters, spinners, and other fiber workers regularly gathered. A bright yellow, loose-knit sweater was forming on Megan’s busy needles. “I’m glad to see someone else taking a break from the computer screen,” Kelly said as she deposited her coffee mug and knitting bag on the table. “I swear, we’re probably ruining our eyes staring at the computer all day.”
Megan glanced up with a bright smile, fingers still working the yarn. Kelly couldn’t understand how Megan and friends could knit without looking.
“Yeah, I know how you feel. I needed a break. My latest client insists that I join in his conference calls every week with his entire IT staff, and he had loads of charts filled with columns of numbers and figures.” Megan brushed her jet-black hair away from her face. “Boy, I have to blow up those figures double-size to see them.”
“Don’t mention figures to an accountant. It makes us antsy,” Kelly teased as she pulled out the summer vest she was knitting with varying shades of red yarn, crimson to deep rose. “I’ve already started those corporate accounts that Curt referred to me. He knew I was looking for some additional consulting.” She pictured Colorado Rancher Curt Stackhouse, her fatherly mentor and advisor.
“Curt’s always looking out for us. It’s like having another Dad.” Megan’s smile faded. “He was in here yesterday with Jayleen. They were bringing the last of those fleeces from his storage room into the shop. Curt came over to me while Jayleen was up front with the staff, and he asked how Jennifer was doing. I told him she’s doing much better now, thanks to that therapist Lisa found. Curt looked real relieved to hear that and said he would tell Jayleen. They’ve been so worried.”
Kelly remembered how concerned everyone in the Lambspun shop family had been after they heard about Jennifer’s assault. But like true family, all of Jennifer’s friends and everyone who cared for Lambspun’s lively free spirit closed in tightly around her in loving support.
“Thank goodness for Curt, otherwise Steve and Greg would have found that guy and beaten him to a pulp.”
Megan looked up, astonished. “How could they find him? Jennifer didn’t know his full name.”
“They went over to the bar one night and grilled the bartender. He said he couldn’t remember the guy’s name because he didn’t come into the bar that often. But Steve and Greg tried to track him down anyway. They would have done it, too.” She gave a wry smile. “Even Pete asked to go along. He was out there behind the café every day, pacing back and forth, he was so upset. Steve told me that made him think twice. That and Curt’s conversation.”
“When was that?”
“A couple of weeks after it happened. Curt invited both Steve and Greg over one night.” Kelly concentrated on her knitting, sliding one finished stitch after another off the left needle and onto the right. “He reminded them both that if they found out who the guy was and went to ‘teach him a lesson,’ they’d wind up being charged with assault. Then
they
would go to jail rather than the scumbag. Of course, Curt had lawyer Marty there to bolster his argument.”
Megan blinked. “My Marty? I don’t remember his saying anything.”
“Yes,
your
Marty. He made the legal case, and he probably didn’t tell you because if you recall you were still bursting into tears anytime someone mentioned what happened.” She gave Megan an encouraging smile. “So, that’s probably why Marty didn’t say anything.”
Megan stared at her needles again. “I know, I know.”
“Good thing Jennifer told you to knock it off, or you’d shrink your yarn.”
Megan laughed at that.
“I swear it was all we could do to keep Mimi from finding out,” Kelly said, picturing Mimi Shafer, the motherly shop owner. “She kept wondering why you were tearing up and leaving the table.”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it,” Megan said, fingers nimbly working the lemon yarn.
“Thank goodness Mimi believed Jennifer’s story about getting caught in the middle of a bar fight. She was horrified enough to see her scratched, swollen face. If Mimi ever learned the truth, it would break her heart.” Kelly’s voice had dropped lower, so as not to be overheard.
Other customers had entered the room and were browsing through the yarns. Two of the four walls of the main knitting room were covered with bins brimming over with yarns of wool and mohair, alpaca and silk. The other walls were lined with bookshelves, crammed with books on every fiber topic imaginable—knitting, crocheting, weaving, spinning, dyeing fibers, and every type of garment. And then, there were the magazines. Shelves of them. Kelly was always amazed at the wealth of information that appeared monthly.
How could Mimi and her shop “elves” keep up with it all?
“Great timing,” Jennifer’s voice sounded from the archway leading into the central yarn room. “Things have finally slowed down at the café, so I can take my break. Brother, were we slammed this morning.” Jennifer pulled out a chair beside Kelly and settled in, knitting bag on her lap.
“Hey, you finished your sweater,” Megan said. “Looks great.”
Admiring the lime green sweater Jennifer was wearing, Kelly added, “I can’t believe you’re finished. You were still knitting on it day before yesterday.”
Jennifer removed a pale pink yarn and knitting needles from her bag. “Well, Pete’s catering job last night didn’t take us as long as he thought. I was back home by nine, so I was able to finish off the sweater.”
“That shade looks great with your hair,” Kelly added, glancing at Jennifer’s auburn shoulder-length hair brushing her shoulders.
Jennifer started casting pink stitches onto her needles. “Thanks. I was tired of shamrock, and the lime green just called my name.”
“Gotta get back to work, guys. Don’t forget pizza at our place tonight,” Megan said, gathering the half-finished sweater into her knitting bag. “Marty said he’ll pick up one of those wicked French tortes on the way home.”
“Those chocolate ones? I’m in,” Jennifer said.
Kelly playfully complained. “Ever since we’ve been getting together at night, I’ve had to watch my weight. My workouts are taking longer and longer every morning.”
“Don’t even mention weight,” Jennifer said with a sigh. “We’d better give the desserts to High-Speed Metabolism Megan.”
“Any extra desserts, we’ll bring over to your place tomorrow night, Kelly,” Megan said as she skirted the table. “Are you doing Thai or Mexican tomorrow? I forgot.”
“I’ll check with Steve. He keeps track.”
“Either one is fine by me. I’m omnivorous, unfortunately.” Jennifer’s knitting needles moved faster.
Megan gave a goodbye wave as she headed out. “See you tonight, guys.”
Kelly and Jennifer worked in comfortable silence for a while, and Kelly felt that peaceful feeling start to settle in—the meditative state that she’d discovered was an unexpected benefit to the pastime of knitting.
Then Jennifer spoke softly. “I know what you guys are trying to do.”
“Do what?” Kelly replied, coming back from the peaceful place.
“You know what I mean. These last several weeks, we’ve all been getting together several times a week for dinner.”
Kelly smiled to herself. Jennifer was too sharp not to notice her friends’ attempts to include her in their regular get-togethers. In the three months since the assault, Kelly had watched Jennifer make an astonishing behavioral turnaround. She hadn’t returned to the Fort Connor bar scene. Nights were now occupied with helping her part-time employer, café owner Pete, with his private catering jobs and joining her friends in their scheduled evenings of dinner and DVDs.
“Hey, it’s fun,” Kelly said, concentrating on her stitches. “Except I’ve gotta learn to say ‘no’ to the desserts.”
“Well, just for the record, I know you guys are trying to keep me from being all by myself alone and . . . and I think it’s sweet.”
Kelly grinned at her friend. “Duly noted . . . just for the record.” They continued to work quietly for another few minutes. This time Kelly broke the silence. “How’re you doing, Jen?”
“Okay,” Jennifer answered, eyes still on her stitches.
Kelly paused for a second. “I mean . . . how are you
really
doing?”
Jennifer kept casting on stitches for a few more seconds. “I’m doing better, Kelly. Really.”
Kelly released an audible sigh. “I’m so glad, Jen. You look better, too. More . . . I don’t know . . . more relaxed, maybe.”
Jennifer gave her a little smile. “Yeah. I’m getting there. Moving to a new apartment really helped. And talking with Dr. Norcross, of course. I’ve never talked with anyone like her before.”
Kelly noticed the lime green sweater had a scalloped neckline, not the turtlenecks Jennifer had been wearing for the last three months. The purple bruises on her neck had finally faded. “It’s a good thing Lisa was taking Dr. Norcross’s class at the university, otherwise she might never have found her.”
“Hey, just the two I want to see.” Lisa’s voice came from behind them as she suddenly strode into the room. Plopping her oversized knitting bag on the table, Lisa stood over Kelly and Jennifer, hands on hips. “Please tell me you both are free this weekend. Well, all day Friday through Sunday. Please, pretty please.”
“It depends on what you have in mind,” Jennifer said, without looking up. “If you’re teaching another one of those physical therapist workshops in the mountains, count me out. Being around all those buff, skinny jocks all weekend gave me a complex. And I’ve got enough of those already.”
“Don’t tell me. You’re teaching another workshop and you need us to do the fiber classes, right?” Kelly glanced up at her friend.
Lisa swept her long blonde ponytail back into a fabric band. “You’re half right. It’s a workshop in the mountains, all right. But it’s not for physical therapists. And I do need you both to teach the knit and crochet sessions. The two gals who promised to help just called and backed out on me.”
Kelly ran through her mental daytimer, weighing her workload. Two more days till the weekend. “If I work ahead, I guess I could manage it. What about you, Jen? Would Pete be able to do without your waitressing skills for three days? You up for a spring weekend in the mountains?”
“Pete would be okay because Sarah could come in and work for me. But I need to check the real estate office and see if I’m scheduled for floor duty this weekend. If not, then I could swing it. No clients have surfaced recently.”
“We’re going to a ranch up Poudre Canyon, back in the forest,” Lisa tempted.
“Whoa, that did it. I’m in,” Kelly said. “I’m still fumbling with the crochet hook, so I’ll let you and Jen teach that.”
“It will be gorgeous up there,” Jennifer agreed. “Yeah, I have to admit I could use some peaceful quiet time in the trees and mountains. Walking in my neighborhood just doesn’t do it for me.”
“Steve and Greg will probably stock up on pizza while we’re gone,” Lisa said with a grin.
“Naw, they won’t,” Kelly countered. “Friday night is chili night at Jayleen’s, remember? I bet the whole crew will show up on Jayleen’s doorstep. Curt’s always over there on chili nights.”
“Tell Jayleen to save us some,” Lisa said.
“You can have my share. I’ve gotta cut back. My butt is getting so big, it’s in another time zone,” Jennifer said, starting to knit a row of pink stitches. “By the way, who’s going to be at this workshop anyway? You never said.”