Authors: Fern Michaels
“I do trust you. Most of the time. This is different. We could be playing with our lives. What if the storm kicks up?”
Sunny giggled. “Then we kick back.”
Harry's face puckered in worry. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Damn straight I'm sure. I want to do it for you. It's your decision.”
“Okay, but we're going prepared. That means flashlights, our battery-operated socks and gloves. We carry spares. Candy bars. If anything happens, we can eat the snow. Matches. Lots of matches. People always carry matches when they do things like this. And don't forget our Saint Christopher medals. I'm wearing mine.”
“I have mine on, too.”
“Should we leave a note in case something happens?”
“Harry, nothing is going to happen. Don't think negative thoughts. A note's good. We'll probably both feel better if we leave one. We'll be back before dawn, safe in our rooms and in bed. We'll tear it up when we get back. I'm psyched. Are you psyched, Harry?”
“I'm so excited, I can hardly breathe. I want your promise, Sunny, that we'll stay together. Swear you won't do anything screwy. I'm in charge. Agree out loud.”
“I swear. I agree. You're in charge. I'll stick to you like the peel on an orange. I'll write the note, too. What should I say in the note?”
“Say . . . let's see . . . say we went out to play in the snow.”
“That's good, Harry. It's the truth, too.”
Harry raised his hand and Sunny slapped it with all the force she could muster.
“To the white stuff,” Harry said.
“To the white stuff,” Sunny said.
Ruby stared out the window, seeing but not seeing what lay beyond the windows. The silvery glow from overhead told her there would be a full moon when the clouds released their hold on the sky. A full moon certainly explained the restless sounds of the chickens. For some reason the chickens, even though they were roosting, sensed the moon. The sounds they made spoke of uneasiness and were ominous to her ears. There had been a full moon the night her father was attacked by the turkeys, years ago.
Ruby turned to mix herself a stiff drink as she tried to ignore the barnyard sounds that seemed to circle the house and waft through the cracks in the window frames. The ice clinking in the glass in her hand, she paced the office, walking around the desk, the table holding the lamp, the cracked leather chair that still held an imprint of her father's form, a form that didn't fit her slim body. She'd tried cushions, extra padding. Nothing worked. She should have gotten a new chair, but it seemed sacrilegious to do so. It was easier simply to perch on the end of the flattened leather cushion than it was to throw out her father's treasured chair.
She really should clean up the office, paint the dingy walls, get some modern blinds instead of the green pull shades. She could do little things; hang some pictures, add some plants, refinish the old, scarred desk, put down a new floor, perhaps some slate or tile that would be easy to care for. Maybe a new comfortable chair with a footrest and a floor lamp set in one of the corners where she could read the latest periodicals. She set her drink down on the edge of the desk to make some scribbled notes. She finished the drink and fixed another.
The Wild Turkey, her father's favorite, went down smooth and easy. One more of these and she'd be swinging from the dusty chandelier shaped like a buck's antlers.
Ruby walked back to the window. It wasn't the full moon or the chickens' restlessness, it was something else that was making her jittery. Maybe she should make some phone calls. Iris might be under the weather. Sage was there. What could she do except hold Iris's hand? It was better for Sage to hold his wife's hand. Celia was home in bed, this she knew for a fact. The Chicken Palace's newest spokesperson had been dead on her feet after a hard day's work in front of the camera. Billie? It was possible, but unlikely, that the young woman had run afoul of her creditors. Still, it was a possibility.
Not bothering to think, Ruby picked up the phone and dialed Billie's number. “This is going to sound very strange, Billie, but I have the strangest feeling that something is wrong somewhere. I've discounted the full moon. I feel foolish calling everyone, but I won't sleep until I know everyone in my immediate circle is all right. I'm sorry if I bothered you.”
Scratch Billie. Aside from sounding a little stressed, she was working, doing her best to uphold her end of their business deal. Marcus and Fanny. She called the hospital and was told Marcus's condition remained unchanged. She was told Mrs. Reed had left over an hour ago.
Ruby freshened her drink and added ice cubes from the small portable refrigerator under the counter. She dialed Sunrise. Sage's sleepy voice confirmed that things were okay on the mountain. Her list was whittled to Sunny and Birch. With the time difference, they were all probably snug and asleep at the lodge.
Damn, she was acting like a mother hen, and the chicks weren't even hers. Goose bumps dotted her arms as her stomach muscles tightened. Maybe it was Jeff at the casino and something terrible was going on. It was a far-out idea, but she couldn't discount it. She called Neal Tortolow's private beeper. A moment later her call was returned. “I'm not out of my mind, Mr. Tortolow, it's just that I'm having this . . . anxiety attack and can't pinpoint it. Mark it down to woman's intuition. Is everything all right at the casino? That's good. Okay, I'm sorry I took you away from the business at hand. Yes, I know there is a full moon. Fanny told me once all the weirdos in Vegas hit the casinos when the moon is full. I guess it's one of those little mysteries in life that will never be completely explained. Have a good night.”
Ruby splashed bourbon into her glass. So what if she swung from the chandelier. Who was going to see her? No one. Maybe she should walk up to the house and go to bed. Sleep was out of the question, so why bother. It was easier to sit here and drink. If something was wrong, someone would have called by now.
Keep drinking, Ruby, and you won't know if anyone calls or not,
an inner voice chided. She started to pace again, her footsteps sluggish. She gulped at the drink in her hand as she rounded the desk for the sixth time.
Ruby was on her tenth round when the phone rang, startling her. The glass dropped from her hand as she fell over her father's chair to grab for the phone. “Fanny!” she gasped. “I'm so glad you called. Is everything okay? All evening I've had this awful, strange feeling like something is wrong somewhere. I called everyone to see if they're okay. Sage and Iris were sleeping, Billie's working, Celia's in bed, and Marcus's condition is the same. I knew you would have called if something was wrong. I didn't call Birch or Sunny because of the time difference. That's right, you don't know. They went to Vermont skiing. They left on Friday. I'm babbling here. I'm just so glad you called. You feel it, too? God, I can't tell you what a relief that is. I thought I was going out of my mind. At first I thought it was the full moon because the chickens are restless, but that isn't what it is. It's something else. I can't shake the feeling. If I figure out what it is, I'll call you back. One of my workers will pick up the dolls in the morning for shipment. We've really made inroads, and I can't thank you enough, Fanny. My heart swells every time you tell me that's what families are for. Call me if there's anything I can do.”
Woozy with the alcohol she'd consumed, Ruby stretched out on the old leather sofa her father had slept on more times than she could remember. She thought she could still smell his aftershave, the scent of him that was “Dad” to her for so many years. Tears blurred her vision before she wiped them on the sleeve of her blouse. She wasn't a crierâshe never had been. She was tough, like her mother. At times she'd thought that was good. Now she wished she had more of her father's gentleness. Over the years she'd wished her father were more aggressive, more rough-and-ready. Still, she was thankful for his gentleness, his ability to see both sides of an issue and to be fair in his assessment of a situation. So many times she'd questioned that fairness, but, in the end, because her father said it was the best he could do, she'd accepted things.
Ruby's thoughts traveled to Texas and the only man she'd allowed into her private worldâMetaxas Parish. She'd been introduced to him at the Cattle Barons' Ball shortly before her father's death. She'd attended the ball in Texas because the invitation had been sent to her mother by a friend who didn't know of her death. And there he was, bigger than life, the second richest man in the country. Of course she hadn't known that at the time. Older by fifteen years, brash yet gentle, she'd been attracted to him on sight, but he'd scared her because he was married. It didn't matter that Mrs. Parish lived in California and Metaxas lived in Texas. He was still married. He'd wooed Ruby with a passion, sending his private jet for her, offering what he called baubles and rags but which were priceless diamonds and furs, all of which she rejected.
In private, Metaxas was like her father, soft-spoken, gentle, and caring. In the business world he lived in, he was ruthless and power-driven. Once he'd shown up at her door in black tie, cowboy boots, and pearl white Stetson carrying a huge box with a gigantic red bow. Refusing to take no for an answer, he'd waited while she decked herself out in “the duds” and the “jools” he'd brought her. Before she knew what was happening, he'd whisked her away to his private jet. Their destination, Paris, France, where she allowed herself to succumb to his charms. It was the most glorious seven days of her life. And when it was over, like Cinderella, she returned to her pumpkin. She'd confided in her father because she didn't know what else to do. All he'd said to her was, “I want more for you than someone else's husband.” The disappointment in his eyes was so great she'd packed and run. She didn't return until years later, when her father took ill for the second time.
Metaxas Parish, where are you? What are you doing now? Do you even remember me?
Of course he remembered her. He'd pledged undying love the way she had. He'd offered her everything, the moon, the stars, untold riches. The one thing she needed, wanted more than anything in the world, his name and a flesh-and-blood family to call her own, was something he couldn't give her because his wife refused to give him a divorce.
In the beginning Metaxas had been stunned when he realized his wealth meant nothing to her. When she'd said to him, “How many houses can you live in at one time, how many cars can you drive simultaneously, how many planes can you fly at once?” he'd stared at her, his face uncomprehending. He did understand her, though, when she said, “God's been good to you, so you should start to give back like the Thorntons did and still do.” Subscribing to a Dallas newspaper that was delivered by mail a day late, she was able to keep up with his philanthropic goodness these days. His endowments were mind-boggling. His A-List of friends started with presidents, queens, princes, and princesses, heads of states, governors, top-ranking politicians. Everyone in the world knew Metaxas Parish. In one guilty moment she'd confided to the entire Thornton family about what she considered her dalliance with Metaxas. They'd listened and not one of them had judged her. She loved them for their understanding. Once he told her he had the president's private phone number and was on a first-name basis. None of that mattered because no one in the world knew Metaxas Parish the way she knew him. Of that she was certain.
What would happen if she called him now? How would he act? What would he say in that slow drawl she loved so much? He'd probably say something like, “Ruby honey, how's the big bad world treating you? Are ya'll calling me, sweet love, to tell me ya'll coming for a visit?” Then his voice would drop to a bare whisper and he'd say, “Sweet love, I remember our time in Paris. I remember every hour and every minute.”
Ruby's eyes filled with tears. If only life were simple. This time she poured liberally from the bourbon bottle, adding two nearly melted ice cubes. She marched to the window to take up her position again. She moved like a marionette with all the liquor she'd consumed. She craned her neck to look at the bourbon bottle and then at the clock. The night was still young, and she still had a half bottle of bourbon.
The night was suddenly quiet, too quiet. Even the chickens had stopped rustling in their roosts. It was too still, too dark with the big full moon hiding behind dark scudding clouds. Such a strange, weird night.
Ruby looked at the oversize clock on the wall. Five minutes to eleven. Time for the evening news. She switched on the small television set perched on the side of her desk. She listened as Dan Rather expounded on the latest U.S. retaliation against Iran for their attacks on the Persian Gulf. She thanked God then for not having a son on foreign soil. Oliver North's face flashed on the screen. Was he a loose cannon or an American hero?
“I don't know, and I don't care,” Ruby muttered as she added more bourbon and ice to her glass.
“Get on with it and give us the weather so I can go to bed,” Ruby said to the face on the screen.
The world weather map flashed on the screen. “Cool and brisk in the morning, warming to the low seventies by afternoon,” Ruby said anticipating the weatherman's words. It took her a few seconds to realize the excitement in the weatherman's voice and to note that his words weren't those she anticipated. Instead he was elaborating on the battering the East Coast was receiving in the way of rain. The pointer moved upward as did the weatherman's voice. She listened to words like highs, lows, cold fronts, warm air as the pointer circled the New England states. The words, “freak snowstorm” jerked her upright from her position in the chair. High, gusty winds, freezing temperatures with a possibility of two feet of snow. “At this time, it looks like New Hampshire and Vermont will be hit the hardest. Connecticut and Massachusetts are expected to receive ten to twelve inches of snow before the storm is over. We're receiving some reports now of power outages, downed telephone lines and roads closed because of drifting. I repeat, this is the second snowfall of the season, and a freak storm at that. Stay tuned to this station for further details as they become available to us.”
Ruby's hand shook as she added fresh bourbon to her glass. The last time she'd consumed this much liquor was when she walked away from Metaxas Parish.
She tried to visualize what twenty to twenty-five inches of snow would look like at a ski resort. A ski resort that already had six inches of snow. Ruby's heart thudded in her chest when she envisioned Sunny and Harry in their wheelchairs. Were they safe? Of course they were. All resorts had ski patrols, police of some sort, and, of course, the rangers who patrolled everywhere. Ski resorts were prepared for things like this with generators, deep freezes, and firewood. They had their own plows and heavy snow equipment. The big question was, were they prepared for Sunny and Harry? God, she needed to think. Did Fanny know Birch and Sunny were in Vermont? She'd meant to tell her. She couldn't remember if she had or not. Did Fanny watch the late-evening news? Mothers were supposed to have a sixth sense where their children were concerned. Living on Sunrise Mountain, Fanny had seen her share of snow as she had when she lived in Pennsylvania. Fanny wouldn't attach any special significance to a freak snowstorm in late October.
Ruby tossed her drink down the sink and made a fresh pot of coffee in the small kitchen area off the main office. She needed her wits about her from this point on, and she wasn't sure why. She started to pace, lap after lap, until she was dizzy. When the coffee was ready, she gulped at it, scalding her tongue. She continued to drink the strong, bitter liquid until her brain started to clear.