A Rush of Wings (33 page)

William removed his coat and hung it on the rack inside his office door. The personal business Michael had in Boston would only postpone
the personal business he had with him. There had been too much left unspoken in Colorado. Even if Noelle had what she wanted, he deserved answers.

———

Michael stood in the gallery and smiled, the first true joy he'd felt in months. Another painting and across from that another, both bearing Noelle's signature. He had found the place that would lead him to her, but first, he allowed himself the pleasure of viewing her work. What he had told Clarice was true. He appreciated Noelle's subtle, exquisite detail. It so exemplified her.

He remembered her long, delicate fingers on the brush. Her technique had improved and certainly her productivity. When had she begun to paint like that? Oh, he knew she'd studied art, had watched her work, but these landscapes had depth and emotion. She should continue painting as a creative outlet, even market the work if she desired, make a name for herself in the art world. He would support her efforts completely.

But now it was time to act. He glanced at the woman behind the counter, and on cue, she approached. Her wool suit was classic, but she wore a crystal mounted in a silver dragon claw around her neck, a curious complement to the extreme lines of her jacket and skirt.

She smiled. “I see you have an eye for quality. Noelle St. Claire is new in the market but very promising.”

Promising was a good word. He would buy the painting, present it to her as a symbol. But he needed to be careful, not too eager. If he'd read this woman right, he could play off her own signals. “Yes, there's something about it, as though . . . I'm meant to have it.”

The creases deepened at the corners of her eyes. “Some of the pieces speak to me too. Maybe the artist leaves an aura to which sensitive minds respond.”

Michael gave that idea respectful consideration. Of course, he would respond to anything Noelle had done. How could he not? “Very possible. And in this case even more so. I grew up with a Noelle St. Claire.” It was almost true. William St. Claire was his spiritual father, if you wanted to look at it that way. “And she was an artist. What do you think the chance is it's the same person?”

“It's an uncommon name.” The woman's gaze deepened as though trying to sense the connection. “I read once where a man recognized
his father by the vibrations in the old man's sculptures. Maybe her paintings sent vibes that brought you in today.”

“If that's true, I must take this one.” Let her think she'd sold him. This was a partnership after all; she had information he needed.

“Very good.” She took the painting from the easel and started toward the counter. “Not many people listen to their centers, but I think it's important to surround yourself with things that resonate.”

“Oh, certainly.” Michael joined her at the counter. “You wouldn't have an address or phone number where I could reach Noelle. . . .” He straightened his cuffs and pulled the wallet from his coat.

“I'm afraid not.” She wrapped the painting in paper and taped it. “Her work is sent here from Colorado through an agent out there.”

Colorado? Michael let his face fall. “Too bad. I had such a strong sense of . . . purpose.” He met the woman's eyes, established contact, then showed the force of his disappointment. “What if the vibes were a call or signal?”

She fingered the crystal hanging at her sternum. “Do you think so?” She studied the wrapped painting, obviously missing its power but believing nonetheless. “Well, I do actually have an address where I send her money orders—no checks. Probably doesn't trust the government.” She gave him a pensive look, then pulled out a large notebook, flipping to the back. “Yes, here it is. Have you something to write this down?”

Michael was ready with pen and personal organizer. He wrote the address with reverence. “Thank you very much.” He flashed his smile as he took the painting in his arms. “You've been invaluable.”

“I listen to my center too.” The woman rested her hands on the counter.

He sensed her satisfied gaze as he went out. He had read her perfectly. And now—he clasped the address tightly and drew a jagged breath—he had Noelle.

N
oelle read the thermometer through the kitchen window, an unseasonable forty-seven degrees. The January sunshine was brilliant on the snow, illuminating her world. The weight of the last few months no longer pressed her down, though she still could not believe Daddy had approved her decision. Facing him had not been the trial she anticipated, but it had stirred the shadows.

Maybe that was something she would live with. Maybe it would fade. The important thing was she had taken control. She pulled on the kid-leather gloves and western hat Rick had bought her in town, then turned as he came in.

“How do I look?”

He straddled her with his arms against the counter. “Like my bride. Almost.” He tipped her hat back and kissed her. “You're all saddled up and ready to go.”

“I hope my leg is strong enough . . . and Aldebaran's.”

His mouth twitched. “You have to try sooner or later.”

She went out and stopped short. Destiny stood tethered to the porch, nodding his head as she came close. She turned to Rick, brows raised.

He smiled. “He's ready for you now.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She should be ecstatic, but body memories of the crushing pain, of Aldebaran thrashing, of Destiny's own power and his hooves . . .

Rick led her around to Destiny's side. “It'll be fine.”

Why did he always say that? How did he know? But she slipped the toe of her boot in and swung up. “Are you coming?”

“I have work to do.” He unwound the reins and handed them up.

“Rick, I'm not sure.”

“After all that pestering?” He put on a falsetto. “I can take him myself, Rick. He wants me to ride him.”

She slapped his hand for poking fun, but he was right. She had fought for just this moment. “Well, he does and I can—so there.” She pulled up Destiny's head and brought him around. He responded to her gentlest touch as she nudged him with her heels. She remembered his gait, smooth and even, and matched her motion to it.

Past the apron, she smiled back at Rick, then urged the horse to a trot without posting. Her leg would not bear the strain, and besides, Rick preferred she ride the trot. She broke into a canter, then let him run up along the frozen stream. Rick knew she had to do this on her own, and she could.

She threw away her caution as Destiny ran over the snowy ground, his mane flying like red flames, like the flames Rick had fought and beaten. Not even nature could stand in his way. As they charged up the meadow, she exulted in the horse's power and speed, then slowed him and slipped into the shadow of the woods.

At the base of the shale slope, she looked up. Snow covered the gray mountainside completely, but she shivered with the memory of her rash behavior. Destiny carried her past without wavering, his young, spirited stride strong and sure. Coming back out, she found Rick at the high pasture and brought Destiny up beside him.

With the same hand that held the hammer, he pulled the U-shaped nail from his mouth and stood up. “How is it?”

“Wonderful. But you already knew that.” She leaned down and kissed him. “What happened to the fence?”

He bounced the nail in his palm. “Mountain lion spooked the stallions last night and they kicked it up.”

“Mountain lion! How do you know?”

“I saw the prints.”

She looked across the pasture. “Will it come back?”

“Probably. But it's after easy prey. You're way too much work.”

She stuck out her tongue.

He laughed. “What I wouldn't give for your society friends to see that.”

She raised her chin. “Well, too bad. I haven't any.”

He cupped her knee in his palm. “I'll see to it you know everyone on this mountain. All one hundred twenty-three of them.” He rubbed the place where her thigh muscle joined her knee and the scar was just starting to heal. Then he felt from her knee to the top of her boot, checking her musculature. “Had enough?”

“My leg says yes.” Of course, he'd already discovered that. Even in the stirrup it was shaking.

“It'll get stronger the more you work it. Do you want me to drive down, get you unsaddled?”

“No, I can manage.”

He nodded. “Put him in the back end stall. I'll pick his hooves and curry him when I finish here.”

Noelle nodded and rode down gently, reluctant to let the ride end but aware of the strain in her leg. She would be in pain tonight. She led Destiny into the dim stable and uncinched the saddle. “You are wonderful.” She pulled the bit from his mouth and hung it on the wall. He nuzzled her as she ran her hands over his neck and side. “Thank you for carrying me so well.” She walked down the row of stalls to Aldebaran.

The mare nickered, and Noelle reached a hand to her muzzle. “I'm glad you're all right now too.” The sound of tires on the gravel. Rick must have finished. She went out, blinking in the glare of the sun on the snow, then froze.

“Hello, Noelle.”

An apparition. A nightmare. A trick of her mind. It would vanish. But her heart pounded as her eyes adjusted, giving it substance. Michael.

Her throat went dry, and her breath came shallow. She tried to think. Would her leg be swift if she ran? It still shook from the exertion of riding Destiny. Would Rick hear if she screamed?

Michael took hold of her hands. She cried out at his touch.

“I'm not going to hurt you!” But his grip was tight.

Her eyes jerked to the meadow. Would Rick hear?

“Noelle.” Michael's voice was calm. “I just want to talk to you.”

Think. She had to think. “Daddy told you where I was?”

His brows raised. “I found you through the gallery . . . in Boston. Beautiful work, Noelle. I'm very impressed.”

A weight settled in her stomach. Betrayed by her own work, her quest, the success she'd wanted. Her search for beauty and the divine.

“It's been so long.” He stroked her hands with his fingers, a tremor in his voice.

She jerked away, calling, “Rick!” and lurched toward the house.

Michael grabbed her around the waist. “Stop it! What are you doing?” He trapped her against the side of the car.

She screamed, then thrashed as he clamped her mouth with his hand, slamming her head against the doorframe.

“Why are you acting like this?” He jerked open the car door.

She writhed and kicked. He smashed his fist to her head, and she fell to her knees in the snow. She screamed, but he kicked her side, kicked her stomach. She couldn't breathe. He gripped and shoved her into the car. From the glove box, he pulled a snub-nosed sidearm and pointed. “I'll use it, Noelle.” The look in his eyes convinced her.

He held the revolver on her all the way around to the driver's side, then climbed in and jerked the car into reverse. Dazed and trembling, she gripped the armrest and gasped for breath.

———

Rick looked up from the fence. He stood and stared down the meadow, just able to make out a gray sedan between the house and barn, backing and pulling away. His heart started pounding in his chest. Had he heard a scream?

He lunged for the truck, shoved it into gear and flew down the meadow, skidding to a stop before the stable. “Noelle!” No answer. He rushed into the house. “Noelle!”

He grabbed the rifle from the closet and ran back to the truck. Fishtailing into the intersection in town, he stared around him. There was no sign of the sedan, and there were tracks both ways.

Left would take him down from the mountain, right, up the canyon into the national park. His hands were shaking. “God, help me,” he groaned through clenched teeth, then wheeled the truck to the right and grabbed for his cell phone. He barked the nature of his emergency to the dispatcher as he headed up the canyon.

It had to be Michael; he would take her away, out of the mountains.
That was Rick's first thought, but his heart said go up, so he did. If he was wrong, if they'd gone down, he prayed the state police would stop them in time.

———

Michael rammed the car to a lower gear and skidded around the turn. He gunned the accelerator and sped up the winding highway. Noelle whimpered beside him. Why had she panicked? He wouldn't have hurt her. Didn't she know that? All he had wanted was to find her.

And what had she meant by “Daddy told you?” William knew where she was? He hadn't said a word about finding her. Could he have known all along? Had William turned on him too? Pressing the accelerator, he rounded the bend, then jammed the brake and swerved.

The deer thudded against the hood as the car veered and slammed into a snow-filled ravine. Michael landed hard against Noelle, and she made a sound like air through the pinched neck of a balloon. He smelled her fear. His adrenaline surged. They couldn't stay there. He pulled himself up by the steering wheel, then gripped her arm. “Come on.”

She struggled, but the gun convinced her to stop. He pulled her out his door, sucking an acrid breath of burnt rubber. His hand shook as he held the gun to her temple. He'd wondered before what his limit was. Could he put a bullet through her head? Never. But he couldn't show her that. “Don't fight me, Noelle.”

She went still, believing he could kill her, thinking him capable of shooting the one woman he loved more than anything in the world. What was wrong with her?

He scrambled up the slope, half dragging her behind. “I only wanted to talk to you. But you had to panic. You think I want to hurt you? Why would I hurt you? Why?” His hand hurt from hitting her. Why had she made him hit her? A flash of his father's fists on his mother's drunken face. He'd caught her with someone again.

Fury like acid in his veins. Who did Noelle have? Who had she called for? His throat closed in like a fist. All the same. They were all the same, even his beloved Noelle.

He forced her on until her breath rasped and she collapsed in the snow. “Get up.”

“I can't,” she gasped, holding her side.

He yanked her up, shoved her on, upward into the forest toward the
peaks. He saw a trail marker and turned sharply. He must avoid public areas. He pulled Noelle the other way. She'd lost weight, so thin now he could feel the bones of her arm through her coat, but even so, she dragged on him. He let go and she collapsed. This time he let her lie there as he caught his own breath and searched the area.

The trees were dense, the snow a thin covering where the slope steepened, thick with pine needles and black nubby branches. It was quiet, no sound but the drip of sun-melted snow from the branches and an occasional flutter of a bird taking wing. His urgency lessened, but he gripped Noelle's shoulder again and pulled her up. “We can stop on level ground.”

He moved off to the right, climbing toward a ridge with a huge boulder outcropping. That would do. He pressed them both up toward it, then let go of Noelle. She crumpled and lay on the frozen ground. Had he hurt her so badly? He'd only hit her once . . . or twice. It wasn't clear. He dropped to his knees beside her, stroked her head. This wasn't how he'd wanted it. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

She pressed her face to the ground.

“I had to get you away from . . . who was it you called?”

She didn't answer.

He jerked her up. “Who!”

“My fiancé!” She spoke through her teeth and angry tears streamed down her cheeks.

A cold spear pierced him. “So. There was someone else.” Again the acid fury burning through his skin.

Her breath came sharp and jagged. “There wasn't then, but there is now.”

He slapped her. “Liar!”

Her eyes dilated, and she breathed strangely, the way she had the last time, when it scared him so badly he'd left her alone. And she had run away. Was it an act?

He shook her. “Stop it.” Could she even see him? “Noelle!”

A flicker of fight back in her eyes. “What are you going to do? Rape me again?”

“What are you talking about?” He gripped her jaw, pressing his fingers until she flinched. “Rape you?”

“They said I wouldn't remember, but I do.”

“You're crazy.” What delusion was this? Yes, he'd hit her, lost his temper and struck, but rape?

“ ‘Spoiled little rich girls need a lesson.' ” Her voice was cold, threatening.

Michael started to shake. She
was
delusional. He gripped her shoulders and jerked her close. “Is that what you told William? Are you trying to destroy me?” He had feared that William would learn he'd struck his daughter, but this—this was insanity. “Listen to me, Noelle. I never raped you.”

She suddenly spat and clawed. “Don't touch me, God. I'll tell Daddy.” Her voice sounded infantile.

God? Had she called him God? He must have hit her too hard, must have . . . What had he done? She was . . . crazy. Searing anguish flooded him. He'd destroyed her. Somehow he'd destroyed the one perfect thing in his life.

One look at her, and everyone would know. It didn't matter that her claims were false. Who would believe him? William? The very thought of facing him—everything he'd fought for, everything he'd gained. His entire transformation meant nothing against a charge like rape. Rape meant prison, and he knew well enough what chance he'd have in there.

Tremors passed through in waves. He scoured his mind. Was it possible? Had he done worse than he thought in his blind rage? He staggered to his feet and stared down at her bruised face, bleeding lip. Was he the monster she believed him?

She pulled her knees to her chest, shaking violently. “I'll tell. I'll tell.”

———

Rick scoured the highway, the slopes, the vales. His hands on the wheel were white-knuckled and his temple throbbed with terror coursing through him. Any one of the side roads could be the way, but he stayed to the main highway.
God. Jesus. Please
. He couldn't articulate more. But God knew his need.