In the Heart of the Wind Book 1 in the WindTorn Trilogy (54 page)

But she hated to leave someone stranded on the dark road in the pouring rain and Kibby’s whining, lost little grunts of disappointment didn’t help her feel any better.

There were no lights on her street when she turned. All the houses were dark, still, black blotches in the rain, but the faint glimmer of candles could be seen in a few windows. It was hard even to see her own driveway, but the wash of her headlights along the crossbuck fence guided her safely between the two deep ditches to either side of the drive.

Without even thinking, she put her hand up to her visor for the remote garage door opener. Kibby barked in admonishment.

“You’re right,” Annie said, feeling foolish. She looked at her pet. “How’d you like to get out and open the door for me?”

Kibby sneezed.

“I didn’t think so.” Annie sighed. She turned off the engine and wondered if she should stay in the car until the rain slackened. She thought about it for as long as it took for her bladder to remind her it was there. She looked at her dog. “I suppose you want me to carry you, huh?”

Kibby sneezed again.

“Right,” Annie grumbled. Gathering up her purse, she swung the strap over her shoulder, palmed her keys, and scooped up the little dog, covering her head with her raincoat. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and swung her legs into the pouring rain.

Once inside, Kibby followed Annie from the living room to the kitchen to the bedroom as she lit candles and two of the hurricane lamps she kept for emergencies. She followed Annie into the bathroom, waited patiently, then into the guest bedroom. The little Pom jumped up on the bed and watched her mistress undress, towel dry her hair, and slip on a flannel nightgown. Her dark little eyes followed Annie’s every movement.

“What’s with you tonight, Kibby?” Annie asked, sensing the little dog’s odd behavior. “You’ve never been afraid of the dark before.” She pulled on her spare robe, one she kept for company. “Afraid the boogey man’s gonna get you?”

Kibby sniffed as if in disdain at the question, then jumped from the bed to pad into the living room. When Annie walked through the living room, she saw the little dog sitting at the front door, staring up at the handle.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Annie told her. “You can go out in the garage if you have to pee.”

Kibby looked around at her, then returned her silent gaze to the door handle.

“I said no, Kibby.” Annie continued on through the living room, knowing if the dog really had to go, she’d follow her into the kitchen to the garage door. But Kibby remained at the front door.

“Idiot,” Annie murmured as she brought the hurricane lamp to the counter beside the refrigerator. Opening the door, she took out a package of individually wrapped cheese and a package of pastrami. Slathering mustard and ketchup on two slices of wheat bread, she put on four slices of meat, unwrapped two slices of the cheese, four vigorous shakes of Louisiana hot sauce, two kosher dill sandwich slices, and another extra squeeze of ketchup. With a can of cola in one hand and sandwich in the other, she went into the living room and curled up on the sofa.

Kibby was still sitting at the front door, her nose against the wood.

“Will you get away from the damn door? I told you, you’re not going out!”

The little Pomeranian sniffed at the door’s bottom and turned her silky face to Annie. Kibby yipped.

“You can go in the garage if you have to pee.”

Kibby’s tail began to wag furiously and she stood with her fuzzy little feet against the door and yipped again.

“No, I said!”

Kibby whined, then barked, and her tail thumped against the door as she began to turn around and around in circles.

“What in the world is wrong with you?”

There were footsteps on the stoop.

“Is there someone out there?” Annie asked, her amusement at the little dog’s antics fading into a light concern. She got up from the sofa, more than aware whoever was on the stoop hadn’t rung the bell. She stood at the door a moment, thinking maybe she’d been hearing things and there was no one on the stoop.

Then the doorbell rang.

Kibby’s tail flicked harder. “Is it Jake?” she asked the little dog. “Is that who it is?”  She flipped on the stoop’s light, then clucked her tongue in pique as she realized the action was futile.

Kibby yipped excitedly.

“All right!” Annie laughed, reaching out to twist the knob on the deadbolt.

She pulled open the door and frowned at the glaze of fog on the storm door. She could see someone standing on the stoop huddled against the rain, and reached automatically for the latch. She started to unlock it, but just as she did, a crack of lightning rent the air, and in the flare, she realized the man standing on her stoop was a stranger.  Her hand stilled.

“May I help you?” she asked through the storm door.

Through the increasing flashes of light in the heavens, she could see his face was shining with rain, his hair plastered to his head. His eyes were burning, filled with uncertainty. His entire body was trembling, quaking with cold, and as she watched, he took one hand out of his pocket and ran it under his dripping nose, but his eyes never left hers. She knew without a doubt this was the man she had passed on her way home.

“Who’re you looking for?” she asked, concerned now because the man was looking at her through the glass with such a keen intensity it frightened her.

He placed his palm against the glass, and at that moment, the moment she stepped away from the door and away from the threat she now perceived, he called her name.

“Annie?”

She didn’t recognize the voice and she shook her head. She was about to close the door on him, to shut him and the danger he presented away, when the lights all over the street came on along with the stoop’s overhead light.

She could see him clearly and thought he looked familiar. His lips were blue, trembling, and his cheeks were twin spots of feverish color. There was such keen misery in his dark eyes it cut her to the quick.

“Who are you?” she asked, heart suddenly thudding in her chest.

“It’s me, baby doll.” He turned his head to one side, pleading with her, his deep voice as guileless as a child’s.

Annie James’ world spun to a screeching halt and her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. She was aware of the little dog at her feet whining and scratching with excitement at the door. She glanced down and understood that although the face and voice of the man standing on the stoop had been altered, Kibby recognized him. Knew him. Had somehow known it was him on the road as they passed. Had somehow caught his scent, that part of him that could never be changed or altered.

“May I come in?” he asked, his voice quivering.

Annie stared at him, her eyes searching his face.

“Please?” The word was a sigh of hope.

She unlocked the storm door, stepped back, and had to push Kibby out of the way as he came in. She saw his lips split into a wide grin as the little Pomeranian jumped straight up into his arms.

“Hey, there, Kib,” he whispered as he lowered his face to the little dog’s. A groan of hurt pushed from Annie’s lips when he buried his face in the dog’s silky red fur. Kibby’s  tongue came out to lick at his wet cheek. “How you doing, Fuzz Face?” he asked the dog, smiling as the little tongue lathered his face.

Annie saw his eyes come slowly to hers. Felt the love and hurt and fear of rejection coming from him in waves. He’d made no move toward her. He only stood in the doorway, clutching their dog to his chest, his hand, shaking with emotion, stroking her fur. He was waiting for her to make the first move. If she wanted to. If not, she sensed he was just as prepared to walk back out into the rain, out of her life, forever.

She opened her arms.

James Gabriel Tremayne put down the dog, hesitated only a moment before going to his wife, the only woman he had ever really loved, and taking her gently in his arms.

“Are you sure?” he whispered as her arms closed around him.

“Yes.”

His hands came to her head. He threaded his fingers through her damp hair. He looked deeply into her eyes.

“I’m not the same man who left here, Annie. That man doesn’t exist.” His eyes narrowed with pain. “He never did.”

Annie took his left hand in hers, turned his palm to her lips and kissed it. Her eyes were smoldering with love and the months of need that had been building inside her. She smiled.

“Welcome home, Jamie.”

~ * ~

CHARLOTTE ‘CHARLEE’ Boyett-Compo is the author of over 30 award-winning speculative fiction novels.  Married for 37 years to her high school sweetheart, Tom, she is the mother of two grown sons and the grandmother of two.  She is owned and operated by five demanding felines for whom she must have a day job in order to buy catnip and cat litter.  Her hobbies include reading, writing, and staying as far away from arithmetic as space will allow.