Echoes of Danger. Lenora Worth
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other without listening to him. Yet she’d like to listen to him. His lilting, flowing dialect sounded like a sweet ballad to her ears. Pulling the truck up beside the long van, she noticed the dark-tinted windows and the gold-etched star-spangled trim work running along the sides of the sleek, mysterious vehicle. Then she saw the ancient Christian symbol of the fish centered on the windshield. That brought her a small measure of reassurance, but he certainly was a man of mystery. And now that he’d helped her settle things into some semblance of order, he seemed intent to be on his way.
She watched as he got out of the truck, wishing he didn’t have to hurry away.
Stephen called after him, “Hey, Mr. Bren? Thanks—I get that Lou Gehrig card, right? I get Lou Gehrig, for sure.”
Bren’s dark eyes fell across Stephen with a gentleness that reminded Dana of a calm midnight sky. “Don’t worry, Stephen. I know where to find you. You will get your card. You take care of yourself until we meet again.”
Stephen bobbed his head. “Me and Dana, we always take care of each other.”
Dana put the truck into neutral and hopped out to meet Bren as he rounded the front. Stopping, he tossed up a hand toward Stephen, then turned to gaze down at her.
“I’d like to thank you, too,” she said, not knowing what else to say with him looking at her as if he could read all of her thoughts. And right now, she had a lot of them running through her head.
She wanted him to tell her his sorry story, she wanted to know what kind of business he was involved in, she wanted to understand why he’d been so kind to her, and how he’d managed to make her feel safe in the middle of a raging storm. But she could only look up at him, and keep wondering.
Bren stared down at her, his dark eyes searching her face, seeming to memorize her features, which only made her more aware of him. She knew she was a mess, hair damp and probably frizzing to the high heavens, face more muddy than made-up, lips pale and wind roughened, but she didn’t stop him from looking. She studied him just as candidly. He, too, was wind tossed and dampened. She’d never seen a man with such rich, dark, too-long hair, and with eyes to match the finest black-blue velvet. He looked like some dark lord of the manor from another time.
Before she could look away, Bren reached for her and tugged her close, his fingers moving over the tender spot on her head. “If you need anything—”
“I’ll be all right,” she said into the soft cotton of his black shirt. “I’ll never forget what you did.”
He reached inside the pocket of his jeans and handed her a soggy card. “There’s a number where you can reach me—a private cell phone number. Call me if you need help. All I ask is that you don’t give that number to anyone else.” Then he let her go.
The warmth from his body left her, to be replaced with a cold, uncaring wind. She stood in the misty rain, watching as he got into the big, black van and drove away. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was watching her. Dana waited until his van was out of sight down the long straight road. Then she looked around over the torn and battered countryside, finally turning her face toward the heavens.
And off in the distance, a satin-sheened watercolored rainbow shot over the clouds, blinding her with its sparkling brilliance.
“You can stay as long as need be,” Emma said the next morning as she handed Stephen another chocolate-covered doughnut—his and Emma’s version of breakfast. Stephen champed down on the drippy confection, leaving a wide ring of chocolate around his mouth.
The Prager General Store had been spared. Except for a leaky roof where a few shingles dangled, and a strip or two of missing tin, the sturdy old building was still intact. And so it was the natural place for the townspeople to gather and talk about the storm that had swept over the area. Dana wasn’t the only victim, although from all the talk, her place had probably sustained the worst damage.
“She’s right, Dana,” Harvey Mize, one of the old-timers, said from his perch on a tall vinyl-covered barstool. “We’ll all do what needs to be done, to help you out.”
Dana looked around the cozy store. She should feel safe here, among these good people she’d known all her life. She was thankful and appreciative, but she also knew she’d have to do most of this on her own. “You’re all very kind,” she said, taking the cup of coffee Emma shoved in her hand. “I just don’t know. I don’t think we’ll be able to salvage the house. And I don’t have the money to build from scratch.” Thinking of how tired she was, she added, “Maybe I should sell the place.”
“What about insurance?” Frederick asked as he rocked back on the heels of his worn work shoes.
Dana looked down at the planked floor. “It’ll cover part of the damage, but I’ve already got a second mortgage on the house….”
The explanation was left hanging, just as the storm had left her hanging, in limbo, unsure and unprepared. Needing to be away from the pitiful looks and shifting eyes of the townspeople, she called to Stephen. “Finish your doughnut, brother. We need to go back out to check on the livestock.”
“Need a hand?” Harvey offered.
“No. I’ll call if I change my mind though,” Dana told him with a wave as she headed out the door. She’d gotten a cell phone a few months before, to keep her in touch with Stephen and Mrs. Bailey at all times. It would come in handy now, too, she reckoned.
A few minutes later, they turned the old truck in to the rocky lane leading to the shattered house. Dana saw the spot where she’d wrecked the day before, her hand automatically going to her bruised head. Thoughts of the man named Bren played through her weary mind, the memory of how he’d protected her in the storm warring with the uncertainty of her future. Stephen’s hushed words brought her mind back to the task at hand.
“It’s a mess, ain’t it, Dana? Don’t like a mess.”
She stopped the truck near the ripped, gaping remains of an ancient oak tree. In the brilliant, ironic sunlight, the damaged house looked forlorn and still, as broken as Dana’s spirit. Funny, for years before her parents’ death, she’d wanted so much to get away from this old house, to go out in the world, to find a place of her own. Right now she’d gladly give anything to have the old farmhouse back, for Stevie’s sake, if nothing else. The boy loved their home.
“Yep, it’s pretty much gone,” she said as she slammed the steering-wheel-mounted gears into park. So this is it? she asked God. This is my future? No plans for a husband and a family, no hope for a normal life like her parents had? Just a mundane existence, here in this sleepy town, waiting and wondering, hoping and praying that she could save this pitiful old farm? Was this how it was meant to be, she had to wonder.
“We still got each other,” Stephen said, his soft green eyes watching her face. “You got Stephen. Stephen’s got you. Each other, Dana.”
Seeing the solid fear in his eyes, Dana chided herself for being so bitter. Taking his hand in hers, she forced a smile. “Yeah, we sure do.” Then, looking down in the floor of the truck, she added, “And your prized Ruby Runners!” She’d forgotten all about those shoes.
Stephen’s face lit up. “Can I put ’em on?”
“They’ll get all muddy.”
“Oh, okay.” He hopped out of the truck. “But I am, when we get back to town. I am. I am.”
Relieved that he hadn’t thrown a tantrum, Dana followed. As they neared the house, she realized something was terribly wrong. Carefully making her way up onto the torn porch, she saw it immediately.
The side of the house that the storm hadn’t destroyed had been ransacked. It had been hit, but not by a storm.
“What in the world!” she shouted, her frantic words carrying out on the constant, moaning wind.
Startled, Stephen looked up at her. “What’s the matter?”
“We’ve been