A Place To Call Home. Sharon Sala
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headed for the street. His captain had been right. He was taking chances with his life, only he didn’t know why, but one fact remained that he couldn’t ignore. If he wanted to live, it had to stop now.
He walked the streets for hours, weighing his options. His rent was paid until the first of the year and his utility bills were deducted directly from his bank account. He had no one to answer to but himself, and no intentions of spilling his guts to a shrink. In Judd Hanna’s mind, that left him only one option, and he was going to take it before it was too late.
Captain Roger Shaw’s satisfaction in dealing with Hanna’s problem was short-lived. At nine-thirty the next morning, a call from the department shrink verified the fact that Judd Hanna was a no-show.
Furious, he called Judd’s apartment and got a disconnect message on the phone. He stared at the receiver in disbelief, then dialed again, certain that he’d made a mistake. Again, the prerecorded message came on, saying that the number he had dialed was no longer in service. By six o’clock that evening, it was obvious that Judd Hanna was gone.
Late August, Call City, Wyoming
Judd Hanna glanced at the map on the seat beside him and then shrugged his shoulders, trying to alleviate some of the tension in his neck. It was the driving. Driving always made him tense. He looked at his watch. It was almost five o’clock. Even though it was a few hours away from nightfall, an early night sounded good. Maybe tonight he would be able to sleep. Maybe tonight the dreams wouldn’t come. God, he hoped so. He was tired. So tired.
As he topped a steep hill, he saw movement in the pasture beyond and slowed down to look. It only took a moment for the unfolding scene to register. A little girl of no more than two years old was toddling through the grass. Beyond her, and more than one hundred yards away, was a young woman, running at full stride, with her mouth open in a scream he couldn’t hear. To their right, and converging between them and gaining speed with every lope, was a huge black bull. It was obvious to Judd that the baby was the intended target, and that the mother would never reach her in time.
Without thinking, he stomped the accelerator to the floor. Tires spun on pavement, leaving behind the scent of burning rubber. He bounced across the shallow ditch and then straight through the five-strand barbed wire fence, leaving a tangle of mangled wire and broken fence posts behind him as he went. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he focused on the dwindling space between the baby and the bull.
Today was laundry day. Two-year old Rachel Franklin loved the days that her mother, Charlotte, pulled all the clothes from the clothes hamper to separate for wash. Charlotte—Charlie to her family—loved her baby more than life, but there were days, like today, when she could have done without her help. She’d already separated the colored clothes twice, each time pulling her red T-shirt from the whites. Rachel did love that red T-shirt, but Charlie didn’t think her brother, Wade, would be too fond of pink underwear, especially since he was Call City’s chief of police.
“Rachel, give Mommy the shirt,” Charlie said.
Rachel picked the red T-shirt from the pile and gave it to Charlie. The smile on her face was so precious that Charlie dropped the clothes she was carrying and picked her daughter up instead, nuzzling her nose against the baby-soft skin beneath Rachel’s ear.
Rachel cackled and squealed with delight, then threw her arms around Charlie’s neck.
“My mommy,” Rachel said, and squeezed as tight as she could.
Charlie returned the hug. “My Rachel,” she said, her throat tight with emotion.
The child was her life. The only good thing to come from loving Pete Tucker, their neighbor’s son. He’d played loose with Charlie’s feelings, then skipped out on her when she was two months pregnant to chase his dreams on the rodeo circuit. A month before Rachel was born, he’d crawled on a bull that, in a matter of seconds, had put an end to Pete Tucker’s dreams.
Charlie had grieved, but only for the loss of Rachel’s father. Charlie’s love for Pete Tucker had died the day he left her to bear the burden of their affair all alone.
“Want down,” Rachel muttered.
Charlie sighed as she put her baby back on her feet. Her daughter’s independence was inevitable, but she couldn’t help the spear of regret. She tousled Rachel’s curls.
“You go play in your room, baby girl. Mommy is going to put these clothes in the washer. Get them all clean for Uncle Wade.”
“Unca Wade?”
“Yes, these are for Uncle Wade.”
Rachel toddled off, satisfied with her mother’s explanation. Next to her mother, Wade Franklin was her favorite person.
Charlie picked up the pile of clothes, careful not to include the red shirt, and headed for the utility room off the kitchen. A couple of minutes later it dawned on her that the house was entirely too quiet and she started back through the rooms in search of Rachel.
“Rachel, where are you?” Charlie called.
She got no answer.
“Rachel, answer Mommy, where are you?”
This time the silence hit hard. Trying not to panic, she retraced her steps, searching in all of Rachel’s nooks and crannies, certain she would find her in one of her favorite places.
It wasn’t until she’d made the second trip through the house that she noticed the screen door in the living room was slightly ajar. She dashed out on the porch, telling herself to stay calm.
“Rachel, where are you?”
The silence that came afterward was unnerving. She wasted another precious minute running around the house and calling Rachel’s name, certain she’d find her playing in the sandbox under the trees in the backyard. But she wasn’t there, either.
Now she was beginning to panic. It wasn’t until she turned around that she noticed Everett Tucker’s black bull was in their pasture again. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, and her brother, Wade, had warned Everett more than once to fix his fence. She stood for a moment, staring at the bull’s curious stance. His head was up, his body almost motionless in the way animals are when they sense something trespassing on their territory. And then it hit her.
“Oh, God…oh, no,” Charlie moaned, and started to run, just as the bull began to charge.
She ran without focus, searching the pasture with a frantic gaze, all the while praying against hope that she was wrong. Then she saw Rachel, toddling through the grass with a handful of flowers. She bolted across the cattle guard, running as she’d never run before, and screaming aloud Rachel’s name.
She didn’t feel the heat of the sun upon her face. She didn’t even hear the sound of her own screams. All she could do was focus on Rachel’s curly head and remember how soft her baby’s curls were against her face, and how sweet they smelled after a shampoo.
The bull’s angry bellow shattered the air and Charlie screamed again, trying to divert his attention. It didn’t happen, and it occurred to her then that she would watch her daughter die. As fast as she was running, the bull was still gaining on Rachel, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Then out of nowhere, a black Jeep suddenly appeared in the pasture, flying across the ground at breakneck speed. Before she could absorb the implications, she stumbled and fell. The next thing she knew, she was flat on her face. Dirt was in her eyes, and her leg was afire with an unbearable pain. And yet as quickly as she fell, she was struggling to her feet and rubbing at her eyes, desperate to see. Had Rachel died while she was facedown in the dirt?
Through a blur of tears, she looked up to see the Jeep come to a sudden halt only a foot or so from where Rachel was standing. The door opened. She saw a man lean out and yank Rachel inside only seconds before bull and Jeep collided. The heavy thud of bending metal was like music to her ears. She dropped her head and took deep, calming breaths. Nothing mattered any longer. Rachel was safe.
Judd