Leona Karr - A Dangerous Inheritance

When the horse’s galloping gait changed to a trot, and then slowed to a walk, she found herself stiffening. She could make out some dark buildings. A faint light showed in what seemed to be a small two-storied house. He was taking her to his place. What then? Did he live alone? Would she be safe there or plunged into an unspeakable terror? She had felt the strength of his large hands. The deliberate way he had put her on the horse. Every horror movie she had seen suddenly became real—a helpless woman in the clutches of a deranged stranger. She had not even seen his face, or looked into eyes that might show him to be the devil himself. True, he had rescued her from the storm, but the price might be a high one. She shivered again, not from her clinging wet clothes, but from a growing cold fear slicing through her.

“We’re here,” he said in a tone of satisfaction as he reined the horse under a wooden overhang at the back door of the roughly hewn log house. He dismounted and lifted her down.

“Where are we?”

“Home. Where else?”

“You have a family?” she asked hopefully with chattering teeth.

“I’ll see you inside, and then put up the horse,” he said gruffly, ignoring her question.

He opened a squeaking back door, ushered her through a kind of utility room, and into a lighted, plain and modestly furnished kitchen.

A welcoming warmth touched Stacy’s face and the homey smell of cooking lingered in the room. Reassured by the familiar sights and smells, and relieved to be out of the storm, she started to slump down in one of the wooden chairs, but he stopped her.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall,” he said. “Better run yourself a bath and get into some dry clothes.”

Clothes.

Everything was in the car, probably floating down the river by now! Suitcases. Purse. Keys. Boxes. All gone!

“I’ll scrounge up something for you to put on,” he said quickly as if reading her expression. “I don’t expect you’ll be too picky,” he added, glancing at her soaked summer slacks and top.

“No,” she agreed, fighting the sinking plunge of her stomach.

“I’ll show you the way.”

She still couldn’t see his face clearly, only the lower half. He had a wide, firm mouth and a well-defined jaw. A wide-brimmed western hat still put his eyes in shadow, and his raincoat, tight jeans and cowboy boots only added to the girth of his masculine stature.

He firmly took her arm and propelled her down a hall adjoining the kitchen. One thing was certain, he was just as dominating and commanding in the kitchen as he’d been outside. Under ordinary circumstances she would have bristled at his macho behavior, but she knew better than to challenge his authority until she was warm and dry and had decided how to protect herself if things started to get ugly.

A small bathroom at the end of a short hall looked as if it had been built as an afterthought. The plumbing was old and a large claw-footed tub took up most of the space. There were no feminine toiletries, just a bar of white soap, a man’s hairbrush and some faded, worn towels.

“Wait a minute.” He opened a nearby hall closet and brought out a stuffed plastic bag. “There ought to be some clothes in here that will do.” He handed her the sack. “After I put up the horse, I’ll warm some brandy.” With that, he turned his back on her, and a moment later she heard the back door close with a distant bang.

She stood for a moment, leaning against the closed bathroom door, whispering, “It’s going to be all right, it’s going to be all right.”

As she began to strip off the drenched clothes, she caught a reflected image of herself in a mirror above the sink. She stared in disbelief. Her ebony hair had become a straggly, frizzled mop framing her pale face and blue lips. Then she looked down. Mud coated her arms, legs, clothes and shoes, and she looked like something that had crawled out from under a rock.

Horrified that anyone had seen her in such a condition, she filled the old bathtub nearly full and sank into the blessed warmth of a hot bath. As her chilled body began to revive, her mind began to dwell on unanswered questions. How was she going to handle this situation with her rescuer? He hadn’t answered her question about a family. How safe was she? She’d never felt so vulnerable in her life.

She stepped out of the tub, dried herself and tried not to let her imagination build a tale of horror about a woman at the mercy of a stranger in a storm like this.

As she opened the plastic bag, the sickening sweet smell of cheap perfume assaulted her. It contained a few women’s clothes, a box of costume jewelry and ribbons. Her mouth went dry as she wondered if this was some feeble collection from other rescued victims? Just the thought made her want to shove them away as far as possible, but standing there naked in the strange bathroom, she didn’t have a choice.

She couldn’t bring herself to put on anything but a horrible purple-and-red flannel robe that offered more concealment and warmth than anything else in the bag. A pair of knitted socks in the same ugly purple were too large for her feet, but gave her some protection from the cold floor.

Once she was dressed, she lingered, drying her naturally curly dark hair with a towel and using the man’s hairbrush to try and subdue it until it fell softly on her shoulders.

A pale face looked back at her as she buttoned the high-necked robe to the top. She was tempted to hide out in the bathroom until daylight, but one glance at the feeble lock on the door warned her that it wouldn’t hold him out for long if he decided to come in after her.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the bathroom door and went out. Light from the kitchen spilled down the hallway, and she wondered if he’d come back to the house yet. The only sound was a whispering of her stocking feet on the bare wooden floor as she moved down the hall.

When she entered the kitchen, she heard a quick intake of breath that sounded like a growl. Sudden fear lurched through her. For a second she was confused about where the ugly sound was coming from. Then she saw a slight movement and jerked her eyes in that direction.

An old man with rounded shoulders was leaning on a cane in a corner of the room, staring at her. Shocks of white hair framed his leathery wizened face as his biting gaze slowly passed over her hair, down the robe to her purple socks.

She wanted to say something, but the hatred in his eyes and ugly mouth stopped her.

His voice was raw and rough as he lashed out at her. “So ye came back, did ye, Glenda? I didn’t think a grave would hold the likes of you. Even the Devil is particular about his playmates.”

Josh quickened his steps as he reached the back door of the house and heard his grandfather’s raised voice, ranting and raving. Damn! He’d thought the old man was asleep and wouldn’t be aware of their unexpected houseguest till morning. What in blazes had set him off?

“All right, Gramps! Settle down,” Josh ordered as he came into the kitchen and saw his grandfather waving his cane and cursing. “What’s this all about?”

“Glenda’s come back.” The old man’s bushy gray eyebrows matted over wrinkled eyelids. “Glenda’s come back. Climbed out of her own deceitful grave, she did.”

“Nonsense,” Josh said firmly, but with an edge of impatience.

“See for yerself,” Gramps growled, and pointed his cane.

Josh turned around, and his stomach took a sickening plunge. For a mesmerizing moment, his tormented sister stood there, materialized in front of his eyes. The familiar gaudy robe and dark curly hair assaulted his senses, and he half expected her to break out into her rough laughter. He just stared at her.