Rory smiled at his sons’ high hopes. “Are you sure you can make it back in this weather?”
“Rory, I’ve lived on Branagan Road for over thirty-five years. I think I can drive the mile from your house to mine, son.”
“Of course you can.” His mother didn’t take any bunk and she sure didn’t listen to anyone’s advice. And that was one of the main reasons Rory loved her.
“Don’t worry so much,” Frances Branagan declared. “Now let me get on home before it does get worse.”
“Thanks,” Rory said, appreciation coursing through his chilled bones. “You’re my favorite mom, you know that?”
“I love you, too. Be safe.”
He hung up, spoke a prayer of gratitude for his dear patient mother and then set about figuring how to wrestle the unfortunate alligator snoozing down in the pond.
Goldie’s feet were cold. She sputtered awake, then groaned as she glanced around. She was in her car, in the dark, on an unfamiliar road. And her head hurt with all the viciousness of two fencers slicing each other to the death, the clanging and banging of her pulse tearing through her temple with each beat of her heart.
She’d wrecked her car. In the ice storm!
Moaning, she pushed at the air bag surrounding her, glad that it had at least saved her from going through the windshield. Then she touched a hand to her head. It was wet and sticky with blood. Weak and disoriented, she groped for the seat belt then after slipping it loose, moaned again when the restraint lifted from her bruised midsection. Automatically reaching for her locket, she clutched it tight. She had to find her phone and call for help.
Her phone, which earlier had been in the seat with her purse, was nowhere to be found now. And she was too dizzy to go digging under the seat.
What should she do? She had to call someone. With great effort, she tried to open the door. After what seemed like hours, the door cringed ajar and a blast of arctic air flowed over Goldie’s hot skin. Taking in the crunched front end of her car, she held on to the door as light-headedness washed over her again. She managed to stand, to find her purse. But the phone was lost in the recesses of her shopping bags, notebooks and laptop case. And even if she could find it, she probably wouldn’t have very good service.
Goldie gave up on the search and, still woozy and confused, stood and glanced around the woods. She saw a light flickering through the trees.
“A house,” she whispered, her prayers raw in her throat. “Maybe someone can help me.”
Without giving it much thought other than to find warmth and aid, she slowly made her way along the icy road, her purse clutched to her chest, her head screaming a protest of swirling pain. It was the longest trek of her life and none of the walk made any sense to Goldie. Her brain was fuzzy and her pulse was on fire with a radiating pain. All she could think about was getting out of this freezing sleet.
“Must have a concussion,” she voiced to the wind.
When she finally made it to the front door of the house, she was cold, wet and numb with shock. But she knocked and fell against the cool wood, her prayers too hard to voice.
No one came to the door.
So, desperate and beyond caring, she pushed away from the door and continued along the wraparound porch, holding the fat wooden railing until she reached the back of the big farmhouse. Then she fell against the glass-paneled door of the inviting home. Her eyes tried to focus on the Christmas tree sitting in front of the large bay windows and the embers of what looked like a recent fire sparking in the big fireplace.
Goldie wanted that warmth. So she knocked and tried to call out. But no one answered. With one last hope, she jiggled the handle, thinking to herself that she was about to do some serious breaking and entering if she couldn’t get any assistance.
And then, the door flew open and Goldie fell through, landing on the cold wide-planked wood of the floor. With a grunt of pain, she crawled to a sitting position then kicked the door shut. Her gaze scanned the big, cozy room and landed for a quick, painful moment on the massive couch across from the still-warm fireplace.
That big brown sofa looked like paradise right now. She’s just rest for a minute, then figure out what to do.
Seeing stars that weren’t on the tree, Goldie crawled over, pulled herself onto the cushioned pillows and grabbing her beloved locket to hold it close in her hand, and promptly passed out, facedown.
Chapter Two
She had to be dreaming. Goldie sighed in her sleep, glowing warmth moving through her tired bones. She squinted toward the face hovering over her.
The man had dark brown hair and pretty golden eyes but the frown on his face made him look fierce and almost savage. What was he doing in her dream?
Goldie’s eyes flew open, pain shooting through her temple like an electrical charge when she tried to sit up. “Where am I?”
“It’s okay,” the fierce-looking man assured her, pushing her down on the soft pillows. “The ambulance is on its way. You’re going to the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Goldie tried to sit again but the room started spinning and she felt sick to her stomach. Falling back on the pillows, she asked, “What’s wrong with me?”
“You gotta boo-boo.”
She closed one eye then slanted the other one toward that tiny voice. A miniature version of Fierce Man stared at her with big, solemn eyes.
“What kind of boo-boo?” Goldie asked, not so sure she wanted an ambulance or an audience. “What happened?”
“You’ve been in an accident,” the man recapped, shooing the little tyke out of the way. “You hit your head.”
For a minute, Goldie just lay there staring at her surroundings. This was a nice enough place, but she had no idea how she’d wound up here. “Where am I?”
“This is my house,” the man explained. “But don’t worry about that right now. Do you remember anything?”
“No.” Goldie closed her eyes, hoping that would help the dizziness spiraling through her brain. “I don’t know.”
“Did you walk here or drive maybe?”
And then she remembered she’d been in a car. Images of that car swirling out of control rushed through her mind. “Yes. Yes. I was in a wreck on the road.” She took a deep breath to stop the nausea rising in her stomach. “I lost control and then my head hurt so much. I couldn’t find my phone so I got out of the car and I saw the light.”
“You broke into our house,” came yet another male voice. A different one. This one was more pronounced and angry.
“No, the door was open,” Goldie replied, deciding to look at Fierce Man instead of that accusing little person, whoever he was.
The man glanced from Goldie to the boys huddled around her feet. “Did MeeMaw forget to lock the back door?”
The bigger of the two boys shook his head then looked down at the floor. “No, sir. She told me to do it. I was the last one out. I thought I heard it click.”
Goldie watched, triumphant because she’d told the truth and now so had the real culprit, as the man’s brooding frown changed to a look of complete understanding and forgiveness. “It’s okay, son. That old door sticks all the time. I need to see about making it more secure. That happens to me a lot, too.”
Goldie thought that was the sweetest thing, the