Bad Penny Page 5

  The sky was clearing. Patches of blue were showing through the swiftly moving clouds, which seemed wrong. How could the weather be improving when his life was going to hell? Rain had collected in indentations in the ground, and now it splattered up and onto the legs of his jeans as he ran. The body of a steer lay up against what appeared to be a piece of someone’s roof, but he didn’t give the macabre scene so much as a glance.

  Even before he reached the pond, he knew it was his truck. Seeing the plate number only confirmed his worst fear. By the time he reached the water, he was shaking. Without hesitation, he pulled off his boots, dropped his cell phone inside them and went into the water, then began feeling his way along the truck body until he reached the door. He took a deep breath and went under, desperately pulling at the handle, but no matter how hard he yanked, the door wouldn’t budge. It was wedged too deeply into the mud.

  God…please don’t do this now…not after everything we’ve been through.

  Out of breath, he was forced to emerge. He paused only long enough to take a deep breath, then went back under.

  He was feeling his way along the truck body to the other side, trying not to think of the obvious implications. He found the other handle, but that door wouldn’t give, either. He pulled and pulled until his lungs were bursting. In fear and frustration, he shot to the surface.

  Carter was in the water a few yards away.

  “Wilson! Is she there?” he yelled.

  Wilson didn’t answer. He was already going back under, even though he knew too much time had passed. Even though he knew she might not even be inside. Even though…

  His mind was racing as he began to move along the length of the truck again—this time aiming for the hood. He felt the curve of metal, then the place where the windshield should have been. To his horror, it was gone. He pulled himself up and inside the cab, operating entirely on touch. He found the steering wheel first, then felt the back of the seat. Desperate to find her, but dreading the first moment of contact, he kept searching until he realized that she wasn’t inside. Scared out of his mind that she was somewhere on the muddy bottom but also hoping against hope that she might have made it out under her own power, he was forced to surface once again.

  He came up gasping for air, then drew a breath and let it out in a roar of pain so pure that tears came to Carter’s eyes. Believing that Wilson must have found her body, he started toward his son, wading as quickly as he could through the muddy pond.

  But Wilson wasn’t waiting for comfort. He dragged himself out and onto the bank, then pulled himself upright before looking back into the pond.

  Except for the ripples his exit had caused, the surface of the water was almost placid, unlike his thoughts.

  Carter came out of the water and ran to him.

  “Son?”

  “She wasn’t inside.”

  They both stared at the muddy water, imagining her lifeless body lying somewhere beneath.

  “I’ll call the sheriff,” Carter offered.

  Wilson covered his face and then dropped his hands to his sides. The sound that came up from his throat was physical heartbreak.

  Carter flinched; then his vision blurred. There was only one thing worse than being hurt himself, and that was watching someone he loved suffer.

  Wilson grabbed his boots, dumped the cell phone out onto the ground, and then put them on as his father was making the call.

  He pocketed his phone, then began talking to himself. “This isn’t happening. I don’t believe this is the way Catherine Dupree is supposed to die. She survived death three times at the hand of man. I do not buy the premise that nature takes her out.”

  Carter slid a hand on Wilson’s shoulder.

  “The sheriff is already out surveying damage. They relayed the message to him.”

  Wilson turned, his anger obvious.

  “Relayed? As in…he’ll get to it when he gets time?” Then he hit the sides of his legs with his fists.

  Carter was sick at heart. The pain on his son’s face was terrifying. “Wilson…son. We have no control over—”

  Wilson turned on his dad, his rage evident.

  “No! Not like this. Never like this.”

  Before Carter could stop him, Wilson started walking.

  “Wilson, wait! Where the hell are you going?”

  But Wilson wasn’t listening. He started circling the pond, looking for anything to give himself hope. With the windshield missing, she could have climbed out of the truck on her own. All he needed were some tracks coming out of the mud at the edge. He was halfway around the pond when he paused to survey the backside of the dam at the far end. Suddenly his heart skipped a beat. A boot! There was a boot down the slope lying next to a rock.

  Without caution, he headed down, running and slipping in the wet muddy grass as he went.

  Four

  Wilson’s stomach knotted. Even before he picked up the boot, he knew it was Cat’s. He’d watched her put her boots on—and take them off—far too many times to be mistaken.

  The cold leather and the water inside it gave him a sick, empty feeling. He dumped out the water, then began scanning the land, searching for any sign of the woman who held his heart.

  In the distance, he saw something yellow fluttering from the branches of a piece of scrub brush and started toward it, still clutching the boot. The closer he got, the more certain he was that it was a piece of the shirt she’d been wearing. He took a slow, shaky breath and kept moving, using the small bit of color as his anchor to sanity.

  As he trudged through the pasture, it became evident that he wasn’t as fully recovered from his gunshot wounds and surgery as he’d believed. After three dunks in the pond, and now this, the muscles in his legs were beginning to ache. His heart was pounding as he moved closer to the bush. It wasn’t until he picked up the fabric caught on the thorns that the horror of what he was holding began to sink in and he knew for sure. If the storm had ripped the windshield out of the truck, Cat could have gone with it. He couldn’t let himself think of finding her in pieces, as he was finding her clothes.

  He brushed the bit of yellow cloth against the side of his face, swallowed past the knot in his throat, and then put the fabric in his pocket and kept on moving.

  There had been a small grove of trees about a hundred yards from the dam. They were gone. Ripped up by the roots. He paused, staring down at the holes in the ground like a man in a trance, as if their absence was a clue to Catherine’s whereabouts.

  Tears were streaming down his face, but he didn’t feel them. He was numb from the inside out to everything but fear. Finally he looked up and turned around.

  Another dead pig lay a short distance away. Already a swarm of flies was beginning to gather. He gritted his teeth as he looked away. Focusing on death wasn’t an option. Not yet. Not until he was faced with the undeniable proof.

  A shadow passed across the ground in front of him. He tilted his head, suddenly aware that the news chopper was still there. Then he saw the cameraman waving wildly and saw him pointing out into the pasture beyond where he was standing.

  He turned to look, and that was when he saw it.

  Movement.

  In the distance.

  His heart ricocheted against his ribcage with a sharp, painful thud. Someone in brown clothing was walking toward him—no, staggering. Suddenly the figure disappeared, and for a moment Wilson thought he’d imagined it. But when the figure reappeared on the horizon, he realized that whoever it was had just fallen down and was in the act of getting up again.

  He started walking, his stride long and measured. The closer he got to the figure, the more anxious he became, but it wasn’t until he realized it was a woman and saw her long dark hair that it hit him.

  Catherine!

  She’d done it again. Survived when the odds were against her.

  He dropped her boot and began to run—forgetting that their reunion was about to be caught on tape by the film crew in the air.

>   The closer he got, the faster his heart beat. She was covered in mud and leaves, and her hair was plastered to her face and neck. There wasn’t a stitch of clothing left on her body, but she was in one piece, and all he could do was praise God for the miracle. When he got close enough for her to hear him, he began calling her name.

  Cat had come to, flat on her back in the middle of a pasture, lying on top of what appeared to be a windshield and staring up at a scattering of clouds partially covering a pale blue sky. She took a breath and then moaned. Everything hurt, but she couldn’t remember why.

  When she tried to sit up, the world went crazy, dipping and swaying and turning in circles. She grabbed hold of the only available stability—the windshield on which she was lying—and held on for dear life until the spinning stopped.

  When it finally did, she realized that, except for a layer of mud and leaves, she was naked. There were streaks of blood mixed with the mess—which explained the burning sensation she was feeling all over her skin—but she still couldn’t remember what had happened.

  It wasn’t until she got to her feet and saw the debris left by the tornado’s aftermath that understanding dawned. She remembered turning off the highway and starting down the long road leading to the ranch when she’d gotten swept up by the storm.

  Her thoughts went immediately to Wilson. What if the tornado had hit the ranch?

  She needed to find him. She needed to see his face. All she had to do was put one foot in front of the other, but as soon as she tried, it became apparent that it was easier said than done.

  Movement caused pain—and pain caused confusion. She didn’t know which direction to go, or even if she could stay upright. But she had to find Wilson, and to do that, she had to move.

  She stumbled through the pasture, falling to her knees more than once. It was the overwhelming need to survive that kept driving her to get back up and keep going. Too dizzy to focus and too determined to stay upright, she was oblivious to everything but the effort needed to keep walking until, in the distance, she thought she heard a helicopter—and beneath that, the sound of someone yelling. Someone calling her. But who? Where? Then she saw movement in the distance.

  Someone had found her! Someone was coming to help. A few steps farther and she realized she knew that voice—and the man behind it. She began to weep.

  She could see him clearly now and began to shake, her heart hammering against her eardrums until she thought her head was going to explode. It never occurred to her to be concerned that she was naked. She couldn’t have cared less if the whole world saw. All that mattered was the man who caught her up into his arms and swept her off her feet. The man who loved her. She heard him thanking God for sparing her right before he buried his face in the curve of her neck and began to cry.

  Cat felt the tremors in his body as sharply as the ones in her own. She couldn’t find the words to say what she was feeling. All she could do was hold on.

  Finally Wilson lifted his head, running his fingers over her face, then her body, oblivious to the transfer of mud from her to him. He saw some abrasions and scratches, but in the grand scheme of things, they didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was still in one piece.

  “Catherine…Catherine…oh, God…I thought I’d lost you.”

  He shook his head, then pulled her to him again.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Cat said.

  “It doesn’t matter, baby,” he said gently. “In fact, it’s just as well. Revisiting hell is never a good idea.”

  Cat stifled a sob as Wilson resisted the urge to tighten his grip. He couldn’t tell if or where she was hurt and didn’t want to make things worse. But what he did know was that her presence was a miracle.

  Once, when he’d been a kid, he’d seen a whole house taken completely off its foundations and dropped into a pasture a half mile away, while leaving a cup and saucer completely intact on the kitchen table back where it once had stood. The fact that this tornado hadn’t skinned her alive was enough for him.

  All of a sudden he remembered the helicopter overhead and the approaching vehicles behind him. He popped the snaps on his shirt, yanked it off and then helped her put it on. His hands were shaking as he struggled to fasten it back up. The shirt covered her to mid-thigh. It would have to do.

  When he’d finished, he hugged her again, then laid his cheek against the crown of her head.

  “The truck is in the pond. I thought you were in it.”

  Cat shuddered, then closed her eyes as he held her.

  “I tried to tell myself it would take more than an act of God to take you down.” Then he stood back and fixed her with a pointed look. “You have, however, just used up your fourth life. I’m asking you to be a little more cautious with the last five.”

  His reference to the old wives tale about a feline having nine lives was not lost on Cat.

  She’d survived the car wreck that had killed her mother when she was six; then, at the age of thirteen, she’d lived even after having her throat cut as she watched her father being murdered. Less than two months ago, she’d been beaten to the edge of death by Solomon Tutuola. Now this. Wilson was right. She was pushing her luck.

  Behind them, she heard someone honking a horn. Startled, she flinched, then swayed.

  Wilson quickly steadied her.

  “Hang on to me, baby.”

  Reality was beginning to surface. People were approaching, and she was a disaster in progress. She felt her hair, then her cheeks, before peeling a leaf from her neck.

  “My clothes…I don’t know what happened to my clothes.”

  Wilson cupped her face, then bent until their foreheads were touching.

  “They’re in pieces all over the damned pasture,” he said. “I was afraid you were, too.”

  Cat leaned against him as the sound of an approaching vehicle became louder. Wilson watched his father driving across the pasture, dodging debris as he went. In his wake were the camera crew and their van.

  “It’s Dad,” Wilson said.

  Cat turned to look; then her eyes widened. “The others? Who are they?”

  “News crews. They’re all over the place, filming the destruction. Dad and I ran into them when we were looking for you.”

  Carter came to an abrupt stop, slammed the shift into Park and got out on the run. He’d been so sure Cat was at the bottom of the pond…To see her alive and standing was more than a miracle.

  “Lord have mercy, girl…you’re okay. You’re okay.”

  He wanted to hug her but was afraid he would hurt something beneath all the mess, so he settled for a soft pat on the back. “Come on to the truck, honey. We need to get the both of you home. Wilson went in the water after you three times. Last time he went under, I didn’t think he was gonna come up. I was already planning on where to hide, because I knew I couldn’t go home and face Dorothy without our kids.”

  At that, Cat began weeping openly again.

  “Lord, don’t do that,” Carter muttered, as he swiped at his eyes. “You’re gonna have all of us bawling like babies. So let’s get in the truck before those newspeople get here and want an interview.”

  “I’ll get the seats filthy,” Cat said.

  “I don’t give a damn,” Wilson said as he swept Cat off her feet and carried her to the truck. He sat her on his lap as Carter started the engine, his arms around her shoulders, hoping to cushion the ride as the truck took off, bouncing across rough ground on the way back to the road. They passed a news crew that tried to flag them down.

  “Don’t stop,” Cat begged.

  “Don’t worry, honey. I won’t,” Carter said.

  As they drove past the pond, Cat gasped.

  “Is that your truck?”

  Wilson wouldn’t even look at it. He just kept looking at her.

  “I thought you were in it,” he said.

  Cat heard the break in his voice and shuddered. But for the grace of God, she would have been. Then she closed her eyes. She
’d seen all the tornado damage she cared to.

  By the time they cleared the field and got out onto the road, the news crew had obviously decided what they had on film was enough and went in the opposite direction, off to the next scene of disaster.

  It was none too soon for Wilson. But when they reached the ranch, the yard was full of vehicles. The limb that had gone through the living room window was gone, and his brother Charlie was nailing a piece of plywood over the opening, while two of his sisters were sweeping up glass. He could see one brother-in-law down at the corral nailing up a broken panel and another throwing debris into the back of his pickup.

  “Looks like Mom made a few phone calls,” Wilson said.

  Then Dorothy came out of the house carrying a blanket.

  Carter sighed. “Yeah, and I did, too. I called your mom after you found Catherine. If she’s still crying, don’t say anything. It’ll only make her cry harder.”

  Wilson gave Cat a quick kiss on the cheek. “You know the routine,” he said. “Just let her fuss. You’ll both feel better.”

  The thought of facing everyone in this condition was daunting. Cat clutched Wilson’s hand. “Don’t leave me.”

  He just shook his head. “Don’t worry, baby. After all this, you’d have to kill me to get rid of me.”

  Cat exhaled shakily as Dorothy reached the truck, took one look at Cat and burst into tears.

  Carter frowned. He couldn’t bear to hear a woman crying, especially one of his.

  “Now, Dorothy, don’t cry. She’s gonna be all right.”

  Dorothy began swiping at her tears as she wrapped the blanket around Cat’s shoulders, then held her close.

  “I’ve never been so scared. We thought we’d lost you. Thank God. Thank God. As soon as we get the both of you cleaned up, we’re heading for the emergency room.”

  Cat wouldn’t—couldn’t—argue. She was overwhelmed by the depth of everyone’s concern, and when the rest of the family began crowding around her, all talking at once and marveling at what had happened to her, she couldn’t stop the tears. She glanced back once, just to make sure Wilson was still behind her. When she saw him, her gaze went straight to his wet, muddy clothes and his bare chest. The healing bullet wounds were still an angry red. He didn’t look any better than she felt.