Highway 5 with 99. With a rapid walk, she hauled Bernie to the street at a half trot, hoping to get a glimpse of the direction Iris would take. With a leaping heart, Beth Ann thought she saw a flash of pink, but wondered if it were simply the play of light off the fog.
Trying not to become disoriented, Beth Ann gingerly made her way in the direction of the truck and breathed a sigh of relief when it came into focus. With practiced hands, she stuffed Bernie into the car seat, digging the car keys out of her jeans pocket and willing her heart to stop beating so fast so her throat could open up. Beth Ann held her breath as she turned on the low beams and carefully backed out onto the road. She couldn’t see more than ten feet in front or behind her and the last thing she wanted to do was unwittingly knock Iris over. It was ludicrous to drive in this stuff. But it was even more ludicrous to try to chase Iris down on foot.
She cranked the steering wheel left and had no visibility as she shifted from reverse to drive. She slowly, slowly pulled onto the road, driving as far right as she could, creeping at five miles an hour, praying Iris would come into sight. The muted screech of tires and a blunted scream sent shivers down Beth Ann’s back and she resisted the urge to accelerate, her heart pounding in her ears and dread shooting up her neck. She didn’t want to become a victim or, worse, add to any injuries.
Bernie sat unusually silent as if she knew something was wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.
“Nana?” she whispered.
“We’re going to get Nana,” Beth Ann said reassuringly, hoping it wasn’t nearly as bad as it sounded.
“Nana, okay?”
“I hope so.”
“Nana, careful?”
“Maybe not so careful this time.”
“Careful, careful,” Bernie told her, her large blue eyes solemn.
“I know, Bernie-Bern-Bern, careful, careful.”
It seemed to take forever to get to the accident, the headlight beams of a car were angled awkwardly off the side of the road. Miraculously, Iris was still standing when they arrived at the scene, the right side of a chrome bumper just inches from her bony legs. Beth Ann pulled over, unhooked Bernie, her back and shoulders feeling the strain of Bernie’s weight. She shifted the toddler onto her hip, snagged an old zip-front housecoat that she’d learned to keep in the truck for just these episodes and hurried to Iris.
“I wet myself,” Iris said, looking down at her soaked bunny slippers.
Beth Ann nodded sympathetically. “If I were almost hit by a car, I’d wet myself, too. Here, sweetie, put this on. It’s freezing out here.”
“I want to wear my pearls.”
“You can wear your pearls when we get home. But put this on now,” Beth Ann repeated, deliberately keeping her voice low and soothing.
“Nana, put on,” Bernie echoed insistently, as Beth Ann pulled the housecoat over the frail woman with one hand and then shifted Bernie further up her hip. Thank goodness, Iris was being cooperative today. She obediently put one arm in the blue sleeve and then the other, then looked down to find the zipper. With shocked horror, suddenly aware of her state of undress, she pulled the zipper all the way up to her chin. Her thin, pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“Beth Ann, what am I doing out here?” she asked, anxiety crowding her voice. She looked around, searching for something familiar in the landscape but the fog obliterated any view at all.
“Going for a walk, I imagine,” Beth Ann said equably, her heart rate finally slowing. At this point, she couldn’t even look at the driver who had reversed and straightened the car, a Jaguar no less, and had gotten out. Now that the crisis was over, Beth Ann felt absolutely drained, not inclined to explain anything to anyone, her mind only focused on holding down the fort until Glenn got there.
“Is she okay?” the tall stranger called, the deep timbre unfamiliar, the annoyed tinge in his voice belying how shaken he was.
Beth Ann nodded with a casual wave and a quick glance over her shoulder, and said with a dismissive nod, forcing her voice to be cheerful, “She’s fine, thanks. Sorry about that.”
“She shouldn’t be wandering about by herself.”
Beth Ann could hear his condemnation mixed with agitation but said nothing as she led Iris to the passenger side of the truck.
He continued walking closer, his voice now with a sharp edge of authority to it. Beth Ann took a deep breath, bracing herself for the onslaught of words. “I could’ve killed her. Are you sure she’s all right? Maybe you should get her checked out by a doctor.”
Beth Ann sighed and nodded, impatient to have him on his way. Then she opened the passenger side of the truck and helped Iris clamber in. When she had safely belted the older woman in, closed and locked the truck door, Beth Ann called as brightly as she could, “She’s fine. Not a scratch on her. I’ll get her home, clean her up and she’ll be as good as new.”
“Bethany Ann Bellamy?”
Her head snapped up in surprise at the formal use of her name, her eyes narrowing with dread as he came closer out of the fog. She was startled by his bearing and presence. She shouldn’t have been. Carrie always favored the austere type.
“Yes?” Beth Ann deliberately made her voice clipped, masking her recognition.
“Do you know me?” he asked.
With long easy strides, the man walked toward her, looking her over from head to toe. She returned his assessment with cool detachment. He was dressed impeccably. Buff-colored casual linen slacks, well-fit to his long legs, a button-down light green cotton shirt and fine brown leather jacket accentuated his lean, powerful frame. She looked down at his feet, not surprised by the expensive shoes. They matched the look of the vintage Jaguar. She could smell a rich, spicy cologne and swallowed hard as she met his compelling gray eyes, eyes the color of fog and just as chilly. She glanced at his left hand. He still wore his wedding band.
The best defense was a good offense.
“No,” she lied, badly at that, her voice trembling. “I have no idea who you are.”
Christian immediately stopped in his tracks when the woman glanced at him nervously, tightened her hold on the child and then looked furtively at the truck, ready to disappear into the fog. He studied the angles of her pixie face, her narrow chin, the damp brown, almost red, curls made unruly by the wet of the fog, searching for a resemblance to Caroline.
He found none.
While Caroline had been tall, nearly five-ten, with model-like proportions, the top of this woman’s curls would probably just brush the bottom of his chin. Maybe, if he stared at her hard enough, he could see some likeness around the nose and forehead. Her eyes were unfathomably dark, so dark that he couldn’t tell where her pupils ended and her irises began. So unlike Caroline’s sky-blue eyes. Maybe they shared the same nose. But, then again, maybe that was just the fog, his nerves or wishful thinking.
“Who are you?” Beth Ann repeated, her tone tough and uncompromising, even a shade rude for a woman so petite.
Christian cleared his throat. “Christian. Christian Elliott. Caroline’s husband.”
