Page 74 of Fall Wherever They May

I hear thunder in the distance as we approach the front door, and I look up to the gloomy sky.

Cal’s head tilts back as well.

I groan, “Think if we leave now, we can make it home?”

He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and clicks an app. “Um, I think we should have looked at this before we left. It wasn’t supposed to start storming until late tonight, but this shows a pretty nasty storm headed this way, and it’s ahead of schedule.” He winces. “We need to make this quick or make peace with staying here tonight,” he says.

I glare at him. This is not happening to me. “What happened to‘Winter weather advisories in New York are like tornado watches in Oklahoma . . . blah, blah, blah’?” I mock him. “Let’s justgo in and check it out. I am not staying in this house longer than necessary.”

As we walk into the dark house, I turn around and flip the light switch on the wall right beside the door. Nothing.

“Great!” I flip it back down. “Looks like we’ll need a flashlight.” I reach into my back pocket for my cell.

The light from my flashlight app bounces off the walls, creating an eerie feeling. “Okay, time to explore.”

Instead of heading toward the main part of the house, we take the stairs to the second floor. Cal leads the way,peering around corners as if someone is going to jump out of the shadows. I stay no more than two steps behind him. We find several guestrooms and bathrooms upstairs before trekking back down to the main floor to the great room. It’s there I stand with my jaw dropped to the floor in shock. Above the mantle hangs a professional picture of Tucker and me. Pictures of both of us in different phases of our lives are strategically placed on the mantle in beautifully designed picture frames in various sizes.

My hand covers my mouth as I gasp in shock, and Cal’s arms wrap around my chest from behind as he places a kiss to my temple. “Angel, I don’t think he wanted this separation from you, to leave his family behind. As hard as it is to believe your mom, by the looks of this, they really were protecting you.”

Remaining silent, I take in the room, then walk over to the mantle. I pick up a picture of my eight-year-old self, sitting on my paint horse, in front of our old farmhouse, with a broad smile lighting up my face.

“I remember this like it was yesterday. Mom had just bought Blaze . . .” I trail off. I turn my head to find Cal at my side, eying me sympathetically.

“It wasn’t Mom that bought Blaze, was it?”

He clicks the side of his mouth. “Doesn’t seem like it.” Cal takes the picture from my hand, changing the subject. “Look how cute you were, all snaggle-toothed.”

“Har-har.” I trace the intricate design of the frame. “I used to share all my secrets with him, especially about the boys I liked. We would talk for hours, or rather, I would talk, and he would listen as I rode him through the pasture and along trails behind our house. I would come home from school and hop on him bareback, and then we’d jump the fences to our neighbor’s property . . .”

Cal gives me a look like he can’t believe I’d actually enjoy that. “What? I’m a bit of an adrenaline junky. I like to go fast. Mom gave a couple of our barn cats to the neighbor, and that was the quickest way to visit them,” I laugh.

His eyes stay trained on me, waiting for me to continue. “When Blaze would see my car coming down our gravel drive, he would run along the fence line, excited to see me. Apples were his favorite, and like clockwork, he would always stand at the fence when I parked, waiting for me to bring him a treat . . . until one day, about six years ago, he wasn’t. I knew something was off when he didn’t run along that fence line. My initial thought was that someone had stolen him, but that didn’t make much sense. So, I went to the pasture to look for him. He had stepped into a hole and broke his leg. From the looks of it, a wild hog was rootin’ around. No matter how hard I begged, the vet said there was nothing we could do. Lost one of my best friends that day.”

“Damn, Aspen.”

“Yeah, farm life isn’t for the faint of heart. I had to go out and find that damn hog before it created more holes or mauled one of our cows. Hunted that thing for days.” I take the picture from Cal and set it back on the mantle.

Cal walks over and picks up a picture of me holding Tucker in the hospital. “You were glowing.”

“I was a mess.”

“No. You were beautiful.” He smiles, then sets the picture back in its place.

We continue our exploration until we come to the end of the hall. I look left, and through the open door, I find an office with floor-to-ceiling windows. I step inside with Cal following behind me. On my right is a built-in bookcase containing hundreds of books. Intrigued by my father’s literary interests, I bypass the executive desk—centered in the room—and move directly in front of the bookcase.

I run my fingers along the spines of the first editions: Ernest Hemingway, Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde, Jane Austen, and F. Scott Fitzgerald all rest collectively on the oak shelves. Wow. I can’t even imagine how much these are worth.

Turning around, I take in the large office. A small table with a decanter and glasses rests in a corner just inside the door. I wander over and uncap the crystal, then pour two fingers of the amber liquor into two glasses. I swirl the contents, then bring it up to my nose. Hell, I don’t know what this is, but it’s strong and makes me wince. Cal raises an eyebrow.

“What? Don’t judge me. I need something to get me through this shit. Plus, what kind of daughter would I be if I didn’t raid my dad’s liquor once in my life?" I giggle.

I saunter to Cal with an outreached hand, passing his drink to him, then I take a sip of the spicy, amber liquid from my own glass. I sputter. “This stuff tastes like straight shit.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, Babe. You must not know what’s good. This is scotch. Extremely good scotch.”

Cal takes his glass and walks over to the window, resting his body against the windowsill. He observes me as I gulp down the contents of my glass and go for a second round. It’s awful and burns as it travels down my esophagus to my stomach, but I really do need something to take the edge off. Sauntering back to my dad’s desk with a new glass, I set it down on a coaster and sit in his office chair, spreading my hands out over the oak surface. Where to start . . . where to start. I drum my fingers against the wood.

There are seven drawers, including the top middle. Finding them unlocked, I rifle through them, discovering nothing noteworthy. My head swivels to the bookcase, and my eyes roam a row of books until they stop on the bottom shelf. My feet kick off the floor, the chair to rolls backward across thewood surface bringing to a set of leather-bound books. When I pull one off the shelf and open it, a shocked gasp escapes my lips. Cal waltzes over to see what I’ve found. I gaze up at him, my eyes stinging behind my lids, and my heart speeds up.

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