Page 19 of The Sound of Sleighbells

A phone call had confirmed that Silas’s garage would be open until noon today. On the way back, she would stop by and get an estimate on the window. Then, if the weather had cleared, she would take the girls to the park on Main Street to see the lights and hear the Christmas songs playing over the speakers. They would love that.

But her thoughts would be with the son she’d entrusted to the man who could break his heart. At dinner, seeing the two of them together, Ruth had realized that Skip’s fate was beyond her control. Sooner or later, the truth would come out. And she was too late to stop the heartbreak that would follow.

For fifteen years she had lived with a lie. Would the price of that lie be the loss of her son?

She could only wait and pray for forgiveness.

Chapter Five

Judd drove the pickup into the shed and made his way to the house. The storm was letting up, but given the freezing temperature, the roads could be coated with ice in the morning. He couldn’t risk Ruth driving out here under those dangerous conditions

Ruth’s phone number was on the check she’d given him—which he had no intention of cashing. If the highway was bad in the morning, he would give her a call and tell her to wait.

He was too tired to go back to work but too restless to sleep. Sinking onto the sofa, he found the remote on the coffee table and switched on the TV. There was nothing on at this hour but a choice between a ranting televangelist with a gold Rolex and an antiquated Japanese horror movie, with a giant lizard man stomping around in a rubber suit. He chose the movie, hoping it would numb his mind to the point that he could go to sleep without thinking about Ruth.

She’d begged him not to go out with his friends that night. What if he’d listened to her? Or what if events had gone differently?

The confrontation between two biker gangs had taken place in an alley on the outskirts of Cottonwood Springs. One of the rivals had cornered Judd’s friend, Digger, and was using a club to pound him to a pulp. Digger’s eyes were swollen shut, his face a mass of blood and bruises. Judd had fought his way to his friend’s side. A sharp uppercut with his fist had landed a blow to the husky biker’s jaw. The man had staggered, reeled backward, and gone down, striking his head on the concrete curb. Seconds later, sirens had announced the arrival of the police. By then the man was dead.

Ruth had never contacted Judd again. When his letters were returned unopened, he had come to accept that she’d moved on. He’d never blamed her. Five years was a long time for a young girl—too long to wait for a man who’d thrown away their future in one reckless act. Still, he’d never stopped thinking about her and hoping for a miracle—a miracle that had never happened and never would.

Judd’s musings were cut short by the sound of the doorbell. He switched off the TV and pushed to his feet. It was after eleven. A visit at this hour generally meant one thing—trouble.

The bell chimed again. Judd strode to the door. The thought flitted through his mind that maybe he should grab a pistol. But he was overreacting. This wasn’t the Wild West.

He switched on the porch light, then opened the door.

The man who stood in the circle of light was a half head shorter than Judd. Unshaven, with battered features, he was dressed in a thick army surplus coat with a hood. A backpack lay next to his booted feet.

He appeared to be a vagrant who’d wandered onto the property seeking shelter from the storm. Judd wasn’t in the habit of taking in strangers, but he could hardly leave the man outside to freeze.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

The stranger grinned, showing nicotine-stained teeth. “Don’t you know me, Judd? It’s your old pal, Digger.”

Thunderstruck, Judd stared at the man he hadn’t seen in sixteen years. He remembered his last glimpse of the paramedics loading the injured Digger into an ambulance. After that there’d been nothing—no appearance at the trial, no visits to the jail, no letters in the long years that followed. It was as if his friend had vanished from the face of the earth.

Now here he was. And Judd’s instincts were screaming caution. Why here? Why now?

He found his voice. “Digger! I’ll be damned! You look like forty miles of bad road. How did you find me—and how did you get here?”

“I asked at the convenience store in town. They were just closing, but they gave me directions. I’d have been here sooner, but my bike ran out of gas about a mile back. I had to walk the rest of the way. Hell, it’s colder than a gravedigger’s butt out here. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Of course.” Judd stepped aside to let the man enter. “Come in and warm up. Are you hungry? I’m low on groceries, but I could make you a roast turkey sandwich and some coffee.”

“That sounds good, thanks.” Digger wiped his feet on the mat, stepped inside, and dropped his heavy pack next to the door. Judd took his wet coat and hung it on the rack. Underneath it, Digger was wearing a faded plaid flannel shirt. His scalp gleamed white through long, thin strands of hair.

“Come on in the kitchen and have a seat at the table,” Judd said. “We can talk while I fix you a plate. I’ll be interested in hearing your story. The bathroom’s down the hall if you need to wash up.”

“No need. I haven’t had a bite to eat since breakfast. I could eat a horse.”

“I’m afraid a turkey sandwich will have to do.” Judd turned on the overhead light in the kitchen, started the coffeemaker, and rummaged in the fridge for the Thanksgiving leftovers that Abner had insisted he take home—a few slices of turkey meat, several dinner rolls, and a piece of pumpkin pie. At least he had food to offer. For the past couple of weeks, he’d been too busy with work to do much shopping.

“Don’t worry about the coffee,” Digger said. “But if you’ve got a beer, I could go for that.”

“Sorry, I gave up alcohol years ago. I can’t even keep it around, or I’d get weak and fall right off the wagon. But I’ve got sodas if you want one.”

“Nah. Coffee will be fine. Black.”

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