Saving Her Bear: A Second Chances Romance (12 page)

Patrick Fenn’s eyes went wide, but she turned, marching down the dirt road, ready to go to war against a bear if necessary.

“There ain’t nothing for you here, Catherine. You best just leave!”

She hollered her response to the road ahead, unwilling to give him anymore of her attention. “I’m going to be with John. If you all don’t like it, you can fucking shoot me.”

The truck began to roll up behind her, keeping pace at her side. She refused to look at Patrick or Terry Fenn.

“He ain’t there, Catherine.”

She stopped at the side of the dirt road, turning to meet Terry’s gaze. “Where is he?”

Patrick growled, turning his face away as Terry leaned across the truck cabin.

Terry opened his mouth to speak, then paused, as though the words hurt to say. “He never came home last night, either.”

Catherine’s legs almost gave out beneath her, but this time she steadied herself, unwilling to succumb to the sudden grief she felt.

He was fine, she chanted in her mind. He’s just fine, Catherine. Everything is ok.

Yet, at these words she was forced to admit the thing she’d believed since hearing of Deacon’s disappearance – she believed him dead. Now that those thoughts were about John, her heart nearly imploded in her chest.

“We have to find him!” She said, and the words came in half sobs.

Terry frowned. “We’re working on it, sweetheart. You best go on, now. We have it under control.”

Yet his words betrayed no hope. This family knew the way this worked; they’d done this before.

“Please! I want to help. Please, let me help.”

Yet, Patrick Fenn laid his foot on the gas and the truck surged past her, kicking up dust and gravel that flew at her, hitting her bare shins.

She stood on the dirt road, nothing in every direction for miles. She was tempted to head deeper into the Fenn property, seek out Janice and try to be some comfort – or perhaps try to find comfort. Yet, they wouldn’t allow her to be of any use here. If she was going to help find John, she needed to get ahold of Bennett.

Catherine pulled out her phone, searching for the right words to say what she now knew – that the man she’d been in love with since she was fifteen years old was missing; that she feared in the corners of her soul that she would lose him to the same miserable accident that took the others.

She hated herself for it, but a part of her silently prayed that if one of them must be lost, let it be Deacon. Let it be that John was just out searching for Deacon somewhere, safe and sound. Deacon’s well-being was certainly important, but she simply didn’t have enough room in her heart to offer him hope. It was all reserved for John now. Every prayer she would ever say again would be for him.

Please god, let them be prayers of thanks. Please give him back to me.

She reached the main drag, still holding her phone.

Can you come get me?

She waited a moment, staring at her phone. There was zero signal out near the rez, and even less signal out on Falkirk’s Seat. The text wasn’t going through, and she was standing there on the side of the road, hopeless.

Tears started to creep up, her face contorting as she stood there, scanning the open road for any sign of another person. Yet, there was nothing, and there would continue to be nothing as long as she remained on the Fenn land.

Catherine set her jaw, swallowed her tears, and started the long trek back toward home.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The text refused to send, even as she turned the corner into Blackrock. She would be of little use to anyone on foot, the region of the rez they were searching being another ten miles by road, and at least four or five miles through old growth forest. If she was going to join the search, she needed wheels. For the first half hour of her trek back toward home, there wasn’t a single vehicle on the road. This was Maine, and Downeast Maine at that, if she stuck her thumb out to a passing car or truck, not only was there a good chance they’d stop, there was an equally good chance she’d know them by name. Yet the only two cars that passed her barreled right by, without even a second glance. She’d been gone too long. No one recognized her anymore.

She kept a steady pace, crossing the border into Blackrock by two in the afternoon. Just another mile and a half home.

“Hey Catie!” She startled, turning to find Paul Merlotte in his rusty Ford. “Why ain’t you with Bennett?”

She shook her head. “I had him drop me to see John.”

“Oh yeah? Must be worried sick, huh?”

She fought to keep her face from contorting in pain. “He wasn’t there.”

Paul nodded. “Huh. Well, you want a lift home, then?”

She climbed in, riding in silence as Paul gave a heartfelt explanation for why he was just far too busy to help in the search, and how much trouble those damn reservation laws were, and how the Indian population was ruining the county with their drugs and alcoholism. She did note the empty beer cans strewn across the back seat of his car, but said nothing. Best not anger the driver, she thought.

Paul dropped her on Grampy Calhoun’s doorstep and raced off to do ‘fuck all’ as far as she was concerned, and she shot into the house. Uncle Bodie’s truck was still gone, as was Bennett’s, so she launched into the house to sweet talk her grandfather into giving her the keys to the four wheeler.

The house was empty. She called for Grampy, moving from room to room to find the old man, but his bedroom was empty, still smelling of pipe smoke from a recent puff he must’ve had when no one was home to scold him.

She was sure they were all out joining the search. It doesn’t matter whether you want a man’s company or no, if his family is in danger, everyone with a stitch of character will come to their aide. She was proud to think the Calhouns had that, if not the greatest characters.

Catherine tried her phone again, the text to Bennett finally going through. She set it aside, standing in the kitchen, the world gone deathly silent. She waited a moment, then two.

She was off, tearing open the kitchen drawers looking for a set of keys that might unlock the shed and start the ATV. It was Maine, she could hop on that four wheeler and careen around the county – no one would bat an eye. She’d feel a lot less helpless if she could just join the search.

By five, she’d ransacked every drawer, cabinet, closet, and jacket pocket. All she had to show for it was a Philips head screw driver and a wadded up receipt from Ross’ Department Store.

Where the fuck does this family keep their keys? She thought.

Finally, a thought struck her dumb – what if they keep the ATV keys in the shed with the ATV?

She was halfway outside, Philips Head screwdriver in hand before the thought was finished. She’d jimmy that door open if she damn well had to.

The padlock was anchored to the door by a massive metal plate and a Philips Head wasn’t going to help unlock it by any means, but she slammed the screwdriver through the lock and tugged. It didn’t even budge. She slid down further, yanking at the handle, praying the metal plate would start shifting, creaking, giving way even a little, but it held fast. She hauled out and kicked the door, yanking the screwdriver out and turning her attention toward the hinges of the double shed doors.

The truck barreled down the drive behind her, coupled by a familiar voice. “What the hell are you doing?”

She glanced back at Bennett as he climbed out of his truck, hustling over toward the house.

“You got a key to this thing?”

He shook his head, jingling his key ring in his hand. “Naw, my Dad has the key as far as I know.”

“Well, I need to get it,” she said, wiping a mist of sweat from her forehead.

Bennett raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Dad doesn’t let anyone in the shed, Catie. He’s put his workshop in there.”

“What kind of fucking workshop?”

“Hey, don’t be mad at me, alright?” He said, displaying his palms. “He makes his own bullets in there now.”

“Well, where’s the four wheeler?”

Bennett seemed to be in a hurry, moving toward the front door of the house as he hollered over his shoulder. “Oh man, Gramps sold that thing a year ago at least.”

“Damn it!” She yelled, kicking the door of the shed again.

Bennett swung open the screen door, holding it wide as he waved to her. “Just come inside. I’ve gotta grab something, then I’m going back out to join everybody up near the shoreline.”

“The shoreline?”

He paused, glancing away. “It’s where they found Greg last time.”

Catherine’s stomach dropped.

Stop it, Catherine. Don’t even humor the thought. He’s alive. He’s going to be alright.

“I’ll wait here for you,” she called, not wanting him to see her pained expression as she fought to regain her composure.

Bennett gave a quick shrug and disappeared into the house.

Catherine stood there with the screwdriver still in her hand, and slumped back against the wall of the shed, blowing air out through pursed lips. She would give anything to hear his voice. Anything to have a chance to tell him what he meant to her – that she’d give anything to run away with him, and it didn’t matter where.

Catherine pulled her phone out of her pocket, squinting to see her signal. The sun was dipped down below the high trees now, making the world around the Calhoun house darker by the minute. She opened up his contact, smiling at the sight of the goofy expression he made when she took his picture, sitting behind the wheel of his truck, giving his best Elvis lip.

Despite knowing he wouldn’t answer, she pressed the call button. She wanted to hear his voice.

The rhythm of the ringing phone made her stomach turn. God, please – if you could just make him answer, still this panic I feel, she thought. Yet, with the third ring, that blind hope was receding fast.

She glanced back at the door. There was a strange tinny sound coming from behind her. Bennett wasn’t at the door to explain the melodic noise; there was nothing behind her save for the shed. She took her phone away from her ear just as the sound stopped. John’s voice spoke on the other end of her phone then – “Leave a message. I’ll call you right back.”

Catherine’s brow furrowed. She’d missed the first half of the message trying to decipher whatever the noise was. She hung up the phone and pressed send a second time, holding it to her ear.

The sound returned, but this time she recognized it – the Canteen jingle from Star Wars. Catherine spun around, slamming her hands to the wall of the shed as she pressed her ear against it, letting her phone drop to the ground.

The sound was coming from inside.

John’s cell phone was inside the shed.

She left her phone on the ground, coming around the shed to the padlock. Why would his phone be in Bodie’s shed? Did he drop it last night when he left? Maybe someone called it since he went missing, someone who knows where he is.

She inspected the lock quickly, then turned for the house. Hammer? Sledgehammer? If it took a fucking chainsaw, she was getting in that shed.

Catherine barreled through the front door of the house and past the kitchen, half running down the hall to Bennett’s bedroom. She blew through the door, scanning the room for her cousin.

“We have to get into the sh -”

She stopped, cold. Bennett was frozen by his dresser. On the wooden surface of his bureau were a roll of twine, a long stretch of black fabric, torn into strips, and bundles of sticks, fashioned into stick dolls.

The dolls from the woods. Catherine turned her eyes to his, and his expression betrayed him.

“What the fuck are those, Bennett?”

“Nothing! They’re nothing!”

“You’re the one leaving the dolls on the Fenn property? There’s no fucking hermit, is there?”

“No! I don’t know anything about that,” he said, his hands up as though he half expected her to hit him. He was guilty of something, she could see it as clearly as if he’d been made of glass, and it wasn’t just dolls.

“You were there! Night before last, you were there!” She yelled, pointing at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

With that, she lunged for him and she
did
hit him. “Red t-shirt! The little man was made with the red fabric from my t-shirt, you asshole! Fess up and tell me what the hell you’re up to!”

Bennett cowered from her, and the sight of it almost hurt to see. Bennett was a big, broad man, but in the wake of her anger, he seemed to shrink like a child. What was Bennett so afraid of?

“Nothing! It’s just a stupid prank, that’s all!”

“You made one with my t-shirt! Did you see him? Did you see him turn?”

“I didn’t know it was your t-shirt, I swe -”

He stopped, staring at her a moment with his mouth open.

He swallowed. “You’ve seen it, too?”

They both stood there in silence a moment, staring at one another. She wanted to unburden herself then, to share this knowledge with another person and acknowledge the madness – and the magic of what she now knew about the man she loved. Yet, she stopped herself, unwilling to betray his secrets. If Bennett knew - or thought he knew - fine, but she would not be his proof.

“Come on,” she said, turning and striding out of the room.

“Where are we going?” He asked as they stepped outside, and she glanced back to see that he’d grabbed the three little stick men. She nearly turned on him, grabbing them and snapping them in front of his face, but she had more important shit to worry about.

“We need to get into the shed.”

Bennett stopped in the doorway, shaking his head. “No way. Dad would fucking kill me.”

“
I’m
going to kill you, Bennett, if you don’t fucking help me!”

The sound of her voice shattered the peace of the Maine woods, birds and critters squalling in response in the dark trees overhead.

“Catherine, calm down.”

She was back at the padlock, jamming the screwdriver into the anchor and yanking the handle down, over and over in an instant.

“Catherine! Stop! If my dad comes home and sees you broke into the shed, I promise you, you won’t have a place to stay anymore.”