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Authors: Katherine Stone
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that she might not be so lucky.
“Thanks for letting me know, Don.”
“Sure. And thank you, Luke, for helping out.”
Luke kept hurting, in ways he hadn’t
hurt for a very long time. So much for supposing the Snow emotions were dead
and buried.
Firefighters didn’t carry torches—or so the bumper stickers
proclaimed.
This firefighter did. It was a special torch, one he would shine
in her face until she told him what he wanted to know: why she had left, why
she had lied, why she had walked away from Quail Ridge, the way he had once
intended to, without a backward glance.
And when Luke had her answers? He would touch the torch to
every memory of Snow, creating a conflagration until all that remained would be
ashes in the wind, like the flurry of snowflakes on the Christmas Day they met.
For now, as he drove into the storm, memories clamored to be
recalled, beginning with the November day he told Snow he was leaving . . .
Luke forced his weighted footsteps
away from the forest, away from her, remembering how his father had forced him
to swim until lactic acid bathed his muscles and he nearly drowned.
Two more steps. Two more. Two more. Toward the house that had
been a prison, not a home.
Luke hoped never to see Jared again, that this would be one
of the nights Jared returned after midnight and Luke would be gone forever before
Jared awakened.
It wasn’t to be.
Jared was waiting for him, as if he knew what Luke was planning.
And, as if he knew, Jared picked up where he had left off the night before,
with questions and innuendos about Snow and Leigh.
The innuendos became fact.
“Everyone knows what Leigh Gable is, what she gets paid to
do. The cops won’t touch her. Her clients, her tricks , are the richest
men in Quail Ridge. But a call to Child Protective Services couldn’t be
ignored. There’d be an investigation. Leigh would have to leave town. Private
affairs are one thing. Public scandal’s another. Snow would end up in foster
care. I’ve been thinking it might be neighborly of us to take her in. She’d get
to stay in Pinewood, and the three of us could have some fun.”
Luke’s empty stomach knotted at Jared’s suggestion, the
perversion Luke knew so well. His hands knotted, too, until, knowing the
pleasure Jared would take in seeing his fists ready for battle—and that his
taunts had hit their mark—Luke managed to relax them.
“I have homework to do.”
Jared filled two glasses with scotch and shoved one at Luke. “Time
you learned how to drink.”
“No, thanks.”
“I insist. Just one drink, Luke, then you can go upstairs.”
Luke knew enough about alcohol to realize that the large
glass Jared poured for him was more than one drink. He also realized Jared had
already been drinking.
Jared became even meaner when he drank. Crossing him was the
surest way to make his meanness escalate to violence.
“Just one,” Luke agreed. “I really do have a lot of homework.”
“Drink up. All of it. Now.”
Luke obeyed. He had no choice. In no time, the scotch was clouding
his starving brain.
“Like it?” Jared asked.
Luke struggled for clarity. He was vulnerable to Jared. As
strong as he had made himself, his father was stronger. And Jared was further fueled
by a cruelty that Luke prayed he did not possess. Luke’s only advantage over a
drunken Jared was mental, the ability to read Jared’s moods in an effort to
placate, not to provoke.
The scotch stripped Luke of what meager advantage he might
have had.
“I don’t know.”
“Well,” Jared said, “I like it. You know why? It brings out
the truth. So, Luke, let’s talk about your little friend. Snow. Do you think I’d
like her, too?”
“Sick bastard.”
Jared laughed. “What did I tell you? The truth.”
“I should report you to the police.”
“Here’s the problem with that, boyo. Everyone loves me. I’m a
hero, remember? But you—you’re troubled, Luke. Deeply disturbed. A pathological
liar. The entire town
“Thanks for letting me know, Don.”
“Sure. And thank you, Luke, for helping out.”
Luke kept hurting, in ways he hadn’t
hurt for a very long time. So much for supposing the Snow emotions were dead
and buried.
Firefighters didn’t carry torches—or so the bumper stickers
proclaimed.
This firefighter did. It was a special torch, one he would shine
in her face until she told him what he wanted to know: why she had left, why
she had lied, why she had walked away from Quail Ridge, the way he had once
intended to, without a backward glance.
And when Luke had her answers? He would touch the torch to
every memory of Snow, creating a conflagration until all that remained would be
ashes in the wind, like the flurry of snowflakes on the Christmas Day they met.
For now, as he drove into the storm, memories clamored to be
recalled, beginning with the November day he told Snow he was leaving . . .
Luke forced his weighted footsteps
away from the forest, away from her, remembering how his father had forced him
to swim until lactic acid bathed his muscles and he nearly drowned.
Two more steps. Two more. Two more. Toward the house that had
been a prison, not a home.
Luke hoped never to see Jared again, that this would be one
of the nights Jared returned after midnight and Luke would be gone forever before
Jared awakened.
It wasn’t to be.
Jared was waiting for him, as if he knew what Luke was planning.
And, as if he knew, Jared picked up where he had left off the night before,
with questions and innuendos about Snow and Leigh.
The innuendos became fact.
“Everyone knows what Leigh Gable is, what she gets paid to
do. The cops won’t touch her. Her clients, her tricks , are the richest
men in Quail Ridge. But a call to Child Protective Services couldn’t be
ignored. There’d be an investigation. Leigh would have to leave town. Private
affairs are one thing. Public scandal’s another. Snow would end up in foster
care. I’ve been thinking it might be neighborly of us to take her in. She’d get
to stay in Pinewood, and the three of us could have some fun.”
Luke’s empty stomach knotted at Jared’s suggestion, the
perversion Luke knew so well. His hands knotted, too, until, knowing the
pleasure Jared would take in seeing his fists ready for battle—and that his
taunts had hit their mark—Luke managed to relax them.
“I have homework to do.”
Jared filled two glasses with scotch and shoved one at Luke. “Time
you learned how to drink.”
“No, thanks.”
“I insist. Just one drink, Luke, then you can go upstairs.”
Luke knew enough about alcohol to realize that the large
glass Jared poured for him was more than one drink. He also realized Jared had
already been drinking.
Jared became even meaner when he drank. Crossing him was the
surest way to make his meanness escalate to violence.
“Just one,” Luke agreed. “I really do have a lot of homework.”
“Drink up. All of it. Now.”
Luke obeyed. He had no choice. In no time, the scotch was clouding
his starving brain.
“Like it?” Jared asked.
Luke struggled for clarity. He was vulnerable to Jared. As
strong as he had made himself, his father was stronger. And Jared was further fueled
by a cruelty that Luke prayed he did not possess. Luke’s only advantage over a
drunken Jared was mental, the ability to read Jared’s moods in an effort to
placate, not to provoke.
The scotch stripped Luke of what meager advantage he might
have had.
“I don’t know.”
“Well,” Jared said, “I like it. You know why? It brings out
the truth. So, Luke, let’s talk about your little friend. Snow. Do you think I’d
like her, too?”
“Sick bastard.”
Jared laughed. “What did I tell you? The truth.”
“I should report you to the police.”
“Here’s the problem with that, boyo. Everyone loves me. I’m a
hero, remember? But you—you’re troubled, Luke. Deeply disturbed. A pathological
liar. The entire town
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