A Christmas Promise Read online

  Copyright notice

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  A Christmas Promise

  Copyright © 2017 by K.C. Wells

  Cover Design by Meredith Russell

  Cover content is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

  The trademarked products mentioned in this book are the property of their respective owners, and are recognized as such.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Available titles

  Who is Tantalus?

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  A huge thank you, as always, to my wonderful team of betas:

  Jason, Daniel, Helena, Mardee, Sharon, Debra and Will.

  But special thanks go to Sharon D Simpson, for all her medical advice.

  Chapter One

  New York, New York was belting out of the radio, and Micah Trant sang along, glad that his sister Naomi was nowhere nearby to hear him. Lord knew, she teased him enough about him knowing all the words to every Frank Sinatra song going. He laid the blame for that squarely at his Dad’s door. Dad used to say it was evidence that he’d brought Micah up right.

  Micah knew the truth. It was evidence, all right, but that Dad had played nothing but Sinatra when Micah was growing up. And driving alone along the silent roads, the banks of snow several feet above the road’s gritty surface, Frank was a pretty good traveling companion, Micah had to admit. Wright was about twenty minutes away, and the road was deserted. It was almost eight o’clock and Micah should have been home hours ago. He smiled to himself. There was always the pull of ‘one more photo’, and once the sun had gone down, the snow had taken on an eerie glow that he’d been unable to resist. The idea of a nightscape appealed to him: so far, he hadn’t done one of those.

  Beside him on the passenger seat sat his most prized possession, his beloved Nikon, its memory card already half full of yet more images of Thunder Basin’s snowy landscapes. He knew what his dad was going to say: ‘What, more pictures of the snow? You’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all.’ Then he’d flash that grin of his, just to let Micah know he was only teasing. Micah had overheard Dad bragging to Sherrie Longmire at the convenience store in Wright that his Micah was going to have an exhibition of paintings in Gillette the following year. It had tickled Micah to hear the pride in Dad’s voice. Hard to believe it was the same man who’d blown a gasket all those years ago, when Micah had announced he wanted to be a painter. Still, he’d said nothing when Micah chose to study Art at college. Of course, by that time, Mom had worked her magic.

  As always, the thought tightened his chest. The anniversary of her death was coming up real fast, and Micah looked forward to that time like he looked forward to root canal work. He and Naomi would be there for Dad, trying their damnedest to keep their own grief at bay. Christmas had lost its sparkle and charm the last few years, but that was hardly surprising: losing your mom on Christmas Day was a surefire way of making you yearn for New Year.

  Micah sighed. At least he could get Thanksgiving out of the way before he started dreading Christmas.

  Frank was singing about that toddlin’ town, Chicago, when Micah spotted a dark shape ahead, by the side of the road. He instinctively slowed down to a crawl, hitting the brakes immediately when the car headlights picked out the splash of red against the snow.

  What the hell? His skin went cold when he realized he was looking at a figure.

  Micah reached into the glove box for his flashlight, and got out of the car, crunching over the grit and ice to where the figure lay huddled, half in the road. He focused the beam on the still form, whose face was hidden beneath the dark coat’s hood. Micah crouched down beside the… body?… praying that there was still life present. Gently, he pulled the hood aside, revealing the bloodied face of a young man, maybe his own age. His eyes were swollen shut, blackened and bruised, and there were cuts and bruises to his cheeks and jaw. Micah did a quick appraisal of the rest of him. He couldn’t tell if there were any broken bones, but thankfully, the guy was still breathing.

  Micah stood up, trying to clear his thoughts. Memorial Hospital was probably the closest, but there was no way he could get hold of help: the phone signal was for shit on that road. So that meant no helicopter. His only other option was to lift the guy and put him in the car, on the back seat. Not that Micah liked that option at all. Lifting him could worsen what fractures and breaks he might already have, not to mention other possible injuries.

  He stared at the prone figure, his gut roiling. “I’m guessing this is a risk I’m gonna have to take,” he muttered to himself. He opened the back door as wide as he could, thankful for the two blankets he kept on the seat.

  Now for the tricky part.

  As carefully as he could, Micah eased the figure onto his back, before slipping one arm under his neck and the other under his knees. He gently lifted the young man, breathing heavily from the effort, and praying he wasn’t doing more damage. Getting him onto the seat proved the hardest part, and he had to do that in two stages, reaching in from the other side to pull him across as gingerly as he could. Once he had the guy covered with both blankets, Micah closed both doors, making sure he wasn’t about to crunch a limb in the process, and got back behind the wheel. What bothered him most was not once had the guy regained consciousness.

  Micah drove as fast as his snow tires would allow, but it was still getting on for over an hour by the time he pulled up in front of the hospital, his heartbeat racing.

  Please, still be alive, okay?

  He yanked open the main door and ran into the warmth. “Help! I need help out here! It’s urgent!” A couple of orderlies responded instantly, and he pointed out to the car. “Unconscious, in the snow, been like this for over an hour, possible broken bones.”

  He watched as his passenger was wheeled into the hospital on a gurney, heading for the ER. Micah went out to park the car in the first space he could find. He placed his bag in the trunk, then ran back into the hospital, following the direction the orderlies had taken. When he reached the desk in the ER, a nurse told him the guy had been taken straight in for assessment.

  “Do you know him?”

  Micah shook his head. “I found him by the road, about twenty minutes from Wright. I figured this was the best place for him.” The clinic in Wright was okay, but they weren’t equipped to deal with something like this.

  “Okay, please take a seat. The police will want to talk to you. I’m just going to call them.”

  “Police?”

  She nodded, her eyes kind. “We don’t know what happened to him, but he’s clearly been beaten up. He’s in
no state to tell us anything, and since you can’t give us any information, we have to notify the police.”

  That made sense. “Okay.” Then it occurred to him that his dad would be going crazy right then. “I just need to make a call.”

  “Sure.” Her face fell. “Poor guy. Someone sure made a mess of him.”

  Micah had been thinking the same thing. How could someone leave him like that?

  “Maybe whoever robbed him thought he was dead,” she suggested.

  “If it was robbery.” There were other options that Micah didn’t want to think about.

  He reached into his pocket for his phone and sighed when he saw the screen. Several missed calls, all from Dad.

  Shit. He’d forgotten he’d had the phone on silent. He speed-dialed home.

  “Where are you?” His dad sounded gruff. “We expected you home hours ago. I tried calling you a while back, but got nothing.”

  “Yeah, the signal was lousy, and then I put it on silent. Dad, listen.” Micah took a deep breath. “I found a guy by the roadside, all beaten up. I brought him to Memorial Hospital.”

  “Aww, Christ. Is he all right?” Micah caught the concern in his voice.

  “He’s in the ER right now. I have to stay, because the police will want to talk to me. If it gets too late, I’ll see if I can find a bed or a chair for the night. I’ll let you know, all right?”

  “Sure thing. Poor guy. Glad you found him. God, I hope he makes it.”

  Micah hoped so too.

  Two police officers had come and gone, after questioning Micah thoroughly about the state the guy had been in, where exactly Micah had found him, and what had made him stop in the first place. They told him detectives would return the following day to check on the guy, to question him if he regained consciousness.

  Micah sat on a chair, darting glances toward the door where he knew the young man was being treated. What are they doing in there? How long does it take to make sure he’s gonna be okay?

  “Hey, honey?” He looked up, to find a girl holding out a plastic cup of something steaming. “Here. It’s just a little hot chocolate. You look like you need it.”

  Micah smiled. “Thanks. That’s really kind of you.”

  She returned his smile, her cheeks dimpling. “You’re welcome.” Then she walked toward the desk, waving at the nurse behind it. Micah’s perusal was interrupted when a doctor came through the doors he’d been staring at, heading for Micah.

  “Mr. Trant?”

  Micah put down his cup on the chair beside him, and got to his feet. “How is he?”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t give out that information.”

  “Can’t you at least tell me if he’s going to be okay?” Micah had sort of anticipated that response, but it still frustrated him.

  The doctor’s expression was grave. “To be honest, he’s a very lucky young man. It could have been much worse.”

  “Can… can I see him?”

  The doctor smiled. “Once he’s settled in ICU, a nurse will take you to him. He’s very fortunate that you found him when you did.” He patted Micah on the arm and went back through the doors.

  Micah retook his seat and sipped his hot beverage. He didn’t care what time it was: all he wanted was to see the guy breathing, to hear the reassuring beep of a heart monitor.

  He could wait all night for that.

  The only sounds in ICU were the beeping and whirring of the machines that were doing their all-important jobs of keeping patients alive. The nurse showed him to the bed in the corner, where Micah recognized the guy instantly. Tubes trailed over the bed, which was lit by a light on the wall above it. The stark light did nothing to lessen the impact: the guy looked awful. His injured left leg was supported by what seemed to be a pulley system of weights and counterweights, and his head was bandaged.

  “How is he?” Micah whispered.

  “He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness since they brought him here.”

  “Ugh.” The pain-ridden sound came from the bed.

  Micah stepped closer. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’re in a hospital. You’re badly hurt.”

  The guy attempted to open one eye, but winced from the effort. The nurse went around to the other side of his bed, checking his pulse and blood pressure. “You don’t have to talk now, okay?” she said softly.

  “Ugh.” Another sound laced with pain.

  Micah want to place a hand on the guy to reassure him, but he had no idea if that would hurt him. “Easy. You’ve got a lot of bruising, and your leg is in a bad way, but you’re gonna be okay.” At least, Micah fervently hoped so.

  “Robbed?” he croaked.

  The nurse bent over him. “We don’t know for sure. The docs didn’t find much on you. No ID, but I’m guessing that was in your wallet, and they didn’t find that either. Right now, you’re a John Doe.”

  In spite of the obvious pain, the guy struggled to open his eyes. “Greg. Greg Chambers.” His breathing hitched. “Backpack? Envelope?”

  “You didn’t have a backpack when I found you. Envelope? What envelope?” Micah bent lower. “Is it important?”

  Greg attempted to nod, wincing again.

  “Easy now,” the nurse soothed. “You need to rest. We’ve given you something for the pain, and it should help you sleep.”

  “No… you don’t understand… have to find him… made a promise.” A low moan escaped Greg’s lips, probably from the effort of speaking those few words.

  The nurse reacted instantly. “Okay, sir? You need to calm down.”

  “His name is Greg,” Micah told her. Greg’s obvious distress tore at him.

  She nodded. “Okay, Greg? You need to let the painkillers do their job. Try to sleep, all right? We’ll take care of you.” She laid a hand on his forehead, her eyes kind.

  Micah watched as the drugs finally got to work, and Greg slipped into a deep sleep. His words were still on Micah’s mind, however.

  “Where did his stuff go? His clothes?”

  The nurse frowned. “They had to cut off his clothing in the ER. Whatever else he had is probably at the nurse’s station down the hall.” She peered at Micah. “He’ll be asleep for hours. You can go if you like.”

  Micah was torn. On the one hand he knew Dad would already be stressing about him, but on the other, he didn’t want to leave Greg. “Can I stay a while longer? Just a little while?” He gave her his most winning smile.

  The nurse hesitated, but Micah could tell he’d won her over. “Okay, seeing as you’re the one who probably saved his life. I’ll be back to check on him in fifteen minutes.”

  Micah thanked her, then waited until she’d left the room. He gazed down at Greg, who appeared to be sound asleep. What envelope? Whatever it was, it had clearly distressed him. Micah’s curiosity got the better of him, and he walked quietly to the door, stepping out into the hallway.

  At the end of the hall was a wide desk, and Micah headed for it. The nurse on duty glanced up as he approached. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here with the guy who was just brought up from the ER. He seems to be worrying about something. Do you have his personal effects?”

  She regarded him suspiciously. “Yes, but why do you want to see them?”

  “He came to just now, and was asking if he’d been robbed. He mentioned an envelope. Seemed kinda important to him.” Micah held up his hands. “Hey, you can be the one to go through his belongings, if it makes you feel more comfortable. I just want to see if whoever beat him up, took this envelope too. They took his wallet.”

  She bit her lip. “I suppose it’s okay, as long as you stay here.” She pulled open a deep drawer, took out the dark hooded jacket Micah recalled, and placed it on the desk. “Take a look.”

  Micah slipped his hands into the outer pockets, but they were empty, so he peered inside. There was a zipped pocket. Micah opened it and felt inside, his fingers touching paper. He removed a folded envelope. “Looks like they didn’t get this.” The
n he unfolded the envelope, and—

  What the fuck?

  Micah stared at the scrawled writing, trying to get his head around it.

  “What’s wrong?” the nurse asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Micah swallowed. “I don’t understand this.” He held out the envelope, so she could read what was written on it.

  She squinted and read aloud, “Joshua Trant, Wright, Campbell County, Wyoming.” She raised her eyebrows. “What’s strange about that?

  Micah fished out his ID and held it up for her to see. “Look, my name’s Micah Trant. Joshua Trant… is my dad.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh wow. And you found him? What are the odds on that?”

  Micah wasn’t thinking about the odds. He was thinking about making an urgent call.

  “Look, can I keep hold of this?”

  She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. Regardless of whether it’s addressed to your father or not, it is the property of the patient. When he’s awake, he can decide what to do with it.” She held out her hand for the envelope.

  Reluctantly, Micah handed it over. “I’ll be back in a short while. I just have to make a call.” He left her and walked briskly down the hallway, heading for the main door. Outside in the frigid air, he shivered as he speed-dialed.

  “How is he?” Dad asked as soon as the call connected.

  “He’s got a lot of injuries. Right now, he’s sedated. But that’s not why I’m calling. Before he passed out, he said something about an envelope, finding someone, and a promise. Well, I found the envelope.” Micah still didn’t believe it.

  “Yeah?”

  “It only has a name written on it, and a town.” Micah drew in another deep breath. “Dad, it’s… your name.”

  Silence followed. Finally, his dad spoke. “Seriously?”

  “Uh huh. Joshua Trant, Wright, Campbell County, Wyoming.”

  “This guy got a name?”

  “Yeah, Greg Chambers.”

  “Nah, doesn’t ring a bell.” Another pause. “You’re not kidding, are you? This isn’t a joke, is it?”