by Nika Dixon
“Well, that was quite a wake-up,” he said cheerfully. He righted the lamp and adjusted its position back into the center of the small table.
Frozen against the wall, she glanced around, her ribs aching from the fierce pounding of her heart. She was alone in a room with Santa, and what a room it was! She couldn’t decide if it was trying to be an office, a medical exam room, or a guest room. The walls had eye charts and health diagrams, and the shelves were stocked with bandages and other medical supplies, but the windows had real curtains and the rustic wooden furniture was torn straight from the pages of a country-living magazine. It even had a real bed.
She cleared her throat and tried her best to sound more confident than she felt. “Where am I?”
“Why, my clinic, of course.”
“Clinic?”
“Oh. Yes. Dear me. I guess I’m so used to everyone knowing who I am, it’s an oddity to meet someone who doesn’t.” He leaned into his laugh and extended his hand. “I’m Liam. Liam Horvath. Or like most folks round these parts, you can call me Doc.”
She stared at his outstretched hand, unwilling and unable to remove her fingernails from the wallpaper they were clawed against. “Doc?”
“That’s right. And what should I call you?” He pulled his hand back and pushed his round-rimmed glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.
The question shot a renewed sense of fear straight down her spine. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed past the dry scratch. She knew her name. Had the order of the letters sitting on the tip of her tongue. But the action that would allow her to say it to another human being was frozen straight through to her soul.
Words had consequences. Deadly consequences.
“I have to call you something,” he prompted.
Curling her fingers into fists, she tried her best not to look as terrified as she felt. Alan hated weakness. She’d learned over the years to hide it deep inside, along with her voice. Stay quiet, stay silent. Don’t speak until spoken to, and they’ll forget you exist.
“Emmaline,” she croaked, biting her bottom lip before she could blurt out the rest. Katz was an unusual last name. Too easy for someone to remember. She struggled to find a better one. Smith? Johnson? She should probably have something plain. Ordinary. Forgettable.
The elderly doctor solved the dilemma for her. “Well, it’s certainly very nice to meet you, Miss Emma Leen.”
She started to correct him but caught herself. As a name, Emma Leen would do perfectly.
He asked her a series of questions, bouncing through how she was feeling to silly questions about who the president was and if she knew the month and the year. Despite her curiosity at the strange trivia-style twist, she answered as concisely as she could, but her responses died when he asked her if she remembered how she’d gotten there.
The last memory she could summon included cloud-reaching pine trees, a sunset drive along a winding road, and a wonderfully exuberant older lady as her chauffeur. And then…
Nothing.
She looked at the floor, afraid to admit she couldn’t remember coming to the clinic. At all. As though someone had switched off her mind in the middle of the trip, turning it on again once she woke up here.
“Well, to hear tell it, Georgie decided to take the car for a swim in the creek,” Doc offered.
“Creek?” she whispered, shocked. “Like a river?”
He smiled. “Like a river.”
She rubbed at the despair tightening her chest. All the other pieces were there. Getting off the bus in Pikes Falls. The nice old lady in the flowered hat chatting with her on the bench, going on about family and people as though Emma already knew them. It took her quite a while to realize the point to the roundabout stories was that the older woman was continuing in a westerly direction and she fully expected Emma to be going along with her.
So she had. But only because she needed to keep moving.
Keep running.
Always.
“Georgia?” she whispered, trying to find the right sounding name.
“Georgina,” Doc corrected. “Georgina Hackett. Georgie to her friends.”
Georgie. Right.
Such a talkative old soul—a wealth of knowledge on the area and the people living along their route. Nearly every building they passed had something exciting to be told about it. And while Emma could remember pieces of some of the stories of farmers and families, she couldn’t remember stopping.
Or driving into a river.
She gasped, immediately connecting a car accident to the nice old lady. “Is she okay?”
“She’s just fine. Already back home and complaining. And as for you, forgetting a few minutes here and there isn’t all that unusual, so don’t you be thinking anything of it. Why, I remember when Ephron Walker got his sorry ass tossed off that crotchety old mare of his. He knocked himself so silly he damn near forgot his own name for a good two weeks. It all came back, though. So, don’t you be thinking anything of that little old bump, hear?”
When he wiggled his finger at her forehead, she was surprised to note that the spot he was pointing at really did hurt. She reached up and gingerly touched a lump at her temple.
“Don’t you be poking at it, now.” He tsked. “It’s going to be a mite sore for a few days, but it’ll heal up faster if you leave it be.”
He pulled a small hand mirror out of the drawer in the table by the bed and handed it to her.
She nearly dropped it in shock.
Instead of her own reflection, she faced the weary eyes of a pale-skinned, brown-haired woman with an angry red lump over her right eye.
She reached for a lock of hair, dismayed by its bland color and short length. It took her a moment to remember she had done the deed to herself—cutting and dyeing her auburn curls nearly a week ago.
The night she escaped.
She swiped at a forming tear. It was just hair. It would grow back. How she looked didn’t matter. What was important was how far she’d managed to get from Alan…and how much farther she still had to go. His evil hadn’t yet reached this place, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t coming.
Doc gently lifted the mirror from her fingers. “It’ll be gone before you know it. Day or two and you won’t even know it was there. Promise.” He put the mirror back then placed his hands on his hips and rocked his weight back and forth from heel to toe. “Now, you said you haven’t eaten since this morning, which I might add, is a pretty silly thing to be doing. Having no fuel in your engine definitely compounded your dramatic arrival at my clinic, not just that little nugget on your forehead.”
She wasn’t sure how, or if, she should answer. Regular meals had been few and far between, but it wasn’t by choice. What little cash she had was long gone, the last of it slapped down on the counter to buy the bus ticket that got her as far as Pikes Falls.
It wasn’t far enough.
“I’m recommending you get a good night’s rest, and if you start to feel odd, especially a headache or feeling dizzy or like you’re wanting to throw up, you need to get yourself to a doctor right quick. Deal?”
She bobbed her head. Definitely not, but if agreeing meant she could leave… “So, I can go?”
“Well, you can’t very well go out wearing that.”
Confused over what was wrong with what she had on, she looked down.
She was filthy.
Dirt and muck covered her dress, her bare legs were smeared with mud, and there were clumps of dirt caked between her toes.
“Well, you did drive into the river,” he said with a wink. He walked over to a chair by the door and returned with a folded chunk of floral material. He unfurled a wide dress patterned with green and blue flowers. “This is going to be a mite big on you, but it’s the best I could come up with on short notice.”
She took the dress but held it a safe distance away from all her dirt.
He set a pair of blue canvas shoes by her feet. “I have a feeling those are also going to be just as b
ig, but seeing as how you’ve lost yours, well, we can’t have you walking around barefoot, now can we?”
“No?”
He retrieved a green plastic container from a nearby shelf and set on the side table. “Baby wipes. Not just for babies these days,” he said with a chortle. “They should be able to get most of the mud off. Give you a little bit of a cleanup until you can get a proper bath. Now, I’ll let you get changed. Once you’re ready, just come on out and we’ll see about getting you on your way.”
Without waiting for an answer either way, he opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him with a soft click.
Relieved to know she was free to leave, she quickly changed her clothes.
The sooner she moved on, the sooner she could put more distance between her and Alan.
Chapter Three
Sitting alone in the front room of Doc Horvath’s house and part-time clinic, Marshall flipped the pages of a year-old magazine, skimming headlines and glancing at pictures while he wondered about the pretty lady in the room across the hall. She’d barely opened her eyes on the drive over, but Doc had assured him it didn’t necessarily mean there was something drastically wrong.
Curiosity over what her story was had Marshall pondering. He’d grown up in Absolution and other than a brief foray into city living, had lived here his whole life. He’d never set eyes on the lady before and neither had his brother, which was as good an indication as any that she had never been to town. So, what was she doing driving around with Georgie?
The other thing that struck him as odd was her lack of belongings. Michelle hadn’t been able go away for even a single night without packing half the bathroom and multiple changes of clothes. So how was this gal traveling around without so much as a single bag?
With an exasperated sigh, he rubbed his forehead, willing the memory of Michelle to go back to its dark hole. That was twice tonight she had invaded his thoughts.
Two times too many.
Slapping the magazine closed, he tossed it onto the side table. Mystery ladies with missing suitcases were not his concern. Dealing with that kind of riddle was Danny’s area of expertise, as sheriff. Marshall preferred to keep things just how they were—dull, quiet, and boring. Exactly the way they would return to as soon as their visitor was on her feet and gone.
He glanced toward the front door when it opened with a creak.
Danny walked in, pulling off his hat and scratching the top of his head. “How’s Sleeping Beauty?”
“Still in with the doc. Get Georgie back to the retirement home?”
“Yeah. She wasn’t happy about it.”
“No doubt. Figure out who owns the car?”
“The plates came back to a yoga instructor in Pikes Falls. Alice is trying to get in touch with her now.”
Marshall shook his head at the confounded idea of eighty-two-year-old Georgie hot-wiring a car. “Let me guess, the yoga instructor lives near the bingo hall?”
“Down the block and across the street.” Danny flopped down into a chair. “Bobby’s towing the car back to the shop.”
“Georgie still saying Etta May was waiting for her at the bus stop?”
Insisting a random woman was her long-dead daughter was a new level of crazy, even for Georgie.
“That’s her story.” Danny pursed his lips. “Makes me wonder if ‘Etta May’ isn’t running some kind of scam. Maybe looking to get more than just a free ride?”
“Seems like a lot of work to go to for nothing. Georgie’s not exactly rich.”
“Just a consideration.”
A muffled voice from the exam room increased in volume as the door opened. Doc stepped through and immediately shut the door, blocking any attempt to catch a peek at the patient.
“Well, goodness me, if it isn’t Danny Boyer,” Doc exclaimed with a wide smile. “Been a while since you’ve been by, Sheriff.”
“Haven’t felt the need,” Danny replied, rising out of his chair and shaking the doctor’s hand.
“Well, I suppose that’s a good thing,” he responded with a laugh. “I’m guessing you’re here to call on my newest patient? It’s a lucky lady who has both Boyer boys waiting on her.” He clamped his hand on Danny’s shoulder. “You aren’t here to give her any trouble now, are you, Sheriff?”
Marshall smirked at the glare Doc was giving his brother. It wasn’t as though Danny was one to arrest anyone without cause, but Doc was an even bigger pushover, often inventing illnesses to keep his patients from having to pay the piper for their lesser sins.
Danny shook his head. “Don’t worry, Doc, you don’t need to make up any ailments for her. We just need to ask her a few questions about what happened.”
“Well, now, here’s the thing.” Doc pulled his glasses off, examined them for mystery dirt, then put them back on. “She doesn’t seem to have the faintest inkling as to how the car ended up in the river.”
Danny’s eyes narrowed. “And I suppose she’s forgotten who she is and how she ended up in a stolen car with Georgie, too.”
Marshall wasn’t as quick to write off the explanation. The lady did have a goose egg, and the way she’d reacted to seeing him made him wonder how badly she’d scrambled her brain.
Doc waved his finger in front of Danny’s nose, his expression souring. “Until someone tells me otherwise, that degree on the wall says Liam Horvath and not Danny Boyer. I said she doesn’t remember the river. I didn’t say she doesn’t remember her name…kind of like a certain someone in this room who couldn’t remember how he managed to knock himself out riding his bicycle over to the Culpepper farm on a perfectly flat field ’bout ten years back, hmm?”
“I still don’t,” Danny muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Well, you be keeping that in mind when you’re accusing the poor gal of shenanigans, then.” Doc turned to the closed door of his office and examination room. “Now, if you two will wait here, I’ll go see if our guest is ready to join us.”
Chapter Four
Emma tried to decipher what was being said out in the waiting room, but the heavy wooden door muffled the voices. Her heart raced. It wasn’t Alan out there. He wouldn’t waste time coming after her himself—he had his dogs for that. When she was younger, she’d naively believed the men were bodyguards, or perhaps she’d been willing to let the truth remain hidden in her attempt to be as normal as possible. But the two beefy suits who did his every bidding were much more than watchers—they were killers.
No, if Vincent or Victor were here, they wouldn’t have stopped in the lobby for a chat. The kind old doctor would be dead, and she would be dragged away between them.
But if not them, then who?
Not knowing was almost as frightening, if not more.
She hurried to the window, the oversize shoes slapping against her heels like flip-flops. She pushed the curtains away from the glass. The sun had set, painting the sky a dozen shades of pinks and purples and drawing long shadows across the wide front lawn. The coming darkness would be good to hide in, but it wasn’t here yet. And even if it were, where would she go? There was nothing between her and the horizon but a sea of open fields.
She snatched her hands away from the window latch at the brisk knock on the door. Spinning around, she lurched back, banging her elbow on the window frame and bracing for the rush of bodies.
But the face that peered around the corner belonged only to Doc.
“All set?”
She rocked her head back and forth, cursing herself for not being faster with the window locks.
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, his smile quirking with a hint of apology. “There are a couple of gentlemen outside who’d like to find out how you are doing. Nothing to worry about, now, hear? You’re a bit of a mystery, is all. We don’t get many visitors here in Absolution. And, if you’ve got to have anyone looking out for your best interest, well, you couldn’t have picked any better than the Boyer boys. Good men, those two. You have my word
on that.”
She tried to believe the casual indifference in his voice that the “Boyer boys” were good men, but she couldn’t get past the fear of having two strangers waiting for her. “I don’t know—”
“Normally, I’d be inclined to let you leave on your own, but that knock on your head means someone should keep an eye on you—just for a bit—to make sure you don’t start feeling any worse.”
“Keep an eye?” she said with a gasp. What did that mean?
He carried on as though she hadn’t spoken. “Any other night I’d be willing to offer you a spot upstairs, but Milly’s third baby is on his way into the world tonight, and as soon as I get you settled I’ll be off to make sure the boy doesn’t cause his mama any grief. So, unless you’ve remembered someone you can call to come get you…?”
Definitely not! She whipped her head back and forth.
He rummaged through the drawers of the desk in the corner. He pulled out a brown paper bag, dumped the contents back into the drawer, then held the empty bag out to her. “For your dress.”
Delaying her exit for as long as possible, she took the folded square of her dirty dress and carefully put it into the paper bag. She slowly rolled the top of the bag closed then clutched it to her abdomen. Staring at the door, she scrambled to think of any way to keep from having to go through it.
Without preamble, he opened the door. She held her breath and crumpled the paper bag against her stomach, tensing in fright against whatever—whoever—was going to come through.
Nothing happened.
There were no voices. No Alan. No bodyguards. Just a wide-open doorway…and silence.
Doc stepped to the side, swinging the door wider. He tipped his head toward the open side. “Well, come on, no need to be shy.”
She shuffled up to the doorway.
The second she crossed the threshold, her attention locked on a dark-haired cowboy with slate-blue eyes. Tall and lean, he stood with his arms at his side, hat in hand, his relaxed stance broadcasting confidence and surety. If Hollywood were to be believed, he was dressed just the way he should be—worn boots, faded jeans, and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up below his elbows. Some might say he was overdue for a shave, but she sensed he was more of a once-a-week-with-a-razor type of man. It suited him, bringing a serious calm to his aura.
