Slowly he rose to his feet, heading out of his office toward the small break room just down the hall.
“Damn,” he cursed in a low voice as he rounded the corner and spotted the empty coffee carafe. No filing, no e-mail and now no coffee. He only hoped once Gracie had her baby and got back to work things would finally get back to normal.
Grumbling, he walked to the sink and filled the coffee carafe with water, poured it into the drip coffee-maker and filled the filter with fresh grounds. But he grew restless waiting for the coffee to brew and wandered back out through the hall and to the outer office.
He stopped at Gracie’s desk, looking at the computer. Reaching down, he tapped the mouse, bringing the screen to life, and called up the Internet messaging service. Maybe with a little caffeine running through his veins, he could give those e-mails a try. He was the sheriff and this was his office and like it or not, it was his responsibility to see to it that everything got done, no matter how small or how mundane—even if that meant he had to do it himself.
The truth of the matter was, this was his county, his piece of the planet and he had a stake in everything that went on in the sprawling two hundred miles of territory. When something went wrong or somebody got hurt, he took it personally.
And somebody had hurt Rain. They may not have stabbed her, or raped her or even beaten her up, but the pain on her face had been so great, it had managed to find its way to him, as well. He had felt it, just as sure and if he’d been the one abandoned. He had nothing to go on, no leads to pursue or clues to follow but somehow, someway he was going to find out who had injured her and why.
It may be his job to help her, but it was also the right thing to do, the only decent thing to do. The woman was alone in the world; she had no one to lean on, no one to calm and comfort her. She was the stuff legends were made of, the object of myth and lore. She was Rain Woman, born of the elements and christened by the rain. Like the tales from his ancestors, she had walked out of the desert, a mysterious woman with no past, no people and no one to protect her—and into his arms. It was not only his duty to help her, it was his destiny.
Reluctantly he sat down at the desk and slowly started composing the e-mail he wanted to send, but with his hunt-and-peck style on the keyboard, progress was slow and he soon grew restless. He wanted the information sent to the newspapers and media as soon as possible, but at this rate it was going to take forever.
He pushed away from the desk, stretching the stiffness in his arms and back. He needed something to help him, something to boost his sagging spirits and tense muscles. But just as he rose to go pour himself a fresh cup of coffee, the telephone rang.
“Sheriff Mountain,” he barked into the phone.
“Sheriff? It’s me, Gracie.”
Joe could hear the alarm in her voice. “Gracie, what’s the matter? You sound terrible.”
“Oh, Sheriff Mountain,” she sobbed through the wire. “Sheriff, I’m so scared. It’s my baby. The baby’s in trouble.”
“Trouble? Gracie, what are you talking about?”
He pressed the phone close, straining to hear through the sobs and tears. He made out something about tests and lab results, none of which meant much to him, but the culmination of them all meant complete bed rest for her for the remainder of her pregnancy.
“Jerry’s trying to find someone who can come in with me while he’s at work during the day,” she explained, stopping only long enough to blow her nose loudly. “I have to stay flat for at least the next twelve weeks. I can’t come back to work. What about my job? What about all my work?”
He could hear how overwhelmed she was and looked around at the reams of papers yet to be filed and felt a little overwhelmed himself.
“Don’t worry about your job,” he assured her. “It’ll be here whenever you get back—and we’ll get along just fine. You just concentrate on taking care of yourself and that baby.”
Chapter 4
It wasn’t him, she could tell that now. He was short and stocky and this man was huge, built like a football player with his enormous shoulders and powerful arms. No, she could relax, it wasn’t him. She could walk a little slower, breathe a little easier.
She had to stop this, had to try to keep her wits about her. She couldn’t afford to become paranoid, imagining him around every corner and behind every bush. This wasn’t the time to let her imagination get the best of her. There was too much riding on her, too much depending on her keeping a calm head and not panicking.
Only, if it wasn’t him, why was he still behind her? Why did he have such a harsh look on his face and why was he getting so close? It wasn’t him and he was the only one she had to be afraid of, the only one she had to fear.
So if this man wasn’t him, why was she so afraid? He was a stranger, and yet he had such cold, black eyes when he looked at her.
“Logan,” he said in a voice that turned her blood to ice.
“No,” she groaned.
It wasn’t him—it wasn’t Logan—but when the hand clamped down hard on her shoulder, she’d realized he’d been sent by him.
“No,” she groaned again. “Tell Logan no. Tell him I won’t go.”
Her voice sounded as small and as weak as it had in the desert, lonely and lost like a cry in the night. Fear rose up from her throat, choking her words, stealing her breath. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t get away….
“Logan. Logan.”
Fear. Panic. And then, the darkness.
“Rain?”
The voice cut through the darkness, reaching through the layers of dreams and fragments of nightmares like a hand extended.
“Rain. Wake up, Rain.”
Suddenly she was warm; the warmth obliterated the cold and the darkness. She forgot about the panic, she forgot about the fear. She didn’t need to be afraid any longer. Like strong arms holding her, she knew she was safe.
“Wake up, Rain.”
She blinked, the light stinging her eyes, until she realized she was staring up into his eyes.
“Sheriff Mountain.”
“I heard you from the corridor,” he said, straightening up and slipping his hands from her shoulders. “Bad dream from the sounds of it.”
It was only then that she realized he’d been touching her, one hand on either of her shoulders.
“Yes,” she croaked, suddenly remembering the dark images and the cold eyes of a stranger. “Yes, a dream—a very bad dream.”
“You okay now?”
“Fine,” she said with a nod, pushing herself up against the pillows. Actually, she was out of breath and her heart hammered wildly in her chest and her hospital gown was drenched with sweat. “I—I’m fine.”
He reached for the pitcher of water beside the bed, pouring her a glass. “Here, drink this. You look like you could use it.”
She took a sip, the water feeling cool and soothing along her scratchy throat. “Thanks.” She pushed her hair back away from her face and took another drink. “Did you need to see me for something?”
“Not really,” he said, picking up the pitcher and refilling her water glass. “I was here on some other business. I was just passing by the room when I heard you.”
“I see,” she murmured, taking another sip of water. It was foolish to be disappointed, foolish to think he’d come just to see her.
“You want to talk about it? The dream, I mean.”
She thought of the awful face of the stranger in her dream and shook her head. “Not really.”
“Would you mind?” he pressed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his tablet. “Maybe there was something significant.”
She glared down at his tablet, hating that it was always just business with him. “In a dream?”
“You never know,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe you can dream about what happened even if you can’t remember it.”
He was right, of course, and she couldn’t let her vanity get in the way of solving the mystery of her past.
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“There was someone, a man,” she began. “A big man.”
“Did he look familiar to you? Did you know him?”
“No, he was a stranger.”
“You remember what he looked like? Could you describe him?”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Oh, yes.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have a sketch artist in the county, but I could probably arrange to have one come down from Carson City. It would take a take day or two, though. Think if you jotted down a few notes to yourself you’d be able to remember enough to work with someone?”
That gruff, angry face was one she would have no problem describing. It was etched permanently into her memory—and one thing she actually wouldn’t mind forgetting.
“I think so,” she said, taking another sip of water. “Do you think my dreams could be important?”
“Hard to say,” he hedged. “But, maybe subconsciously you’re able to remember something.” He made a few notations in his tablet. “Do you remember anything else? Anything about what happened in the dream?”
She remembered gasping for air, remembered struggling to get away. “I know I was afraid.”
“Of the man?”
She stared at the glass of water, but she was seeing phantom, elusive images in her mind. “Not at first.” She looked up at him. “I was relieved—at least in the beginning. He wasn’t who I thought he was, wasn’t the man I was afraid of, the man I was running away from, but then…”
“Then?” he prompted her when her words drifted off.
“Oh.” She jumped, her thoughts scrambling. “Then I realized he was after me, too. Chasing me, grabbing me.” She gave her head a shake. “I guess I just dreamed everyone was after me.”
“Have you had this dream before?”
She shook her head, thinking about the dream she’d had of him even before she’d met him. “Not this exact dream.”
“But others like it?”
She nodded. “Several since last night.”
“About being pursued?”
“Yes.”
“Same man?”
“No.”
“Think you could describe any of the others?”
“I don’t know,” she said, thinking of dark images and shadowy features. “I don’t think so.”
She felt stupid and frustrated. Nothing made sense. What seemed so frightening in her dreams seemed almost silly now that she thought about it.
“This man you were afraid of, the man chasing you. Was he Logan?”
She felt a chill run the length of her spine, leaving her feeling unsettled and disturbed.
“No.”
“You called out the name Logan.”
She looked up at him. “I did? Again?”
Joe nodded. “But this man wasn’t Logan?”
Something registered in her brain, something from the dream. “No, he wasn’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he was sent by Logan.” She groaned, pounding a fist into the mattress. “This is crazy. It doesn’t make sense.” She closed her eyes, feeling a dull throb start to radiate from the tender area at the top of her head. “Logan. What’s Logan? Who’s Logan? I don’t even know why I keep saying it. I wish I could remember.” She opened her eyes, sitting up again. “It must mean something if I keep saying it.”
“Maybe,” Joe said.
“Or maybe it’s just the name of a character in a book you once read, or a neighbor, or your third-grade teacher.”
They both stopped and turned toward the door. Cruz reached into the pocket of his white jacket and pulled out a stethoscope as he walked into the room.
“I thought we had agreed you would wait for me at the nurses’ station, Sheriff Mountain,” he said, glowering at Joe.
“And I had every intention of doing that very thing,” Joe insisted, bringing his hands up in surrender. “But your patient was having a nightmare. I heard her calling out from the corridor.” He turned and glanced back at her. “I thought maybe she could use some help.”
“A nightmare,” Cruz said, the annoyance in his voice disappearing in his concern for his patient. Reaching for Rain’s wrist, he felt for her pulse. “Another bad one?”
“About the same as the other,” she confessed.
He looked down at her, running the backs of his fingers across her forehead. “You feel clammy and your heart’s still racing.”
“I dreamed the bogey man was out to get me,” she sighed with a humorless laugh. She was tired of thinking about the dreams, tired of thinking about what was real and what wasn’t, tired of trying to figure out what was important and what was just idle fantasy—and most of all she was tired of not knowing the difference.
“The bogey man, huh?” Cruz repeated dryly. “That doesn’t sound good.” He turned an accusing glance at Joe. “I hope you weren’t badgering her with more questions.”
“She said she dreamed someone was after her,” Joe admitted. “I thought maybe she might have remembered something.”
“Do you think that’s possible, doctor?” she asked hopefully, sitting up again. “Could I remember something in my dreams?”
“What I think,” Cruz said calmly, putting a hand on her shoulder and guiding her back against the pillows, “is that you had a dream.”
“I know, but—”
“A dream,” Cruz said, cutting her off and shooting Joe a dark look before turning back to her again. “And I told you I wanted you to get some rest, not be trying to interpret every little thing that pops out of your subconscious.”
“But it could have been something from my past, couldn’t it?” she insisted.
“It is highly unlikely.”
“But it’s a possibility,” Joe pointed out.
Cruz shot him another dark look. “An unlikely one.” He turned to Rain again. “It was just a dream.” He leaned closer, his voice growing softer. “I know this is scary, and I know you’re anxious to remember but your memory is going to come back when it comes back—no sooner than that.” He straightened back up. “But I do have some good news, though.”
Good news. Yes, she could use some of that. “My tests?”
“Everything looks great—X rays, lab work—and that bump on your head is healing nicely. I’d like to keep you here for just a couple days longer, just for observation, but I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t release you after that.”
Rain wondered if blood really could turn to ice because she was fairly certain hers just did. “You mean out of the hospital?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Cruz said, his smile widening. “There’s a friend I’d like you to see, a specialist up at the University Medical Center in Sparks. He’s done a lot of work with patients experiencing amnesia, memory loss, but that can be done on an outpatient basis.”
“You’re releasing me,” she murmured, the ice in her veins sending a shiver down her spine. A world that had begun for her only a little more than a day ago had shifted again. Except for the desert, the hospital was all she knew.
“Are you sure she’s ready?” Joe asked.
“She’s more than ready,” Cruz assured him. “Of course, she’s going to need to take it easy, get plenty of rest and—” he glanced back down at Rain “—I’m going to want to see you back here for regular checkups. Carrie will get you set up with a schedule of appointments.”
She sat up, clutching at Cruz’s arm as he wrote in the chart. “But, Dr. Martinez, if you release me, where will I go? I’ve nowhere to go.”
“We’ve got a few days,” he assured her. “We’ll work something out.”
“But how?” she insisted, another kind of panic taking hold. “I don’t know anyone here. I don’t have any money, I don’t have a job. I don’t even know if I know how to do anything.”
“Don’t worry about it now,” Cruz said. “County Services can work this out. They’ll find a place—”
“No need to get them involved,” Joe said, interrupting him.
“What do you mean?”
“County Services don’t need to find her a place,” he explained, flipping his tablet closed and slipping it into the pocket of his shirt. “She can stay with me.”
“What?” Rain was sure she must not have heard him right. She’d thought he had said she could stay with him.
“I’ve got lots of room,” he said, taking a step closer to the bed. “I’ve got a place for you to stay.”
Joe reached for an icy bottle of beer from the six-pack beside him on the porch. Leaning back against the rail post, he twisted off the cap and stared out across the desert to the soft glow of lights below in the distance.
Mesa Ridge was asleep at this hour, but occasionally he would catch the flash of headlights as someone made their way down Main Street, heading out toward the highway.
To the left of town, the lights from Flo’s Tavern flashed on and off with customary regularity, and he had to smile. It was Friday night and the place would be hoppin’ for at least another couple of hours. Ryan would be out on patrol and by morning, the holding cells of the Mesa County Jail would be full with repentant citizens in on charges ranging from public drunkenness to driving under the influence to disturbing the peace. In various stages of hangovers, they would dutifully pay their fines in the morning, put in another hard week at work and be back at Flo’s the next Friday night where the whole thing would start all over again.
Joe tossed the cap on to the step and put the bottle to his lips, taking a long, slow drink. But he didn’t begrudge the group at Flo’s their good time, even if it occasionally did end in a fistfight or barroom brawl—as long as nobody got hurt and everyone made up in the morning. Everybody deserved to blow off a little steam from time to time. Maybe that’s what he needed to do—blow off a little steam. Maybe it would help him clear his head and stop him from doing rash, reckless things he knew he’d only come to regret later on.
I’ve got a place for you to stay.
His grandiose offer replayed itself over and over again in his brain. What had come over him? Had he lost his mind? He’d been telling himself all day that he was losing objectivity when it came to Rain, been cautioning himself to keep perspective and not get too involved. Unfortunately, his little lectures to himself hadn’t helped much. Bringing the woman home, offering her a room in his house wasn’t exactly backing off, wasn’t exactly taking a step back.
Rain Dance Page 5
