Wounded Heroes Boxed Set

by Judith Arnold

  She blew Quinn a kiss when Grant’s head was turned, generating one of his heart-stopping smiles.

  She forgot to breathe.

  "Quinn?" Grant squirmed with impatience.

  "Okay, we’re leaving." Quinn gave her one more look that made her want nothing so much as to leap into his arms. She stepped away to release him, and waved goodbye.

  As she walked the short distance to Consuela’s house, her mind tumbled and twisted, trying vainly to organize all her impressions into a plan.

  No plan needed, silly. You can milk maybe a couple of weeks here before you have to get back to the show .

  Funny—she had absolutely no interest in watching the show, even if Quinn had owned a TV. Her life in New York seemed so far away now. She’d struggled so hard to get there, and at the moment she couldn't remember why.

  But why didn't matter. She couldn’t afford to question the way she’d structured her life. She didn't have that luxury. Hers was an unforgiving business. Out of the limelight for any length of time, and you were dead. Careers could be even harder to jump-start than the terrible struggle to get there the first time.

  Here today, gone tomorrow. Plenty of others eager to take your place.

  She went stock-still. What was she thinking? She’d just received the recognition of her peers and her fans, a validation of all that she’d fought to accomplish.

  She couldn’t seriously be considering walking away from it.

  Besides, she had a child to support and no other skills. Waiting tables as she’d done when younger would not pay the bills. Becoming a drama teacher was too painful to contemplate. She’d worked too hard to get on top, to gain control of her life.

  She was really good at only one thing: being pretty.

  And being pretty had thrown a maniac across her path.

  She looked up to see Consuela at her gate, watching…studying her.

  The old woman smiled, and that smile somehow lifted Lorie’s heart. Lorie smiled in return.

  "I am happy you decided to come, niña."

  Lorie hugged the old woman. "I wouldn’t have missed it."

  "Would you care for some tea?"

  Lorie’s laughter rang out. "If I drink any more of your tea, I think Grant will disown me. He can’t imagine why anyone would want to take so many naps."

  Consuela’s eyes twinkled. "Ah, the energy of the young." Her gaze sharpened. "You look better. The shadows are disappearing." She looked for a moment longer. "Is my nephew responsible for those roses in your cheeks?"

  Lorie had no idea how to answer.

  Consuela laughed, a melodious trill that brought to mind water falling gently over stones in a clear stream. "That’s all right. You don’t need to answer. I can see the answer for myself."

  She didn’t sound upset, but Lorie wasn’t sure what to say.

  Consuela saved her the trouble. "Come, child, I was headed for my herbs when I saw you. Come visit with me while I work."

  Lorie followed her around to the side of the house, walking a path between plants she didn’t recognize. As they walked, Consuela’s dress brushed against plants and varying aromas filled the air. Lorie paused in delight, trying to identify all the scents.

  "Do I smell basil?"

  Consuela looked over her shoulder, obviously pleased. "Why, yes. Do you see it?" She pointed to Lorie’s left. "Over there."

  "This one?" The plants closest by had large oval leaves, some of them nearly as big as her palm. She crouched besides by the plant, studying it, then turned to Consuela in delight. "I’ve never seen it growing before. It’s pretty."

  "I agree. It is also one of my most useful plants."

  A memory tickled, one moment during a hellish night. "Quinn mentioned that you practice herbal medicine."

  "Many medicines used today have their origins in plants. It is an ancient tradition in many cultures."

  "I only think of basil in reference to cooking."

  Consuela smiled patiently. "I have used it for many others. It has easing properties that can be applied to sore throats or cramping, even as a sedative."

  "I'd better stay away from it, then. The last thing I need is to fall asleep again. Grant is thoroughly disgusted with my constant napping." She glanced back at the basil. "I’ve never even cooked with it, except dried. Do you use it fresh or dry it first?"

  "I do both. I dry some for use in the winter, after harvesting the seed, but I use it so often that I also keep at least one plant indoors." She pointed to the plant next to it. "And there is your manzanilla, or chamomile."

  Lorie eyed the plant in mock horror as she grinned. "Is it safe to be this close, or will I keel over and fall asleep right here?"

  Consuela chuckled. "You are safe. And actually, it also has other uses, such as washing the eye or clearing congestion."

  Lorie rose, and they continued their rounds of her herb garden, Consuela stopping periodically to pull weeds as she explained the names and uses of various plants. Lorie soon followed her example, taking care that she wasn’t pulling something essential.

  She found the process surprisingly soothing. Consuela didn’t speak often; long silences passed in which the only sound was that of birds and the wind. Lorie was amazed to discover how much she enjoyed getting dirt under her fingernails and smelling the loamy scent of earth, overlaid with an aromatic bouquet from each plant they brushed.

  Inside her a deeply rooted tension began to uncoil. As the women worked side by side in the sunshine, Lorie realized that here was a way of living she’d never even conceived.

  "Would you care for some iced tea, niña?"

  Lorie smiled and rose, dusted herself off and laughed, thinking of her character Alexandra’s lily-white hands. She noted Consuela’s eyebrows raised in a question.

  "I was just thinking that my manicurist and my director would keel over if they could see my hands right now."

  The older woman smiled. "Do you enjoy your work?"

  Lorie’s smile faltered. "I do—that is, I thought I did." Until it cost me my husband and endangered my son.

  "But now you are not so sure?"

  "I…I don’t know." She shook her head. "It doesn’t matter, anyway. I have to go back. I have a son for whom I’m responsible."

  "A fine son, too. You have done well with that one, niña. He brings joy to Quinn, a joy he has been missing for many years."

  "He takes on responsibility too easily, doesn’t he?"

  "He always has. He cared for Josh and Clarissa as if they were his own children when he was barely more than a boy himself. He never really had a chance to be young."

  "There’s a sadness in him that I can’t seem to touch. He never speaks of it, but I can feel it’s there. Will you tell me about him? I don’t mean to pry, but he’s done so much for me. I wish…" I wish I didn’t have to leave him. "I wish I could do something for him in return."

  "I can tell that your heart is good, niña. I have not spoken of these things before, even to Josh, but you are very special to Quinn. I will tell you a little, but you must ask him the rest."

  Her expression grew pensive. "Quinn nearly died when his sister was murdered. It took him months to recover from his wounds, and not all of them were physical." She peered closely at Lorie. "Do you know that he has seen Grant in visions?"

  Lorie blinked. "He—what?" She shook her head. Surely she hadn’t heard right.

  "Perhaps I have made a mistake in trusting you with this knowledge which is tearing Quinn apart. He is a man of logic and reason. He sees this as a curse rather than a legacy. He tries to deny that it’s real, but he felt Clarissa being murdered—did you know that? He arrived too late to help her, and he blames himself."

  Felt her? But how could he—

  "Quinn has dreamed of you, too."

  "No. That can't be." Visions? The very word was insane. Things like that didn't happen in the normal world.

  But Quinn was the sanest man she knew. Rock-steady, always in control.

  So ho
w much would it be tearing him apart if he thought the notion crazy himself?

  Not all of his wounds were physical, Consuela had said.

  Quinn had told her that his great-aunt had had to heal him, too. "I don't understand. People don't really do that."

  Consuela sighed. "I will say no more on this. This is Quinn's life, and he is a very private man." She studied Lorie as though poring deep inside her. She took Lorie's hand, and once again Lorie felt that intense calm that radiated from her.

  The same calm Quinn had imparted to her on the most terrifying night of her life. "Consuela, I—" She fell silent. This was a lot to absorb.

  "I trust what I see in your heart. You may struggle with what you have heard, but if you consider carefully what you know of Quinn, you will in time come to peace with who he is." Her gaze was eagle-sharp. "He needs that peace."

  Lorie started to protest, but saw motion out of the corner of her eye. A young couple stood quietly at the gate, an infant in the woman's arms. Consuela headed for them, squeezing Lorie’s arm in comfort as she passed.

  "La Señora," the man began, "We have come to thank you." He proffered a large grocery bag.

  "Welcome to you. All is well?"

  "Very well. My wife suffers no more, and our son is thriving."

  Consuela scanned the young woman's face and spoke in rapid Spanish. The couple bent their heads, and Consuela placed a hand atop each one, then closed her own eyes and began to speak in what seemed to be a prayer.

  Lorie could almost see the easing flow through them, the same powerful sense of peace she had experienced.

  When Consuela finished, she held out her arms for the child. "May I?"

  The mother gave over her child with no hesitation, and Consuela examined him carefully, running her hands over his torso and limbs.

  Then she glanced back at Lorie. "Niña, please cut me a stalk of the basil and bring it here. The shears are on that bench beside you."

  Startled, Lorie hesitated, then complied. As she neared, the couple looked at her with no reserve, only acceptance. The man nodded his head to her, and the woman smiled.

  Lorie smiled back, then glanced at the child sleeping peacefully in Consuela's arms. "Oh, he's lovely!" Once Grant had been this small, this vulnerable. Her throat filled with longing, and she glanced at the parents again. Both were smiling.

  Consuela took the stalk of basil and began to sweep the child's body with it, chanting in a language Lorie had never heard. When she finished, she did the same over the head and shoulders, chests and backs of the parents, ending the sweep of each by making the sign of the cross over each face.

  She handed the child back. "All will be well."

  The mother's eyes shone bright with tears. The man lifted the bag again. "It is not so much, but I will bring more."

  Consuela shook her head. "You need not."

  "You have saved my family. I will owe you always."

  "You will feed your strong son with what you grow. I am an old woman. I do not need so much."

  "There is no way to thank you enough," said the mother.

  "You already have."

  Finally, the couple took their leave, and Consuela bent to the bag they had left.

  "Here, let me," Lorie said, picking it up for her. "Where do you want it?"

  "Come inside."

  She followed the old woman into the tiny house, spotlessly clean and simply furnished, all the while thinking about what she'd seen.

  "Do you have questions?"

  "It's not my business."

  "It is not, but I will explain. After the birth of her son, Juanita suffered from what is called susto. Her own mother passed from this world the same day she went into labor. After the birth, she could not bond with her baby, and the child was suffering as well. In our belief, susto occurs when the spirit is driven from the body after a bad shock. Ernesto brought her to me, and I performed a healing." She paused, her eyes scanning for the extent of Lorie’s skepticism.

  In truth, Lorie didn't know what she felt about what she’d seen. Coming on top of Consuela’s revelations about Quinn and Grant, she couldn’t put it all in place yet.

  She’d never thought of herself as superstitious or interested in the supernatural in any way, yet what she’d seen here and what she’d experienced with Quinn had begun a shift in her view of the world. She couldn’t say yet what she thought it all meant, but she was utterly sure of one thing: Goodness lay at the heart of everything Quinn and Consuela represented.

  She roused herself to answer. "I don’t know what to say about what I’ve seen." She reached for Consuela’s hand. "But I do know that Quinn has already played a big part in my own healing, and now I understand where he learned it."

  "Unfortunately, you are wrong. What Quinn has done for you has emerged from within himself alone because he has never let me teach him anything. Quinn comes from a heritage of powers far beyond the logical world, but he fights it with every breath. He is one such as I have not seen since my father, yet when he could do so much with his gifts, instead he spends his energy denying the powers he could wield."

  Consuela sighed, turning to pour the boiling water over a mixture of leaves she’d placed in the teapot on the counter. "Quinn has the ability to be much more than I ever dreamed, yet because it does not fit in his logical world, he instead chooses to believe there is something wrong with him." She stared out the window. "The day will come when he has no choice but to learn to use the gifts he is so eager to deny."

  The old woman shook herself and unloaded the bag while the tea steeped, taking out a chicken and some vegetables and putting them away.

  Then she poured the tea into a delicate china cup. She turned, cup and saucer in hand, and faced Lorie. "He desperately needs to accept his blessings and curse himself no more, niña, yet you have the power to keep him questioning himself." She handed off the cup and saucer.

  "Me?" Lorie took them in shaking hands.

  "Will you help him or will you desert him in his hour of need?"

  Lorie stared at this kind, gentle woman whose heart was fierce with love.

  Love for a noble man. One who was suffering. Who would she be in the face of it?

  "I—I'm out of my depth, Consuela."

  "But you will try."

  Lorie nodded. "I will try."

  Chapter Seventeen

  * * *

  BACK AT QUINN'S house, Lorie turned her needlework bag upside down on the sofa, heedless of the disarray. She’d already plunged her hands inside, rooting around for the scissors she kept in a little tapestry holder she’d made to protect her needles, thimble and the tiny gold needlework scissors.

  Needlework calmed her, and she needed calming. Every step back from Consuela’s, she'd grown progressively more troubled over what she'd heard and seen…the challenge to which she felt so unequal. She wanted to occupy her hands while her mind wrestled with her unease.

  Surely she hadn’t left them in New York. She never let them stray from the holder, so where were they? She couldn't imagine Quinn owning a pair so small.

  So needlework was out.

  She began to untangle the threads she'd tossed aside so carelessly, but finally she abandoned the task and walked back outside to pace the porch. Then she remembered the table rock, how Quinn had spoken of its calming effects during the dawn which followed the worst night of her life.

  She recalled it, too, from the night before, electrified by the memory of making love in the wildflowers.

  Then she frowned, remembering that when she’d first spotted Quinn there last night, he’d seemed disturbed. Could Consuela be right? Did he see things in his dreams that portended ill?

  She stepped off the porch and approached the cliff's edge, halting beneath a mesquite a few feet away. For a moment, she stood and listened to the constant wind, then stepped up on the big rock and sank onto it, staring sightlessly ahead.

  How to reconcile this strange, almost magical world she’d entered? So much that was
unexpected and outside her experience…yet she’d seen and felt nothing but goodness from either Quinn or his aunt. Each had been infinitely careful of her, each calm and undemanding. She knew in her innermost reaches that she and Grant could not be safer than with these people.

  Psychic gifts aside, what did she make of this existence they lived, so different from any she'd known?

  Had she lived so long in a world of me first that she’d forgotten such selflessness really existed? Dog eat dog was a rule so primary that she’d forgotten it could be questioned.

  But look at Quinn’s aunt and what she’d done this day. Lorie didn’t pretend to understand all that had happened, but the effect Consuela had on the young family was remarkable. Lorie thought about all the people she knew who wouldn’t miss a week with their shrinks. She thought of all the money someone could have made, preying upon the fears of two simple people.

  Instead Consuela had received what the young father could offer, with the graciousness of a queen. A chicken, small and scrawny, a few potatoes and some squash were all they had to give her.

  And Lorie felt certain she’d accepted it as much for their sake as for her own.

  Consuela was an old woman who could have been forgiven for retiring to her rocking chair long ago. But she had a purpose which sustained her; she made a difference in people’s lives.

  When Lorie contrasted it to her own life, she felt sick. She, at best, gave people an escape for a while; at worst, she provided the bread for a sandwich designed to urge consumption. Consuela’s life might be simpler, might have little luxury—but whose life was richer?

  She laid her cheek on her knees, gazing at the vista beyond her. Her thoughts turned to what Consuela had said about Quinn. She was afraid to consider the import of Consuela’s words, but she couldn’t get them out of her mind.

  Quinn had seen Grant in dreams? Had seen her? How could that be?

  A chill swept over her as she remembered asking Quinn how he knew she’d been in trouble on that horrible night. He’d called it—what? She furrowed her brow, trying to remember what he’d said.

  Just a feeling, that was it. She’d been so terrified, so confused, she hadn’t questioned it. But that was what he’d said, wasn’t it?