Dances Under the Harvest Moon (Heartache, TN 3)

by Joanne Rock

  “Even with the fever?” Zach dodged a janitor’s cart and then skirted a group of interns following a nurse around the unit.

  “It’s holding steady at 102.” Turning another corner, Dr. Watts pointed to a quieter hallway. “She’s in the last room on the right.”

  Zach wanted to question him further, to shake out more answers about what the hell was going on with Heather’s health. Two things stopped him. First, that Heather had made it clear she wanted to be in charge of sharing those details. Second, he guessed Dr. Watts knew more about college hoop than whatever was wrong with Heather.

  “Thanks, Doc. Much appreciated.” Zach nodded and headed down the hall.

  The long walk gave him too much time to think about Ellie’s time here. Too many medical professionals had kept him away from his sister then, too. He’d been stuck in some outer waiting room when he’d heard the code call over the speakers. Knew it was an emergency by the way nurses and doctors took off running.

  And he’d known in his bones who the code was for. Whose life hung in the balance that night. All because she’d kept her damn secrets, too. And because Zach had been too focused on getting out of Heartache—away from his family—to notice how depressed she’d been.

  “Hey, Zach.”

  The soft sound of his name called him out of the past, making him realize he’d reached Heather’s room and stood framed in the doorway. Staring at her but not seeing her. At least, not at first. His brain cleared, the present shoving aside the past, even if it left him ice cold inside. Heather lay in a bed with a bleached-white blanket tucked around her. Her pink tennis sneakers stuck out of the bottom of the thermal cotton, the same shoes she’d worn to dance in less than twelve hours ago. Her cheeks were flushed, the fever evident no matter that Dr. Watts hadn’t seemed concerned. She looked more alert, though, her blue eyes clear and not as pain-fogged as before.

  “Hey, yourself, superstar.” He said it to make her smile. But maybe he had already stuck his foot in his mouth.

  Would her health prevent her from the dreams she so desperately wanted to pursue?

  “I feel bad you’re still here.” She moved over on the bed and tugged the blanket closer. “Want a seat? You must be exhausted.”

  “I’m guessing I feel better than you.” Stepping deeper into the small room, he tried to pull his head together as he closed the door. Focus on Heather and not think about the sound of Ellie’s heart-rate monitor when she’d flatlined for interminable seconds.

  His mother had been visiting his father at the county jail that day, leaving a seventeen-year-old kid in charge of his sister.

  “I’m not sure how long they are going to keep me here. You definitely don’t need to stay.”

  “I’m not leaving.” He lowered himself to sit on the side of her bed. He was still mad that she’d drawn a line in the sand with him, hadn’t wanted to share anything with him. But hell, he wanted to be close to her.

  “Yet you’re so angry with me you can hardly look at me,” she said softly, picking at a loose thread on the white blanket.

  A gesture he knew about, thanks to peripheral vision, so maybe she had a point. He fixed his full attention on her, saw her shifting on the bed. An IV was taped to one wrist. She wore a hospital gown. Someone must have helped her change for the X-rays.

  He’d been a wreck trying to dress her back at his house, scared of hurting her more. Worried that he’d already hurt her somehow when they’d been together earlier.

  He rested his hand over hers, careful to stay clear of the IV. “I don’t want to argue with you while you’re not feeling well. I know stress isn’t good for your condition.” He used a whole lot of restraint to limit his remarks to just those few words. “I’m not about to add to the tension factor.”

  “You don’t cause me stress.” She linked her fingers with his.

  Just a few hours ago, her hands had been all over him, pulling his clothes off. He’d thought it was the start of something special. It’d sure felt that way to him. But while he’d been thinking about getting closer to her, she’d already built walls around herself.

  “Of course I do. I’m having the town sheriff investigate your father’s political past. Turning the public eye on your family. I’ve caused a lot of tension for all the Finleys, but you especially.” Guilt pounded with every heartbeat, forcing out the fear that had been dogging him all evening. “That could have triggered this episode, you know. The strain and anxiety from that.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “You don’t know that.” Too frustrated to sit still, he sprang off the bed and stalked around the small space. He grimaced. The walls were painted a bright blue, which was probably supposed to be calming, but it seemed too damn cheery. “For all we know, sex caused it. What if—”

  A sharp rap sounded at the closed door a split second before it swung wide.

  A woman in a white lab coat entered. She had frizzy dark curls and sharp features, but her smile seemed genuine and—bonus—she wasn’t distracted by sports on a handheld device. She carried a clipboard under her arm.

  “I’m Dr. Ruiz, the rheumatologist your admitting doctor sent for.” Setting down the clipboard, she checked the notes on the IV bag. “Ms. Finley, I’ve reviewed your X-rays and blood work, along with your past history. Do you mind if I look over your joints? You don’t need to get up. I’d just take a peek at your arms and hands.”

  Heather’s eyes strayed toward Zach before she answered.

  Dr. Ruiz followed her gaze.

  “Unless you prefer privacy?” the doctor asked.

  Zach held his breath, wondering if Heather would ask him to step out.

  He should at least offer. But he wanted to hear what this doctor had to say. Heather would only keep it secret. So frankly, unless she made him leave, he planned to sit tight. He leaned against one wall, averting his eyes but listening just the same.

  Heather must have given her approval because he heard the rustle of the blanket and the quick directives from Dr. Ruiz, including a request that Heather try to make a fist or exert pressure on the other woman’s hands.

  “Okay. That’s fine.” Dr. Ruiz stepped back and leaned against a built-in counter. “I’m going to disagree with Dr. Watts that your condition is unrelated to the rheumatic disease. I think the episode you experienced tonight is the direct result of the RA.”

  “The arthritis?” Zach asked before remembering he wasn’t going to say anything.

  “Yes.” The doctor folded her arms across her lab coat and crossed her clog-covered feet. “Although the condition is poorly named since the arthritis is a symptom of the larger autoimmune disease. I tell you this, Ms. Finley, because you are a new patient and your chart shows you haven’t begun aggressive treatment yet. The nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs you’re taking won’t prevent flare-ups like this. You need something stronger, and most likely a range of medications to address multiple facets of the disease.”

  Zach thought of ten more questions he wanted to ask, including, what exactly had caused this flare-up? But he kept them to himself and waited for Heather to speak. When she didn’t say anything, he looked up. Found her watching him.

  “Zach, would you mind very much if—”

  He didn’t stick around to hear the rest. He could tell by her worried expression she wanted him gone so she could speak to the doctor privately, after all. Of course he understood.

  She cared about him. But he was beginning to realize she didn’t care about him as much as he cared about her. And that hurt.

  “Text me if you need anything.” With a nod, he pushed through the door and strode out of the room, his shoulders as tense as Heather’s had been when he’d carried her out of his house hours ago.

  Stalking past Lorena’s desk, he was tempted to tell the nurse she’d been right—he didn’t belo
ng back there where he wasn’t needed. Sure as hell wasn’t wanted. He clenched his fists, hating that he couldn’t call her brothers, at least. Her sister Erin might be on her honeymoon, but Zach knew Scott’s wife, Bethany, and Mack’s fiancée, Nina, would want to be with Heather through this.

  But what pissed him off more than being shut out—of the irrefutable evidence that she didn’t want him any more involved in her life than he’d already become—was knowing that she denied herself support, help and the necessary treatment. From his reading about the disease, he knew that the drugs Dr. Ruiz mentioned weren’t strong enough to slow down the effects of RA. Heather must know that, too. How could she put the needs of everyone else in front of hers? To the point that she would let her joints deteriorate so much she’d ended up in the hospital?

  Too angry to separate that frustration from his old resentment at the way his teenage sister had concealed her depression, Zach dropped into an uncomfortable waiting room chair and fumed.

  Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through his messages, including some new ones from Sam about the investigation. A reminder that he still needed the Finley family’s permission to review the former mayor’s personal computers. There was also an email from his sister and a reminder in his calendar to follow up on the interview with Megan Bryer.

  He’d planned on calling the teen’s father and alerting the guy to watch for signs of trouble in Megan’s life. For example, did she avoid answering the phone or regularly clear her browser history? Had she been dodging former friends or social gatherings with peers? Things he knew now were red flags for people who were stalked or bullied online.

  The signs he’d missed in Ellie. Zach had figured that as long as he and Sam kept her physically safe, she’d be okay. He’d been too young, too stupid and too caught up in his own fury at his father to notice that—emotionally—his sister had fallen apart after being attacked by her stalker.

  So Heather wanted to keep Megan’s secrets? Zach was going to call bullshit on that one. Heather had the right to hide her own health problems, but she didn’t have the right to hide her student’s. Zach would call Dan Bryer today.

  But first, he planned to dig deeper online to see if he could find any evidence of bullying. If it existed on the internet, it was a matter of public record anyhow, so Zach wasn’t worried about breaking confidences or protecting privacy.

  Searching on his laptop would be easier, but since he had time and too much frustrated energy now, he used his phone to hit a few social media sites that were popular with the kids. At first, he found nothing. One social media site after the next came up clean for mentions of Megan—at least the negative that he’d been worried about.

  Then it occurred to him to check archived pages—a feat that was trickier with social media pages when you didn’t know fixed URLs. But there were plenty of tools to view deleted web pages. He started running a few of them, setting new archive searches in motion on various browser pages so he could search multiple platforms at once.

  When he got a hit, he clicked it.

  And scrambled to turn the screen off his phone before anyone in the waiting room saw what was on the page.

  Shit. He cursed that word and a whole lot more, his brain reeling from the images he’d seen. Images that were definitely not Megan Bryer, but pictures digitally altered to look like her. Anyone would know it was the work of malicious slander. But oh shit.

  Her father would be devastated if he saw that page. Any father would. But most of all, Megan must be humiliated.

  Plus, Heather had told him how overprotective Dan Bryer could be when it concerned his daughter. The girl needed adult help. She had a serious cyberbully, and whoever it was didn’t settle for just calling her names. The smut on that page—directed at an underage teen—was horrifying. As tough as it might be for Megan’s father, it would be worse for Megan. The emotional consequences of that kind of public abuse could drive a teen to desperate acts, a risk Zach would not take.

  He’d call Sam and involve law enforcement. Let them handle getting in touch with Megan’s father. And no matter how much he didn’t want to cause Heather more stress, Zach planned to give her a heads-up. For one thing, he felt as if he owed her that much since she’d asked him to wait until she spoke to Megan.

  For another, he refused to keep secrets from her. She’d been hurt that he hadn’t divulged the news of the missing town money sooner, and he’d sat on that for all of a day because he’d thought he could fix it. Yet, she’d been keeping her health issues hidden for months, and she must know there was no fix for her condition. How long did she plan to battle the disease by herself? Zach knew firsthand how much that kind of self-imposed emotional exile could be soul-destroying. Ellie had barely survived it.

  Heather could choose to walk that lonely path by herself. As an adult, that was her right. But Megan didn’t get to make that choice. Not as long as Zach was around to help.

  * * *

  DISCHARGE PAPERS IN HAND, Heather waited on the curb outside the small medical facility as Zach pulled up in his SUV. After her conversation with Dr. Ruiz, things had moved quickly. She had a prescription for some temporary medications, but the doctor had insisted on follow-up care and had scheduled an appointment for Heather next week.

  Her head spun with the new information about her condition, information she’d avoided hearing before tonight since she’d been afraid of what the disease meant for her future. But the doctor had been encouraging. The people who best managed RA were the patients who sought aggressive, regular treatment. Something Heather had planned on down the road. She simply hadn’t wanted to start off with that approach immediately. And to be honest, her pride had kept her from doing so because the effects of the drugs might be noticeable.

  She breathed deeply. She needed to confront the next phase of her problem: explain to Zach why she hadn’t shared her health issue. Dreading that conversation on the long ride home, she allowed the hospital orderly to hand her into the vehicle. Her joints weren’t quite as stiff and painful, thanks to a cortisone shot, but she didn’t exactly move fluidly. And she still felt drained.

  Once the orderly closed the door, she glanced at Zach and tried to find the right words to explain herself. No easy feat when his jaw was set, his cheek muscle working back and forth as if he were chewing over the harsh words he wanted to say.

  As he pulled out of the parking lot onto the small county road that would lead back to the highway, he shot her a glance across the console. His amber eyes were serious, his expression grave.

  “Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to go home?” he asked. “Do you need somebody to stay with you?”

  “I’m better now,” she assured herself as much as him. “I’ll be fine once I get home. I’m just going to catch up on some sleep.”

  His terse nod acknowledged the answer, but he was a long way from agreeing with it.

  “You could call Bethany or Nina. I understand why you’re wary of telling your mother about this, but one of them could—”

  “I’m not burdening them with that.” She pulled the blanket tighter to her chin, grateful for the warmth and wishing she could turn back the clock to when they’d shared the same covers.

  This was so not how she had wanted their night together to end.

  “Your family would never view it as a burden. You know that.”

  “I just want them to be happy for me when I leave, okay? I don’t want everyone second-guessing my decision and worrying about how long it will be before I give in and come back here.”

  “You’re denying yourself a whole lot of support.” He quieted for a long moment, but she had nothing else to say on the subject. She wasn’t ready to share this news with her family.

  He huffed out a long breath. “Okay. I get it. I disagree with your decision to deny yourself the help and support of a family who loves you, b
ut I understand it’s your business and not mine.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice wavered. She cleared it and sat up straighter.

  “I discovered a whole other problem while I was in that waiting room.” His expression remained grim. “Megan is in more trouble than we first realized.”

  “What do you mean?” She chewed her lip, hating to think of her student battling more problems.

  He picked up his phone where it had been sitting in the cup holder. Passing it to her, he flicked the screen to turn it on. “Take a look at the web browser. And brace yourself.”

  Instantly, her focus shifted.

  Shoving aside the discharge paperwork she’d been carrying, she tapped the button on his phone. The simple touch opened a page on the web.

  “Oh, my God.” She wanted to tap it closed again, her hands trembling with the urge to throw the phone aside like a poisonous thing. There hadn’t been a way to brace herself for what she’d just seen. She scanned the content from a popular social media community. It was set up to look like Megan’s profile, but the short description read as though she was a prostitute.

  It related the information in the foulest terms possible, including detailed information about her services. The images on the page were clearly tampered with, the photos of an absurdly proportioned woman with Megan’s pretty face copied and pasted onto the shoulders of the mostly naked body.

  “The page has already been removed from the site,” Zach informed her. “It looks like it was only posted briefly. But I’m not sure if the site took it down because of the violations of their rules, if Megan saw this and reported it, or if the bastard who posted it in the first place thought the better of it and pulled it down himself.”

  “Or herself,” Heather replied numbly, her heart broken for the innocent teenager. For Megan’s poor father, too. “Girls are not exempt from posting cruel things about each other.” She flipped the phone upside down on her lap, needing a break from the images and all the mean, hateful words. “How did you find this if it’s not online anymore? How can I be looking at it?”