The Farmer's Daughter: The Dragon Dream: Book One

by Robin Janney

  The knight turned to her. “What I’ve always seen, Angel. The woman I love.”

  Breaking into a run, Angela plunged into his reality. She could feel herself changing into the woman she was, saw his armor fade away to be replaced by the suit he’d worn to marry her. By the time she flung herself into his waiting arms, she was a woman wearing a glimmering blue dress with her hair loose against her back.

  His lips landed on hers.

  “Wait for me,” she asked, feeling tears on her own cheeks as pain released.

  If she crashes again, I don’t know if we can bring her back…

  “They have answers I need,” she tried to explain. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

  The knight’s arms squeezed around her, as if trying to pull her closer, or trying to take her back with him as he woke. “I will always wait for you.” He pressed his lips to hers for one last kiss. “I’m sorry…I have to go now…”

  He released her. As he walked away, his form shimmered in the desert heat until it vanished.

  Angela turned back to where her brother and mother waited. As she ran back to her own reality, she became ten again.

  C raig awoke in a hospital bed, his head pounding in time with the ache in his heart. He groaned as he maneuvered himself into sitting up. The IV’s in his arm and the hospital gown he wore confused him. How long had the Dragon Dream lasted? It hadn’t felt long at all.

  It had felt real, in a way the Dream never had before. It had felt like he’d been talking with Angela, not a character in a dream. He could still taste her kiss. Why had she asked what she looked like to him? None of it made sense to him.

  Finding the call button on the side of the bed, he pressed the button. While he waited, he touched the bandage at his temple. It had been just a graze, right?”

  In less time than he was expecting, a nurse’s aide came in. “Mr. Moore!” She sounded relieved as she turned the call light off. “We were beginning to worry you were hurt worse than we thought! The nurse will be in shortly. How are you feeling?”

  “Where’s my wife?” he asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.

  The aide’s relieved smile faltered. “Angela’s still in surgery.”

  As serious as it sounded, it meant his wife was alive. “How long have I been out?”

  Looking at her watch, she said, “You came onto our floor about an hour ago. I don’t know how long you were in the ER before that. The doctor wasn’t sure what was going on with you because your wound was superficial. The X-rays didn’t show anything, and a CT scan was ordered but you hadn’t been taken down yet.”

  “I’m fine,” he insisted. “I want out of here.”

  The slight woman nodded. “I’ll get the nurse. It’ll take some time, but I’ll let her know.”

  It took too long. He chaffed at the delay though he knew all he could do once he was out of here was wait in a different room. And he needed a clean shirt; his had been cut off in the ER. At least his jeans had survived, and he had them on under his hospital gown as he waited for his father-in-law to show up with a shirt.

  When the older man finally arrived, a plastic bag in his hand, his face was grief-stricken. Philip came to him where he sat on the edge of the bed and enfolded him in his arms. Grief and fear released in Craig as he held onto his father-in-law. “Why?” he asked.

  “She’s alive, Craig. You’re alive. Hold on to that.” Philip sounded as though he was in the same questioning place as Craig.

  “I’ll try,” the younger man answered. He was still trembling though. “How bad is it?”

  Philip pulled away from him, looked at him with somber eyes. “Bad enough. Her heart stopped a couple times, but they managed to get it restarted. She took a bullet to the shoulder, and they think she flew headfirst into the windshield. She has two surgeons working on her. They’re more worried about the head trauma right now.” His father-in-law drew a deep breath. “They don’t really know what happened out there. There were more vehicles there than just the two that wrecked. By the time the police showed up, all that was left were dead bodies and Angela struggling to cling to life. At least, that’s the official story.”

  “Crane tried stopping it?”

  His father-in-law nodded. “It’ll never be proved.” Philip pressed the plastic bag containing a t-shirt into his hands but didn’t let go. “Son…”

  When Craig looked up at him, he saw a familiar pain on the father’s face. “No…” he whispered.

  “The way they found her, they’re not sure if she was raped, but the chance is good. Her wounds are life-threatening, so her life is top priority. If they ever get around to examining all of her, it’ll be too late to know for sure.”

  Craig swore.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Philip agreed. “I can’t even wish the bastards dead. It’s already done.”

  Nodding, Craig took the hospital gown off and pulled the t-shirt over his head. He wondered where his coat had gotten to. “How much more can she take, Philip?”

  “How much more can you?”

  Did it matter? Did anything matter anymore? “I don’t know.”

  55

  L es Moore was not a man to watch the evening news, mostly because he was seldom home at this time of day. But work had wrapped up easily this fine afternoon in the middle of February and he sat in his recliner chair, sipping on a glass of white wine while reviewing case notes for tomorrow’s trial. Defending criminals was a never-ending job, but it paid well. His wife of over thirty years lounged on the couch beside him flipping through the hundreds of channels they subscribed to.

  He was a solid man, tall and thicker than he’d been in his youth. His hair had thinned out years ago, causing him to keep his head shaved. It was far more comfortable and stylish than random bald spots had been, and it irritated his wife. Much like she was irritating him now.

  His eyes flicked over to her. “Would you please pick a channel and stick to it?”

  “Sorry,” she said in a subdued murmur.

  He barely noticed the channel she landed on as being one of the ones he paid extra for; his youngest son didn’t like keeping in touch and watching news from his area let Les pretend he knew what was going on with his son. Hell, he knew more about what was going on with Tim in prison than he did with Craig.

  And then the news anchor said a familiar town name and his head popped up.

  “Isn’t that Craig’s town?” his wife asked, sounding concerned.

  He wondered if she was genuine, but that was the least of his concerns. “Turn it up,” he requested.

  The scene had switched from the newsroom to panoramic scenery which was clearly Small Town USA. There was even a picket fence in the far background. The camera then settled on a young blond reporter standing in front of a large white building with a large sign naming it the Country Cupboard.

  “That’s his store!” Veronica sat up on the couch.

  “Quiet,” he said to her.

  “Yes, Marla,” the reporter was saying in response to whatever the off-screen anchor woman had said when his wife had spoken. “By all appearances, Tyler’s Grove is the epitome of the sleepy country town. But on February seventh, all that changed. Tragedy struck this little town, and its innocence was betrayed. Let’s go to the home video taken by neighborhood teens as they skateboarded in the side parking lot of the Country Cupboard.”

  The reporter disappeared but could still be heard as a shaky video began. One of the boys in the frame pointed and the video shifted to show a young woman attempting to fight off four attackers beside a ghastly yellow van. Judging from her form, Les wagered she had a black belt of some kind. But she was losing. A lanky form familiar to him appeared in the video, and Les’ heart squeezed painfully as the sound of a gunshot rung in the air and his son dropped to the pavement. All this played while the reporter spoke over it.

  “It was supposed to be a happy day for Angela Carman Moore, fresh from her honeymoon with the proprietor of the Country Cupboard, Craig
Moore. Apparently alarmed by a threatening note she discovered in her new home, a place meant to be safe, Angela left to find her husband and what happened next was unthinkable. The new Mrs. Moore was abducted in broad daylight. And the horror didn’t stop there…”

  The scene switched to a country intersection, police tape and chalk outlines visible against the stark winter conditions. Still photos flashed intermittently showing the battered remains of the van and a dark SUV which almost sat on top of the van.

  “The van fled this small town with Angela inside, where it was violently stopped by this black SUV in this intersection known by the locals as Simmons Crossroads. The police are still unsure what happened here, but many locals believe it was some kind of gang war battling for possession of the young woman. We may never know the truth of what happened that day.

  “Because Angela Moore is once again the sole survivor of an accident in this intersection. Twelve years ago, she lost her brother just yards away from where the vehicles crashed and she herself now stands at the crossroads between life and death. The battle which claimed the lives of her attackers and would-be rescuers left this young bride in critical condition.”

  The screen switched back to the male reporter, and an unseen woman Les assumed was Marla asked, “Brett, in the home video taken by the teens, who was the man shot attempting to stop the kidnapping? Was that in fact Craig Moore?”

  “It was,” Brett replied. “His wound was minor, and he was awake before his wife was out of surgery. However, Angela Moore remains in a coma. Her husband and family declined being interviewed on camera, asking only that people pray for her.”

  “Do the police have any leads yet?” the unseen Marla asked.

  “Nothing solid, Marla. Allegedly one of the men who kidnapped Mrs. Moore had been stalking and harassing her for years. Police had recently started an investigation regarding threatening phone calls to her and a murder which took place in her apartment when she was not home. The man murdered in Mrs. Moore’s apartment was a petty criminal known to have gang connections, but when we tried interviewing the alleged ringleader…” Video played of a tall redheaded man with gray at his temples shoving a camera violently away from him. His words were muted. “Well, let’s just say he was less than cooperative.”

  “Turn it off,” Les said, retracting the recliner foot and rising to his feet.

  The reporters had begun talking about the town’s reaction to the event.

  “Oh, everybody loves Angela,” a matronly woman was saying. The name on the bottom of the screen named her Florence Jamenson. “I can’t imagine who’d want to hurt her…”

  “Turn it off!” Les said more vehemently, placing his file on his seat. He took a shaky swallow of his wine.

  Veronica clicked the television off. “I wonder when Craig got married.”

  “Apparently recently,” he retorted. Leaving the room in a huff, he walked down the hallway of his sprawling penthouse to his home office.

  Setting his wine glass on a coaster, he picked his phone up and attempted to call his son. There was no answer, and he wasn’t sure whether to be angry or concerned. He settled on a mixture of both. Slamming the receiver down, he sat and opened his laptop, intent on finding the address and telephone number to all the hospitals around the town his son lived in.

  Veronica appeared in the doorway of his office. “I’m sorry, Les. Do you want me to come with you?”

  Looking up and seeing the hesitation in his wife’s eyes, he remembered why his son had all but disowned him. He’d have disowned himself had he been in his son’s place. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ronni. Not until I’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

  She nodded, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes.

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he told her, unmoved by her tears.

  “I’ll start packing for you.”

  “Thank you.” Les dismissed her from his attention and started searching hospitals on his laptop.

  K eeping his face from showing his true opinion of the hospital he was standing in, Les tapped the counter of the information desk impatiently. St. Joseph’s seemed the most likely hospital, being the most advanced in the area, but it looked years behind what he was used to.

  “I’m looking for Angela Moore’s room,” he inquired of the stern looking woman on the other side.

  “I’m sorry sir, but her visitors are restricted to family only.”

  “I’m her father-in-law. Is that family enough for you?” He was unable to keep sarcasm out of his voice.

  The woman’s thin eyebrows shot up. “I’ll need to see some ID.”

  His lip twisted, angry at his wife for driving this wedge between him and his son, he pulled his wallet out and presented the woman with his driver’s license. “Good enough?”

  Betty, as her name badge proclaimed her, looked at his ID then up at him through thick-lensed glasses. “I’m just doing my job, sir. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Better than you know.” He replaced his ID and wallet. He tried tempering himself as he could see compassion in the other’s pale blue eyes. “Her room?”

  “351. Take those elevators to the third floor.” She waved to the right of the desk. “Then turn left and follow the signs on the wall.”

  “Thank you. Do you know if my son is here?”

  “He’s always here. I don’t think he’d eat if his in-laws didn’t make him.”

  Les thanked her again and walked away, something in his heart breaking a little. He had learned more about his son from her comment than he had in the years since the boy had left home after his sophomore year in college. Knowing his son lived a simple life in a small town was one thing, seeing computers at least a generation behind at the information desk was another. He knew nothing about his son’s wife, but Craig had chosen her which meant she was part of his family now and as always, Les wanted the best for his family. Even if he often failed to provide it.

  The door to room 351 was open, and Les took a moment to take in the scene. His son sat in a hard-looking hospital chair, his left leg propped up on his other leg and a sketchbook open in his lap. His son was always doodling. Now though, his hands were still as he looked at the woman in the hospital bed.

  Les let himself look at his son’s wife. She was a broken version of the beautiful young woman in the video he’d seen on the news. Her face was swollen, but from here it looked as though her cuts and bruises were healing well. Bandages covered the side of her head, where it looked like auburn hair had been shaved off. Even from here, the IV’s in her arms and what had to be a feeding tube going into her nose was visible. She didn’t seem to be on a respirator, and Les took that as a good sign. The monitors attached to her looked as outdated as the computers at the information desk.

  Something caused his son to look towards the door.

  “Dad?” Putting the sketchbook to the side, he left his chair behind and approached his father looking like he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

  Breaking out of his reverie, Les met his son halfway and held him in a tight if awkward embrace. “I came as soon as I heard, Craig. Why did I have to learn about this on the news?”

  His son sighed, his face pained. “It all happened so fast, Dad. And after the dust had settled, I…didn’t want to bother you.”

  “You’re my son,” Les captured his son’s head by the back of his neck in a gesture predating the abuse his wife had told him of. His son still had stitches in his own hairline. Looking his son in the eye, a much shorter distance than it had been the last time he’d done this, he repeated, “You’re my son, Craig. You’re not a bother. I know I didn’t approve of your decision to move here, but I would have at least expected a call to let me know you were getting married.”

  The look on Craig’s face pricked his heart. There was pain there, but his son swallowed his tears and pulled out of the embrace. “I was going to call,” his son said, a hand wiping at his cheek. “I was going to call as soon as we wer
e back from Vegas…”

  “Vegas.” Les sighed, watching his son cross to his wife’s bed and brush at her marred cheek. He followed to stand at the foot of the bed. On a stand next to the bed was a bouquet of daisies in a vase, alongside what had to be a wedding picture. They looked happy. “Did you at least take the time to sign a prenup?”

  Craig’s head shook, tears escaping again as he looked down at the woman he’d married. Les chose to ignore his son’s emotional display, thinking he was allowed given the circumstances. “It was never an option, Dad. If she ever wants to leave me, she can have it all because my life will be over.”

  “Still, better safe than sorry,” he said, voicing the adage without thinking.

  “That’s the lawyer in you talking.” Craig wiped his face again and gave his father a bold glare. “Can’t you ever leave him behind?”

  Shocked at his son’s boldness, Les moved to stand next to him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just want what’s best for you.”

  “She’s what’s best for me.”

  Les gripped his son’s shoulder with what he hoped was a comforting pressure. “Alright, tell me about her then. How’d you two meet?”

  “The store, actually.” Craig gave a shaky laugh. “Angela came to work at the store back in August. I…I was drawn to her from the beginning, so I’d go out to help her with whatever work I had scheduled for after the store closed. I could barely talk to her at first. Somehow we became friends.” His son shrugged. “How much do you want to hear?”

  “All of it,” Les admitted. His son was shaking, and he kept his hand where it was.

  “It was hard for both of us at the start,” his son said, reaching out to touch his wife’s face again. “She’s been through a lot, even before this. She was as scared to love me as I was her. I figured it out after she invited me to her family’s Thanksgiving. I, ah, went out to the cabin and thought everything over…and I came back to tell her I wanted more than friendship, but it had to be slow.” He gave another shaky laugh. “And then eloped with her two months later. Real slow, right?”