Butterfly

by Sharon Sala

  “I love you, too, Mom,” he said.

  He was frowning when he hung up the phone. Bennie. Hell. She hadn’t called him that in years. She must really be worried. Well, it was his job to make sure she didn’t have anything to worry about. He put on his coat, then picked up a handful of files and dropped them on another detective’s desk as he walked by.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said. “The captain has taken me off everything except the Finelli case. If you have any questions about my notes, just yell.”

  The detective rolled his eyes and then grinned. “How loud?”

  “At least let me get out of the station,” Ben said, and then added, “Thanks. I owe you big time.”

  “I won’t let you forget it,” the second detective said.

  But Ben already had. His thoughts were on China and getting her out of Parkland Hospital unobserved. He also needed to talk to her doctor and make sure that everything about China Brown’s stay at that hospital ceased to exist—at least for the time being.

  ***

  China was dressed and waiting for Ben to arrive. Tonight she was leaving the sanctity of the hospital, and she was more than a little bit scared. After all the hospital gowns, it felt strange to be wearing her own clothes again, even though they’d been in the closet in her room since she’d been moved out of the ICU. It had been a battle of wills not to cry as she’d pulled up her sweats. The last time she’d worn these clothes, they’d been tight across her tummy. Now there was no baby, only a long, healing scar. She’d managed her pants, but had to ring for help from a nurse to get her sweatshirt over her head. She had several months of rehabilitation ahead of her before her arm would be back to normal, but Dr. Pope had assured her that it would eventually heal. Until then, her infirmities would be constant reminders of the ordeal she so badly wanted to forget.

  She walked to the door and peeked out, hoping to see Ben coming down the hall, but all she got was a polite nod from the guard stationed outside her door.

  “You’d best keep the door closed, miss,” he said quietly.

  China sighed as she let it shut. How long would this enforced imprisonment last? What if they never caught the killer? Would she have to stay in hiding for the rest of her life? Overwhelmed by the thought of the troubles ahead of her, she crawled back into bed. Wincing a bit, she rolled over on her side and closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. Her thoughts were full of what lay ahead. Not only was she going into hiding, but she would be doing it with strangers. Trust had always come easy to China—too easy. But that was before. Now, everyone was a threat. Except for Ben English. So far, he’d proved himself trustworthy in every way. Ben. Her promise man.

  And with the thought, in he came, carrying a sack and striding through the door with purposeful intent and flanked by three uniformed officers, her doctor and a nurse pushing a wheelchair.

  “It’s time,” Ben said.

  China started to sit up and then groaned. Immediately Ben was at her side.

  “Here, honey, let me,” he said, and scooted his arm beneath her shoulder and lifted her to a sitting position. “Okay?”

  She nodded.

  Dr. Pope stepped forward and put a hand on her knee. “You’re a remarkable woman, Miss Brown. I’m sorry we met under these circumstances, but I can truthfully say that it would have been my loss had I never known you.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Pope, for everything you’ve done for me.”

  Ross Pope smiled, then glanced at Ben. “They’re ready for you now, and you’re ready to go. If you have any concerns, you know how to reach me. Continue the pain medicine I gave you, and I’ll call in a prescription for you, which Detective English has assured me he will see that you get. Take care and God bless.”

  Impulsively, China wrapped her arms around the doctor’s neck.

  “You saved my life,” she said softly. “I won’t waste it.”

  “Let’s get you in the wheelchair,” the nurse said.

  “I can walk,” China said.

  The nurse shook her head. “Hospital rules.”

  “It’s cold outside,” Ben said, and handed her the sack.

  She looked inside, and then her eyes filled. It was a new coat. She hadn’t thought once of the condition of her old one, but it dawned on her that it had probably been ruined by bullet holes and blood.

  “Oh, Ben.”

  He took it out and held it up for her to put on.

  She put one arm in and then the other, enveloped by the weight and warmth of the blue wool. When she stood, the hem of it reached the backs of her knees.

  Ben reached for the edges and buttoned it up.

  “Good, it fits,” he said, and let the hood hang down her back. He added quietly, so only she could hear, “It’s the color of your eyes.”

  While she was still digesting the fact that he’d been thoughtful enough to provide her with a coat, she had to accept the fact that he’d also picked one out that matched her eyes.

  She sat down in the wheelchair. Ben picked up her bag, then set it in her lap as the nurse began pushing her toward the door.

  “Just a minute,” Ben said, and opened the door and stepped out into the hall, looking first one way and then the other. “Okay,” he said. “Bring her out.”

  Everything seemed to move past her in a blur. Flanked by the uniformed officers, with Ben taking the lead, they headed for the service elevator at a fast pace. China’s last few impressions were the scent of antiseptic, the sound of someone laughing, and a television playing too loudly in a room somewhere down the hall, and then they were in the elevator. All too soon they’d reached the ground floor.

  Again Ben was the first to step out, and as he did, China realized he had taken his gun out of his holster. The sight of it in his hand made her sick. The urge to bolt and run was strong, but where would she go? Then sanity returned, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. These people weren’t the enemy. They were here to protect her.

  “Okay,” Ben said shortly. “Bring her out.”

  Seconds later they were in a parking garage and headed toward a light-gray sedan. A cold wind whipped through the area, and China was grateful for the warmth of the coat.

  “Easy, honey,” Ben said, as he helped her into his car.

  The absurdity of the moment seemed surreal. The wind on her face. The scent of leather from the interior of his car. The satiny comfort of the coat lining. The uniformed officers outside the car with weapons drawn. She wasn’t just being released from the hospital. She was going into hiding.

  She had settled in her seat and was buckling the seat belt across her lap when Ben got inside. Almost immediately the car seemed smaller. His presence beside her seemed threatening until she happened to catch him looking at her for assurance. When she gave him a tentative smile, he seemed to relax.

  “I know this is tough for you,” Ben said. “But in my business, there’s no such thing as being too cautious.”

  “It’s all right. After all, you’re doing this for my benefit.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now here’s the deal. I’m taking you straight to Mom’s. It’s already dark, so we won’t be spotted. The ranch is isolated enough that you can pretty much move about as you feel like it. You just won’t be leaving the ranch until we’ve caught the killer. So far, your identity is protected, but we can’t take any chances, understand?”

  She bit her lower lip and then nodded.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Ben asked. “If you’re uncomfortable, you can lie down in the back or—”

  China laid her hand on his arm. “I’m fine.”

  “I won’t let anything happen to you, China. I promise.”

  “I know.”

  The trust in her eyes humbled him and, at the same time, scared him to death. As she leaned back in her seat and folded her hands in her lap, he started the car, waved off the officers and drove out of the parking garage into the night.

  Within the hour Ben was pulling into the yard of his child
hood home. He killed the engine, then glanced over at his passenger. She’d fallen asleep before they’d cleared the streets of Dallas, and he’d played a game with himself all the way to the ranch, pretending that they had been together for years and had been out on the town, and then, on the way home, she had just fallen asleep. It was frightening to accept that this woman was stealing his heart.

  As he sat, she began to stir, then slowly opened her eyes.

  “Are we here?”

  “We’re here. Welcome home.”

  He got out and circled the car, intent on helping her inside. But China was still trying to absorb the sweetness of the invitation he’d given her.

  Home.

  He’d welcomed her home.

  What would it be like to have a home with this man, to never know uncertainty or hunger again—to feel safe and loved?

  China shuddered. Loved? Where had that come from?

  Ben opened the car door and slipped a hand under her elbow.

  “Easy does it, honey. I’ll get you in the house and come back for your bag.”

  “All right,” China said, and scooted to the edge of the seat before allowing herself to stand.

  Stiff muscles protested as she braced herself against the sharp bite of the wind. Almost immediately, Ben put himself between her and the blast, and then slipped an arm around her shoulder.

  “Lean on me,” he said, as they started toward the house.

  China wouldn’t look at him or let herself comment. She was too taken aback by the notion of doing that very thing. She was only here because she was valuable to them as a witness. Leaning on Bennett English would be all too easy to do, but she had to remember that one day this would be over, and when it was, his duty to her would be over, as well.

  As they reached the porch, the front door swung open. China had a moment’s impression of a gray-haired woman in blue jeans and a red flannel shirt, a Christmas wreath hanging on the front door, and then she was whisked inside.

  “Mother, this is China Brown. China, this is my mother, Mattie English.”

  In typical Mattie fashion, she held out her hand. “Welcome to my home. You look chilled. Let’s get that coat off you and come in by the fire.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” China said.

  Mattie stopped. “No ma’am, remember? Call me Mattie.” She looked at Ben. “Well, what are you waiting for… Christmas? Go get her bag and take it to her room. I put her in the east room.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ben said, then winked at China. “I swear her bark is worse than her bite.”

  “Get,” Mattie said. “And don’t dawdle in the doorway. You let in too much cold air.” She took China’s coat, hung it on a rack in the hall and took her by the elbow. “Can you walk all right, dear? We’ll go slow.”

  “I’m okay,” China said. “Just a little stiff. The pain is pretty manageable now. Not like before.”

  Mattie hesitated, giving the young woman a careful look. She wasn’t very tall, probably no more than four or five inches over five feet. Her hair was thick and dark and looked as if she’d been cutting it herself for years. Her face had a fragile, delicate beauty that made her seem weak until Mattie looked in her eyes. That was where her strength shone through.

  “You’re a tough one, aren’t you, girl?” Mattie murmured.

  “I’ve had to be.” Then she looked a bit nervous. “At least, I have been up until now. Ben thinks I’m in danger.”

  “Ben is a good man and a good cop. He will see that you’re protected.”

  “Yes,” China said. “He promised not to let anything happen to me. He’s a man who keeps his promises.”

  Mattie nodded, for the moment satisfied with her houseguest.

  “Now, let’s get you a chair by the fire. I made some hot chocolate earlier. Would you care for a cup?”

  A pensive smile broke the somberness of China’s face. “Mother used to make hot chocolate for us on cold nights.”

  Mattie nodded. “Sounds like a smart woman.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that she was.”

  “Mattie! Not ma’am. Now put your feet up on this stool and close your eyes. I’ll be back in a bit with the chocolate.”

  China did as she was told, thankful she wasn’t having to make any decisions.

  The warmth of the fire and the peacefulness of the house lulled her. Once again, she dozed. When she woke, Ben was coming into the room carrying a tray with the mugs of hot chocolate. Mattie was right behind him with a plate of cookies.

  “Smells wonderful,” China said, as Ben handed her a cup.

  “One lump or two?” Ben asked, holding out a bowl of miniature marshmallows, rather than cubes of sugar.

  Surprised by his playfulness, China slipped into similar character as she peered into the bowl. “They’re rather small.”

  Ben grinned. “Then allow me,” he said, and dropped a handful into her mug, then handed her a spoon. “Knock yourself out, kid.”

  Mattie sat on the sofa sipping her chocolate and watching them spar, wondering if they knew how obvious they were—wondering if they knew they were falling in love.

  Within the hour, China caught herself nodding off. Ben saw her and got to his feet.

  “You’re done for, honey,” he said softly, and lifted her out of the chair and into his arms.

  China woke abruptly. Embarrassed that Ben was doing this in front of his mother, she began to argue.

  “I can walk.”

  “Humor me,” Ben said, and headed down the hall toward her room.

  Mattie watched, again without comment. But she’d seen enough to know that her son was in over his head. This woman was part of a case—a witness to a murder—and he was falling in love.

  Ben carried China into the room she’d been given and then set her down on the edge of the bed.

  “Your things are on that chair,” Ben said. “There’s a new toothbrush in the bathroom drawer and fresh towels in the cabinet beneath, although I laid one out for you for tonight. Do you want to shower tonight, or in the morning?”

  “I’ll shower in the morning,” China said.

  “Don’t try to do it by yourself,” Ben said. “When you’re ready, give us a yell. Mom will be glad to help.”

  China nodded. “She’s really nice—your mom.”

  Ben smiled. “Yeah, she’s pretty great.”

  “I think she wishes I wasn’t here,” China said; then, embarrassed that she’d even brought it up, she added, “Not that I blame her.”

  Ben’s smile stopped. “Why would you say that?”

  China’s face flamed, and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I think she wishes… I mean, I think she believes that I… that we…”

  Ben turned her head, making her look at him.

  “And that would be bad?” he asked.

  China shook her head. “Yes… no… well, from her point of view, yes. But it’s okay… I mean, I don’t blame her for being concerned. You’re her son. Of course she would want the best for you.”

  “And why would that exclude you?”

  China’s chin quivered once, and then she shrugged.

  “Get real, Detective. I’m homeless and involved in a very ugly crime. I’m obviously not too smart or I would never have involved myself with someone like Tommy Fairheart and I’m not much to look at.”

  Ben was flabbergasted. He didn’t know what to respond to first, but the most obvious was her reference to her looks.

  “Who told you that?” he snapped.

  “Told me what?” China asked.

  “That you weren’t much to look at? Was it Fairheart, because if it was, I can—”

  “Oh, no,” China said. “I’ve known that all my life.”

  Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She wasn’t kidding. She really believed she was homely.

  “Who told you that?” he repeated.

  China looked up at him then, a little surprised by his anger.

  “Clyde.”

  “
And who in hell is this Clyde?”

  “He was my stepfather, until my mother divorced him.”

  Ben stood abruptly. “Was he blind? For that matter, honey, are you? Don’t you know how beautiful you are?”

  China was stunned. All she could do was shake her head.

  “Well, you are,” Ben said shortly. “Now get in bed before I say something we’ll both regret, and remember, if you need anything during the night, just call out. My room is right across the hall.”

  He strode out of her room, leaving his anger behind him.

  China sat without moving, reliving the last moments of their conversation over and over until her mind was reeling. Finally she made her way to the adjoining bathroom and started to undress. As she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped to look, then abruptly looked away.

  Ben had lied. There wasn’t anything pretty about her, and she could prove it. If she was beautiful, as he’d claimed, then why did men treat her as they did? From her earliest memory, men had ridiculed her, beaten her and lied to her. It would take more than words to make her change her mind.

  She got her nightgown from her bag and then began to undress. Painfully, she managed to get her sweatshirt over her head. She laid it on the side of the tub and was reaching for a washcloth when she caught another glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door. Her eyes widened in quiet horror as she touched her breast and the red puckering scar above it. Then her gaze slid lower, to the beginning of the scar that showed just above the waistband of her sweats. With shaking hands, she pushed the elastic down, then down some more, finally stepping out of her clothes until it had been completely revealed. Her tummy was almost flat again—a painful reminder of what she’d lost. But it was the fiery scar down her belly that put everything into perspective.

  Damaged goods. In every way that counted, she was damaged goods.

  In a rush of panic, she grabbed her nightgown and yanked it over her head. Ignoring the pain of sudden movement, she wouldn’t look at herself again until she was completely covered. Only after she felt the nightgown brushing against her ankles and had buttoned the last button would she turn and face herself in the mirror.