Passage (Soul of the Witch Book 1)

by C. Marie Bowen

  “She'll wake up,” Kevin growled from his place by the window.

  “Yes. Of course, she will,” Renata soothed.

  Merril took another sip and studied Nichole’s cousin.

  Jason sat lifeless, his elbows on his knees, staring into his drink. He showed no sign of having heard Renata's comment.

  “I knew a man in Santa Fe who was hit in the head. When he woke, he was like a drooling child. He was never the same.”

  “Shut up, Renata,” Kevin and Merril spoke in unison, and then looked at each other.

  “Why is she here?” Merril snapped, his knuckles white around his glass.

  Kevin downed the rest of his drink. “Because I say she can be here.” He glared at Merril with bloodshot eyes, as though he dared him to say otherwise.

  “I'm a forward thinker,” Renata explained. “Someone must look ahead.”

  Merril's eyes remained locked with his Kevin’s. From the edge of his vision, he saw Jason lift his head and look between the two brothers.

  “What if she is not all right?” Renata queried. “What will happen then?”

  Chapter 8

  Nichole Harris

  The agony in her head woke her. She winced, and then groaned as pain sliced across her skull.

  “Easy gal, easy does it,” a man's voice whispered. A large, warm hand slipped into hers. “You've a nasty cut on your head, young lady. Take your time. Let me draw the shade.”

  The warm hand disappeared, and footsteps shuffled across the room. The light against her eyelids softened. She blinked several times and pressed her hand to the pain beneath her brow. The man's dark frame made a blurry silhouette against the filtered light from the window.

  “Does that help?” He took her hand again and seated himself on a chair.

  “Some,” she murmured. Her vision collapsed from all sides to a pinpoint and then blinked out.

  When she opened her eyes again the soft-spoken man was still there, asleep in the chair. His elbows rested on his knees, her hand was clasped between his. White hair edged around his bald scalp and matched the beard trimmed tight to his jawline. His wire-rimmed glasses had slid down his nose as his head bowed toward his chest. She squeezed his hand.

  Calm hazel eyes opened and stared into her own. “Just restin' my eyes. Do you feel a bit better now?” His smile was easy and comforting.

  “A little,” she replied. “What happened? Where am I?”

  “You're at The Shilo. You had the misfortune to be thrown from a runaway carriage, but you'll be fine now.”

  “You're a doctor?”

  His smile faltered. “Yes. I'm Doc Johnson. This is Merril's room.”

  “Merril?” She squinted her eyes as pain lanced across her head.

  “You don't remember Merril?”

  “Should I?” She pressed her hand against her forehead.

  He nodded, still searching her eyes. “What do you remember?”

  Her eyes fluttered closed. She searched her memory, but the answers slipped away. Her chest tightened with anxiety and her heart rate accelerated. There was nothing—not a name or a face—not one small thread of memory to build on. She opened her eyes and tears swelled. “Why can't I remember?”

  “Easy now, Miss Nichole,” he hushed her concern. “You took a hard knock to your head. Sometimes, memories take their time comin' back.”

  “But I don't remember anything.” A slice of pain assaulted her each time she reached for a memory.

  “You will in a few days, or maybe a few hours. I know it's easy for me say not to worry, but you shouldn't. Your memories aren't lost. They'll return.”

  “You said my name—Nichole?” She raised her gaze to the doctor's face, her eyes brimmed with tears.

  The doctor patted her hand again and nodded. “Yes. You are Nichole Harris.”

  She closed her eyes and rolled her head away. “I can't even remember that.”

  “Not now, but you will. You were with your cousin on your way here when the accident happened.”

  “I remember none of this. Could I talk to them? It might help to see someone I know.”

  “It might.” Doc Johnson released her hand and stood. “Then again, it might not. Don't get upset if you don't remember right off. Your memory will come back in its own good time.” He returned a few items to his black bag, then took hold of the door handle and looked back at her. “I'll send them in, one a time, for a short visit.”

  “Would you tell me who's coming? I might not recognize them and I...”

  The doctor chuckled. “Of course. I'll send Jason up first; he's your cousin. The Shilo brothers are Kevin and Merril. I'll be right outside to make sure they don't stay too long. Rest now, while you can.” He slipped his hat on and carried his bag out the door.

  Nichole let her gaze wander around the room. The wall to her left was made of stone and contained a fireplace at its center. The furnishings were minimal, a desk beneath the window and a chest of drawers across from the bed. There were very few personal items in the room, yet the doctor said it belonged to Merril Shilo. Nichole tried to put a face to the name, but the effort was too great. Frustrated, she closed her eyes and let her useless speculations slip away.

  * * *

  Merril Shilo

  The library was silent except for the clink of Kevin's glass against the decanter. He set the empty container on the fireplace shelf, took a large swig of his drink, and then returned to stare out the windows.

  Merril sipped his whiskey and eyed his brother with concern.

  If I tell him to ease up on the liquor, it will only make him worse.

  “We should have heard something by now,” Jason commented. “Don't you think?” He looked over at Merril and rolled his glass between his palms.

  A knock at the library door captured everyone's attention. Merril and Jason rose from their chairs.

  Doc Johnson set his bag on the floor, then rubbed his hands together as he entered the library. He glanced at each person, but his gaze came to rest on Jason. “Your cousin will be fine. I expect her to make a full recovery—in time.”

  “Thank God.” Jason set his glass on the desk and heaved a sigh of relief.

  “How bad is she, Doc?” Merril had played enough poker to know the doctor held something back.

  Doc's brow furrowed as he looked at Merril. “Physically, she's fine. She has a bruise here and there and a bump on her head. The cut stopped bleeding and should heal well.” He paused and shook his head. “She has another injury, however; one I can't mend.”

  “For Christ's sake, spit it out.” Kevin rounded the desk and approached Doc Johnson. “Is she blind? Paralyzed? What's wrong with her?”

  “She has a loss of memory—one of the maladies of the brain known as dementia.” Doc turned and looked at Kevin. “She didn't recognize me. She didn't know her own name until I told her.”

  Jason ran a hand over his face. “But she'll be all right?”

  “I believe so,” Doc reassured him. “Memory loss is often a temporary condition.”

  “When can I see her?” Jason stepped around the chair toward the door.

  “Right now. I told her I'd send you three up, one at a time. I don't want you to say anything that might upset her. Make your conversation as brief as possible. She needs to rest.”

  “I have a question.” Kevin took another step toward the doctor. “Nichole and Jason were coming here to sign a marriage agreement and—”

  “Merril,” Doc Johnson interrupted Kevin with surprise, “congratulations, son. When did you two decide to tie the knot?”

  “It's not his marriage, it's mine,” Kevin growled.

  Doc Johnson's eyes widened. He looked from Merril to Kevin. “What's this? I thought Merril wanted to marry the girl.”

  “I did,” Merril snapped.

  “She hasn't spoken to you in two years.” Kevin’s tone increased from a growl and ended with a shout, his face a patchwork of red and white.

  Merril remained unmoved
. “That was before this—dementia.” He grinned at Kevin and made a toast of the statement with his glass, took a sip, then set the glass on the desk.

  “What? Why you little shit—”

  “Damn you, boys!” Doc exclaimed. “You sound like jealous children instead of brothers. That poor young woman upstairs won't know either of you from Adam. She knows nothing about a wedding agreement—to either of you. She'll meet you today as if for the first time.” Doc paused and looked between the brothers. “I don't want any mention of this marriage, or your father's death, for that matter. It would serve no purpose. When her memory comes back, she can sign your agreement. Hell, I'll even dance at the wedding, but not before. Do I make myself clear?”

  Merril nodded and tightened the rein on his emotions. Fear for Nichole, the loss of his father, and his brother’s drunken remarks pushed him closer to the edge. He couldn’t afford to lose his temper with Kevin—not at a time like this.

  “Let me stress this one more time. I absolutely forbid any of you to apply pressure she won’t understand.” Doc paused and met each of their faces. “That includes you, young woman.”

  Renata's smile disappeared, and she looked around, her brow furrowed in concern. “Me? How could I upset the poor girl?”

  Doc ignored her. “I'll take Jason up first. You boys have a seat. He'll be back down shortly.”

  Chapter 9

  Nichole Harris

  Nichole lay still in the silence. Once or twice, angry voices reached her from downstairs, but now, the house was quiet. Her emotions were like a tidal wave. They washed over her with fear, then ebbed to frustrated anxiety. She eased to a sitting position and rearranged the pillows to support her back, then pressed her fingers between her eyes, a counterpoint to the pain.

  A man cleared his throat. “Are you awake?” Doc Johnson's voice was hushed.

  “Yes.” She lowered her hand to her lap and opened her eyes. “Is my cousin with you?”

  “He's right here. Go on in, son.” Doc pushed open the door, and a stranger stepped into the room. He stood silent until the door closed with a click behind him, and then he smiled at her.

  Nichole's mind went blank, her eyes wide as she looked at her cousin. Beyond handsome, Jason was beautiful.

  His skin, tanned by the sun to a golden perfection highlighted his light-blue eyes, which shone in the dim light of the room. Blond curls, damp from the heat, clung to his forehead and fell over his collar.

  She was speechless.

  “So, it's true.” Jason looked away as he took a seat in the bedside chair. “I didn't realize what it would mean—how it would feel—for you not to know me.”

  “Is it... is it that obvious? I'm sorry—”

  “Don't apologize Nicki. It's not your fault. I just wasn't prepared for your reaction.” Jason chuckled. “We get that look from strangers sometimes, you and me. It used to amuse us, but to see that same look in your eyes, well ... it took me by surprise.” He raised his gaze to hers.

  “Are you saying I look like that—like you?” She shook her head in disbelief. “No way.”

  Jason's smile grew amused at her denial. “Except for my chiseled jaw and roguishly dimpled chin, why yes, we look quite alike.” He winked at her as he stood and stepped to the chest of drawers. Beside the basin and ewer were a razor and a mirror. He handed her the shaving mirror with a grin.

  She kept her gaze on his face, cautious of his delight. An emotion stirred inside her chest, tied to his mischievous smile.

  He's always been dear to me.

  With trepidation, she lowered her gaze to the mirror. At first, she saw only blood matted in her hair and the bandage wrapped around her head. Then, she met her own eyes in the reflection, and they opened wide. “Holy shit,” she whispered.

  Jason laughed with amusement. “I told you.”

  Large blue eyes reflected back at her, filled with doubt. Fringed with dark lashes, they were open wide beneath delicate, arched brows. Her hand shook as it rose to her face and touched the smooth texture of her porcelain cheek. On one side, her hair was free of dried blood and hung in golden curls to her shoulder. Her chin was softer than Jason's, rounder with no dimple, and where his nose was straight, her nose turned up at the tip.

  “We take after our grandfather. You were named for him.”

  “I was?” She returned the mirror to her cousin.

  Jason nodded. “Nicholas Harris. He had two sons, my father, Spencer, and yours, Quincy.”

  “And we all look like this?”

  “More or less,” Jason chuckled. “You and I look the most alike.”

  “Wow.” Nichole picked up one of her curls and studied it. “Do they live close—our parents?”

  His smile faded. “Both your parents have passed. Your mother, Aunt Emily, died four years ago. Uncle Quincy was killed in an accident last fall. You were their only child.”

  “Oh.”

  What do I feel? Nothing.

  She cleared her throat. “What about your parents?”

  “Both alive. They live in Boston. You and I are the only ones that came west, except for my wife, Amy.”

  “You're married?” Nichole asked, startled at each new revelation.

  Jason smiled at her reaction. “Yes, I am. She's coming to the ranch for the barbeque. You'll meet her in a few days.”

  “Coming here? We're at a ranch?” Her face grew warm. She hated how little she knew; how ignorant she sounded.

  “Yes, this is The Shilo Ranch, and no, she won't be coming here. We hold the cookout and dance at our ranch, The Highlands, each spring. Amy lives in Denver for now, but I hope she'll decide to stay with us.”

  “Of course.”

  Why wouldn't she stay?

  There was too much information to process already, and the situation between Jason and his wife was none of her business.

  A knock sounded, and Doc Johnson looked in. “Time's up, Jason.”

  Her cousin stood and took Nichole's hand. “I'll send Amy a note to let her know what's happened. She should receive it before she leaves town.”

  “Be sure she knows you'll be back at The Highlands. You should return home tomorrow, depending on how Miss Nichole feels, of course,” Doc Johnson suggested.

  Jason glanced toward the doctor. “I agree. Nicki would be more comfortable in her own bed. Also, Jeanne is there to help.” He released her hand and spoke over his shoulder while he walked to the door. “Jeanne is your personal maid. For tonight, Renata or Katy can help you with whatever you need.”

  “Who are they? Who's Renata?” With each new name, a flutter edged into her chest, and her throat tightened.

  Jason cast a worried glance at the doctor, who nodded his permission. “Renata is a guest at the ranch. She is—was a friend of Philip Shilo—Kevin and Merril's father.”

  Nichole looked between the two faces.

  What an odd exchange.

  The men’s behavior and hesitation piqued her curiosity. “You say she was a friend?”

  What aren't they telling me?

  “Um, yes.” Doc paused and pressed his lips for a moment. “Regretfully, Philip passed away only a short time ago. Renata will remain at The Shilo until she can make other arrangements.”

  “Oh.” She looked away and shook her head. “I'm sorry.”

  “That's perfectly all right, young lady. Now, come along Jason. Two other gentlemen are waiting to see Miss Nichole.”

  “I'll see you in the morning, Nicki.” Jason gave her a smile of encouragement. “Have a good night's rest.”

  Their footsteps faded, and in moments, heavier footfalls approached. Another man stepped into the room.

  He was roughly the same height as Jason, judging by the door frame, but height was the only similarity. Where Jason had a slender build, this man was wide across the shoulders and broad in his chest. Even through the gray suit coat he wore, she could tell his arms were well muscled. He was pleasant looking, with short cropped brown hair that had just a touch of g
ray. His eyes were hazel and deep-set. He stood awkwardly beside the door and looked from Nichole to the doctor.

  Doc Johnson indicated the broad-shouldered man. “Miss Nichole, this is Kevin Shilo.” To Kevin, he added, “Keep it short, son.” Then, he disappeared into the hall.

  Kevin stepped closer, his regard fixed firmly on her face, and stopped at the bedside. “What Doc said about your memory—it's true? You don't remember me?”

  Nichole indicated the chair. “Please sit. It hurts to look up.” When he sat, she could smell alcohol on his breath.

  He remained motionless in the chair, intent on her response. His expression was serious, somewhere between disbelief and anger.

  “It's true, Kevin. I'm sorry. I don't remember anything.” She touched the bandage, over her injury. “However, Doc Johnson assured me my memories would return.”

  “Yeah, Doc says a lot of things.” Kevin sat forward, elbows on his knees and bowed his head. His hands trembled.

  Sympathy at his obvious distress compelled her to reach out to him. “He told me your father passed away recently. I'm sorry for your loss.”

  Kevin's head came up. His face was taut with anger. “Doc told you that?”

  “Um ... yeah, he did. He wasn't supposed to?”

  “No, he wasn't.” Kevin stood and walked to the window. He shoved the curtain aside. The muscle in his jaw worked as he stared into the late afternoon light.

  His swift anger alarmed her, and she remained silent.

  Is he drunk?

  After several moments, he let the curtain fall closed. He turned to her and captured her gaze with his own. “Doc said there were two things we weren't to mention to you.”

  “Two?”

  Kevin's nod was slow; his words harsh and filled with pain. “My father's death ... and our plans to wed.” His face crumbled as he paced across the room to the door, his hand over his mouth.

  “What?” Nichole gasped. “Our plans?” Her voice grew louder. “You mean our plans?”

  Kevin spun around at the alarm in her voice. “There's no reason to be upset,” he said as he approached the bed.

  Nichole leaned away from him. “I'm sorry. I don't remember you. I don't remember this place, and I don't remember—”