Behind the Mask (29 page)

Gradually Abbi came to believe that the only way to teach Cameron to trust again was for her to trust
him
completely, even if she wasn’t certain how she might let him know. She asked God if her conclusion was right and good. She had nothing but a peaceful feeling to confirm her question, but she believed that was enough. She’d always been taught to trust her instincts—and there had never been a moment when they hadn’t lured her toward Cameron, with feelings deeper than she’d ever experienced before in her life.

On a heavy night with wind and snow howling around the lodge, Abbi woke from a dream that left her breathless. She’d hardly dreamed at all since she’d come here, and she’d not felt this way since she’d dreamed of the path that had led her to Cameron.

“Help me understand,” she prayed aloud and rolled onto her side, holding her pillow tightly. Oblivious to the wind outside, she played the dream over and over in her mind. She finally drifted back to sleep, only to have the same dream again. She woke up trembling, her mouth dry, her breathing sharp. The things she’d seen were not by any means frightening, but the feelings and implications were too overwhelming to digest.

Abbi attempted to light a candle, but her hands were trembling too much to strike the match. So she groped her way through the darkness, holding the stair railing tightly to guide her to the kitchen, where she felt her way to where she knew water had been left ready to be heated in the morning. She splashed water on her face and drank it from her cupped hands.

“What are you doing?” Cameron’s voice startled her. He struck a match and touched it to a lantern wick close by.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t want to wake you. I just . . .”

He looked her up and down before taking her wet hands into his. “You’re trembling, Abbi. What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“No, of course not. I . . .”

“What?” he demanded.

Abbi didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t admit to what was bothering her without opening up something she wasn’t prepared to discuss.

“What?” he repeated, his voice deeper.

“I . . . I had a . . . dream.” She pulled away and hurried up the stairs. “I’m fine now, thank you,” she called over her shoulder and hurried back to bed.

For the next two days, Cameron watched Abbi become steadily more on edge. She jumped at the slightest noise, as if her mind were absorbed elsewhere. She hardly spoke at all, but occasionally he’d catch her staring at him, looking as frightened as he felt. He knew that whatever she had dreamed was troubling her. And her refusal to talk about it only deepened the evidence that it likely had something to do with him. Unable to bear his ignorance any longer, Cameron barred her way as she headed up the stairs after dinner.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“You’re not leaving this room until you tell me.”

Abbi swallowed hard and turned away from him. “Tell you what?”

“It’s that dream, isn’t it,” he said with certainty. “You’ve been like some kind of ghost since you had that dream.”

Abbi’s heart quickened, amazed at the accuracy of his perception. She attempted to evade him. “I find it difficult to believe that you would have any desire to know the contents of my dreams, when you have so little to say to me otherwise.” She turned to look at him directly. “I was under the impression that my dreams only frightened you, and—”

“They
do
frighten me, Abbi.” He took hold of her shoulders. “But not nearly as much as what might happen if I ignore them.”

Abbi attempted to accept his implication. He had just acknowledged a deep respect for the dream that had led her here. And it was impossible to separate her presence in his life from the fact that she was the one who had been guided to him.

“It has something to do with me,” he said. Her thoughts were moving so fast that she couldn’t answer. “This dream you had a few days ago . . . it has something to do with me, or you wouldn’t be so hesitant to speak of it. Am I right?”

Abbi felt her breath deepen. Then she nodded.

Cameron deepened his gaze and tightened his grip. “Tell me,” he insisted in a harsh whisper.

Abbi nodded to indicate that she would, and she walked toward a chair as he let go of her. She sat down and put her hands on the table. Cameron watched her a moment, slowly moving to the other chair. He wondered if she had foreseen something from his future. His worst fears came to mind. Had she seen him executed? Or languishing in prison?

“I’m listening,” he said when her silence dragged on.

Abbi cleared her throat tensely. “It was very simple, actually. I saw . . . a child . . . riding a hobbyhorse.”

“And?”

“That was it.” She imitated his curt tone.

“You’ve been wandering around here in a trance because you saw a
child
on a
hobbyhorse?
”

“Just as with my other dreams, it’s not so much what I saw as the way it made me feel.”

Cameron tightened his gaze on her, not liking the way his heart pounded. “How did it make you feel, Abbi?”

“Like it was . . . significant, that it would . . . happen.”

“A child on a hobbyhorse?”

“That’s right,” she said, feeling a little better. She didn’t have to tell him the details, and they could leave it at this.

“There has to be more,” he said, and by the way her eyes shifted, he knew she was omitting details.

“What did the horse look like?” he asked.

Abbi sighed. “It was . . . ornately carved, as if a great deal of time had gone into making it.”

“What color was it?”

Abbi shrugged. “The color of wood, but . . .”

As a memory began to stir into Abbi’s description, Cameron didn’t like the feelings it elicited. “But?” he pressed.

“Where the brand would be, there was painted a red lion.”

Cameron sucked in his breath but forced a steady expression. It took every ounce of self-control not to shout at her and call her some kind of psychic witch. He swallowed carefully and asked, “And the child?”

This was the part that troubled Abbi most. “He had your face,” she said, “and your curly hair, but it was curlier than yours.”

“It was me,” he said, liking the answer. He knew his hair had been curlier as a child. The explanation soothed his emotions somewhat, but at the same time seemed rather pointless.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Why not?”

Abbi turned away, not wanting to see his reaction. “His hair was red.”

It took Cameron a full minute to grasp the implication. He wanted to accuse her of being some evil sorceress, of making up these dreams to manipulate or torment him. But there was too much validity to question it. He knew that the feelings bubbling inside of him were not rational, but he couldn’t find any strength to hold them back. “It’s madness,” he said, erupting to his feet. He slammed a fist on the table. “It’s absolute insanity! It’s impossible! It’s absurd!”

Abbi winced at his anger. She stood to face him, drawing up her chin to say in a firm voice, “If it is so absurd, then why are you so angry?”

Cameron turned and left the lodge, not coming back until Abbi was settled into bed. Through the next few days she could almost feel her mood being transferred into him. She saw her own fears and speculations mirrored tenfold in his eyes. While she felt something inside her beginning to digest the implication of her dream, Cameron withdrew further from her. He implied by his reticence that he was determined to remain independent of her. It would have been easy for Abbi to believe that he truly disliked her and simply wanted nothing to do with her in his future. But as she searched the evidence of all that had transpired between them during her stay, she was inclined to believe that his motives were more related to fear and doubt. Abbi felt helpless to reach him, while the urgency inside her only grew stronger each day. Again she prayed for strength and guidance, knowing deep inside that she was only human. There was nothing in her power that could change Cameron’s perspective if he didn’t want to change.

Cameron resigned himself to spending as much time in the stable as he could possibly manage, if only to avoid the way Abbi’s presence filled his home. It took all his mental effort to keep from obsessing about this woman and her dreams. And the busier he kept, the easier it was to avoid thoughts that threatened to devour him.

On a fairly warm afternoon, Cameron did some insignificant repairs, purposely dragging out each task. As he meticulously organized his tools, it became evident that nothing would keep Abbi out of his thoughts.

“Blast her!” he muttered under his breath, setting both hands on the edge of a wooden chest. He took a deep breath and forced her out of his head, at the same time moving one hand to reach down and pick up a chisel off the ground. With no warning, the heavy lid of the chest slammed down over his fingers. The latch hit the back of his hand, creating a deep gash. Cameron moaned and cursed as he freed his hand and curled around it, wondering how he could have been so stupid. Watching blood drip onto the ground while his fingers throbbed, his head began to swim. He put his head down for a minute, hoping to equalize himself enough to get to the lodge. He stood slowly and got out the stable door. Becoming dizzy again, he fell and landed on his knees. He wondered if anything had ever hurt so much in his entire life. His mind was drawn to the senseless beating he’d gotten in prison, and the memory added to the sickness he was feeling. He tried to stand and once again ended up kneeling in the snow, his head pressed to the cold ground like some kind of monk in prayer.

“Abbi!” he shouted and waited a minute, but nothing happened. “Abbi, I need—”

“What!” she snapped, opening the lodge door. Then she saw him and ran up the steps carved in the deep snow that led up from the doorway. She hurried across the crusted surface of the snow and knelt beside him. “What is it?” she asked gently. “What’s happened?”

“My hand,” he muttered and tried to lift his head.

Abbi gasped when his left hand came into view. His fingers were red and swollen and blood was spewing generously from the back of his hand, staining the snow in front of him.

“Come along,” she said. “We’ve got to get you inside.”

With Abbi to lean on, Cameron managed to get up and walk. He’d never pondered until now just how tiny she was. Her head didn’t even come to the top of his shoulder. But she felt strong and secure as she kept his balance for him.

“Come upstairs and—”

“I can’t make it up the stairs,” he said tersely. But when she helped him toward one of the sofas, he shook his head. “I can’t lie there. It’s too short.” They took a few more steps to the rug where he spent his nights, and he moaned as he practically collapsed on his side. Abbi grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around the hand to put pressure where it was bleeding.

“What happened?” she asked, elevating his arm by propping a pillow beneath it.

“A chest . . . the lid . . . slammed down . . .”

“Ooh,” Abbi said. “I’d wager that hand’s going to be pretty useless for a while.”

“Really?” he retorted with sarcasm.

“At least it’s not your right hand. It could be worse.”

“It
is
worse,” he snapped. “I’m left-handed.”

“So you are,” Abbi said sheepishly. “I’ll be right back. Now don’t move.”

“I’ve no intention of moving.” He watched her walk away, then closed his eyes.

Abbi returned a few minutes later and stuck his fingers into a bowl full of snow. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“The cold will keep the swelling down.”

“Who told you that?”

“The doctor told my grandfather after he’d had a nasty quarrel with a difficult horse.”

“Who won?”

“The horse. Then my grandfather spent several days in bed, regularly putting several parts of his body on ice.”

“How clever you are, Abbi,” he said. “Now it hurts
and
it’s cold.”

“Stop being such a baby,” she retorted. He glared at her, and she found it difficult not to laugh.

By evening Cameron’s fingers had all swollen to double their normal size, and they were a deep purple color. Only his thumb had been spared. The gash on his hand had stopped bleeding, but he could feel his heart beating in his fingers until he wanted to scream.

“It’s really hurting, isn’t it,” Abbi said, watching the contortions on his face. He’d not moved from where he was, and he’d refused to eat any dinner.

“Yes, it hurts. Go ahead. Call me a baby.”

Abbi laughed softly and sat down beside him. “Don’t you have anything around here that you can take for the pain?”

“No. If I did, I’d have given it to you when I had to set your ankle.”

“Do you think anything’s broken?” she asked, fearing what the answer might be.

“I don’t think so,” he said without opening his eyes. “But my fingers won’t be moving until the swelling goes down, anyway.”

Abbi took hold of his good hand, saying gently, “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Maybe you could concoct some magic spell to ease my pain, the same way you see senseless visions.” His tone was mocking and Abbi stood up abruptly, her concern smothered by anger.

“If
I could concoct a spell,” she snarled, “I’d come up with something to make you see what a fool you are. Under the circumstances, I would think you’d have the sense not to bite the hand that may end up feeding you. You can just lie there and
rot,
for all I care. In the meantime, I’ll be praying for an early spring.”

Cameron watched her go up the stairs, and he winced when the bedroom door slammed. As her words echoed through his mind, the pain in his hand diminished in light of one harsh fact. Abbi was right. He
was
a fool. Since she had come into his life, his thoughts and emotions had been continually engaged in silent battle. His years of being alone seemed so uncomplicated in comparison. Yet, looking back, he knew the simplicity of his emotions had just been a symptom of his refusal to feel anything at all.

Abbi went to bed angry, but an hour later she had to admit that she’d never sleep while Cameron lay there with nothing to eat, and nothing to ease the pain. She was trying to talk herself into going downstairs to check on him when she heard noises below in the kitchen.