Dare to Dream (20 page)

“Looks like we got us a play-perdy.” He reached toward Meghan’s leg.

Spirit swung his massive neck, knocking the man sideways. He lunged to his feet and drew a revolver, aiming at the horse’s head.

“The lieutenant won’t be paying if you shoot him, Riley. Don’t be stupid.” He approached with the loop in his hand. “Nice horsey.”

“Home.” Meghan whispered under her breath. Spirit pawed the air, and the men leapt aside.

He broke into a gallop, weaving in and out of trees as Meghan stuck like glue. She listened for the sound of hoofbeats but could hear nothing over the sound of her heart and Spirit’s thundering hooves. Snow fell in earnest now. She wanted to slow the horse, but didn’t dare. What if the men weren’t alone? What of W.B. and Charlie at the lodge? She rose from his neck a few inches, turning to look behind them for signs of pursuit. The tree limb took her by surprise, knocking her to the ground.

She awoke to pain shooting through her arm and her head. Her hands were tied behind her back and her right arm in spasms. She screamed because she couldn’t stop herself. Spirit echoed her cry. She twisted her head to see, causing pain to ricochet inside her skull. When she opened her eyes again, he remained tied to a tree. A couple of inches of snow had collected on his back. How long had she been unconscious? Where were the men?

In pain and near numb from the cold, she turned her head, searching. The two men were nowhere to be seen. Had they gone to collect their money? To fetch the lieutenant to get his prize? Or were they off in the bushes watching and taking a piss? She didn’t know or care. She tried to push to her feet. She got her knees under her, and the world swam out of focus. She closed her eyes and waited until the nausea passed. She crawled to the tree and used the rough bark to push her up, reeling as her vision skewed. She focused on the knot of rope. Using her teeth, she tugged until it loosened. Once the loop was freed, the rest came more easily. The rope dropped to the ground, freeing one of them.

“Go home, Spirit. Go,” she whispered.

The horse tossed his head and bowed low.

“I can’t. Find Will. Go home, please.” Her vision blurred, and when it cleared, she stood alone. He’d done his part. The rest was up to her. She kept her footing through her first tentative steps, the rest were bolder. Downhill, all she had to do was head downhill.

Her head throbbed, her arm ached, and the snow fell harder, making her erratic vision more uncertain. She stumbled into trees and tripped over roots hidden by the rising snow. Each time she managed to get back to her feet with increasing degrees of difficulty. She had to make it home to Will. The forest became eerily quiet, her breathing, loud and labored to her ears. Tired and half frozen, she stumbled again, lost her footing, and tumbled down the slope.

What the hell? A horse trumpeted. Will slammed the door open without pausing for his coat. Spirit circled in front of the porch, rearing and pawing the air like a crazed thing. A rope swung from his neck.

“Meghan! Meghan!”

He reached inside blindly for his coat and his rifle. Holding the gun butt between his knees, he threw on his coat and leapt from the porch. After tossing the rope off the horse he jumped onto his bare, snowy back.

“Meghan.” All his air left with his whisper. Spirit whirled, racing up the trail too fast for safety. Will hung low on his back as the stallion dodged through trees and around boulders with the agility of a mountain goat.

In the deathly quiet, a rifle shot rang out from higher on the mountain, followed by another. Spirit didn’t head toward the lodge but darted to the side and down a ravine, skidding to a stop. An impression in the snow-covered leaves showed where someone had fallen. A few scattered sassafras roots and blood on the side of the boulder bore witness, but no Meghan. He searched for footprints, drag marks, any indication she wandered away, and found nothing.

“Meghan!” His cry echoed off the mountaintops.

The stallion pawed, snorting, and anxious. Will mounted. The horse climbed upward toward the lodge and the gunfire. Will cocked his rifle and stayed low.

Blue britches and bright red blood showed starkly on the new snow. Will counted the shots, the sounds distinctive. Five reports, two from inside the lodge. Three intruders. He slid silently to the ground, waved the horse back, and moved toward the nearest sound. A shot would alert the other two. Will pulled the knife from his boot and crept up on the man kneeling behind the tree. The blade made no sound as he drew the steel across the man’s throat. Will’s hand muffled his final gasp. The soldier seemed vaguely familiar. Dark blood reddened the snow where he dropped. Will, moved on.

A shot rang out from the lodge, and a body flew backward from a stand of cedars. One left. Will crouched waiting for a sound to direct him. A snick-snick of a rifle being cocked did just that. He whirled to face his attacker as pain seared his left shoulder. He threw his bloody knife, catching the man in the throat before he could fire again. They both fell to their knees, eyes meeting. The would-be Custer seemed surprised as he toppled face down in the snow.

“Hail the lodge!” Will shouted. He clutched his shoulder, blood dripping between his fingers leaving a scarlet trail across pristine white.

White Buffalo reached him first and had him slung over his shoulder before Charlie reached them.

“Do they have Meghan?” Will’s head buzzed as the blood rushed to his brain.

When he came to, he lay on a pallet of hides in his grandfather’s lodge, his shoulder bandaged and arm strapped tight to his side. He knew the bullet had busted his shoulder when it hit. He’d worry about himself later, after he had his information. A man was tied hands to heels in front of the fire where a knife laid heating on the stones, the tip already showing red. The man had a shoulder wound much like his own, but unlike his, untended and likely to remain so until questions were answered. From the look of the fella, his grandfather had already asked a few and not liked the answers.

“Be still! Your shoulder’s busted,” Charlie ordered.

“You think I don’t know that?” Will pushed himself to a sitting position, and then onto his feet. “What have they done to Meghan?”

“Depends.”

“Don’t try me,” Will warned. Charlie blanched. “Well?”

“The first story was he hadn’t seen her, ’course that was before White Buffalo poked around in that bullet hole for a spell.”

“And now?”

“He says they tied her up with the horse down the mountain a ways. He seemed real sincere, so White Buffalo went to check. The knife is for when he finds out he’s lyin’.”

“I ain’t! I ain’t! I swear to God! I didn’t want any part of this fool’s errand. The lieutenant had to have that horse. I tried to tell him no horse was worth a man’s life, but he was hell-bent. Please mister, the last time I saw the gal she was knocked out and tied next to the tree the horse was tethered to.”

Will bit back his rage. “Tied how?”

“Just her hands—”

“How?” Will shouted.

“Behind her back,” the man whimpered.

Will’s fist sent him flying into the fire where he would have happily left him. He scowled when Charlie hauled him out. But before he called him on it, the lodge door swung wide.

“He speaks the truth. I found where she lay and followed her trail until—”

“At the top of the ravine? Then nothing?” Will knew the answer when he saw the Indian’s face. “Where is she? I have to find her. I have to.”

His grandfather blew a puff of white dust in his face. He caught him before his knees could buckle. “I will search. Rest.”

* * * *

“Call 911! Call the ski patrol! Oh my God, her hands are tied. I think she’s trying to say something.” The woman leaned down to put her ear near Meghan’s mouth. “What?”

“Will…”

“The surgery went well. We removed the bone fragments, but we can’t be certain there will be no permanent damage until she regains consciousness. She’s lucky to be alive after two such severe head traumas, not to mention the hypothermia. Your friend’s a fighter.”

Shhhhhh. Quiet. My head hurts.

* * * *

“Open your eyes, Meg. Please, for me?”

Meghan squinted against the glare and the light flicked out. “Donna?”

“I’m right here. Oh, Meghan, I thought I lost you. How do you feel? What happened?”

“Mrs. Andrews, give her a moment, please. Would you like some water?”

A straw appeared at her lips, and she drank greedily. Her head felt so odd. She tried to wave her hand to make the straw go away, to reach her head, but couldn’t bend her arms. She squinted until the tape came into view. “Oh God, oh God! IVs. Oh God, I’m back!”

“Nurse.”

“You’re all right, Meghan. Shhh. You’re okay. You’re safe. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

Warmth shot up her arm and straight into her brain. No, they didn’t understand. She had to go back.

* * * *

“Mornin’, sunshine. How’s my girl? The nurse brought you some lovely…ewww.” Donna stopped and let the liquid oatmeal trail from the spoon. “And just when we thought they couldn’t do better than green Jell-O. Bag!”

Attached to the white bag was Dan, and in the bag was a flaky biscuit with egg, cheese, and Canadian bacon. Meghan scarfed the sandwich in three bites and downed the OJ in two gulps.

“Now, let’s start at the beginning.”

“No, let’s wait on Dr. McStudly. If I have to tell the story again, I’m not doing an encore. He agreed this is the last time, right?”

“Yeah. Stick to your story. See the shrink.”

“Best call in Dr. Freud then.”

“Meghan, can’t you just humor him? He’ll let us take you home. Honestly, honey, I don’t understand why you still insist this is real when you know it can’t be,” Donna complained yet again.

“What’s your explanation?”

Donna didn’t have one. No one did. Meghan had been found in a ravine on the mountainside by two skiers racing the biggest snow storm Colorado had seen in a century. Luckily, they had a satellite phone and called for help before the worst of the storm hit. After twelve hours of emergency brain surgery, the bone fragments had been removed from her skull. She’d spent two weeks in a coma. Meg opened her eyes, horrified. Another week of drug-induced coma calmed her, but didn’t change her story. Apparently, nothing would, not even Dr. McStudly.

Meghan seemed convinced she had spent the past three months in the 1800s. Her story was bizarre enough, but she also claimed to have stayed in old lady Thornton’s house and fallen in love with a man there. Donna listened to the story over and over. Meghan’s heart was broken. Her pain was all too real.

And just when Donna thought no one could be hotter than Dr. McStudly, Dr. Fillian walked in the room with him.
“Yowza!”

Both men looked in her direction, and Dan gave a hard elbow to her ribs. “Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Dr. McStudly was the Norse God type, all blond, blue, and broad. Dr. Fillian, while equally tall and muscular, sported raven hair and either a dark tan or was of some native extraction and totally yummilicious. He sat on a stool at Meghan’s beside and took her hand. Donna took note her friend colored prettily.

“I won’t make you repeat you story, Ms. Dennehy. I’ve heard the recordings several times. Instead, I’d like you to listen to me for a moment. Can you do that?”

“Sure.”

“Sometimes when a person is held captive for a period of time, they develop a relationship with their captor. This is understandable. The person holds their life in their hands, much as a parent or a doctor might.”

Meghan nodded. “Stockholm syndrome. I bet your patients fall for you all the time.”

Donna grinned at Meg when he blushed but didn’t answer.

“Your friend says you are a fiercely loyal individual, and even if she hadn’t, the tapes show this to be the case. Would you at least entertain the possibility you came to care for your captor?”

“No.”

“You couldn’t have cared for him?”

“I wasn’t a captive. I wanted to stay. I
want
to go back.”

“We both know that isn’t going to happen, Ms. Dennehy. Under other circumstances, I would prescribe antipsychotics and psychotherapy, but pharmaceuticals would be unwise in your current condition.”

“What about her condition? You said she was almost one hundred percent. Has something gone wrong?” Donna clutched Meghan’s hand and Dan’s arm.

“No, physically she’s fine, but I’m afraid we have another shock for her. It’s good that you’re here.” He cued Dr. McStudly.

“We received the rest of your bloodwork from the lab. Everything looks good, much better than we dared hope. You are a very strong woman with a strong will to survive. However, one test result was rather unexpected.”

“Well?” they said in unison.

“You’re three months pregnant.”

Donna stared as Meghan began to laugh. Tears streamed down her face. She certainly didn’t act like the victim of rape.