Authors: Nora Roberts
Dream Trilogy (102 page)
“I fell off the cliff,” Laura said as her head settled back into place.
“Oh, my dear God. Where does it hurt? Let me look at you.”
She broke off when she heard the sound of cars speeding up the drive, doors slamming. “Everyone’s here.” Ann pressed a kiss to Laura’s brow. “Everything’s all right now.”
Susan burst through the doorway first, stopped, braced herself as her heart tilted. “Well,” she managed calmly enough, “what’s all this?”
“I fell off a cliff,” Laura told her. “Michael got me up. I hit my head.”
That was all she got out before the room filled with people and hands that wanted to touch and voices that babbled questions.
“Quiet.” Thomas took his daughter’s hand, shot the order out to the group at large. “Josh, call the doctor, tell him we’re bringing Laura in—”
“No.” Rousing herself, Laura sat up and patted Kayla’s head as her daughter laid it in her mother’s lap. “I don’t need the doctor. I’ve just hit my head.”
“It’s a nasty bump,” Mrs. Williamson tutted as she continued to clean the blood and dirt from Laura’s head. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you have a concussion here, little girl. Michael?”
He didn’t notice all the eyes that focused on him. All he could do was stare down at Laura. “I don’t know how long she was out. Five, six minutes. But she’s been lucid, her vision’s not blurred. There’s nothing broken.” He wiped a hand over his mouth. “She had a dislocated shoulder. She probably fell on her left side. It’ll be sore, but she’s got good rotation.”
“I don’t want to go to the hospital. The ER will be packed with people after a tremor. I don’t want to be one of them. I need to be home.”
“Then you should stay home.” Margo crouched beside her. “We can take care of you. You gave us a scare.”
“Gave myself one.” Murmuring, she wrapped her arm around Ali as the girl burrowed into her side. “I’m fine. Just a few bumps and bruises. It was quite an adventure.”
“Try scuba diving the next time you want an adventure.” Reaching over the back of the couch, Kate laid a hand on Laura’s shoulder. “My heart can’t take this.”
“We found Seraphina’s dowry.”
“What?” Kate’s fingers gripped. “What?”
“It’s there, on the ledge where I fell. There was a cave, and it was there. Wasn’t it, Michael? I didn’t imagine it, did I?”
“It’s there. I’ll get it for you.”
“You’ll be getting nothing,” Mrs. Williamson said, lifting her voice over the fresh spurt of questions. “Sit down before you fall down, boy, and let me see to your hands. You’ve made a fine mess of yourself.”
“Oh, good Lord.” Focusing on someone other than her daughter for the first time, Susan snagged Michael’s wrist. His hands were coated with dirt and blood, the knuckles mangled. “You’ve cut them to pieces.” Her eyes lifted to his, swam, overflowed as she realized what he’d done. “Michael.”
“They’re fine. I’m fine.” He jerked away. Abruptly, he couldn’t breathe, wasn’t certain how much longer he could stand. “I’ve got to see to my horses.”
When he staggered out, Susan took a step after him. “Mom.” Josh put a hand on her arm. “Let me. Please.”
“Bring him back here, Josh. He needs tending to.”
“He won’t come,” Josh said to himself as he went after his friend. “Michael.” He hurried across the terrace, over the yard, feeling like a fool for chasing a man who walked like a drunk beside a clopping horse. “Goddamn it, Michael, wait.” He caught Michael by the shoulder, spun him around, and stepped back involuntarily at the molten fury that spurted out.
“Get away from me. I’m done here.”
“I’m not. You listen—”
“Don’t fuck with me now.” Ignoring the pain in his hands, Michael shoved Josh back. “I’m in the mood to hurt somebody, and it might as well be you.”
“Fine. Take a shot. The shape you’re in, I could blow on you and knock you down. You idiot, you stupid son of a bitch, why didn’t you tell me you were in love with her?”
“What the hell difference does it make?”
“Only all. You stood there and let me dump a pile of shit on you and did nothing. All you had to do was open your mouth and say it. I thought you were using her.”
“I did use her, didn’t I? I used her, then I tossed her aside just like you said I would. Ask her.”
“I know what it’s like to be in love with a woman and be scared boneless you won’t make it work. And I know what it’s like to want it so much you screw it up. Now I know what it’s like to be a part of making two people I care about miserable. And I don’t like it.”
“This isn’t about you. I’d figured out it was time to move on before you had your say. I’ve got other plans. I’ve got things . . .”
He trailed off, turned to press his face into Max’s warm throat. “I thought she was dead.” His shoulders shuddered, and he didn’t have the will or the energy to shrug off Josh’s hand. “I looked down and saw her lying there and thought she was dead. I can’t remember anything else until I was down there and put my hand on her throat. Felt her pulse beating.”
“She’s going to be all right. Both of you are.”
“She wouldn’t have been down there if I hadn’t told her it was done. If I hadn’t hurt her.” He drew back, rubbed his hands over his face, smearing blood. “She’s being taken care of, so that’s fine. I’ve got no place here.”
“You’re wrong. No one’s shutting you out but you. Christ, Mick, you’re a mess.” He took a good look at the battered hands, the torn and bloody clothes. He didn’t want to think, quite yet, of how close his sister and his friend had come to dying. “Come back inside, let Mrs. Williamson fuss over you. You look like you could use a drink, too.”
“I’ll get one when I’m done.”
“Done with what?”
“I told her I’d get the damn chest, didn’t I? I’m going to get it.”
Josh opened his mouth as Michael started away again. Arguments, he decided, were fruitless. “Hold up. I’ll get Byron. We’ll do it together.”
Chapter Twenty-one
An hour later, dirty and a little sore, Josh and Byron brought the small chest into the parlor. There’d been a couple of dicey moments during an aftershock when the three of them had been caught crouching on the ledge, wondering if they’d lost their minds. Fortunately it had passed, and now the chest, still unopened, sat on the coffee table. Waiting.
“I can’t believe it,” Margo murmured. She brushed the wood with her fingertips. “It’s real. After all this time.” She smiled over at Laura. “You found it.”
“We found it,” she corrected. “We were always meant to.” Her head throbbed dully as she reached for Kate’s hand. “Where’s Michael?”
“He didn’t—” Josh bit back an oath. “He needed to check on his horses.”
“I’ll get him for you,” Byron offered.
“No.” It was his choice, Laura reminded herself. And her life had to continue. “It’s so small, isn’t it?” she mused. “So simply made. I suppose all of us had imagined something huge and ornate and extraordinary, but it’s just a plain, serviceable chest. The kind that lasts.” She took a deep breath. “Ready?”
With Margo and Kate beside her, she put a hand on the latch. It opened easily, soundlessly, the interior releasing a scent of lavender and cedar.
Inside were a young girl’s treasures, and dreams. A rosary fashioned from lapis with a heavy silver crucifix. A brooch of garnets, rose petals drying to dust. Gold, yes, there was gold, glinting as it was poured out of a leather pouch.
But there were linens, meticulously embroidered and carefully folded. Handkerchiefs with lacy edges turning yellow. An amber necklace, a ring crafted to fit a small finger and studded with little ruby stones that glistened like new blood. Pretty pieces of jewelry that suited a young woman not yet married and a locket that held a curl of dark hair bound by gold thread.
Tucked in with them was a small book with a red leather cover. Inside was the careful convent-school writing of a well-bred woman: “We met on the cliffs today, early, when there was still dew on the grass and the sun was rising slowly from the sea. Felipe told me he loved me, and my heart was brighter than the dawn.”
Laura rested her head against Margo’s shoulder. “Her diary,” she murmured. “She put her diary in with her treasures, locked away. Poor girl.”
“I always thought I’d feel thrilled when we found it.” Kate reached into the box, stroked a finger over the amber beads. “I just feel sad. She hid away everything that was important to her in this little box and left it behind.”
“You shouldn’t feel sad.” Laura laid the open diary on her lap. “She wanted us to find it and to open it again. I like to think it had to wait until all three of us faced something we thought we couldn’t face. But we did. We have.”
She reached out, took each of their hands in hers. “And we should put these in the shop, in a special case.”
“We couldn’t sell any of it,” Margo murmured. “We couldn’t sell Seraphina’s treasures.”
“No, not to sell.” Laura smiled at the simple box. “To let other people dream.”
Michael left the rubble of his living room just as it was. He was going to stand in the shower and drown out the aches and pains. After he’d had a drink. In fact, now that he thought of it, getting piss-faced drunk was probably a much happier way to drown out the pain.
He bypassed beer and took out a bottle of Jameson’s. As he poured a tumbler half full, he ignored the insistent knocking on his door.
“Go the fuck away,” he muttered and took one long swallow. It did little to improve his mood when Ann Sullivan pushed open his door.
“Well, I see you’re already drowning your sorrows in the middle of this chaos.” She set down a box on the counter and frowned at the destruction. “I wouldn’t have thought there’d be this much damage. We lost only a few breakables at the main house.”
“Laura did most of it.” He lifted his glass again as Ann pursed her lips.
“Did she? It’s rare for her to let her temper loose, but a wicked one it can be. Well, sit down, we’ll tend to you before we clean up the mess.”
“I don’t want to clean it up, and I don’t want to be tended to. Go away.”
She merely reached into the box and took out a covered plate. “Mrs. Williamson sent you food. I asked her to let me come instead. She’s worried about you.”
“Nothing to worry about.” He studied his hands. “I’ve had worse.”
“I’ve no doubt, but you’ll sit down and let me clean those cuts.” She set a basin, bottles, bandages on the counter.
“I can take care of myself.” He lifted the glass, peered at the level of whiskey. “I’ve already made a start.”
In her no-nonsense style, Ann came around the counter and shoved him into a chair. “Sit when you’re told.”
“Shit.” He rubbed his shoulder where she’d pushed. It burned like fire.
“And keep a civil tongue in your head.” She busied herself filling the basin with hot water. “Got infection brewing already, I’ve no doubt. The sense of a bean is what you’ve got.” She snatched one of his hands and got to work.
“If you’re going to play Nurse Nancy, at least—goddamn, that hurts.”
“I imagine. Don’t you swear at me, Michael Fury.” Her eyes stung when she saw just how badly he’d damaged his hands, but her movements remained brisk and not particularly sympathetic. “This’ll bite some.”
The burn of the antiseptic that she generously poured over open wounds made his eyes cross and filled the air with wild blue curses.
“You’ve a raw Irish tongue. Reminds me of my Uncle Shamus. What part does your family come from?”
“Galway. Goddamn it, why don’t you just use battery acid and be done with it?”
“Big, strong man like you, whining over a little peroxide and alcohol. Take another drink, then, as I haven’t a bullet for you to bite on.”
It scored his pride, as she’d meant it to. Michael tipped back the glass and scowled at her. He decided to brood while she wrapped gauze over his hands.
“Done?” he demanded.
“With those, for the time being. You’ll want to keep the bandages dry and they’ll need to be changed regular since I assume you’ll be as stubborn as Miss Laura about a doctor.”
“Don’t need a doctor.” He jerked his shoulder but regretted it when it throbbed. “She’ll be fine, too. She’s got enough people hovering over her.”
“She inspires love and loyalty because she’s generous with giving both.” Rising, Ann emptied the basin, refilled it. “Take off what’s left of your shirt.”
He cocked a brow. “Well, Annie, I’m a little impaired, but if I’d known you had an urge to—Ow!” He gaped, shocked speechless as she gave his ear a hard twist.
“I’ll twist more than your ear if you behave like a baboon. Take that shirt off, boy.”
“Christ!” He sat for another moment, rubbing his stinging ear. “What’s your problem?”
“Your hands aren’t the only things you’ve cut to blazes. Now get the shirt off so I can see what you’ve done to yourself.”
“What the hell do you care? I could bleed to damn death and you wouldn’t bat an eye. You’ve always hated me.”
“No. I’ve always been afraid of you, and that was foolish. You’re just a pitiful man who hasn’t a clue of his own worth. And I made mistakes I’m sorry for, and I hope I’m woman enough to admit it.” Because he wasn’t cooperating, she tugged off his tattered T-shirt herself. “I thought you had beaten your mother.”
“What? My mother—I never—”
“I know that. Be still. Oh, Jesus, boy, you’ve done a job here. Oh, poor lad.” She crooned now as she dabbed gently at the gashes on his back. “You’d have killed yourself for her, wouldn’t you?”
Suddenly tired, unbearably tired, he laid his head on the counter, shut his eyes. “Go away. Leave me alone.”
“I won’t. Nor will anyone else. You’ll have to be the one to do it. Hold on now, this is going to hurt.”
He hissed between his teeth as the antiseptic bit. “I just wanna get drunk.”
“You will if you must,” she said easily. “But a man who would brave an earthquake to get to his woman should have enough nerve to face her sober. This bruising could use liniment. Well, we’ll see to that after we’ve seen to the rest. Take off your pants.”
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