Echoes (7 page)

Duh, Tess. Why does anyone have a pregnancy test kit?

Okay, stupid question. She picked it up and made realization number two.

Tori had taken the test already. A bright blue plus sign showed in the little window. Tori was pregnant? When? And who? How old was the test? Days? Weeks? Like the Prozac, years?

Tori, why does everything have to be so complicated where you are concerned?

Frustrated by so many unanswered questions, she shoved the test back into the box and replaced it on the shelf. Back in the bedroom, she moved to the big window overlooking the yard and the pastures beyond the barbed fence. A ponderosa pine grew to the left of it, partially blocking the view, but also offering privacy from the frontage road. She stepped closer and peered out.

Directly below was a man on horseback. He was looking right at her.

She jumped back and her heart did a wild bump and grind in her chest. Who was that? How long had he been out there? Why was he staring at Tori's bedroom window? She thought of the man last night—the cowboy with the piercing stare. Quickly she moved away and made a wide arch around the window to the other side, where she could see without being seen. She looked again in time to see his horse disappear into the woods across the road.

She grabbed the bat and raced down the stairs, pausing only long enough to say to Caitlin, "I'm going outside for a minute. Will you be okay?"

"Uh-huh. I wanna watch TV."

She glanced at the bat in Tess's hand and away without comment. Maybe it was commonplace for the bat to accompany her mother on brief excursions to the front yard. Maybe she was too tired to wonder why her Aunt Tess had it in her hands. She looked as if she might nod off at any moment.

Closing the front door behind her, Tess stepped off the porch and rounded the corner. The pine towered up to the shock of cobalt sky and brushed the wispy clouds with its blue-tinged crown. Warm sunshine beat down on the thick blanket of dried needles surrounding its base and danced across the riot of flowers and long, waving grass that stretched out to the road and the fields behind. The air smelled of thick woods, fallen leaves and rich, sun-baked earth.

Her grip tightened on the bat and her muscles tensed in anticipation as she moved to the spot where she'd seen the horse and rider. Overhead, an enormous black bird soared with a harsh caw that jarred the uncanny silence.

Shielding her eyes, she tilted her head back and looked at the window. The sun glared against the glass, turning it into a mirror filled with bright light. She moved a couple of steps forward, back, to the sides with the same result. Even if the man had been looking at the window, he wouldn't have been able to see in. At least partially reassured by that, she turned away and stared in the direction he'd ridden off.

Who was he? The father of Tori's baby maybe?

Traces of an ancient trodden trail weaved between the clumps of wild grass. The dirt was soft beneath, yet there were no hoof prints. Where she had walked, the tread of her shoes was clearly embedded in the dirt but a horse and rider had passed over the same terrain without a trace. Frowning, she widened her search, moving out on either side of the trail, but still, not a single print.

What the hell?

As she turned, an icy wind blustered against her back, spinning her around again. An eerie silence leeched all other movement from the air. The branches on the pine were suddenly still, the long grass and tall flowers, frozen.

Everything unnaturally static.

Above her, the sun flickered then dimmed, as if by a switch. Frowning, she stared up at a festering gray sky that only moments ago had been a perfect blue. Shivering in the sudden cold, she looked over her shoulder at the trail without tracks that seemed to lead to nowhere.

Then imperceptibly, something else in the air changed. Something visceral but invisible raised all the hairs on her body and triggered the ancient fight or flight instinct within. She took a step backward while the feeling grew, amplified like an echo by the granite mountainsides surrounding her. Apprehension pulled at the pit of her stomach and she fought the urge to bolt for the house.

In an instant the thick and unyielding clouds obliterated the blue sky. Her breath plumed in the suddenly frosty air. Goosebumps shivered beneath her light shirt and her teeth began to chatter.

No storm could move this fast. It wasn't possible.

"Mooollllly?"

The echoing name pierced her like the cold, turning her in place as she grappled with her fear. Through the trees across the road, the man on horseback came into view. He wore his hat pulled low on his head and the collar of his long black wool coat turned against the vicious cold. A rifle jutted from the saddle holster.

A shaky, unstable sound parted her lips as he moved out of the woods with a faint jingle of harnesses. Familiar, like the cowboy last night, yet not the same man.

"
Molly
?" The rider looked right through her.

Shaking her head, Tess followed his seeking stare with her own. Wisps of memory from last night's tormenting dreams surfaced and merged with what she saw. With them came the gripping terror that had chased her from nightmare to nightmare. What the hell was happening here? She peered over her shoulder, her mind rebelling against the image her eyes presented.

Tori's front yard had vanished and in its place was a massive, roiling river that couldn't possibly be there. Rumbling like an avalanche, it surged from its banks and thundered madly through the spot where the house once stood. The wind howled and whipped the foamy current into a frenzy. Huge branches that looked as if they'd been ripped from trees hurled in its wake.

No
. Even in her head, the word sounded puny. She was hallucinating. She had to be hallucinating.

Overhead, lightning snaked beneath the turbulent clouds, rending a hole that let loose a deluge of icy rain. It sheeted the skyline with a metallic hue. Then, like a special effect, a covered wagon pulled by a team of oxen appeared on the other side of the river. It lumbered towards her with a fatalistic pace.

"Oh my God." Tess's automatic step backwards sank her shoes deep into a hole filled with freezing water. Still, she couldn't take her eyes off the wagon as it came to a stop on the eastern shore of the river. Two women sat on the bench, a small boy sandwiched in between them.

Tess stared at them while somewhere in her head a frantic voice whispered,
not real, not real, not real
. She clenched her eyes tight, praying that when she opened them again she would be gone from here. Back in her car, maybe. Back in New York, in a world that made sense.

In the space of a moment, the man on the horse had arrived at the wagon and the rest of the world became a diaphanous fabric of colors and shapes that blended without meaning. Everything beyond the covered wagon seemed unreal and out of focus. But none of it was real. None of it was—

The younger woman on the wagon bench turned and caught Tess in a penetrating stare. She wasn't looking through Tess as the man had. The draw of her steady gaze pulled Tess forward as the sound of the river and pounding rain faded beneath the hammering of her heart. Tess wanted to scream, tried to scream. But her voice was sealed inside.

Not real, not real, not real, not real.

Then suddenly even the shout of confusion in Tess's head silenced as the moment unfurled like a banner that snapped in the wind. Tess recoiled at the rush of strange, overwhelming emotions that entwined with her own. She felt her identity slipping away and reached through the onslaught, desperate to hold onto herself. But no matter how she tried, she couldn't break free from the spell. She couldn't pull her gaze from the pale face or look away from the anguish in the other woman's eyes.

The rider called the woman's name again, his voice deep and compelling.

As one, Tess and the woman faced him.

Chapter Nine

Grant Weston was thinking of his father when the woman bolted into the road. His truck was old, the brakes worn and his reflexes shaky. He swerved, skidding across the damp mud and gravel and into a ditch. He had the indistinct impression of her body rolling to the other side of the road before he smacked his forehead on the steering wheel. Instantly, black and red patterns exploded behind his eyes.

"Goddammit." Pain followed the colors in a riot that convinced him his skull was split in two. He touched his head, expecting blood, relieved to find only a lump that promised to swell. He stumbled out of the truck, praying he hadn't hit her, whoever she was. He still couldn't figure out where she'd come from.

He saw her on the side of the road about twenty feet back from the truck. She was sprawled in the gravel, as unmoving as his father had been when he'd found him beneath the tractor. A feeling kin to vertigo dragged him to a halt. Christ almighty, was she dead?

What sanity remained in his head reasoned that he hadn't felt an impact, so he hadn't hit her. But she'd appeared from nowhere and it all happened so fast….

From where he stood, he shouted, "Hey? Are you okay?" His echoing voice hammered around his pounding head. But the woman didn't move.

"Hey, lady? Are you okay?" Reluctantly he forced himself forward. At her side, he knelt and touched her. "Hey… Are you hurt?"

She moved and Grant nearly passed out with relief. The whole scene had been playing out too much like yesterday. She made a soft moaning sound as she eased herself to a sitting position and stared past him. She was small, fine boned with short blonde hair that curled around her ears. Her face was smudged and dirty, her expression frightened. She looked lost and vulnerable and a protective instinct he'd thought long dead awoke inside him and responded.

Gently he touched her shoulder. "Are you hurt? Can you move everything?" Should she be moving at all?

She didn't seem to understand that he was asking her questions. That he was waiting for answers. She was shaking. That was a sign of shock, wasn't it? Or was that just how actors portrayed it in the movies? Hell, he didn't even know.

"Wait here," he told her. A light drizzle chased him back to the truck where he grabbed a blanket from behind his seat and returned to wrap it around her shoulders. When he touched her, she jerked away. Her sudden movement scared the crap out of him and nearly knocked him on his ass.

"It's okay," he said, holding his hands up, palms out. "I'm not going to hurt you. Are you injured? Did I hit you?"

She stared at him as if he'd just dropped from the sky. "You hit me?"

"No. I don't think so. You ran out in front of my truck."

Her big blue eyes shifted, looking past him to his truck. A freezing wind howled across the road and sprayed them with rain. The woman shivered violently. Who was she?

"Should I take you to the hospital?"

"No. I want to—" A look of alarm crossed her face. "Oh my God. I've got to—What time is it? I've got to get back." She was on her feet in an instant. "What time is it?" she repeated urgently.

"About ten."

"Ten? You're sure?"

He glanced at his watch and nodded. She shook her head, looking so unconvinced that he checked again. She murmured something that sounded like "thank God" and her eyes fluttered closed.

"I have to get back to the house. My niece is there. I have to go now."

"I think you should--"

"I'm fine. I just want to get back."

"Okay," he said, hands up again. "I'll take you."

She hustled to the passenger side of his truck and scrambled into the seat before he'd finished speaking. He followed, feeling like he was missing some major piece of the puzzle. She cast him a look that clearly said hurry up as he climbed behind the wheel.

"I'm Grant Weston." He started the engine. "Where to?"

"The house is. . .
Grant Weston
?"

She turned her head and stared at him. For a moment it seemed that she didn't believe her eyes, that he was some bizarre, post-shock hallucination. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like that. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

"Grant Weston?
The
Grant Weston?"

He gave her a sardonic grin. "Yeah, famous person to the rescue. So which way am I going?"

She continued to stare at him with a stricken expression. "Are you...Is that Weston as in the Weston Ranch?"

It was his turn to stare. "Yes."

She lowered her lashes, concealing her thoughts. "Go to the gray house off Old Post Road," she said in a husky voice. "I can't remember the street number."

"You mean Tori France's house?"

"Yes. I'm her sister."

Her sister. Of course. And the lost woman from last night as well. Smith had mentioned that she'd come to take care of the kid. Christ, and he'd almost run her over. He patted his pocket for the roll of Lifesavers and one-handed thumbed a green one into his mouth. He offered the roll to Tori's sister but she didn't even glance his way.

An awkward silence followed and Grant searched for a way to fill it. At last, he asked, "Have you heard anything?"