Home to You (5 page)

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knew. Small towns, he thought, almost certain someone had called her about the woman on his steps.

“I’ve been here three months already, honey.” That much was true.

Glancing over to the sofa, he saw Mary, hands clasped, looking overly innocent and wide eyed as she stared at him.

He had his answer.

“I see.”

“I’m sure you do,” his mother said wisely.

“I’ll be glad to make sure someone is there to pick you up at the airport, Mom. However, I have company, so I won’t be able to make it myself.”

He waited for a response. A question. Something.

When it came, it was simple. “That’s fine. See you around five-thirty. Bye, son.”

“Goodbye, Mom.”

He hung up the phone.

“Who was that?”

Dakota turned to Mary and gave her one of his you’ve-been-meddling-again looks. Then he turned to Josh. “That was Mom. She’s on her way home.”

“Word travels fast.”

“Uh-huh.” He shot a look at Mary, who would have been whistling if she knew how. In all the years he’d known her, he knew that whistling had been a bone of contention between the two sisters. Margaret could whistle. Mary could not.

“What about our patient?” he asked, changing the subject. It wouldn’t do any good to get onto Mary for calling his mom. She watched out for him whether he wanted it or not. And if she felt his mom would be a help
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here—which, he had to admit, she would since he couldn’t very well throw an unconscious woman out on the street—then Mary and Margaret would call his mom.

Thirty-two years old and they still treated him as if he were twelve.

“Blood pressure is okay. So are her heart and lungs, pupils. I’d say she’s going to be fine. She just needs to sleep it off. You won’t get any answers out of her today, I’m afraid.”

Dakota nodded. “I guess that’s that then.”

“Want me to put her in the spare room?”

Dakota hesitated.

Mary piped up, “It wouldn’t be right for you to be alone here. I’ll be glad to stay with you. Besides, you promised me over a month ago to help me with that puzzle I’m working. I’ll call Margaret and have her bring it over and we can finish it together.”

Great. An afternoon with Margaret and Mary.

But at least the woman would feel safe when she woke and found herself in his house—and he’d feel safe, too, when he faced his congregation.

It seemed the best choice. “That sounds great, Mary.”

Josh shifted the woman on the sofa and lifted her.

“Lead the way.”

Chapter Three

Dark shadows surrounded her and she knew the dream was starting again. No amount of liquor could keep the demons at bay. And as the deep dark recesses parted and the fog swirled away from around her, she knew what was coming. As a spectator in a theater seat, she watched the past play out before her once again.

It started out the same every time. She was falling down the set of stairs, falling, grasping for the handrail.

She’d been fine, laughing with her friend, and then had simply missed a step. Or she’d thought that was it.

Shouts sounded and people came running. One of her co-workers helped her up. But she couldn’t stand.

She must have hurt her leg.

Her boss gave her the rest of the day off.

She went home and took a hot bath.

She’d thought a hot bath would help her pain, ease the aches of the fall, but it hadn’t.

Instead of getting better, she found she couldn’t get out of the tub.

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Panic ensued. But in the dream the water was drown-ing her, pulling her down below the rim, in the tub, alone, with no help.

The water had eventually chilled and slowly her leg had started working; gradually the water released its death hold on her.

Trembling, she’d pulled herself out of the tub and managed to get to her bed.

Falling onto the soft white sheets, she thought to sleep off the scare. Of course, the dream didn’t end. Instead, she saw herself decide to get up and go to work.

It was unexplainably day again. Birds were singing. A soft breeze blew in the curtained window.

Mists swirled in around her, trying to block her vision of the deceptively beautiful day. As she was back at work, jokes floated off the tongues of her friends, silly jokes about her being a klutz. Her leg had gotten better and she was back, but this day, not even a month later according to the calendar on her desk, her hand was going numb.

Her boss, Rob, was standing there, waiting on a report, saying it was about time she got some rest, when he noticed she’d stopped typing.

Her arm burned, burned from shoulder to elbow, and her fingers didn’t want to work. Flames were leaping from her arm.

Cold crept up her spine, extinguishing the flames, but not before her boss saw them.

He insisted she take the day off and go to the doctor.

That was it. He didn’t try to put the flames out or comment on them, just told her to go see a physician.

He forced her toward the door, grabbing her arm,
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shoving at her. She stepped toward his office and right into the ER.

The three days of testing played like a video on fast-forward. And they were very true to what had really happened.

There was the doctor. Then radiology.

A spinal tap.

There were machines hooked up to her that made her muscles jump and dance. Her arms and legs looked like a caricature of Pinocchio when he danced.

And then she was sitting in the doctor’s office, those strings still on her, moving her arms and legs…until he told her the diagnosis.

The verdict.

The strings fell off.

Shock stunned her speechless.

Her grandmother appeared, in her wheelchair next to her, her voice like the teacher’s on Charlie Brown, there but indistinguishable. The only sound she could make out was that of her grandmother’s anger as she swung a stick at her and then cackled with glee.

It wasn’t thought to be hereditary, the doctor had told her—but then he didn’t know about her grandmother.

He couldn’t see her grandmother laughing at her.

Why couldn’t he?

She looked from him to her grandmother and back.

They didn’t know what caused it.

She felt hysterical laughter bubbling up in her.

He asked her if she was okay then told her they needed to talk about the next steps.

But she knew there was no treatment. Just look at her horrible grandmother!

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Her hateful, wheelchair-bound grandmother who loved to hit her with a stick and who taunted and tor-mented her mother and father until Daddy had left and Mother had finally moved to the city to try to make enough money for them to survive.

What was she going to do?

The scene changed and pictures started moving faster and faster through her mind.

She was at work, but only for a month.

She was trying to type, but crying instead.

She heard the whispers, saw the looks. It wasn’t good for business for her to be seen like that.

Just a drink to help get her through the stares, to help her forget what the doctor had told her.

She saw herself hitting the answering machine over and over, erasing messages from the doctor’s office.

Why wouldn’t they leave her alone?

She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t work.

And then Rob had let her go.

Oh, he’d been nice about it. He’d told her if she got her act together, to give him a call. She saw the smile on his face, that fake smile, painted on much like a clown’s face.

And she realized she was already changing. She wasn’t like she was before. Nice, carefree, fun-loving.

No, she was changing into the monster of her past—her grandmother.

She couldn’t think about it.

She wouldn’t think about it.

Driving home she’d nearly hit a man crossing the street.

That had been the final straw.

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With her last paycheck, she walked into a liquor store and bought enough liquor to help her forget.

The mists swirled in and she relaxed, until she heard the pounding and realized the dream wasn’t over.

Oh, no, she saw the car being towed and an eviction notice nailed to her door. The scenes swirled madly.

She was on the street.

She tried a homeless shelter, but was almost raped that night and fled.

She’d demanded more liquor, anything to help her not remember, not know where she was.

She didn’t want to remember what had been said.

Life wasn’t fair.

She’d lost her mom and now this.

She wanted hope again.

But there was no hope here, no life, nothing for her.

In the deepest despair she’d ever been in, she remembered another time of deep despair, of a time she had been forced to lose her best friend.

Yet, in that despair, a line floated into her remem-brance.

If you ever need me, I’ll be here.

If only that were true, she thought.

She tipped the bottle and drank.

And walked. She watched herself head off down the street, the empty, black, lonely street, the mist parting as she walked.

She didn’t go to pay the creditors or to the homeless shelter. She headed toward the one ray of hope in a life suddenly filled with desperation and emptiness.

And then the dream ended and she opened her eyes in a strange house.

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And she realized, suddenly, that somehow she’d made her wish come true. At least she was certain she’d somehow found her way back to the past, back to Dakota Ryder’s house, and she was lying there now being tucked in to bed by a man with a stethoscope.

His eyes met hers and she stiffened, waiting for the worst. The man smiled gently and whispered, “Go back to sleep.”

And that’s exactly what Meghan O’Halleran did.

She closed her eyes and tried to get back into the dream of the little girl in a soft bed—because she knew what she’d just seen couldn’t be reality. Not for her. Not for an O’Halleran.

Safety and love could only come true in her dreams.

Chapter Four

He had thought about her all night. After his mom had arrived home. And the explanations for her presence had been few. She must have missed the bus and someone had sent her his way.

“Good morning, Dakota.”

Cody stopped at the sideboard in the dining room to pour himself a cup of coffee. Though his diminutive mother was now gray-haired and her hands had begun to show signs of age, those blue eyes of hers missed nothing. And though she didn’t demand questions, that wasn’t her style, he knew she was there, waiting to listen. When had she stopped being just a mom and become a friend? Nodding to his mom, he started around the table, pausing to kiss her cheek. So who was the woman who had said she was his “sister”? Cody thought once again as he had a dozen times last night.

“Is our guest up?” he asked as he took his seat across from his mom and picked up the morning paper.

He liked to go through the hospital and death section
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to keep up on the residents and what someone might be going through in town. Perhaps there was a hint of the woman upstairs, if someone was missing or such.

“Not yet,” his mother murmured. “Are you ready to talk?”

“About what?” he asked, though he knew exactly what his mother wanted to say. He was too busy to encourage her. He had to get to work, see about meeting Chandler’s concerning the new wing on the church.

The reports he’d brought home still needed to be gone over, among a dozen other things. Of course, he’d known his mom would want to discuss the woman since she hadn’t said a word about it yesterday. The problem was, he didn’t know anything.

“Your guest.”

“My…” He paused and glanced up over the paper then shook his head. “She’s not
my guest,
Mother. She is someone who needed a place to stay and since we don’t have a shelter in town, I put her up.” Her face, slightly rounded though elegant and graceful, wore a soft smile as she waited—and that was more convincing than anything else. “Besides,” he added, returning to scanning the paper before taking a sip of the hot black coffee he’d poured himself, “she was unconscious.

What was I supposed to do?”

Okay, he felt a bit odd having a drunk in his house—

his mother’s house. A drunk woman, actually. This was a first. He’d had many men come to his door drunk, he usually just let them sleep in the small apartment over the garage out back, and then in the morning, he showed up with coffee and an ear to listen.

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Never had a woman shown up on his doorstep and embraced him as she had—and then promptly passed out.

Yes, this was definitely a first. The reason why
she
was upstairs and not out back like a
guy.
He shook his head again.

“I suppose you should have done whatever you felt you should have done with the guest.” His mother went back to sipping her coffee.

He didn’t know what to do with the woman, and frankly, he was still a bit uncomfortable over yesterday.

Wearily he set aside the paper. “I really need to get to work.”

His mother didn’t comment.

Uncomfortable, he asked, “Do you think you can stay here until she wakes up?” He glanced at his watch.

“I’m supposed to meet about the construction on the church in an hour.”

When his mom didn’t answer immediately, he sighed. “I can call an officer to come over. Jerry would be glad to be here with you when she wakes up.”

Dakota could tell his mom was disappointed. Frustrated, he wanted to tell her he was busy, so busy that he was meeting himself coming and going. He didn’t need one more unexpected thing added to his list—like this woman.

Immediately his spirit stabbed at his conscience. That was his job. Of course, it should be added to his list.