Mystic Memories (19 page)

“Then why is it so hard to accept that I am here with you now?” Gabriella came over and joined her on the bench. “You have stepped beyond the portal of Time. Now step beyond the portal of Mind.”

Her aunt reached out, taking Cara’s hand. The warmth of Gabriella’s skin defied logic. But wasn’t that the point? Here and now, there was no logic of twentieth-first century science. Her own psychic abilities defied scientific logic. Yet she lived with it every day of her life. Funny, how easy it was for her to accept one thing and not another, especially when the average man on the street would refuse to accept any of it and consider anyone who did just plain crazy.

As Blake did.

“Okay, I don’t have a fever, so you’re not the Angel of Mercy that Lupe talked about. And you’re definitely not a ghost.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Cara glanced up, then saw the teasing in Gabriella’s eyes. “That’s meant to be a joke? Ha, ha.”

“Is it so important to define who I am or what I am? No, it’s more important to find Andrew.”

“That’s why you came to me again, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Then why all the hocus-pocus?” She launched herself to her feet, squelching the urge to fire off a few curse words inside the church. Pacing in the aisle, she said, “If you know where he is, tell me and I’ll go get him. Better yet, why aren’t you the one bringing him back to his parents?” She halted in midstride and spun around. “Wait a
second
! You talked me into taking this case in the first place! You knew damn well what I was getting into!”

“Now, now, watch your tongue. You’re in a church, Cara.”

Cara glowered. “What the hell—excuse me,
heck
—is going on, Aunt Gaby? I think I have a right to know.”

“This journey is as much your destiny as it is Andrew’s. For now, that is all you need to know.”

“No, I need to know where to find him so I can take him back. He’s been gone more than three months. I’ve been gone nearly two weeks. The authorities are probably dragging Dana Point Harbor looking for my body and Andrew’s.”

“He is on a ship called the
Ballade
, bound for Boston.”

“Is he being treated decently? No abuse? Please tell me he’s not being harmed.”

“Life is hard for him, but he’s strong, a survivor.”

“But what about—?”

“His treatment has been harsh but not cruel. He hasn’t suffered the way Captain Masters suffered when he was a cabin boy.”

“You know about Blake?” Her eyes searched her aunt’s face, hoping to learn more about his traumatic past and how to help him. She threw her hands up. “Why on earth am I asking you such a dumb question?
Of course
you know about him. You know everything else about Andrew and me. Why wouldn’t you know about Blake?”

“Whether you realize it or not, you are healing him, Cara. You must make him remember his past.”

“Getting him to do anything is tough enough.
Making
him do something he doesn’t want to do is impossible.”

“Just as it is impossible for me to be sitting here talking to you? As impossible as traveling through time?”

“Okay, okay. I get your point.”

“I must leave now.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she rose from the bench. “Blake is coming for you.”

“Will I see you again?”

Silently, Gabriella cocked her eyebrow as if to say, “Need you ask?”

At that moment, Bud yipped from the open doorway as he saw Cara in the aisle at the front of the church.

“Quiet, Bud. Stay!” ordered Blake, standing beside his dog.

Cara walked up to the two of them. Resisting the urge to reach up and touch Blake, she gave her attention to Bud, petting him affectionately and scratching behind his ears.

“Did she know anything about Andrew?” he asked.

“Who?”

“That woman who walked out the side door just now.” In a way, she was relieved to know he’d actually seen someone. Yet she was also surprised, considering the way her aunt left in such a hurry, as if she hadn’t wanted Blake to spot her. Then again, why hadn’t Gabriella simply vanished into thin air, since that seemed to be her modus operandi. “You saw an old woman? With me?”

“A glimpse.”

“Well, Blake,” she sighed, “you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, anyway.”

“You are absolutely right,” he remarked a bit too adamantly. “I do
not
want to know.”

“Fine by me.” She headed toward the entrance gates, with Bud brushing alongside her leg.

Blake caught up with her, then fell into step. “I want to know.”

His reversal amused her, but she kept walking without uttering a word. She knew it wasn’t his curiosity he wanted appeased. In her gut, she was certain he had his own hunch, just as she’d had one when she’d seen the old woman leave the Indian village. But Blake didn’t want to admit it. Instead, he wanted her to say who was with her in the church. Then he could spout off about the absurdity of it . . . just as she’d done. And he would refuse to believe it . . . just as she’d done. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly open to every bizarre twist the universe could throw at her. But at least she’d gotten over it quickly enough. Blake wouldn’t.

They walked in silence out of the mission and crossed the small stream. On the opposite bank, he gently grasped her arm and pulled her to a stop.

“Was it that blasted angel again? Or your aunt? Or whatever she calls herself.”

She gave him her most mischievous grin. Without saying a word, she turned back to the well-worn path and started again toward the
presidio
.

“Ca-ra,” he called after her. The touch of warning in his voice sounded more playful than threatening.

“If I tell you now, you’ll only get upset and ruin a perfectly beautiful afternoon walk back to the beach.”

“
You
are not returning to the beach with me. Or the ship.”

She abruptly pulled up, remembering Keoni’s disclosure that Blake was going to leave her here in San Diego. “Is that so?” she asked, pretending not to know she was about to be dumped. “Did you have somewhere else in mind?”

“There is bound to be a family in one of the big houses who will take you in.”

“But Andrew isn’t here. Why would I stay if he’s not here?”

“I can’t take you with me, Cara.”

She stared at him for a long moment, seeing no apology in his determined gaze. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I don’t want to argue. As you said a moment ago, it is too nice of an afternoon—”

“Forget that. I’m telling you now, I must find a way to get to Boston. You’re headed there. So why can’t I go with you?”

“How is it you suddenly have a need to sail to Boston when you have never mentioned it before today?”

“Andrew is on the
Ballade
, bound for Boston.”

Blake narrowed his eyes, studying her. “Did Gabriella tell you this in the church?”

She scuffed the dirt with her shoe, then scratched an itch by her eye. Finally, she decided to face the music. Looking straight at him, she tried to be as casual as she could. “Sure, yeah, of course.”
So much for casual.

“I’m sorry, Cara.”

“You won’t take me?”

“No. I will find someone to rent a room to you, which will be at my expense. You needn’t worry about money.” As the afternoon sun shone on his tan face, she realized that too soon he would be gone from her life, leaving her alone in the past, in a weird time warp that she’d never asked for. He was her stabilizer, her security. The realization stung the back of her eyes and closed her throat.

“You need me, dammit.” Her shaky voice betrayed her emotions. “You need me as much as I need you.”

“Don’t make this hard . . .”

“But it
is
hard, Blake. I have to find Andrew. And I don’t want anyone else to take me to Boston because I’m scared to death I might end up with a perverted, sadistic bastard of a captain who might do to me what was done to you.”

“What do you mean ‘what was done to me’? A woman would never be flogged.”

“I’m not talking about being whipped.”

“Then what
are
you talking about?”

She stared at him, regretting her outburst. He had not reached the point of remembering. Or else he’d refused to remember. Either way, he honestly didn’t understand her meaning. How could she explain the atrocities committed against him? She couldn’t. Not only would he be horrified, he would call her a liar. There had to be a better way to get herself on that ship before the week was out. This way was not it.

“I’ll go to the village,” she acquiesced, hoping that somehow she would find a way to convince him to change his mind in the next few days.

They walked along for quite a while, up hills and down, following the general direction of the stream, which could occasionally be heard in the distance. Both of them were lost in their own thoughts, neither of them in much of a mood to talk. Bud seemed to sense that the two dreary humans were not about to throw a stick for him, so he trotted ahead of them, content to carry one with him in case they changed their minds.

About midway to the
presidio
, Cara looked around for a tall thicket to serve as a privacy screen for a sudden need.

With a little embarrassment, she asked Blake, “Would you mind if I walked over there a little way so I can . . . uh, use a bush?”

Understanding her situation, he nodded. “Keep a keen eye out for snakes. They are quite abundant this time of year.”

“I will.”

Bud followed her twenty or thirty feet through low shrubs and around large rocks before she shooed him off and took care of business as best she could in the primitive surroundings. Afterward, she was headed back to the trail, winding past a cluster of small boulders, when she saw the dog racing toward her.

“Not again,” she laughed, dashing off toward Blake to avoid being pounced on. Bud was in hot pursuit when she heard the distinctive hiss and rattle just ahead of her.

Trying to stop, she skidded in the dirt. In a blur of motion, the diamondback struck out at her right foot, barely missing the toe of her shoe. With lightning speed, it retreated into a coil at the base of a rock, well within striking distance of her ankle. The black Lab charged past her leg, growling.

“No, Bud!”

Ignoring her, he lunged for the snake.

“NO! Oh, dear God . . . Blake!”

Dust flew. Snarls. Snapping jaws. A pained yelp. It was over as fast as it had begun. Bud shook the dead rattler in his mouth vigorously as Blake ran up.

“Drop it, Bud.”

The dog obeyed, releasing the thick, four-foot reptile from his mouth. It flopped lifeless onto the sandy soil next to the rocks. Blake tossed it a great distance, then knelt to praise his dog for saving Cara. Bud immediately settled down from the excitement, then began to whimper.

Blake glanced up, agony in his eyes. “He’s been bitten.”

Chapter
13

D
ropping to her knees in front of Bud, Cara ran her hands over his head and down his shoulders to his front legs. His pitiful whine grew louder as he took his weight off his right paw.

“The swelling has already started,” she noted, searching for the injury.

“Oh, Christ . . .” Blake’s groan was a tortured whisper of vulnerability, yet his face hardened into a determined mask. Cara was aware of how much this dog meant to him. Beneath his stoic facade, he was already grieving the inevitable loss of his companion. She couldn’t blame him. She felt much the same way.

“We have to work fast.” Cara yanked her belt from her pants, intending to use it for a makeshift tourniquet. Without the anti-venom serum of modern medicine, she had no other choice but to try an outmoded technique, praying it would work as well on a canine as on a human, and praying she didn’t have any open wounds in her mouth for the poison to seep into. She had to chance it though. For Bud, for Blake and for herself.

“What are you going to do?”

“Save his life, I hope. Get out your knife, then hold him so he can’t move,” she directed, wrapping the belt around the dog’s upper leg. Blake quickly supplied the weapon, which had been hidden beneath the leg of his trousers. He then used gentle force to lay Bud down and held him there while she cinched the belt tight. Bud struggled, crying loudly.

Cara searched for the puncture wounds beneath the black fur, soothing the Lab with her voice. “Hang on, sweetheart. This might not feel too good, but it’ll be over quick, I promise.”

Turning to give instructions to Blake, she saw her own fear reflected in his eyes. “Pin him down—he’s going to fight like hell when I cut him.”

“Are you bleeding him?”

“Not exactly.” Looking down at Bud, she saw a strange calm come over him. Though she sensed it was as much from dizziness and the drop in his blood pressure as anything else, she saw that his black canine eyes gazed back at her with complete trust. She hoped it was still there after she got finished with him.

With more conviction than she felt, she vowed, “You’re going to live, fella.”

Blake straddled his dog’s body. “I hope to God you’re right.” He took Bud’s muzzle in a firm grip to keep him from instinctively biting at the infliction of pain.

“If he starts to vomit, let go so he won’t choke on it.”

“Aye.”

Relying on gut instinct and a little luck, she cut a small incision, dropped her mouth to it and sucked.

“No, Cara! I won’t let you die for him!” Horror in his voice, he demanded that she stop. After she spat out the poison, she glanced up at him.

“Don’t shout at me! Now be quiet and let me do what I’ve got to do.” She lowered her head again and sucked on the wound.

Spit, don’t swallow. Spit, don’t swallow.

The chant stayed in her head while she worked over the suddenly frightened and squirming dog, its cries muffled. Blake fought hard to keep Bud from breaking free. Soon Cara sensed that she had done all she could, and she sat back on her heels. Blake released his hold on the dog’s muzzle, and Bud lay exhausted on his side, panting heavily.

“Stay here with him. And don’t try to stop the bleeding until I get back.” Clutching the top of her pants with one hand, Cara dashed to the stream, fell down on all fours, and washed out her mouth.

Nausea crept up into her throat as the shock of the attack began to wear off. What if she’d accidentally swallowed some venom? The best thing to do was to get rid of any possible poison that might have gotten into her system. With her stomach already churning, she put her fingers to the back of her mouth to initiate a gagging reflex.

“Cara?” came Blake’s concerned voice from behind her. Leaning over the stream, she impatiently waved him away. This unpleasant task wasn’t something she wanted to do, especially in front of Blake, but it had to be done. When it was all over, she hung her head between her shoulders for a moment, feeling like a wrung-out wet rag. She felt his hand rest on her back, then slide to the nape of her neck.

“Cara?” he repeated with worry. His tender touch conveyed his unspoken anguish that she had deliberately poisoned herself in order to save Bud.

Despite her fatigue, she reassured him, “I’ll be okay.” After rinsing her mouth again, she asked Blake to go back to Bud, check the wound, wrap it if necessary, and bring him to the stream. “He’s going to be thirsty so we need to have him near water.”

Several minutes later, Cara looked up to see Blake, his torn shirttail flapping in the breeze. With her belt dangling from one hand, he carried the bandaged dog down to the sandy bank and lowered him to the ground next to Cara. She cupped her hands and scooped up some water, offering it to Bud. As some dribbled through her fingers, he took a few halfhearted laps. She repeated the procedure several times before he brought most of it back up again.

“It was bound to happen,” she explained sadly to Blake. “That’s why we’ve got to keep him hydrated . . . that is, give him plenty of water.”

Blake sat down on the other side of his dog, petting him in slow, methodical strokes. “Do you really believe he will live?”

Mustering a weak smile of encouragement, she said honestly, “I can’t be sure I got enough of the poison out of him.”

“How could you risk your life that way?” His deep-blue eyes were filled with awe.

“I couldn’t let him die.”

“But what about you? What if the poison—”

“Don’t say it.” She looked down at the dog. “I did what I had to do. And I don’t regret it.”

“How long until we know if he will live?”

“I’m not sure. But I don’t think we should move him any farther until morning.” Intuition told her to keep his heart rate down so the remaining poison would not circulate as quickly in his bloodstream. “We need to keep him as still as possible.”

“If we stay here, we will have coyotes to deal with come nightfall. We’ll need shelter and a fire.”

Cara considered the uneven terrain they’d covered during the day, recalling nothing that could provide shelter.

Blake offered to scout around the immediate area for a safer place to wait out the night. “I’ll gather some firewood as well.”

She was more than willing to let him, preferring to lie down with Bud and rest a while.

“Don’t go too far,” she said, the warmth of the late-afternoon sun adding to her lethargy. “And watch out for rattlesnakes.”

A hundred yards down the dry wash, Blake came across a shallow cave high on a steep embankment near a bend in the stream. Crouching low, he brought out his knife and cautiously entered through the opening between two large boulders. The interior dimensions were sparse but sufficient for protection from predators. The low ceiling would allow for sitting up, with enough headroom to be comfortable rather than feeling claustrophobic.

Noting the stony ground, he gathered a few pebbles into his hand and bounced them in his palm, taking into account that his injured dog would have to lie on the rocks all night. Tossing the pea-size pebbles like a pair of dice, he turned and left the cave. After several trips back with armloads of long green shoots of grass, he managed to cover the floor of the small cave with a thick, sweet-smelling bed.

For Bud
, he told himself. Yet he knew very well that he had gone to a great deal of effort to soften the hard, rocky ground for Cara as much as for his dog. It was the least he could do after she had risked her life to draw the venom out with her own mouth. Looking back at the tense moments when she’d worked over Bud, he was truly amazed by her presence of mind to act so quickly and efficiently.

Hardly the presence of mind of a crazed woman.

And where had she learned such a technique?

True, he could not deny his growing admiration of her, even though it did conflict with his determination to leave her behind.

Returning to the site where he’d left Cara with Bud, he found them both sleeping on the bank of the stream. Cara had stretched out behind Bud, her right arm tucked under her head as a pillow and her left draped over the dog. As he drew nearer, his boot heel landed upon a dry twig. Her eyes flew open.

“Oh, it’s only you.” She relaxed with a long exhale.

“I didn’t mean to awaken you.”

“I was only catnapping.” Rising up on her elbow, she gazed down at the sleeping canine, her palm resting on his chest. “His heart’s racing.”

“Is that bad or good?”

“It’s one of the symptoms. I don’t like it, but if that’s all he does, we’ll be lucky.” She didn’t want to tell him about the possibility of convulsions.

Blake stroked Bud’s head. “I found a place for the night.”

“Near the stream?”

“Close enough.”

Blake and Cara lifted the limp dog. Supporting Bud’s head, Cara walked alongside him until the gully narrowed and she was forced to walk behind. Walls of dirt and rock grew higher, nearly ten feet in some places.

When they reached the curve in the stream, the sides of the wash opened wide again into tall, sloped banks. Blake nodded toward the mouth of the cave about four feet up the embankment. Nearby sat a pile of dried and broken branches that he’d collected to make a fire. He watched her eyes gauging the distance to the water and noting the awkward climb to the entrance.

To set her mind at ease, he explained, “I’ll bring his water up in my boot.”

After struggling up the incline with the dog, Blake placed Bud on the grass-covered floor just inside the opening, leaving enough room for Cara to get around him. She sat down behind the dog, studying the canine for signs of decline or improvement. With a solemn shake of her head and a heavy sigh, she didn’t give Blake much hope.

As he sat down at the lip of the cave to remove his boot, Cara stopped him. “Take my shoe. Then you won’t have to climb across those stones with bare feet.”

“My boot would hold more water.”

“Then take both of mine,” she insisted, handing them over to him across the prone body of his dog. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Very well, then.”

He came back with the two shoes filled. Together, they dribbled some of the water down Bud’s throat. The process was tediously slow, making it necessary to allow only short periods of rest between the sessions. Fortunately, Bud seemed to have a few lucid moments when he could lap the water if they held his head up.

As the afternoon wore into evening, Blake saw no change in his dog’s condition. He shouldn’t have gotten so attached to a dumb animal, he told himself, despite his sure knowledge of the intelligence that this canine possessed.

The agonizing wait drove him to distraction. He was in no mood to talk, so he wasn’t good company for Cara. After whittling down five twigs into a pile of curled shavings, he sheathed the knife. “I am going to go for a walk.”

“Watch out for snakes.”

“Are you going to say that every time?”

“The rest of my life, no doubt.” She offered him a sad smile.

“If you do have this gift, as you claim, why did you not know about the danger?”

“It doesn’t work that way, Blake. Sometimes I learn things ahead of time. Sometimes I don’t.”

“Yet you knew I carried a weapon.”

“I don’t need a sixth sense to know you wouldn’t walk around this godforsaken country without something to protect you. You even pointed out the dangers when we were on the beach.”

“Dangers to
you
.”

“You could just as easily be robbed and killed,” she said before her stomach rumbled loudly enough for both of them to hear in the small cave. “Sorry.”

“I should have gone to the village for food.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Tell that to your belly.”

“I will.” As she rubbed her stomach, he found himself wishing his own hand was stroking her in much the same way, but not for the same reasons. Mentally chiding himself for his wayward thoughts, he turned and went out into the twilight of early evening.

The temperature had dropped with the setting sun. His invigorating walk in the cool, damp air did not alleviate his worries over Bud as he’d hoped. Instead, he grew more concerned that the dog might take a turn for the worse and he wouldn’t be there. On his way back to their little camp, he passed the spot where the attack had occurred. His mind relived it, compounding his guilt at not having been able to intervene.