Her Miracle Man

by Karen Sandler

  The crew foreman—Mike something, he couldn’t remember the last name—waved from his position down along the curve of the road. Dawson had e-mailed Mike’s cell-phone number so Jack could get a status report each day. Apparently, they’d begun plowing the road before the 8:00 a.m. start time. Mike stood behind a chest-high snow berm. As narrow as Jack’s road was, the plow must have had to back up nearly to the highway before it could turn around.

  He and Mia returned to the house more slowly, his hand behind his back so that Mia’s fingers could link loosely with his as she followed him. The incline made it difficult to talk, but he doubted he could have mustered up a conversation anyway. Mia would be leaving in only a few days. What else was there to discuss?

  Back in the house he poured himself a mug of coffee, then dumped it in the sink when his stomach rebelled. Mia sat on the sofa, legs curled under her, an unopened paperback on her lap. He went out to the great room and sat with her, pulling her into his arms, her back snug against his chest.

  “Before you go…” His stomach contracted again. “Draw me one more picture. Of you.”

  He was a damn masochist to ask, but there was no way he would take back the request. He felt her nod, then she turned to look up at him. “What if I refuse to leave?”

  He shut his eyes against the joy that swelled inside him. “You can’t.”

  She turned completely around to face him. “Why not? People reinvent themselves all the time. Start new lives.”

  “What about your family?” He struggled to invest conviction in his tone. “You could be married. Have children.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t. I know that much. If there were children, I know I wouldn’t forget them. If there was a husband…”

  “What about your nightmares?” he asked. “The flashbacks. They won’t end just because you’ve stopped trying to remember.”

  “I’ll deal with them. With you to protect me.”

  How could he refuse the gift she was offering him? When it was exactly what he wanted?

  Could he risk it? Letting her into his life? Letting himself care about her? The temptation burned inside him as he gazed down at her earnest face.

  “Jack,” she said, her hand resting against his cheek. “You have to know…” Her voice faltered. “I love you.”

  His heart felt as if it would explode from his chest in exhilaration. He gathered her close again, emotions blasting around inside him like a hurricane. He was terrified to try to capture and read them.

  He said the most honest thing he could. “I don’t know if I can love anyone again.”

  She stiffened in his arms, but only for an instant. She relaxed again, drawing back to gaze up at him. With her kiss she wrapped herself tightly around his heart. How could he ever bear to let her go?

  The weekend passed in a blissful blur for Mia. They didn’t discuss the possibility of her staying again, but Jack hadn’t refused outright, and she felt certain he was coming to accept the idea.

  After they made love Friday night, using the last condom, they had to be creative with the lack of protection. She would just as soon have not bothered, would have been thrilled to find herself pregnant with Jack’s baby. But he insisted, still holding himself back from the notion of her permanence in his life.

  Just as Dawson had predicted, by Sunday night the work crew cleared enough of the rockslide to allow Jack to drive his Suburban down to the highway. Jack was happy to wait until Monday morning to head up to Tahoe. After their Sunday dinner, they worked together on a list of needed supplies. Jack made no mention of a visit to the sheriff’s department, and Mia’s hopes soared.

  It was nearly eight when Jack went into his office to send a quick e-mail to Dawson. Mia had found a Scrabble board squirreled away in the guest-room closet and they planned to play a game once he was finished. As she set up the board on the coffee table, she contemplated an X-rated version of the game and what that might lead to.

  When Jack returned a few minutes later, her welcoming smile faded when she saw his shuttered expression. “William’s on the Web cam.”

  Her heart sank, certain the boy wouldn’t be contacting Jack at ten o’clock Chicago time if all was well. “Is his mother sick again?”

  “You need to come talk to him.”

  If Mrs. Franklin had had a relapse, William wouldn’t want to talk to Mia. A knot drew tight inside her, refusing to release even when she saw the eight-year-old’s grinning face on the computer screen.

  “I told you I’d remember!” he said exuberantly. “I forgot ’cause it was so long ago—back in May. My friend Eric and me wanted to nominate our teacher, Mrs. Burnett, for an award. We were searching the Web for teacher awards and that’s when we found you.”

  Jack turned to her, his gaze impenetrable. “He sent a link.” The URL glowed blue at the bottom of the Web-cam window.

  She lowered herself into Jack’s chair, her knees suddenly weak. Edging the mouse over the link, she clicked.

  She’d barely absorbed the headline, “Local Educator Wins Teaching Award,” before her gaze dropped to the photo accompanying the article. She could see only the top of the person’s head and had to scroll down to see the face.

  She fell back in the chair, her hand dropping to her side. It was her smiling from the screen. Her hair was longer, just past her shoulders, her face fuller and younger, but it was her.

  She scrolled back up and read the first line of the four-year-old article. “Goodyear Middle School teacher, Teresa Leoni—”

  She couldn’t read anymore as recognition of her real name hit her with the force of a slap. Her throat dry, she had to swallow before she could speak. “I’m Teresa Leoni.”

  “We’d better see what else we can find.” He dragged over the other chair and pulled the keyboard toward him. A search of Teresa Leoni brought up dozens of results. When Jack added the word missing, it winnowed the hits down to eight.

  All of them about her.

  The search result included the story headlines. Middle School Teacher Reported Missing. Whereabouts of Eighth-Grade Teacher Still Unknown. Parents at Phoenix-Area School Join Search for Missing Teacher.

  She scanned the list, all of them variations on the first three. Until she got to the last item.

  Fiancé of Missing Teacher Offers Reward.

  She glanced at Jack, knew from the grim set of his mouth, the tension in his hands on the keyboard that he’d read the last headline. He moved the mouse down to the last search result and clicked.

  She made to turn away from the computer, but he grabbed the arm of the chair and slid her back into place. He was right to keep her there. She had to look. Had to confront the life she’d been so ready to walk away from.

  She didn’t want to see the man’s face and was grateful when only her own photo illustrated the article. It was more recent than the one from the piece about her teaching award, her face thinner, her haircut even more severe than how she now wore it. Her smile seemed strained and she could see a man’s arm around her shoulder. The rest of him had been cropped out of the picture.

  She picked his name out of the first paragraph—Robert Hiskins. She felt queasy reading the name, no doubt because she didn’t want to think of herself loving anyone but Jack. Otherwise the name drew a blank.

  She forced herself to skim the rest, finding the pertinent details. She taught eighth-grade biology and physical science at Goodyear Middle School. She’d taken off for Christmas break a week early so she and her fiancé could have a long vacation driving around California.

  After spending the night of December 13 in San Bernardino, the article said, she and Robert had made their way up to a motel in Lake Tahoe. The next night, she’d gone down to the lobby for a soda. Robert said he’d fallen asleep waiting for her and didn’t realize she hadn’t returned until he woke the next morning. He’d reported her missing on Monday, December 15.

  Jack sat beside her, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “It explains how you got fr
om Goodyear to Tahoe.”

  “But not how I got here.”

  “I’m sure your fiancé will clarify that point,” Jack said, his voice void of emotion, “when we contact him.”

  An unreasonable panic filled her. “I don’t want to contact him.”

  “The police will when I take you down to the sheriff’s station.” All the warmth had left his tone.

  “I thought I was staying with you, Jack.”

  “I never agreed to that.” The words struck her heart like sharp stones. “Now that I know about your fiancé—”

  “I don’t love him! I love you!”

  His dark eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “You did love him. Two weeks ago, he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.”

  “I don’t remember him. I don’t remember loving him.” She took Jack’s hand. “Whatever I might have felt before was wiped away when I fell in love with you.”

  For a moment she thought she’d convinced him. His hand closed around hers, holding it so gently, as if what was most precious in the world to him lay wrapped in his fingers.

  But then he let her go, pushing back in the chair and letting her hand fall to her lap. He rose, standing over her, his face impassive.

  “Give it time. You’ll remember. And I won’t mean anything to you anymore.”

  He walked away. Teresa dropped her head in her hands and wept.

  He’d known it would end up this way, hadn’t he? That eventually, they would find out who Mia was—Teresa, not Mia—and this interlude between them would end. That the hours in each other’s arms would be nothing more than a dream he would relive in the dark hours when despair overcame him.

  He could keep her here. Could tell her he changed his mind, that he wanted her to stay. To hell with the fiancé and their engagement. To hell with the doubts that would spring up in Teresa’s mind sooner or later when she wondered if Robert Hiskins really had been the love of her life.

  As much as Jack wanted her, as much as he couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving, he’d never do that. Because eventually, when it hit her that her decision to stay had been a mistake, it would kill him to see that realization in her eyes.

  Standing at his bedroom window, he heard her steps in the hall as they approached his closed door. He imagined her lifting her hand to knock, then hesitating. Was she thinking about her fiancé, wondering about their relationship? Maybe her true feelings for her fiancé had already come back to her, and she wanted Jack to know.

  When she did rap on the door, he didn’t answer, had to force himself to stay where he was. If she wanted to tell him her memories about Robert had returned, he didn’t want to hear it. If she was knocking on his door to ask him again if she could stay, he couldn’t let her speak the words. Because he wasn’t sure he could say no again.

  When he didn’t answer, she tried the door. He’d locked it, not trusting himself to resist her if she entered his room. When he and Mia—Teresa—had made love, he hadn’t known he was sleeping with another man’s fiancée. He couldn’t ignore the knowledge now, never mind what his body was screaming at him to do.

  She called through the door, his name on her lips like a punch to the chest. He gritted his teeth to keep quiet. Counted his breaths, listened to the dull thud of his heart, stared out into the blackness of the snow-covered night. Anything to bear the waiting until she walked away.

  After what seemed an eternity, he heard her footfalls again, fading as she returned back down the hall. He could just make out the sound of her bedroom door shutting.

  His shoulders still knotted with tension, he crossed to the bed, grabbing the portable as he sank onto the edge. His first call was to Dawson. Jack’s friend had connections who could suss out any phone number. It was nearly 9:00 p.m. on a Sunday, but Jack knew Dawson would deliver.

  An hour later the phone rang, Dawson’s home number on the caller ID. If he wondered about Jack’s request, Dawson didn’t let on as he read off the number.

  The slip of paper with Hiskin’s number seemed to burn Jack’s hand as he paced down the hall to Teresa’s room. Through her open door, he saw her on the bed, the sketch pad in her lap.

  He stood in the doorway. “I’m calling him.”

  She didn’t ask who. “You found his phone number?”

  “Dawson did. Would you rather fly there or have him come here?”

  “You know what I want.”

  He wanted it, too, but that didn’t make it right. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  She nodded acquiescence. He returned to his room, wanting to drop the scrap of paper into the fire, let it burn to ashes. Instead he picked up the phone.

  It would be almost 11:00 p.m. in Goodyear, but if Hiskins was any kind of man at all, he would welcome the late call if it meant good news about his fiancée. It crossed Jack’s mind that he ought to notify the Goodyear Police Department or even the El Dorado County Sheriff. But Jack knew if it was him, he’d want to know about Teresa’s safety ASAP. His jaw aching, Jack stabbed out the number.

  Hiskins answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  Just hearing his voice, Jack hated the man, but he pushed himself to speak. “My name is Jack Traynor.” He dragged in a breath. “I found your fiancée.”

  The silence stretched so long, Jack thought he’d lost the connection. “Mr. Hiskins?”

  “You found Teresa? Where?” He sounded cautious, not jubilant. Maybe he’d fielded dozens of calls from crackpots and didn’t want to get his hopes up.

  “Near my house. About twenty miles west of South Lake Tahoe.”

  Another long silence, then, “How do you know it’s her?” Still that guarded tone, as if he didn’t want to give away too much. With the ten-thousand-dollar reward he’d offered, Jack supposed the man had to be careful.

  The article had mentioned what Teresa had been wearing—describing the Christmas sweater and jeans in detail. But there was one item that had been omitted from the reports. “She was wearing an ankle bracelet with Mia written in gold.”

  “Oh.” He seemed to choke on the word. “When was this?”

  “On the forteenth. I found her walking across my property. She nearly drowned—”

  “W-walking?” The man’s voice faltered. “Teresa is alive?”

  “She’s been through some kind of trauma. Couldn’t remember who she was or anything about her life. She’s been staying with me—”

  “She couldn’t remember how she got there?” Now Jack could hear the excitement in Hiskins’s tone. “What about what happened before?”

  “She doesn’t remember any of it.” She doesn’t remember you, Jack wanted to say, but he held his tongue. “We’re wondering if it had something to do with her father. He was abusive when she was a child…could he have attacked her again?”

  Hiskins considered the question for a long moment. “Maybe.”

  “Could he have known about your trip to Tahoe? Maybe he’d called Teresa that night, asked her to meet him?”

  “Sure,” Hiskins said, although he sounded anything but.

  What did it matter? Hiskins was Teresa’s fiancé and soon enough, she’d be in his arms. It would be his job to protect her from her father.

  They finished the call, working out the details of how Hiskins and Teresa would be reunited. Hiskins had wanted Jack to put Teresa on the first available plane to Phoenix, but Jack used the excuse of Teresa’s still-fragile physical state to insist Hiskins fly to Sacramento. Jack gave the man his e-mail so Hiskins could forward his flight information to Jack once he’d made the reservation.

  Plans made, Jack hung up and dropped the phone back into the charger. He knew damn well it was for his own benefit he’d wanted Hiskins to fly here rather than the other way around. Jack wanted more time with Teresa.

  And that time would start now. He couldn’t make love to her again, wouldn’t trespass on another man’s territory that way. But if he was going to be without her for the rest of his life, maybe he could fill the
emptiness of his heart with her nearness to make the stark loneliness easier to bear later.

  He returned to her room where she was still holding the art pad. A hand mirror from the bathroom sat beside her.

  She turned the pad toward him as he approached the bed. His heart squeezed so tight he thought it would never beat again.

  Her face, sketched in pencil, gazed up at him from the page. Her expression was grave, but he didn’t need a smile to see the clear message in the perfectly drawn eyes.

  She loved him. As powerfully as Elizabeth had. In a way that would heal him forever.

  But he would have to send her back to her fiancé. Because as genuine as that love might be, it was misplaced. When she saw Robert Hiskins again, her emotions would shift back to him.

  Taking the pad from her hands, Jack set it aside and laid on the bed. Fully dressed, he pulled her into his arms.

  He stayed awake as long as he could. Watched the clock ticking off the hours until well after 3:00 a.m. When he finally slept, his dreams were full of her and his every secret wish was fulfilled. She loved him and she was his forever.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Teresa woke to the sound of heavy machinery nearby. She could still feel Jack’s warmth on the sheets and pillowcase, so he must have just left the bed. She was loath to move, to give up this last vestige of his heat.

  He returned before she’d pushed back the covers, and sat beside her on the bed. “The snowplow driver came back to clear the road up to the house.”

  Which meant there was nothing to keep them from leaving. “What time was his plane coming in?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to speak Robert’s name. The man felt like a complete stranger to her, the way Jack had when she’d first woken in front of his fire. Except now Jack’s was the familiar face. She couldn’t even picture what Robert looked like.