A Memory Worth Dying For

by Bruce, Joanie

  Veronica sat up straight in the seat and blew out a frustrated breath. She was getting a headache.

  “Why are you in such a bad mood, sugar? Didn’t you enjoy your visit with Daniel?”

  “Ha! What visit?” Veronica tugged on a lock of her red hair and looped it behind her ear. “Martha was there and completely monopolized Daniel. You should have seen her, Daddy. When I went upstairs to get him, Martha was leaning over toward him—laughing and flirting. It was disgusting, especially after the way she ruined his life the first time.”

  Shane’s nostril’s flared. “What did he say when he saw you?”

  “Oh, he acted like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He was contrite and embarrassed. But Martha acted purely smug. If she thinks she’s going to win Daniel back from me this time, she’s got another thing coming. I won’t let it happen. He loves me. I can see it in his eyes. Martha humiliated him when she had him, and I won’t let her at him again.”

  Shane pulled the truck into their driveway and stopped. He turned toward her. “Be careful, darlin’. You might not want to admit it, but Daniel loved Martha once. Just because she did something to turn him away doesn’t mean all those feelings he felt for her completely dried up. At this point in time, he can’t even remember the pain he felt over what she did, so the anger he feels now won’t be as strong as it was when it happened. He might be angry at what she did, but if you push too hard, I’m afraid he might decide to give those loving feelings a second chance. And we certainly don’t want that to happen.”

  “So, do you think I should tell him who she is . . . or was?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” He leaned over and gave her a hug. “Just be your sweet self and win him over that way instead of by making Martha look bad. You attract more flies with sugar than with vinegar.”

  Veronica glowered at her father. “Oh Daddy. Honestly. Vinegar?”

  Shane smiled, put the truck in gear, and drove down the long driveway.

  Veronica lounged back in the seat. No way was she going to leave everything to chance. She had to show Daniel how much he loved her. Maybe she’d ask him to take her on a trip to the rodeo in the next county for the weekend. He seemed to be at ease and happier when he was at an event that included horses.

  The smile on her face grew wider. She’d keep Daniel away from Marti. Veronica knew Daniel loved her. He just needed to get away from Marti’s devious strategies. All she had to do was keep them apart, and she had a perfect idea how.

  Marti had crossed a line—something Marti would be sorry for. Veronica would have to take matters back into her own hands. Yep, she knew exactly what to do.

  THIRTY-TWO

  MARTI’S SUBCONSCIOUS SCREAMED AT HER To wake up. She struggled out of sleep and tried to put a finger on what was causing her unrest. The room was as black as the deepest section of woods at night and just as scary.

  A muffled noise came from somewhere close.

  Her eyes, heavy with sleep, struggled to see through the darkness. She sat up in bed and searched her bedroom. A tiny sliver of moonlight shimmered through the opening of the sheer curtains enough for her to see that everything was quiet and peaceful. She must have been dreaming.

  She turned over in bed and tried to relax. A muscle in her neck tensed, as if waiting for something to happen.

  Another noise.

  She turned toward the window again and stared at the place the sound came from. The ray of moonlight coming in the window was broken by a shadowed movement as it moved closer to the bed.

  Marti jerked up in bed and screamed as a figure in black rushed toward her. Her screams vibrated through her skull, until they were silenced by a hand clamped over her mouth. She kicked at the covers and pulled at the leather glove keeping her from breathing.

  The hand dropped from her mouth as one of her pillows replaced it and was pushed against her face. The power of the blow forced her back onto the bed with bone shaking fierceness and mashed her body into the mattress. Her arms thrashed about trying to defend herself against muscle and strength, and the bedside lamp tumbled to the floor with a loud crash. Her attacker threw himself on top of her, restraining her body under the covers. She kicked at him with frantic jerky movements and tried to escape the covers holding her captive on the bed.

  Claustrophobia inched its way into her consciousness.

  I can’t breathe! I need air!

  Marti’s hands clawed at the person holding the pillow. The muscles under the material felt like steel. She tore at the pillow covering her face, trying to turn her head and escape the pressure on her nose and mouth. Her head was held in a vise. She felt the gloved hands clinch the corners of the pillow and press even harder. Her lungs cramped, begging for air. She felt the heat of her open mouth in the pillow as she tried to find oxygen to breathe.

  God, please help me!

  Her internal screams never escaped her throat but were joined by the uncontrollable spasms of her lungs fighting for air. Panic the size of mountains rose in her chest. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears.

  She twisted to the side and for a second, the pressure on her body lessened. She coiled her legs up close and gave one kick with every bit of strength she had. The man on top of her was thrown off balance, and she heard him hit the floor.

  She clawed at the pillow over her face, but before she could get out of bed, he was on top of her again. This time he showed no mercy. The blow hit her chest with a vengeance that forced the air from her lungs, and the pillow was mashed onto her face with extreme force.

  Her arms, clawing at the man on top of her, became weak and ineffective. She tried to think how to get away, but her thoughts became jumbled as she struggled, weakened by lack of oxygen. Finally, strength seemed to ooze from her fingertips. Her hands curled into tight balls and stopped clawing at the pillow. Reality floated around her until finally it faded into the darkness.

  THIRTY-THREE

  DANIEL’S HEAD FELT HEAVY ON his pillow as he lay in bed, trying to make his tired brain relax. Emotional turmoil was keeping him up at night. The face of the new artist materialized again before his eyes. Marti Rushing. How odd that they had the same last name. Something about Marti suggested warmth and comfort. She was easy to be with. Her cobalt eyes called to his like a shining beacon—drawing him toward something familiar.

  He rolled over in bed and punched the pillow. He was exhausted with trying to recall things that seemed just out of reach.

  Then Veronica’s face took the place of Marti’s in his mind. She had right to be angry with him. When she’d walked into the studio, the air between him and the new artist had been emotionally charged. Marti’s lips looked sweet and inviting. What was he thinking?

  Thinking? Who was thinking?

  Some way or another, Marti’s magic had taken over his senses, and he reacted purely on instinct. Standing next to her, he almost felt it was where he was supposed to be. How could that be true? The pull toward her was so strong that he’d actually wanted to kiss her. How crazy was that? A stranger, no less.

  He had the strong impression he’d seen her somewhere before. Maybe she was an old girlfriend. No, Veronica would have told him. She would never keep something so explosive a secret.

  His father had urged him to pray about his situation. Prayers might have been familiar at one time in his life, but now they seemed foreign and unsettling. How could he pray to a strange God? A God he knew nothing about. His loss of memory wasn’t selective—not only had he forgotten names, faces, and events, but he couldn’t remember trusting a God his father claimed he depended on at one time. It was disappointing. It would be nice to feel comfortable praying to a God who loved him and led him in the right direction. His father claimed the Bible would tell him about God, but after college, he wasn’t sure he trusted the Bible either.

  He turned over onto his back and tried to push God and both women out of his thoughts. He had to get some sleep.

  Relax, Daniel.

  The docto
r said memory returns easier when you don’t try so hard.

  He stared at the muted moonlight wafting through his balcony doors. The images faded as he concentrated on the relaxing exercises he learned in therapy.

  His muscles relaxed, and his subconscious thoughts were fading until a bloodcurdling scream coming from somewhere in the house jolted him up in bed. Instinct had him tense and ready to spring, and an automatic reflex made him reach for the Glock self-loading pistol he had attached to the bed frame under the bed.

  When a loud crash sounded close to his room, he bounded onto the floor and cautiously pulled open the door.

  All was still and silent. Army instincts forced him into a low crouch, creeping slowly and checking each shadowed doorway. He made his way into the hallway, alert to every movement.

  At the wooden door across the hall he stopped when he heard a muffled scream coming from the room. He turned the knob slowly and pushed open the door. As he entered the moonlit studio, his eyes passed over shadows of the easel and work station then advanced further through the moonlight to the closed bedroom door beyond.

  He crept across to the bedroom and listened for sounds coming from within.

  “Ms. Rushing?”

  Not hearing an answer, he softly opened the door and cautiously peered inside. He was just in time to see Marti thrust the pillow from her and suck in a frantic breath of air. When she saw him standing in her room, a scream burst from her lips.

  Daniel quickly flipped on the light switch beside the door, and the lights around the room came to life. Marti jolted up in bed until recognition deflated her tensed muscles and diffused the panic in her flushed face. Daniel stood staring at her.

  Marti’s breath came in uneven gulps. Then her eyes lowered to the gun in his hand. “Wh-what are you d-doing?”

  Daniel pointed the gun toward the ceiling and slowly advanced toward her. “I’m sorry. I heard you scream and I . . .” he lifted a shoulder. “Army instincts, I guess.”

  He laid the gun on the edge of the dresser and stepped over to lift the bedside lamp from the floor. Straightening the shade, he placed it back on the nightstand.

  “Having a nightmare?”

  Marti jumped out of bed, but her wobbly legs collapsed against the bed. Daniel reached to steady her, and she looked at him like he was crazy.

  “No, it wasn’t a nightmare! There was someone in here trying to smother me with a pillow. Didn’t you see him?”

  Daniel was immediately on alert. He picked up his gun and searched the room thoroughly. Then he glanced at the open balcony door and swiftly moved to search the tiled porch before returning with a shake of his head.

  “There’s no one here, Marti. The lock’s not jimmied. I don’t think anyone could have gotten up here from below. You must have been dreaming.”

  He looked at her doubtfully.

  Her eyes implored him to listen. “You . . . you don’t believe me?”

  Daniel frowned. “There’s no way anyone could get through the security of this ranch—at night, everything’s locked up tight. You must have been dreaming.”

  Shock filled her eyes.

  “There really was someone here.”

  “Okay, Marti. I’ll check the security tapes in the morning, but for tonight, try to get some sleep.”

  Marti’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I wasn’t dreaming. Please believe me.” She broke down then and covered her face with her hands.

  Something inside him tugged at his heart. He went to her, softly pulled her to his shoulder, and let her cry. Empathy with what she was feeling filled his thoughts. Flashbacks he’d experienced as a result of a war he couldn’t remember still left him shaking in terror

  “I understand, Marti. I have nightmares from my stint in Iraq.” His voice got quiet. “They seem real even when you’re in a safe place and wide awake.”

  His hand draped around her unexpectedly felt hot. The goose bumps once again did a dance across the back of his neck. He could feel her frailness and vulnerability and felt . . . not only compassion, but that illusive sensation. Everything inside of him screamed there was something important to remember about this woman who sent electric currents through his body.

  Marti’s shoulders shook uncontrollably, and Daniel felt her muscles cramp convulsively. Sobs wracked her body as she clung to him and cried.

  Daniel not only felt her frailness through her thin gown but also a familiar sensation.

  A strange feeling that he’d felt compassion for this woman before set up camp in his thoughts.

  He held her close and rubbed her back. “It’s okay,” he murmured to her softly, trying to hang on to the familiar feeling. Something inside of him melted as the memory tried to force its way into his thoughts—he was afraid it might just be his heart.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THE NEXT MORNING MARTI GROANED as she pulled the comforter up over her head and rubbed her forehead on either side of her eyes. As a result of the sleepless night, a sharp pain thrummed in her temple and threatened to get worse. The intruder’s attack had her lying in tense silence for most of the night—waiting for a figure in black to suddenly appear beside her.

  Daniel hadn’t believed her. That’s what hurt the most. He’d thought she was dreaming.

  She knew her attacker was real, and he wasn’t threatening anymore. His attacks had stepped up from threatening to deadly. What would happen if she continued to stay in Texas? The Rushing’s ranch wasn’t as safe as she had thought it would be. Yet, even if she left now, he knew where she lived in Tennessee. She would have to uproot and move again.

  That thought made her furious. She would not leave her home again. Her fragile roots had reached deep into the soil of Tennessee, and she didn’t want to uproot them. Maybe if she had someone help her? Should she tell someone about the stalker? She couldn’t tell Daniel. He thought she was dreaming and probably wouldn’t believe her. What a stupid idea to think staying in Texas wouldn’t arouse her stalker’s anger. Why hadn’t she informed the police here in Carson so they would be aware of her problem? Because he’d threatened her if she told anyone, that’s why. Well . . . she felt threatened anyway. What difference would it make?

  Her thoughts raced back to the navy blue truck on the road to the ranch. Was it the same person who entered her room last night? She should have reported the incident. At least she would have proof that someone was intimidating her. How did he get on the ranch? Gerald mentioned they had a state-of-the-art security system.

  She closed her eyes against her throbbing temples. The threats were real enough, but the whole situation last night rolled around her head in a fog. She couldn’t tell Daniel about the stalker warning her about returning back to Texas because she was here under false pretenses.

  I’ll think about this later. I can’t handle this now.

  She shook her head and determined not to mention the attack to anyone. Not until she figured out what to do.

  She got out of bed and pulled the sheets over the pillows. When she reached to straighten the comforter, her foot kicked something under the bed.

  Ouch! That stung. A tiny ball of blood oozed onto the end of her big toe.

  Bending over, she glanced under the bed to see what had caused the cut, and immediately she clenched a section of the comforter between white knuckles. Her knees grew weak, and she slid to the floor—her eyes never leaving the object lying under the bed.

  A knife.

  A large blade with a red handle covered with flames.

  It wasn’t there last night when she’d pulled her suitcase out from under the bed to search for a missing hairbrush. The intruder must have dropped it in the night.

  Instinctively, she glanced at the curtains covering the doors. No one was there, but her imagination felt prying eyes staring at her from somewhere. A cold wave covered her body, and tears filled her eyes. He could have killed her with the knife.

  A shudder radiated from her heart. He knew she was here. Now, he would never leave her alone.


  How could she stay?

  How could she go?

  A knock on the door made her jump. “W-who is it?”

  Gerald’s voice filtered through the closed door. “It’s Gerald, Marti. May I come in?”

  Marti ran to the door and yanked it open. “Gerald. There’s a knife under my bed. It must belong to the man who tried to smother me last night.”

  The look on Gerald’s face was full of cautious concern, but he walked to the bed and leaned down. Pulling a tissue from the holder beside the bed, he picked up the knife and examined it carefully.

  “Marti, this looks like the knife Daniel bought last month in town. He bought it because of all the extra little gadgets. He also told me about your dream and busting in on you. Maybe he brought the knife along with his gun last night.”

  Marti stared at him with her mouth open.

  “I know it spooked you, Marti. Dreams like that would scare anyone half to death.” He patted her on the arm. “I’m sure it’s Daniel’s, but I’ll ask him about it and make sure, okay?”

  Marti frowned. “You think I was dreaming too, don’t you?”

  “I don’t not believe you, Marti. I think your nerves are overly sensitive because of being back here after so long and under not-very-desirable circumstances.”

  “Gerald, there’s something I need to tell you—I should have mentioned it before, but after I left here, three years ago, a stalker started following me. He vandalized my apartments and called me constantly with threatening phone calls. No matter how many times I changed my phone number or moved, he found me. The police couldn’t find out who it was or why he was harassing me. I almost went crazy. Then about a year ago, it all stopped. I thought he finally gave up and was going to leave me alone . . . until he started back up a few days before I came here. He warned me not to come to Texas, and he threatened my friends if I did. Now, I’m worried this might be the same person.”

  Gerald sat down on the over-stuffed red chair. “A stalker? Here? Marti, there’s no way a stranger could get on this ranch without keys. You know how much some of my stallions are worth. I have to keep tight security. There’s a security guard at the gate all night with sensors and cameras around the perimeter, and they’re monitored constantly. Look, I’m not saying there wasn’t someone following you around the country, but you’re here now, and we have excellent security. No one could have gotten through to your room last night.”