Frustrated, she climbed out of bed and moved restlessly around the room. Admit it, Samantha, you had some kind of a blackout. That had never happened to her before and the thought of it terrified her. And what was worse, both Jackson and Anne had known something was wrong with her. She gave one of her shoes an angry kick and sent it flying across the room. She’d been so sure she was getting better. She’d felt she was finally conquering the emotional aftermath of her attack. Stopping at the window, she pulled back the curtain and stared out over the lake. What if she had another one? No. She dropped the curtain. She was getting stronger and she wasn’t going to let what happened undermine her confidence. So what if she couldn’t remember a portion of the evening right now? It might eventually come back to her. And as far as Jackson and Anne’s concerns? She’d find a way to dance around them.
A soft whining at the bedroom door caught her attention.
“You need to go out, don’t you?” Reluctantly, Sam shoved her arms into her robe and belted it tightly. When she opened the door, the dog shot out and took off down the hallway. Sam followed and, after rounding the corner, saw Jackson and Anne seated at the kitchen table. Simultaneously their heads turned. Neither spoke, and by the shuttered looks on their faces, Sam knew that their conversation had continued to be about her.
Anne broke the silence. “How are you feeling?” she asked, rising to her feet. “Would you like some coffee?”
Sam shook her head and grabbed Roxy’s leash off the counter. “I think I might be coming down with the flu, so I’d rather have orange juice.”
“Here, I’ll trade you,” Anne said, filling a glass from the pitcher on the table and handing it to her. She took the leash from Sam’s hand. “I’ll take the dog out.”
Accepting the glass, Sam joined Jackson at the table. She drank the juice while he silently studied her. Placing the glass on the table, she licked her lips and tried to smile. “Did you enjoy the party?”
“Are you being sarcastic?” he sputtered, jerking back in his chair.
“No—no—but—”
“After the way you acted last night? I certainly hope you’re going to apologize to Fritz.”
“Yes, of course,” she murmured, lowering her head. She bit the inside of her lip. That might be tough since she didn’t know what she’d be apologizing for. She’d either have to wing it or confess that she couldn’t remember. She stole a glance at Jackson. Did she dare tell him about her lack of memory? If she did, how long would it take him to call her father and share the story with him? A strong sense of self-preservation cautioned her to keep her mouth shut.
Jackson leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. “What were you trying to prove?” he asked in a low voice. “I know you’ve felt unattractive since the accident, but haven’t I tried to reassure you that it didn’t matter?” He shook his head. “Wasn’t that enough? Did you have to flirt with Ted Brighton last night?”
Her cheeks grew hot. “I didn’t flirt with Ted Brighton,” she declared.
“I don’t know what else you’d call it,” he answered with a snort.
She stared at him blindly as the fear she’d felt earlier returned. No, Jackson had to be wrong. It was one thing to have a memory lapse, but to act out of character? Impossible. Even before the attack, she’d never been the type of woman to come on to men. It wasn’t her style. Jackson had to have misconstrued her behavior.
“I don’t know how you could put me through something so shameful. You reminded me of her,” he spit out. “How many times have I told you how her behavior embarrassed me?”
“Jackson—I know your relationship with your mother—”
Jerking back, Jackson crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. “If you don’t want to acknowledge the flirting, will you at least explain whatever possessed you to sing?”
Sam’s jaw dropped and she quickly snapped it shut. “S-s-sing?” she stuttered.
His eyes narrowed and he looked her over carefully. “You don’t remember, do you?” His voice rang with suspicion.
Hanging her head, she considered trying to bluff her way out, but it wouldn’t do any good. He’d know she was lying. “No,” she whispered.
He stood suddenly and came to her, kneeling beside her chair. With a sigh, he took her hand in his and softly stroked his thumb across her knuckles. “Samantha, darling,” he said gently, “I was afraid something like this would happen when I learned you’d stopped taking your medication.” His other hand lifted her chin and he stared into her eyes. “You have to trust that I know what’s best for you.”
Her head turned away. “I do.”
“Do you?” he asked, placing a palm on her cheek and forcing her to look at him. “I hope so. I am a doctor, you know,” he finished with a trace of humor in his voice.
Sam tried to smile, but her lips trembled. If she did as Jackson said, she’d spend her time drifting through the days in a haze. “But the pills make me feel so sluggish.”
Noticing the strain on her face, Jackson sobered and placed both hands on her shoulders. “You need them,” he insisted. “Now, no more arguments.” Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead. “And don’t worry, my darling,” he said in a whisper. “I’ll take care of you.”
Later that afternoon, still shaken by her promise to continue her medications, she said a muted good-bye to Jackson while Anne stood on the sidelines and watched. Once he’d left, Anne turned to her.
“Are you hungry?” she asked with false cheerfulness.
“Not really.” Sam stole a glance at the other woman as they crossed the yard. “Did Jackson tell you that I don’t remember the party?”
Stopping at the edge of the porch, Anne plucked one of the leaves off the dying shrub. “Yes, and I’m glad he did. If I’m to help you, I need to know what’s going on.”
“Do you think I’m losing it?” Sam asked in a small voice.
“No,” Anne replied with a confident shake of her head. “Dr. Van Horn said it was the effects of withdrawal. We’ll just make sure you take your meds.”
“But I hate the way they make me feel,” Sam argued.
“Would you rather have blackouts?” Anne asked, crumbling the leaf in her hand.
“No.”
“Then I think you’d better do as he says.”
Reluctantly, Sam nodded as she followed Anne into the cabin. Once inside, she leaned against the counter and studied the other woman for a moment. “I made quite a spectacle of myself last night, didn’t I?”
Anne shrugged. “I don’t know—I’ve seen worse.” She gave her a quick smile. “You did surprise me, though. I didn’t know you could sing. You have a lovely alto voice.”
“No, I don’t. I’m a soprano.”
Anne snickered. “Not last night you weren’t. You were an alto.”
Sam looked confused, and her gaze traveled to the floor. “That’s odd,” she muttered.
“Well,” Anne said, placing her hands on her hips. “Are you up for some exercises?”
“Could we go for a walk?” Sam asked, looking up at Anne.
Surprise showed on Anne’s face. “You want to go outside?”
“Yeah. We can take Roxy with us. She needs a walk, too.”
“You won’t feel uncomfortable?”
Glancing to where the dog lay stretched out in the sunshine pouring through the French doors, Sam smiled fondly. “I don’t know what it is, but when I’m with her, I feel safe.”
“Good, let’s get going before the bugs come out.”
A few minutes later, the three of them headed out the door and up the road. They’d gone a short distance when they heard the sound of a rousing march coming from Greg’s cabin.
“The quartet for the Fourth,” Anne offered in way of explanation. “Do you want to stop by and listen?”
“I guess.”
The music became louder as they approached Greg’s, but stopped when Anne knocked loudly on the screen door. Seconds later, Greg appeared in the d
oorway.
“Hi,” he said, swinging the door open. “Come on in. We’re practicing.”
“We heard,” Anne replied, arching an eyebrow.
“Hey, what good is a march if it isn’t loud?” Greg joked.
Anne and Sam followed Greg into the living room, where he quickly introduced Sam to Caleb and George Roberts, the flutist for the group. Meeting Caleb for the first time, she remembered Jackson’s warning and eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t look like a gang member or a druggie. He looked like an average, normal teenage boy—all angles and loose limbs. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anne watch him with pride and love written on her face. Roxy’s reaction was the one that surprised her. After giving Caleb’s leg a good sniff, she plopped down at his feet and rolled over onto her back.
Noticing her, Caleb laughed and squatted beside her. “Ah, so you want a belly rub, do you?” Scratching her stomach, he laughed again when her back leg pawed at the air. “She must be ticklish,” he said, smiling up at Sam.
“Must be,” Sam answered, returning his smile. Looking away from Caleb as he played with Roxy, she noticed Fritz eyeing her with speculation. Oh, great, she thought, he’s thinking about last night. Well, now is as good a time as any. Squaring her shoulders, she walked over to him.
“May I speak with you privately?” she asked, her voice quivering.
“My pleasure,” he replied easily. “Greg, let’s take five, shall we?” With a wave of his hand, he motioned Sam toward the door. Walking across Greg’s deck, he leaned against the railing and waited.
Sam shifted uncomfortably as she struggled for the right words. Finally she gave up. “I’m sorry,” she blurted.
Fritz jerked in surprise. “For what?”
“My behavior last night at your party. I’m sorry if I caused a scene.”
“Nonsense,” he said with a smile. “You didn’t cause a scene. If Jackson would’ve simply let you finish your song, no one would’ve thought a thing about it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, most of my guests were enjoying your performance,” he assured her. “You have a lovely voice. I’ve always enjoyed a strong alto.”
“Soprano,” she mumbled.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing,” she said with a brush of her hand. “I appreciate your graciousness, Fritz, and all I can say is that I wasn’t myself last night.”
Fritz chuckled. “No, you weren’t. In our short acquaintance, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that relaxed. And isn’t that what a party is supposed to be about? Letting loose and having a good time?” He arched an eyebrow. “And I will say that whatever you imbibed certainly made you let loose.”
“Lemonade.”
Fritz pressed his hand against one ear. “George’s playing must be affecting my hearing. I could’ve sworn you said ‘lemonade.’ ”
“I did,” she replied tersely.
“Hmm,” he said, brushing his fingers across his chin. “Did it taste odd?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time someone spiked the punch, so to speak.”
“It wasn’t spiked. I would’ve tasted the liquor.”
“Did you feel well this morning?”
“You mean did I have a hangover? No.” Sam thought about the muscle aches and her pounding head. “I did feel like I was coming down with the flu, but that feeling is gone now.”
Fritz pursed his lips and looked at her thoughtfully. “Just out of curiosity, did one of the girls serve you?”
“No. Ted—” She broke off with a gasp. “Teddy Brighton gave it to me. Do you think—”
“That Teddy slipped you a mickey?” His lips twisted in a frown. “It wouldn’t surprise me. When I taught at the university, we had quite a problem with some young men slipping ‘roofies’ to the young ladies.”
“The date-rape drug?”
“Yes. I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, but did you suffer a blackout?”
Sam choked. “Yes. How did you know?”
“A common side effect, along with a reduction in one’s inhibitions, which could account for you bursting into song.”
“Is there a test?”
“There is, but I imagine too much time has elapsed.”
Sam’s face fell at his words, then brightened. In a way, she was angry that the little shit had drugged her, but in another way she was relieved that there was a reason for her behavior other than withdrawal.
Observing the emotions play across her face, Fritz cocked his head. “You seem almost happy that you were drugged . . .”
“I’m not,” she said with a shake of her head. “It’s just—” She gave a rueful laugh, but it ended with her voice cracking. Clearing her throat, she continued: “Anne has told me how fast the stories fly around here. How much do you know about my injuries?”
“I heard you were attacked and suffered a head injury,” he answered gently.
“Yes . . . and it put me in a coma.” Sam gnawed on her bottom lip and grasped the porch railing. “And when I woke up . . . nothing was the same. My left leg didn’t work right; I couldn’t go outside without feeling like I was being watched; I’ve had nightmares—”
Fritz placed his hand over hers, but said nothing.
“But lately, I’ve been getting better,” she continued in a firm voice. “My leg is stronger; I’m not as afraid as I was; and the nightmares aren’t as frequent—” Her voice dropped and her eyes filled with tears. “When Jackson told me how I’d acted at your party and I couldn’t remember doing any of the things he said, it scared me.” She swiped her eyes. “I thought I’d had a relapse.”
“But if Teddy drugged you, there’s an explanation.”
“Exactly,” she replied with a sniff.
He looked at her with sadness in his eyes. “You poor dear. You’ve suffered so much.” His face tightened. “And now that young man plays an evil trick on you—it’s inexcusable. I’ll speak to Irene.”
Sam’s hand shot out. “No, please don’t. We can’t prove it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to say anything?”
“Yes,” she said, letting out a long breath.
She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Thanks to Fritz, she could stop taking her nightly medication without guilt. Jackson was wrong—the blackout hadn’t been caused by withdrawal—she was sure of it. But the mistake wasn’t his fault. Teddy had made a good impression on him. He would never have expected that kid to drug her. And she couldn’t wait to tell him—he had to be as relieved as she was when he learned that there was a logical explanation.
Chapter Twenty
Walking back to the cabin, Anne noticed the change in Sam’s mood. She gave her a sideways glance. “I’m guessing that you apologized to Fritz?”
“Yeah, and he was very kind about it,” Sam said with a frown, then related the whole conversation. Finished, she looked over at Anne. “You look skeptical. You don’t agree?”
Anne waited before speaking. “It’s possible. I wouldn’t put anything past Teddy—but Dr. Van Horn seemed so convinced it was a reaction—”
“Anne, I only took the nightly pill sporadically at the beginning, and now I haven’t had any for days,” Sam insisted. “And while I’m being honest, I’ve quit taking the antidepressants.” Her chin went up a notch. “And I’ve felt better without them.”
“But—”
“Can we give it the rest of the week and see what happens?” she pleaded. “If I have another episode, I’ll go back on them.”
Anne tugged on her lip. She believed a patient’s input was an important part of her recovery, but not to the point of disregarding her doctor’s orders. And Dr. Van Horn had been insistent that Sam continue the medication. Her memory went back to the first day she’d met Sam. She’d wondered if Sam’s lethargy had been a result of the medication.
“Please? If you’re worried it will get you fired, don’t,” Sam said, rushing the words. “
I’ll take full responsibility.”
With a sigh, Anne made her decision. “Okay, you can skip the pills tonight, but you have to agree to an appointment with one of the doctors at the hospital. Then, if they say it’s okay—”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll try and get you in tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Sam replied, wandering over to the dying plant by the porch steps.
As she neared the plant, Roxy let out a low whine, but Sam ignored her.
Surprised, Anne followed and watched as Sam bent and stroked one of the dying leaves.
“Poor thing,” she said softly while her eyes seemed to lose their focus, “you’ve been neglected, haven’t you? Love Lies Bleeding—so beautiful . . .” Her voice trailed away as she continued to finger the leaves.
“What did you say?” Anne asked, lightly touching her arm.
Sam snapped back from her reverie. “Nothing. I—ah—just wondered what kind of a bush this is.”
Anne cocked her head. “You called it Love Lies Bleeding.”
“I did?” She fingered Roxy’s leash. “Oh, I probably saw a picture in some magazine and recognized it.” Sam took a small step onto the porch, her eyes avoiding the plant. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry? Why don’t we—”
She stopped abruptly at the sound of a car coming down the road. Anne turned and, shading her eyes against the setting sun, watched a black Town Car slowly roll to a stop in front of the cabin. Sam groaned when the driver exited the vehicle.
“Dad,” she hissed. “Jackson didn’t waste any time calling him.”
With purposeful steps, Lawrence Moore crossed the yard, his eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses. At the bottom of the steps, he stopped and whipped off the glasses. “Anne,” he said tersely before turning his attention to Sam.
“Hi, Dad,” Sam said with false brightness. “What a surprise.”
The air grew heavy with tension as his lips curved down in a frown. “Is it?”
Love Lies Bleeding Page 17