Chantel didn’t commit to that one. But she didn’t argue, either.
“Was there any evidence that Mary had been on those steps? He said Cara lunged after Mary to get Joy away from her. That they fell down the steps together.”
“I can’t say any more right now, Dr. Mantle. I’m really sorry, but...I wouldn’t have told you what I did except that it’s information Shawn now has...”
“But you think chances are he’s going after Cara? That if they can find him he might lead them to my daughter?”
“That, or he could be making certain that his disposal of the body is permanent.”
“So Joy’s probably not at risk...”
“That’s not a safe assumption,” Chantel told him. “If Cara’s alive, he could very well want to use Joy as leverage against her.”
Lila’s heart hurt for Edward—hurt deeply.
“Okay,” she said, looking at the man she wished she’d met thirty years before. She wouldn’t ever be a part of his family, but she’d keep his little girl safe or die trying. He was in her world now, and she was good at what she did.
“Let’s let Chantel do her job, and you and I do ours.” She crossed to stand right in front of Edward, hoping he could feel the support she was trying to give him. Personal support. Straight from her heart to him. Hoping he could trust and take comfort from knowing that she would do her job well. “You have a little girl in there who was about to have her first Thanksgiving dinner with her grandpa. Coming?”
She noticed the way his expression softened slightly, was affected by the small smile that broke on his lips as he nodded.
And tried to ignore the light in his eye that seemed to burn into her.
Leaving Chantel to coordinate the Santa Raquel police coverage, knowing the detective would buzz her cell the second there was any news, Lila allowed herself to spend just one holiday meal feeling part of a real family. To give Edward strength.
And because, until Shawn Amos was found, she was sticking as close to Joy as she could get.
Prospector, Nevada
AT DINNER ON Thanksgiving night, Cara gave silent thanks for borrowed time. For parents who’d loved her.
For Joy.
Her thoughts traveled no farther than that. During her first hours, or maybe even days, at the cabin, Joy hadn’t even been present. Since then, her name, her existence had been popping up regularly. But only in terms of nail polish and sweet treats.
Cara knew she’d loved being a mother.
And that she wasn’t one anymore. Beyond that...her mind blanked out on her.
She didn’t push. Wasn’t sure she wanted to know what else was there. And hated herself for the weakness.
“Shawn was right,” she said aloud as she and Simon ate the chicken, mashed potatoes and canned green beans she’d prepared.
“How so?”
The blurted-out sentence broke into more than five minutes of the total silence that had become status quo for them. She found comfort in their silences.
He said it was her time to continue emotional healing.
“I’m weak.”
“How so?”
Simon was safe. She could tell him anything. He didn’t judge. Or try to talk her into another way of thinking. He just...listened.
The closest thing she’d ever had to her mother’s friendship.
With the added complication of finding him excruciatingly attractive. But those minutes when his smile tripped up her insides...they were her relief from the rest of her waking hours.
“It’s been two more weeks, and other than little tidbits, I’m no closer to remembering anything significant.”
“Little tidbits often pave the path to significance.”
“I think I’m not remembering because I’m too weak to handle whatever it is I’m avoiding.”
He didn’t deny the possibility, taking another bite of potato.
So she kept eating, too.
She’d asked him if he wanted a pie for dessert. He’d said no. Joy hadn’t liked pie—of any kind. The memory, which had come to her earlier, returned. An example of the useless pieces she was providing herself.
“What if I never remember?”
He shrugged. Reached to his right for the butter, missed, turned his head and grabbed it. Simon wasn’t one to allow defeat into his mindset. Not for himself.
And apparently not for her, either. But after the horrible shower episode she’d given in to his suggestion to allow herself more time. Partially because she’d really believed, in those following days, that she might actually have a breakthrough.
And partially because, now that she knew she’d killed someone, she didn’t want to leave the safety of that mountain until she knew what she’d be facing—and had the ability to defend herself.
How did you defend against what you didn’t remember?
How did you live with yourself knowing you were a murderer?
It had been bad enough when she’d only sensed that she’d done something horrible. But murder?
Days had begun running into each other. Most of those days the thought of being a killer just seemed surreal. Like she was living inside someone else’s head for a while. She had no idea how a murderer felt, but was certain she didn’t feel like one.
At night, though, when the darkness closed in, she couldn’t hide from the truth. She didn’t deserve to live.
She’d yet to tell Simon what she’d remembered that morning in the shower—that she’d definitely killed someone. She couldn’t risk making him guilty of harboring a criminal. There was every chance he wouldn’t believe her. Just like he wasn’t sure she’d done something bad. Because he didn’t seem to believe much of what Shawn told her.
Like the fact that she was weak.
She kept trying to show him. As things came back to her. So far, he seemed unconvinced. Not that she could know for sure. He didn’t spend much time trying to convince her of anything.
Mostly, he kept his distance from her. Like they had a professional boundary between them. Other than when she helped him with his eye exercises out in the yard, and the two times a day she put drops in his eyes, they never got closer than sitting next to each other at the table.
Since the morning of the shower, when he’d pulled her naked into his arms, he’d never touched her again.
She thought about that morning more than she should.
Not the reality of what she had remembered—but thoughts of him seeing her completely naked. Knowing what her breasts looked like. Her privates. She imagined him pleased by what he’d seen.
Her thoughts weren’t for sharing. Ever. They weren’t for real.
She just clung to them as she searched her mind for light in her darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE ONLY REASON Simon went to town the Saturday after Thanksgiving was because he was figuring that he’d blend in better on the famously busy shopping weekend. He hadn’t been since picking up Cara’s package and didn’t want to be recognized as a regular visitor.
He didn’t want anyone to feel familiar with him or to feel as though they’d be welcome to stop by his place if they were ever driving up the mountain.
Unfortunately, there was only one place in town that sold fresh vegetables, which was one of the things he was after.
The other was the package of eyedrops he’d had an online pharmacy send to him. He had a year’s prescription of them.
The post office happened to be in the back of the same establishment that sold the vegetables. And had the kiosk he’d used to order Cara’s things.
As luck would have it—or because he was the only one who worked the register—when Simon pulled into the parking lot he could see the same weathered and slightly overweight silver-bearded gentleman behind t
he store’s counter. A couple of younger employees, one man, one woman, were outside, carrying boxes from a truck to the back door and helping out front with the gas pump. Neither of them were familiar. Simon made a point of avoiding eye contact and conversation with both of them.
Now, more than ever, he valued his complete privacy up at the cabin while he had Cara to protect.
She’d said Shawn owned a surfing school in California, but they’d been up in northern Nevada for a reason. Could be the guy knew someone up there.
Or had purchased a place without his wife knowing about it.
Since Cara only had him to protect her, Simon wasn’t taking any chances. At least, not while her memories were trickling in.
A sharp ray of light caught Simon in the eye as he walked through the door. Blinking, he paused and then glanced in the direction from which the light had come.
The hand scanner at the register had been left upside down.
It wasn’t until he’d taken a couple of more steps that Simon realized that he was seeing spots in both eyes. Both eyes!
Glancing back toward the register, he closed his good eye, leaving the injured one open. Sure enough, he could see a red dot.
Hardly believing it at first, he told himself he’d imagined the dot because he knew it was there. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Cara was right to be concerned that his right eye hadn’t been showing a lot of progress.
Walking down one aisle, he reminded himself of what he was after. Fought butterflies in his stomach as he headed toward the wall of fresh vegetables. Had he imagined the dot? What if Cara was right and he wasn’t ever going to see out of both eyes again?
When he got to the register he closed his good eye again. Turned around. And looked for the red light. To prove to himself that he wasn’t wrong to believe...
Nothing.
Biting back disappointment, refusing to allow bitterness reign, he moved a little to his right. And then to his left...and...there!
A red dot. He was looking at a red dot!
Opening both eyes, Simon stood there and stared.
Hot damn! He’d seen a red light.
Gathering his vegetables, picking up a few other things, he couldn’t finish quickly enough.
He couldn’t wait to get home and tell Cara...
He’d seen a red light!
Get home and tell Cara...the thought stopped him. Not enough to quell his euphoria, but maybe enough to dampen it just a bit. The cabin wasn’t home.
And Cara wasn’t there for the purpose of sharing his victories. Beyond that, she’d probably think that a red light wasn’t proof that he’d regain enough sight to be able to ever perform another surgery. Even if she didn’t say it out loud, he’d know she’d be thinking it.
Somewhat sobered, but still with a definite confidence in his step, he approached the counter with his purchases and asked for his package.
“Yeah, it came.” The bald man stood from his stool and lumbered slowly toward a cupboard with a US postal sticker on it. Retrieving the bubble-padded package, he carried it back to the counter and set it down by the celery and onions. At which point he proceeded to manually ring in every single one of Simon’s purchases, typing them in by number rather than scanning the bar codes.
The same thing he’d done every other time Simon had been in town.
While frustrated with the time it was taking, Simon kind of liked the man’s refusal to change something that he was comfortable with just because times had changed. The scanner had been put in by the company that had bought the store, he’d been told. Sometimes a man just had to stick with what a man knew.
Like the fact that he was a surgeon and would see again.
He should have picked up some more wine. Considering whether or not to go for some—Lord knew he had time—he remembered when he and Cara had shared a bottle. And had his answer.
No wine. Period. He couldn’t give temptation any chance at all to win him over. Which was why he picked up some liquid soap along with the veggies. He couldn’t keep using the same soap in the shower that Cara used.
It was either that or risk making a mistake that would ultimately hurt her. Cara was still married. You’d think that fact would be enough to stop him from lusting after her, since he could no longer convince himself she was just a patient. But Shawn Amos wasn’t a man who deserved Cara’s loyalty, so Simon had to come up with other deterrents.
Like not touching her at all. Thinking about heart surgery when she put drops in his eyes...
But he’d seen a red dot! Eagerness to give her that proof of his improvement trembled inside of him, coupled with the knowledge that it wouldn’t convince her of his eventual ability to see.
“You that guy that bought the old Anderson place up on Butte Mountain?” With Simon’s stalk of celery in hand, the old guy stopped pushing buttons to look at him.
Simon shrugged. He hadn’t been told the name of the mountain he lived on.
“We was told it sold. The gal that does titles was up to the house for dinner,” the older guy continued, seemingly not the least bit put off by Simon’s lack of friendliness.
It went against his grain to not immediately put out a hand of greeting, but he still didn’t do it. Didn’t even nod. He pulled out his wallet, retrieved cash and waited to hear his total.
“Your business is your own,” the man said now. “We get lots of folks up this way who want no one’s business in their business. It’s why we live up here, most of us. I’m just saying, ’cause we had a guy in town this morning talking about some woman who went missing ’bout thirty miles from here. Said he was looking for her. I told him I’d ask around, see if anyone saw anything...”
Thinking that if he suddenly got chatty it might seem suspicious, Simon stood there, shook his head like he couldn’t be the least bit concerned by this news. Inside, every nerve in his body urged him to get his ass out to the car and back up the mountain.
Cara knew how to use the .22. But that didn’t mean she’d have it close...
Maybe it wasn’t Shawn.
The old man pulled out a picture, held it out to him. “This is her. If you see her, hold on to her. Guy says she’s his wife and had been suffering from brain trauma from falling down some steps. He’s worried sick about her. Broke him up, just talking about it. Said a woman died falling with her. His sister...”
Simon’s brief glance at the picture shook him up more than he was sure he could hide. Nodding, he said he hadn’t seen or talked to anyone since he’d been up at his place, that he had no-trespassing signs all over his property that he enforced with his gun, and he hoped the guy found his wife.
Acting like he had all the time in the world, he headed out to his SUV, loaded it with groceries, gassed up and then pulled slowly onto the road. It caused him physical pain. Along the back of his neck. The jaw he was clenching.
He took the mountain curves with more speed than was safe, told himself he’d be no good to Cara dead and lightened up on the gas. All the way home he continued to see that picture the old man had shown him.
A younger Cara—without little white scars on her face. There’d been a smile on her lips and a light in those big brown eyes he’d hardly recognized.
She’d been happy once.
And he thought of what else he had to tell her.
Her sister-in-law, Mary, was dead. At least, according to Shawn.
Maybe he should have stopped at the local sheriff’s office, had them come get Cara and put her under protection.
His fear that she’d refuse to go had stopped him. Police couldn’t force a woman to protect herself against her husband. Or to testify against him, either.
And underneath that fear was another. The memories she was repressing...had she seen Shawn kill his sister? Was that why she’d been so certain, that fi
rst day when he’d asked, that “there was no one”?
She believed she’d done something bad. Because Shawn had told her she had. Maybe that belief was her way of avoiding the real truth—that she’d witnessed something horrible.
But then...if Mary Amos was dead by Shawn’s hand, he wouldn’t be going around telling people she was dead, would he?
His foot was to the metal as he pulled onto his property, leaving a trail of dust behind him.
He scanned the area, looking for Cara...or signs of struggle. Saw neither.
Stopping right by the front door, rather than off to the side as was usual, he’d only gotten as far as opening the car door when he saw the front door of the cabin open.
If...
Cara stood there, in her jeans, one of the black fleece pullovers he’d bought her, the sleeves rolled down to hook over her thumbs as they were made to do, and her hiking boots. She waved. And gave him as much of a smile as she ever did.
A surge of relief made him weak. And then he realized that he was going to have to tell her she wasn’t safe here anymore. Not with Shawn as good as sending out search parties for her.
When she’d first come to him, she’d been certain that as long as Shawn thought she was dead, she’d be safe. With all of the weeks that had passed, he’d pretty much taken her safety for granted.
But now, for some reason, the man was back. Where he’d been, why it had taken him so long to start looking, Simon could only guess.
Seeing her stand there, waving like she was glad to see him, cut him to the quick. Because he wanted her there.
And couldn’t have her.
He could get her to safety, but he couldn’t make her happy. He didn’t believe in marriage. He’d grossly disappointed one woman. He couldn’t risk doing the same to Cara.
He couldn’t afford to be with her, even until Christmas, not with his eye showing signs of healing and his doubting, at first, that he’d seen that light.
Her doubts were getting to him. Just as he’d known they would.
Realizing that if anyone came up his drive she’d be seen standing there, Simon grabbed a bag of vegetables and sprang from the vehicle and up the steps, handing her the groceries and telling her to stay inside where it was warmer.
A Family for Christmas Page 20