Like a Love Song

by Camille Eide

The girl stared in silence at the lone mass.

  “Want to hear it?”

  Jasmine shrugged.

  “The people who lived in this valley long ago believed a giant used the flat mountain as his table. One day, a young native woman wandered far from home in search of food and the giant caught her. He told her he was hungry and, if she didn’t give him food, she would be his dinner. She had nothing to give him, so she knew she was in trouble.”

  The girl didn’t speak, but her eyes turned to Sue as if asking for more.

  “She knew she was no match for the giant’s strength, but she was quick and very smart. She had a long stick for digging roots and she poked him in the eye with it. While he was blinded and bellowing in pain, she escaped. He reached out to catch her, but he couldn’t see where she went. Then, using her stick, she vaulted from the top of the rock. They say she landed in the east, in the land of her mother’s people.”

  A question burned in Jasmine’s eyes. “That true story?”

  Sue opened her mouth but hesitated. How could she explain whimsy to a girl like her? “Most native legends were stories from long ago that people told to understand how and why things are. They passed the stories down to their kids.”

  Jasmine’s forehead puckered in a frown. “So … parents lie to kids.”

  A dozen thoughts raced. “Jasmine, sometimes parents aren’t—”

  “I so tired. I sleep now?”

  Sue glanced at the time.

  Bedtime wasn’t for another hour. But few would gripe if Sue decided to make an exception for a newcomer. The only one likely to make a stink about it was probably busy getting the spaghetti sauce out of her new shoes.

  “Kids are not allowed in the rooms until eight-thirty. But for today, you don’t have to follow that rule. Miss Roberta is on bed watch tonight, so I’ll have her take you to your room.”

  “I not need. I know where.”

  Sue smiled. “Good girl. You learn quick. But just this once, I’d like Miss Roberta to go upstairs with you to make sure you have everything you need. Okay?”

  Jasmine nodded.

  “Okay, kiddo, go get some rest. Things will look much better tomorrow. You’ll see.”

  The girl took one last look out the window and straightened her narrow shoulders, which somehow only made her seem smaller. “Better tomorrow,” the girl whispered.

  Chapter Three

  Sue couldn’t shake the unease that had gnawed at her all day. Something about Jasmine was off. Something aside from the fact that she’d just been dumped at a house full of mismatched strangers three months after being hauled halfway across the world.

  The girl’s pre-adoptive life had been even worse. According to her file, Jasmine Walker was the product of prostitution. She’d started out life eating from garbage cans and fending for herself on the streets of Cambodia before being placed in a convent orphanage. The poor kid had a boatload of problems and some behavioral issues. And that was only what had been documented. There was no telling what hidden scars Jasmine carried.

  Sue had seen it before. It would take time and patience to help Jasmine gain some healthy coping skills. But that wasn’t what kept Sue tossing and turning. No, it was something else.

  “So … parents lie to kids.”

  Sorry, little one. Hate to break it to you, but yeah. Parents lie. They let you down. Some even hurt you.

  Bowman’s thick-lidded eyes and warm, whiskey-tinged breath crept into her thoughts. Sue punched her pillow, rolled over, and closed her eyes.

  The stink of male sweat mixed with whiskey fumes lingered. It wasn’t overpowering—the others might not have noticed it on him.

  But for Sue, one whiff was all it had taken to send a tremor of revulsion through her body. A violation of her senses that wouldn’t leave.

  “Suzy Q … where are you? Come on out now …”

  She pressed her eyes with the heels of her hands until the ghosts of ogres long past disappeared in a kaleidoscope of blinding light, sending flashes of pain through her skull.

  Trying to sleep was pointless. Because on top of everything else, something else about Jasmine’s attitude was really bugging her.

  She put on shoes and a hoodie, then left her room in the staff quarters and jogged across the backyard. She entered the main house through the kitchen door and headed up the stairs, tamping down a ripple of apprehension.

  On the second floor, Bertie looked up from her seat in the hall. “Something wrong?”

  “I want to check on Jasmine.”

  “Your new chickadee is sound asleep. Has been for hours.”

  “Good.” Sue nodded and cracked open the door to the room Jasmine shared with Haley. She glanced at the bed, then froze.

  The shape in the bed wasn’t right.

  The pulse in her temples kept time with her mental no … No … NO … as she dashed to the bed and touched the bump of a leg. “No! I knew it!” Sue whipped the cover off the bed, sending a pillow dummy flying.

  Haley sat up with a groan.

  Sue rushed out the bedroom door and squeezed past Bertie. “Call the sheriff—we’ve got a runaway!”

  Bertie followed as Sue thundered down the steps.

  “And wake Elena. Tell her to take the Suburban and head south. I’ll take the dualie and cover the ground east, toward the ridge.” She dashed down the stairs, spurred by an odd certainty—Jasmine would head for Table Rock. In the foyer, she zipped her sweatshirt and grabbed a flashlight, then barreled out the front door.

  Bertie’s voice called out from the front porch. “Hate to break it to you, Sue, but the Suburban’s still broke down.”

  Sue stopped with a groan. Of course it was. She’d meant to call the guy who claimed he’d fixed her vehicle. He’d charged plenty for whatever he’d done, which was obviously nothing. The Suburban was like everything else around here. Ever since Emily left and the college kids kept bailing without notice, too many things had been falling through the cracks.

  A scared, hurting kid shouldn’t be one of those things.

  She ran on, calling over her shoulder, “Then Elena will need to borrow your veedub.” Sue sprinted to the shop and raised the big door.

  She jammed on her helmet, then straddled the bike and fired it up. When she tapped the choke down partway, the bike stalled. “Come on! I know it’s cold, but you gotta work with me!” She fired it up again and revved the throttle while she rolled out of the shop.

  Ringo came running from the barn.

  “Sorry, boy, not this time.”

  Wagging, the greyhound feigned ignorance of plain English and circled the bike as if preparing to spring.

  “You can follow, but you’re not riding. You have to help me look for Jasmine.” She kept the throttle high and took off. She scanned the brushy terrain on both sides of the driveway, going just fast enough to keep from stalling. When she reached the highway, she stopped and squinted at the shadowy slope rising toward Juniper Ridge.

  The bike’s engine sputtered out.

  In the deep silence, Sue held her breath and listened, amazed as always at the unmarred stillness of this vast, empty desert. “Jasmine,” she whispered. “Where are you?” She peered up at the ridge.

  Though the sky was clear, there wasn’t enough moonlight to see much.

  She fired up the bike and crossed the road, then continued east through brush and dry cheatgrass, heading up toward the ridge.

  Ringo followed.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she looked back over the valley floor. Let ’em go, sweetheart. They didn’t want you. You don’t need them. Just let ’em go.

  The track widened into a trail that wound around sagebrush, juniper trees, and boulders, then took a snaking ascent up the ridge.

  The Honda nearly stalled, so she gunned it. The acceleration launched her toward a cluster of brush. She swerved and almost lost control yet continued to climb.

  The buzz of the bike’s motor carried across the still valley as she searched the h
illside. No sign of the girl.

  The trail grew steeper until it reached the crest. A black expanse of ravine yawned to the right.

  As she worked her way along the ridge, the odors of a hot bike and too-rich exhaust revived her headache. From up here, she could see more of the valley below but nothing that looked like a girl.

  A determined, ill-equipped little girl.

  A bright reflection from the bike’s headlight pulled her attention to the juniper tree in front of her. Sue swerved but the bike fishtailed. She braked hard.

  The wheel locked up and the bike spun, catapulting Sue over the ridge.

  She grasped for brush, branches—anything—as she plummeted into the ravine. She tumbled through trees and bushes and over jagged rock. Sharp stone gouged into her back and forced out a yelp. A blow to her elbow sent a burst of pain up her arm. Prickly branches clawed at her neck and arms. Her right foot caught and twisted her leg, causing a thunderous pop. Her shoulder slammed against something cold and hard and brought her to a dizzying stop.

  White pain tore through her shoulder, and a searing shot of lightning exploded in her leg. Sue screamed.

  A piercing echo rippled through the canyon and blended with the faint sound of a high-pitched bark as everything went black.

  Chapter Four

  Sue woke in a narrow bed with shiny bedrails. Her mouth felt as if she’d eaten a pound of dust. Her entire body ached, some parts worse than others.

  A vague memory of riding a bumpy hammock toward a starry night sky flashed in her mind.

  She tried to move, but her body had turned into a hundred and nine pounds of cast iron, and her right leg burned like a hot cannon. Was she paralyzed? Panic seized her. She reached for the rail, but the move shot pain through her right arm and shoulder. She yelped.

  A nurse came to her side.

  “How bad is it?” Sue croaked.

  “They’ve examined the knee but will need to do an MRI to know for sure.” The nurse brought a cup of water to Sue. “Feel like you can answer some questions?”

  Sue nodded and gulped down the contents of the cup.

  The nurse rolled a monitor and keyboard cart to the bed and typed as she asked about the accident.

  Sue closed her eyes and tried to remember what had happened. Slowly, like a choppy, old home movie, she saw herself falling, reaching for branches, tumbling through brush. Crashing into a rock. The twist and pop of her leg. Losing control of the bike. Searching for—

  “I need to go—it’s urgent—” Sue reached for the bedrails but a jolt of pain in her shoulder made her cry out. She drew a few calming breaths. With her left hand, she felt her head and face, then ran fingers down and met crusty, stinging scratches that crisscrossed her neck and collarbone. “There’s a missing girl.”

  The nurse looked up from her keyboard. “What girl?”

  “A foster girl at the home I run. I have to find her.”

  A nurse’s aide in a flowered tunic came in and handed something to the nurse.

  Sue’s right arm and shoulder hurt like fury, but the burning tightness in her knee was far worse. The unnatural weight of her right leg meant she probably wouldn’t be walking out of here anytime soon. Panic rose again but she held her breath and fought it.

  “Okay, looks like we’re all set,” the aide said, turning to Sue. “I’m here to take you down the hall for an MRI.” She released something beneath the hospital bed and wheeled it toward the hall.

  “Please wait. I need to call someone. I was looking for a runaway when this happened. I need to see if she’s been found.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” The girl rolled Sue down the corridor. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

  “Yes.” Sue gave her Bertie’s and Layne’s numbers.

  “Just relax for the procedure, and I’ll make sure your friends get the message.”

  After the MRI, another aide wheeled her back to the room. Sue must have dozed off for a while because she woke with a jerk when the nurse returned.

  Layne Stevenson followed, decked out in swishy navy warmups and a long, blonde ponytail.

  Even in Sue’s hazy state, seeing her friend in anything but a jacket and skirt was a shock. And no makeup on her Naomi Watts face—a double shock.

  “Sue? Are you okay?” Layne bent close, wincing. “Have they given you anything for pain?”

  “Layne,” Sue said, voice raspy, “I’ve got a runaway.”

  Layne nodded. “They found Jasmine, and she’s back at the ranch now. She’s okay.”

  Sue closed her eyes. “Thank goodness.”

  “I told Bertie we’ll know more soon.” Layne studied her, then shook her head. “You’re really lucky, you know that? This could have been so much worse.” She reached into her bag, took out a blue-wrapped ball, and peeled it. “You really scared me!” She held up a truffle. “Open up. Doc’s orders.”

  Sue reached for the candy with her good arm and nibbled at the smooth dark chocolate. She let the silky, rich bittersweetness melt in her mouth and slip down her throat, her taste buds singing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had chocolate and not had to share it with a handful of kids. “Where was Jasmine? Was she scared?”

  “Elena found her. Jasmine was hiding up in a tree somewhere on the property, clutching a big, long stick.”

  A stick? Way to go, Sooz. Great bedtime story for a skittish kid on her first day at the ranch.

  “I called the agency and arranged for a couple of respite-care temps to come out,” Layne said. “They’ll start today. But that’s all they are—temporary. What you need is regular, dependable help. And I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you’ve got a far more serious problem than a staff shortage.”

  The only real problem Sue could see was that she was out of chocolate. Sue licked her lips. Was there none left in Layne’s bag? Some friend. She should know better than to tempt an addict.

  “I’m sorry. I know the timing stinks, but—”

  A doctor came in, greeted Sue, and said he had her test results. “Two ligaments in your right knee are damaged. The MCL is torn, which could possibly heal on its own. Unfortunately, your ACL was severely damaged and requires reconstructive surgery.”

  “Surgery?” Sue gasped. “But … not with anesthesia, right?” Please say no … please …

  He signed off on a clipboard and handed it back to the nurse. “Most likely.”

  Oh no … Sue’s skin went clammy. They could hack on her with a pickax as long as they didn’t put her under.

  “But we need the swelling to go down first, which could take days or a week. The bruised shoulder and multiple lacerations, we’ll treat now. And we’ll fit you with a knee brace and crutches before you leave.”

  Crutches—that had to be a good sign. “So I can walk?”

  “To get the swelling down, you need to stay completely off that knee. After ligament replacement, you’ll need physical therapy. The more effort you put into it, the better your chances are of regaining full, pain-free mobility.”

  “How long?”

  “About twelve weeks, more or less. Again, that depends on you.”

  “You mean home therapy, right?”

  “In a clinic. Three times a week.”

  “Three times a week?” She did the math. “For three months?” Sue shook her head, making it throb. “I run a youth home in the desert ninety miles from the nearest clinic. There’s no way I can leave the ranch for a whole day three times a week. I’ll learn the stretches or whatever and do them myself.”

  “Sue.” Layne leaned close. “You’ve never had PT before, have you? There’s a reason it’s known as Pure Torture.” A sympathetic smile stretched her mouth wide. “If you want to walk and play volleyball with the kids and ride that beast of a motorcycle again, you have to do this right.”

  The doctor gave her a list of clinics.

  Once he was gone, Sue turned to Layne, blinking back tears of frustration. “Please tell me I’m just hallucinating
from the wreck.”

  Layne drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Sue. You know I’ll help you in any way I can.” She looked like she had more to say but was holding back.

  Sue waited.

  Layne reached in her bag, pulled out another blue Lindor ball, and unwrapped it as she spoke. “Remember your failed inspection last month? The one that left you with a list of repairs and thirty days to do it?” Layne gave her a steady look. “Sue, if those repairs aren’t done to code by the first week of November, they’ll yank your license and shut you down. So unless you want to scatter those kids to the wind and lose everything you’ve worked for …”

  Sue eyed the chocolate. A burning knot tightened her belly, flat-lining her appetite. “Things have been hectic lately. We’ve done some of the repairs. I just haven’t had time to finish it all. Bowman was making progress, but … I had to let him go.”

  “Bertie told me. But time’s running out. Follow up inspection is in less than two weeks.”

  “Can you get me a delay?”

  Layne shook her head. “Sorry, there’s nothing I can do. At least, not about the inspection.” Her arched brows perched higher and waited.

  Ignoring her friend’s baited expression, Sue made a mental list of all the opposition her home had faced in the last two years. Income had always been sporadic. Even more so lately, thanks to some major tax troubles for the Beaumont estate, her biggest private donor. Letters from the bank had become routine. State licensing regulations, county housing codes, food and funding shortages—she and the kids had worked together every time and found a way to solve each problem. She wasn’t about to lose her home now over a couple of broken windows and some leaky plumbing.

  Layne folded her arms along the bedrail and leaned close. “Remember what I said about my brother’s boss in Alaska? He’s here until January and needs the work. It’s the perfect solution for now, Sue. I’m sure he can fix everything. He could get all your repairs done and solve your male dorm counselor problem.”

  “Dorm counselor?” Sue huffed out a laugh. “My care staff has special training in handling troubled kids. Working at Juniper Ranch isn’t like running a crew of men.” Especially big, burly men with girlie tattoos and who knew what else.