That was just what Peter had been hoping to hear since first meeting the young man several weeks before.
“And you’ve made arrangements for afterward?”
“Yes, sir.” Grady nodded. “I’ll be working twelve-hour days just as prescribed so that my endorphins flow and fill my body with positive energy. I have always understood that hard work produces positive results.”
“Prosecutor Silverman tells me you’ve moved out here to our little community.”
“Yes, sir,” Grady said. He smiled as he described his new apartment—in the complex Peter and James Silverman had contracted to have built just eight months before. It was already at capacity.
“I’ve given up my old job, as well.”
This was something Peter already knew. He and James discussed each applicant in depth before ever letting things progress this far.
“I was a high school teacher and football coach. Pay wasn’t much and the levels of testosterone-induced aggression couldn’t have been higher. Instead, I’m going to be working in the cannery here. And doing some things with Prosecutor Silverman, as well.”
While James put in many hours at Sterling Silver, he still worked for the D.A.’s office. His contacts there were too important to give up.
Moving closer to the door he’d indicated as the beginning point of the ritual, Peter paused. “And your outside activities?”
There was much to sacrifice in order to be part of the Sterling Silver community.
“I’m fully content to find my recreation right here,” Grady said. “I know the more I move among nonmembers, the faster I regain negative energy, which would require more work from you. I intend to do all I can to protect your time, sir. You need to be helping outsiders enter our community, not wasting time on those of us who’ve already been cleansed.”
Hand on the door, Peter stopped. “You’ll still need cleansing, son. It’s part of life. Evil forces are constantly trying to win us back.”
“I know, Dr. Sterling. But I’m going to strive every day of my life to someday be like you.”
“Like me?”
“You don’t need cleansing.”
“I don’t get the benefits of cleansing, Grady,” Peter said, injecting every bit of pain he’d ever felt into that statement. “There’s no one else to perform the procedures. And even if there were, it takes two full days. Think of the number of people I’d miss helping every time I participated.”
“I know, sir.” Grady bowed his head. “I have to tell you how thankful I am for your willingness to do this. We all owe our lives to you.”
Peter hoped so. He needed to make that much of a difference. He resisted the urge to hug Grady. Not everyone appreciated the power of touch.
“You have no illnesses?”
“None.”
“Remember, after today you will never seek conventional medicine.” Peter had to control the natural antagonism he felt at that moment. “Physicians take ownership of patients’ bodies and interfere with energy forces. They prescribe medicines and treatments that pollute the body with negative influences, which makes my work here that much more difficult as I must then rid you of those influences.”
“I understand.”
“Okay, son.” Peter finally opened the door, allowing Grady a brief glimpse of the darkened room. “Wait,” he said, just as Grady was about to step through the doorway. “You haven’t eaten today, have you?”
“No, sir.”
“There will be no food for the next forty-eight hours.”
“Fasting is good for the soul, sir.”
With a nod, Peter moved aside, inviting Grady to enter the room. There was nothing but dark walls, a medical examining table and a dialysis machine. On the far side was a blackened door, through which Peter would come and go.
For the next two days, Grady was going to get the benefit not only of physical cleansing, but of thought reformation, making it easier for him to follow the mandates. He’d be reminded of the loyalty he’d promised, the contract he’d signed, stating that he had not been forced into anything against his will, that he was of sound mind and body and certain that he wanted the benefits of membership in Sterling Silver. During the two-day session it would be repeatedly stressed that he’d agreed to pay Sterling Silver two hundred thousand dollars, collectible throughout his lifetime, if he were to break any of the rules either then stated or in the future agreed upon.
Those rules would be repeated to him over the next hours until they became virtually hypnotic suggestions, orders that he simply followed while living life with the appearance of complete normalcy. He would never eat excessively—a benefit that the majority of the worldly population spent billions of dollars a year trying to obtain. There would be no consumption of alcohol or tobacco—both negative substances that weakened the body.
And henceforth, Grady—like all men at Sterling Silver—must engage in sexual activity twice a week—no more, no less—as scientific studies had proven that biweekly orgasm would build disease-fighting energies, but that any more activity would begin to diminish them. Grady had agreed that, if at any time he was not in a relationship, he would take care of that last requirement himself.
There was a lot to do during the next two days. Among other things, Peter was going to remove and replace Grady’s energy, something that could only be done in this sterile atmosphere, devoid of outside influence.
“I’m going to leave you now to disrobe. Put all your clothes, including underthings, in the drawer by the door.”
“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Dr. Sterling said. “And remember, what you’re about to do is right and good. Those who belong to Sterling Silver are above the rest of the world. Due to our diminished negative energies, our superiority is a given. We are ‘as angels.’”
James Silverman was waiting for Peter out in the corridor. He didn’t speak. After all their time together, he didn’t need to. His raised brow was enough.
Peter didn’t speak, either. He merely nodded.
And both men smiled.
BETH MIGHT NOT KNOW where she’d come from, but she didn’t have to be out in the world to know that Shelter Valley was exactly the type of place she wanted to be. Which was why, twice a week when she’d finished cleaning houses, she spent a couple of hours in the library at Montford University, while the Willis sisters looked after Ryan.
Until she knew what she was running from, she wouldn’t know if she could stop running.
And until she knew what she was running from, she couldn’t tell anyone she wasn’t free. She couldn’t take the chance that someone—especially the sheriff, who was starting to play a rather prominent part in her make-believe life—might put out feelers. Not until she had an idea where they might lead.
She had no idea if Greg’s finding out who she was, where she came from, would put her and Ryan, or even him, in danger. No idea what kind of pain and hardship were waiting for her back where she’d come from. Indications were pretty clear that she’d been on the run from something serious—filling her with the vital need to hide. From everyone.
And yet she wanted so badly to tell him the truth. To tell him she wasn’t choosing not to share information about herself, but that she simply didn’t know the answers to his questions. Or her own…
But if she told him she had amnesia, he’d need to find out who she was. It would be his duty as a lawman to determine whether or not she was wanted somewhere, by someone. It was his nature as Greg Richards, fix-it man, to take matters into his own hands.
Unless she asked him not to. Could she trust him that much? Could she expect him to take a chance on her, harboring her, when she might, indeed, be a criminal? Could she be certain he’d even do it if she asked?
Could she stay in this town, putting them all in danger, if it turned out she was on the run from a maniac?
Beth didn’t know. And she hated that.
Whether it was right or wrong, she was on her own and she had no idea where else to look for
information. With days’ and days’ worth of research, she’d exhausted every Internet source she could think of.
The hours spent searching had netted her one thing. The knowledge that on or about the day she and Ryan had awakened in that motel room, there had not been one single article in the United States about a missing child fitting Ryan’s description, a missing woman fitting hers, or an accident involving victims of either description.
She’d also discovered she needed glasses. After all the reading, her eyes were killing her.
SHE’D DONE NOTHING to warrant a background check.
Watching Beth’s cute butt in the saddle in front of him, Greg gave himself a firm talking-to. It was a continuation of the conversation he’d had while shaving that morning. Okay, so the woman he was falling in love with refused to give him any personal information. That was not a good reason to invade her privacy.
So what if she was the first woman he’d felt instinctively able to trust since Shelby? A fact made more incredible by the secrets she kept…
No matter that she was everything he’d always dreamed of in a mate. She loved Shelter Valley as much as he did. Clung to the little town in a way he’d need his woman to cling after Shelby’s defection. She had an adorable little boy who needed a father almost as badly as he needed a son.
He knew it hadn’t been long enough, but he wanted to marry her. He’d always been a man who knew what he wanted.
Other than Shelby, he’d always been a man who got it, as well.
“Hey!” he called out to her, as her horse cantered away in front of him. If he couldn’t get her to talk about her past, maybe he could interest her in the future. “I thought we were going for a relaxing ride,” he said, catching up.
“She wanted to run,” Beth said, nodding at her mare. “I didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”
“You have a thwarted compulsion to run now and then?” he asked, finding her comment far too ironic, considering the thoughts he’d just been having.
“None whatsoever. I honestly think I’d be happy never to leave Shelter Valley.”
“That’s because you’ve never tried to get all your Christmas shopping done here,” he said. “I’m a firm believer in malls for that.”
“Okay,” she amended with a sideways grin. “I’ll amend my remark. I’d be happy never to leave Shelter Valley except to go to a mall in Phoenix once a year.”
“Ryan was okay when you left him at Little Spirits?” he asked, enjoying the quiet of the desert trail they were riding. Beth had had a cancellation that morning and she’d found herself with a free day.
Beth nodded, her bobbing ponytail making her look like a teenager. “It’s Wednesday, which means Bethany Parsons was there playing with Katie.”
“Ryan’s two favorite women in the world.”
“Next to his mother, you mean.” She stuck out her tongue at him.
He’d seen cowboys grab women off horses in movies. He’d never had the desire to do it himself.
Until now.
“So, you’d be happy to stay in Shelter Valley. What do you see yourself doing here? Expanding the cleaning business?”
“That, and maybe other things,” she said slowly, as though she might actually be thinking about confiding in him. “It’s as though, for the first time in my life, I’m exploring my options. Finding out what I want to do when I grow up.”
“You were pressured as a kid?” The question simply emerged. Followed by a silent expletive. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to push her.
In case he pushed her right out his door.
“Yes,” she said, staring out at the desert in front of them. “It feels like I’ve been pressured my whole life to reach my potential.” She said the words in an ironic tone. “Funny thing is, I’m not sure I ever knew what I was reaching for. What is potential, anyway?”
Those blue eyes turned on him and Greg wondered if this was how a prisoner felt when he was being cuffed. Like his fate was sealed, somehow. Or his life had been irrevocably changed.
“I guess I’ve never really thought about it,” he said. The October sun was warm without being too hot, shining down from a typically blue Arizona sky that was a daily gift, no matter how commonplace. “Maybe it’s a combination of making the most of your physical and mental talents and yet doing what you want to do.”
“If that’s it, I don’t think I’ve reached it.” Her mare—or more accurately Burt’s mare—broke into a trot, and Beth rode the saddle expertly, her jeans-clad lower body lithe and sexy.
“Take this, for instance,” she said, grinning back at him. “I love to ride, but I know I haven’t done it as much as I’d like.”
“You’ve done it enough to get damn good at it.”
“I guess.” Beth’s gaze grew distant.
“You think you’ll ever get married again?” He couldn’t think of a quicker way to get her back from whatever past she was hiding from him.
Or maybe he just had marriage on the brain.
“I hope so,” she said. And then wouldn’t look at him.
Greg hoped so, too.
“I sure don’t want to live the rest of my life alone.”
She had no idea how damn glad he was to hear that.
“How about you?” Her body was tall and straight—a good rider’s posture—but stiffer than it had been. She was no longer sending him sidelong glances.
“I don’t want to live the rest of my life alone, either.”
The response garnered him a nod.
“You think you’ll ever want more children?” he asked.
“If everything else was in place, I know I would.”
So how could he help her get things in place?
Of course, what was to say that even if he did help her, he was the one she’d want to be with? He knew so little about her. Had so little to go on, so little basis upon which to judge.
The thought did nothing to make his day.
“CAN I TALK TO YOU?” Beth asked as they left Burt’s small ranch and rode farther afield.
“Always.”
Greg turned off onto a dirt path leading back to an old abandoned cabin. “Used to be an illegal distillery back here,” he said by way of explanation. “Caught on fire when I was kid. My dad was in on the call.”
“You don’t talk about him much.” Beth’s voice softened.
Greg wondered if her eyes had done the same. Wished for a brief second that he could just drown in them and get it all over with.
“I guess it’s still hard to think about it without the rage.”
“Because he was paralyzed?”
“It wasn’t just that,” he said. Even Bonnie didn’t talk about their dad much. Those years had been so heartbreaking. “He lost his short-term memory, as well,” he told Beth, the words sticking in his throat. He gave her a quick glance. Her eyes had softened just like he’d imagined they would. And they were encouraging him to tell her this. Promising in some unspoken way to share his pain.
It was an unfamiliar concept. Greg wasn’t usually the recipient of anyone else’s help. He didn’t usually need—or want—help. “All that intelligence,” he murmured. He pulled the horse to a stop in a clearing in front of the old wooden structure, or what was left of it. “He could give you dissertations on profit and loss, on market shares and the benefits of going public as opposed to staying privately owned. The information was all there. He just couldn’t put it together. The man was a genius and spent the last ten years of his life sounding like a blithering idiot.”
“Did he know?”
“What?” He looked back at her.
“Did he know he wasn’t making sense?”
Greg shook his head, wishing he’d never brought this up. “It wasn’t that he didn’t make sense in a single moment. It was when you pieced the moments together that clarity disappeared. He’d say the same thing over and over and over again. Or string two completely unrelated thoughts together. And no, he didn’t know.”
Beth’s words shocked him. “How do you figure?”
“If he didn’t know, Greg, he didn’t suffer. He died feeling just as intelligent as he’d always been. And what are we, after all, except products of our own reality?”
For the first time in ten years, Greg felt a ray of real peace. He still hurt for himself and Bonnie—and the hundreds of other people who’d lost a great man too soon. But Beth was right. He was incredibly thankful that his father hadn’t suffered his own loss. He’d just never thought of that before.
The woman was definitely a miracle.
“What was it you wanted to tell me?”
Her face twisted with what looked almost like a grimace of pain. “Speaking of our own realities…”
She didn’t go on. As though she couldn’t rather than that she didn’t want to. Greg had a bad premonition.
“Yeah?” he said softly, bracing himself.
“I can’t let you form a picture of me that isn’t real.”
“You’re going to tell me what kind of picture we’re talking about?”
“One in which a man and a woman live outside the present.”
“As in planning a future?”
“Maybe.”
“Any guesses as to who this man and woman might be?” he asked. But of course he already knew.
“You and me.”
CHAPTER TEN
THE REINS WERE STICKY between her fingers. Old leather and sweat. Beth loosened up on them.
Why was it so hard to do what was right? To know what was right?
“I like you.” The words came out too loud, seeming to echo over all the shades of brown and green that were the desert, to the huge mountain in the distance and back again.
Greg didn’t say anything. Just rode slowly and silently beside her.
“A lot,” she added.
The trail narrowed, curved through a thicket of sagebrush. Greg let Beth go first. Pulling to the left on the reins, she nudged her horse—and then had to forcibly lighten up on the leather straps again.
The Sheriff of Shelter Valley Page 11