A Gift of Time (Tassamara) (2 page)

In some back corner of her mind, she knew she should stop him. This wasn’t who they were, not anymore, but he felt so good. So good, so warm… and so alive.

Through the thick fabric of her sweater, the touch of his hand on her back was lighting a fire, embers of passion sparking into life and flaring up with unforgotten heat. She let herself slide forward, let her hands slide up and over his shoulders, her body press against his, her soft curves touching his solid chest.

She wanted to be closer, to feel her skin against his, but he pulled away first, his lips leaving hers with what felt like reluctance. He let his hand drop from her neck and smooth its way down her back, resting his cheek against hers for a long silent moment.

Natalya took in a deep, shuddering breath, her lips burning, her heart racing. In a shaky whisper, she asked, “What the hell, Colin?”

“Not hell,” he murmured. “Definitely not hell.”

“And not heaven, either.” She pulled away, a flush of annoyance beginning to replace desire. What did he think he was doing? He was supposed to be dead, not kissing her.

“You sure?” His voice held a trace of humor.

“Positive.” She scrambled to her feet and looked down at him.

He looked—like himself. Brown hair, the color of the sandy dirt in the nearby pine scrub forest. Grey eyes, the shade of the 4PM sky on a Florida summer day. Even features, a straight nose, a touch of evening stubble scraping his cheeks, the mouth that fell into a natural smile. Only the faint laugh lines creasing the tops of his cheeks marked his face as any different from the last time she’d stared at it, years ago. He hadn’t changed. And he looked perfectly healthy.

“What was that about?” she snapped at him, anger covering up her hurt. If this was a practical joke, it was the cruelest trick he’d ever played.

He rubbed his chest, glancing around at the night. “I’m not sure.”

Her eyebrows arched. Her fury faded. He sounded authentically confused and the motion of his hand against his chest set off warning bells in the back of her head. “Are you in any pain?”

“No.” He shook his head, but then added, his tone doubtful, “Not now, anyway.”

“Was it your chest?” Natalya asked. “Did it feel like squeezing? Or fullness? Any difficulty breathing?”

“Hmm.” He didn’t answer her, his eyes on the trees and scrub lining the road.

“Were you lightheaded? Did you pass out?” Impatience was making her skin crawl. Maybe he’d had a heart attack. She needed to get him to a hospital.

“Quit being a doctor, Nat.”

She bit back the anger that wanted to spill out. Voice carefully controlled, she said, “I am a doctor, Colin. And as a doctor, I think you need medical attention. Immediate medical attention. We should call an ambulance.”

“I don’t need one,” he answered. “I’m fine.”

“You were lying by the side of the road, Colin. That’s not fine! Not to mention—” She let the sentence break off.

“Not to mention I ought to be dead?”

“Not to mention that,” she agreed, gritting the phrase out through clenched teeth.

“I’m not, though. I’m not.” He sounded thoughtful, more surprised than doubting.

Natalya reached for his hand. His warm fingers clasped hers and she helped him to his feet. He stood too close to her, looking down, their eyes and hands locked together until Natalya turned her head away and stepped back, breaking his grasp.

The overhead lights from his car were still flashing, lending the night the surreal glow she knew from her memories. The air felt right, the temperature cool and slightly humid, but not cold. She could smell the forest, pine trees and earthy decay. Everything fit her long-ago precognition—except that Colin was alive.

“What happened?” she asked him, not letting her voice wobble. “What are you doing here?”

He frowned. “It’s like a dream.”

Confusion, disorientation—those were symptoms. But of what? Drugs and alcohol were obvious, but she ruled them out immediately. She might have barely spoken to him in the past ten years, but he wouldn’t have changed that much. Head injury?

She scanned his head, searching for any sign of damage. No blood, no bruising, but not all dangerous head injuries were visible. She craned her neck trying to see the back of his head, and then brought her gaze back to his face, staring directly into his eyes. His lips parted and he began to step toward her. She put a hand up to stop him and said briskly, “Your pupils are evenly dilated. No sign of concussion.”

“I didn’t hit my head,” he said, pausing in his movement. “At least I don’t think I did.”

Infection? Dehydration? Shock? Stroke? But despite his confusion, he sounded much too coherent and clear-spoken for any of those conditions. She needed to know more.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked.

He rubbed his chest again, and started slowly. “I was driving and—”

“Why here?” Natalya let frustration win and interrupted him. Ten years ago, she’d left Tassamara for medical school and residency. When she moved back, she thought she and Colin had had a tacit agreement to stay out of one another’s spaces. She spent as little time in town as she could get away with. What had he been doing on the road that dead-ended at her house?

He didn’t look at her. “I wasn’t paying attention. I was just driving around. Thinking.”

Natalya pressed her lips together. She wanted to yell at him for being an idiot. They both knew she was destined to find his dead body. Surely he could have at least tried to stay off the roads he knew she’d be driving on? But there was no point in saying anything—they’d argued about the inevitability of her precognition for months a decade ago, back when he refused to quit his job as a sheriff’s deputy.

“But I saw something,” he continued. “I stopped to take a look. I got out of the car and came around to the side… ”

He stopped again.

Natalya waited, trying to control her impatience.

“It’s like a dream. There was a girl.”

Natalya’s eyes widened. She’d forgotten. How could she have forgotten? She whirled around, her gaze searching the darkness, but the child was nowhere to be seen. “That wasn’t a dream. There was a girl. What could she be doing out here?”

“There was another girl, too. Older. But that was… ” He let the words trail off. “No.”

“What are you talking about?” Natalya glanced back at Colin. She should call an ambulance. He should get a complete medical evaluation as soon as possible. He could have had a heart attack, a blocked artery, a mild stroke, an aneurysm—but he was supposed to be dead anyway. If a child was lost, they needed to find her.

“A dream. A weird dream.” He stepped away from her, toward the forest, eyes scanning their surroundings and called out, “Hello? Are you out there? Can you hear me?”

He paused and listened. Natalya listened with him. She could hear the sound of her own breathing, the stirring of wind overhead, a faint distant cry that might have been coyote. But nothing that sounded like a nearby child.

“What could a child be doing here?” she asked.

Colin shook his head, walking away from her toward the trees. “Let’s find her. She couldn’t have gone far.”

“She must have,” Natalya said, pointing out the obvious. Colin glanced her way, his hands working at his belt. “It’s two miles to the nearest house and we’re on the edge of six hundred miles of forest. She had to have come pretty far to wind up here.”

“There is that,” he agreed. He turned on the flashlight he’d been retrieving from his belt, and let its illumination play over the forest outside the light spilling from his car.

Natalya could see the trees within the glare of the overhead light bar, but nothing beyond them. She’d been in the forest at night before. Without a flashlight or a full moon or a campfire, the darkness was impenetrable. Why would a child choose the blackness over the comfort offered by the warmth of the light? It wasn’t a good sign.

She tried to recall what she’d seen of the girl but the sight had been too quick, too unexpected. Still, the girl had been dressed and not in rags. And she’d been thin, but not emaciated, pale and dirty, but not filthy, not with the kind of ground-in dirt that would have turned her light hair dark and her skin grey. Whoever she was, she hadn’t been in the woods for months.

That probably meant she was hungry.

“Grace gave me some leftovers from dinner,” she called to Colin’s back as he headed toward the edge of the pool of light.

“Grace cooked?” Surprise colored his voice but he stayed focused on the forest.

“She did,” Natalya confirmed, a hint of the amusement she felt leaking into her own voice. Grace was many things but a cook was not one of them.

“How was it?” he asked, the skepticism clear.

“Incredibly good. Roast beef, mashed potatoes with lots of butter,” Natalya said with more enthusiasm than honesty. The beef was on the dry side and the rolls were cold. But Colin wasn’t her target audience. She’d skip the mention of the over-done vegetables—she wasn’t likely to entice a child out of the darkness by raving about carrots, even if they were perfect instead of mushy.

“Dessert was fantastic,” she added truthfully, raising her voice so the sound would carry. “She made this strawberry trifle with sponge cake. I think she thought she was feeding an army, though—we’ll be eating it all week. Unless someone else wants some, that is. I’ve got a bowl full of it in my car.”

She paused by the passenger door of her car and waited, listening. Colin had figured out what she was doing. He turned toward her, watching. “Oh, and Christmas cookies.” She raised her voice again, speaking a bit louder. “You remember the kind my mom used to make?”

“The sugar cookies?” Colin asked. “With the colored sugar?”

“Those, and also the ones with the chocolate thumbprint on top. And remember the butter frosting kind? The really sweet ones? Grace made those, too. I’ve got a whole tin of them here.”

Natalya waited.

“I’d be happy to share,” she prompted. “With anyone who was maybe a little hungry and wanted a cookie.”

The rustle in the brush came from behind them, closer to Colin’s car. He swung the light that way, still aiming it low, in time to see the girl crawl out from under a bush.

She stood and Colin let the flashlight follow her up. Natalya took several steps toward her, cataloging injuries. A long scratch down one cheek, visible bruises on one arm, but the dark circles under her eyes were exhaustion, not damage.

As Natalya got closer, the girl flinched, taking a single step backward and glancing over her shoulder as if checking for an escape route.

Natalya froze. In a voice as gentle as she’d use with a wild creature, Natalya said, “What’s your name?”

The girl’s chin rose, but she didn’t answer. Her blue eyes, as they looked from Natalya to Colin and back again, were wary.

Natalya crouched, putting herself closer to eye level with the girl. “I’m Natalya.” She tilted her head toward Colin. “That’s Colin. We’d like to help you.”

The girl didn’t answer. A dozen questions burned in Natalya’s brain, but she settled for asking only the most important. “Are you hurt?”

The girl’s throat moved as she swallowed, but she didn’t speak.

“I’m a doctor,” Natalya continued, voice still gentle. Behind her, she could sense Colin shifting to the side. He stayed a comfortable distance away, but he was working his way, as if casually, between the girl and her path back to the trees. “I can see the scratch on your face and some bruises on your arm. Does anywhere else hurt?”

The girl’s hand rose to touch her face before dropping again. With a hint of defiance, she lifted the edge of the ugly brown dress she wore. Her knees were scraped, her legs scratched and dirty. Blood oozed out along the strap of her cheap plastic sandals.

“Your feet?” Natalya made no move to touch the girl.

The girl nodded.

“I can help with that. Let’s get you some food first and then we’ll get you cleaned up. Okay?” Natalya waited, not standing until the girl tilted her head in a barely perceptible nod.

“If you want to grab the cookies, I can take her to the station.” Colin spoke quietly. He’d managed to move around the girl to the side of his car.

“No way.” Without taking her eyes off the child, Natalya gestured with an open hand toward her own car. The girl began to limp toward her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Colin asked.

“I found you unconscious by the side of the road not ten minutes ago.” Natalya kept her voice soft. “And you think I’m going to let a kid ride in a car you’re driving? Not a chance.”

The girl looked at her sideways as she limped past, her lip curling in what looked like satisfaction. She went straight to the back passenger-side door and tried to open it, then glanced at Natalya. Natalya fumbled in her pocket, then pulled out her keys and pushed the button to unlock the door. The girl opened it and climbed inside.

“Fair point,” Colin said, moving to join Natalya where she stood. “Do you want to take her to the station?”

“We should probably take her to a hospital, get her checked out first,” Natalya said with a frown. The nearest emergency clinic was forty-five minutes away, the hospital even farther.

“She seem that badly hurt?” Colin asked, turning off his flashlight and reattaching it to his belt.

Natalya made an equivocal gesture with her hand. “Did you look at her?”

“Yeah. Scratches, some bruises, nasty blisters.”

“Those bruises aren’t fresh. From the dirt, the scratches, the tangled hair, the dried blood—she didn’t wander away from home two hours ago. She’s been lost for a while.”

“Not feral, though,” Colin said. “She’s no stranger to automatic door locks.”

Natalya nodded in agreement. “She’s thin, but not emaciated. But she could be dehydrated. If not, she’s been drinking untreated water, which in Florida means parasites. Giardia lamblia. Cryptosporidium.”

“Brain-eating amoebas?” Colin asked, an edge of humor in his voice.

“Wrong time of year,” Nat replied. “Those need warm temperatures.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“Not much to do about any of it unless she gets sick, though,” Natalya said. “It might be better to try to find her parents first. You should get to the hospital, though.”