Beloved Wolf (14 page)

“Ouch,” River said, knowing the story, but still enjoying it. “Did you have to beat him up?”

“No, but not because the thought hadn't crossed my mind. I mean, I really thought Meredith looked surprised that Graham asked for her number. She was looking at me, really looking at me, and she seemed disappointed that I hadn't asked, that Graham had. But then Graham screwed up, thank God.”

Joe took another drink of coffee and wet his dry lips. “You see, Graham only asked for Meredith's number because that was a sort of natural reflex for him. See a beautiful woman, ask her out. And never mind that he already had a date for that night, with some secretary he'd met on his last trip to Sacramento. Real hot stuff, to hear Graham tell it. Anyway, he went off to meet the secretary, promising to be back in time to meet Meredith in our hotel lobby at nine o'clock.”

“Gives a whole new meaning to the term ‘double-date,' doesn't it?” River asked, knowing it was an old joke.

“Graham was pretty irresponsible in those days,” Joe admitted. “And, you know, I didn't really know him all that well at the time. When our parents died,
he was sent to live with our grandparents, and I was shipped out here, to live with the McGraths, my father's old army buddy. We'd only gotten back in touch with each other a little while earlier, when I asked him to join me in the business.”

River nodded, keeping his opinions to himself. He knew that Joe had been rejected by his mother's parents, who believed his father's drunkenness had caused their daughter's as well as his own death in an automobile accident.

He knew that Joe, who resembled his father physically, had been turned away, while Graham, whose finely boned body and lighter coloring was much like his mother's, had been raised in the lap of luxury—until the money ran out and Graham suddenly remembered he had a brother, a brother who was doing quite well, thank you. River adored Joe, because Joe knew what it was like to be rejected. Joe had told him his story while River still lived at Hopechest Ranch, gaining his trust and forming a bond that would never break.

At the same time, River disliked Graham Colton on general principles, because the man was lazy and sly. Conniving. Opportunistic. Jealous. Not that Joe saw any of it or, if he did, wanted to believe it.

Joe drained his cup of coffee, then continued with his story. “Nine o'clock came and went, and Graham never showed up. Meredith called up to our rooms, to see where he was, and I finally,
finally,
got up the nerve to go after her myself. I met her downstairs after leaving a note for Graham, and the two of us had dinner at the hotel.”

He closed his eyes, smiled. “My God, River, we talked for hours. About how she was going to the university to become a teacher, about how much she loved children. I think I heard every third word, though, to tell you the truth. I just kept getting lost in those big brown eyes of hers, that bright, beautiful smile.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling,” River interjected, pulling a face. “It's those eyes. You can actually see her dreams in those big, brown eyes.”

“By the time Graham showed up, all full of apologies, Meredith and I had already made plans to see each other the next day. God, I was a wreck. A nervous wreck. There I was, twenty-seven years old, and I had absolutely no idea how to go about wooing a woman. But it didn't matter. Meredith had this way of getting me to talk. About myself, my family, my hopes, my dreams. I mean, by the time Graham showed up that first night, we knew so much about each other, liked so much about each other, that it was as if he wasn't even there. He was sort of angry for a while, but he got over it, was best man at our wedding a year later.”

River sat forward, his elbows on his knees. “Ever wonder how it would have worked out if Graham had come back to the hotel on time? Do you think he ever wonders about that?”

Joe shook his head. “I don't think so. Oh, he used to tease me sometimes, say that not only did we break his heart, but that I'd never really been all that successful until Meredith came into my life—and that if he had married her, maybe he'd be the one who
owned Colton Enterprises. But that was just teasing. He never really meant it.”

“No, I suppose not,” River said, then changed the subject. “But you know, Joe, you never really told me how you got Meredith to love you, believe you loved her.”

“I didn't?” Joe frowned, rubbed at the back of his neck. “I guess I never really thought about it. We just…clicked. Oh, not that we didn't have our fights, because we did. But we knew the love was there. We always knew the love was there, in the good times, in the bad times. I'll never forget that, River. I
can't
forget that. And I can't give up.”

 

After Joe left, River cleaned up the beer bottles and coffee cups and headed for the shower, intent on ridding himself of his dirt and dust, clearing his head by sticking it under a stinging spray of hot water.

He had stripped down to his briefs when he noticed. The bag, the white plastic bag from the pharmacy that Sophie had refused to take with her the day he'd bought a half dozen different pregnancy test kits, was gone.

He'd put it on the shelf above the commode, he was sure he had.

He looked in the cabinet under the sink, then in the small linen closet in the bathroom. Nothing.

He searched his entire apartment, all the closets, the kitchen cabinets, the trash can outside, at the bottom of the stairs.

Nothing.

The bag was gone. Sophie had been in the bath
room yesterday morning after throwing him out of his own apartment. Had she seen the bag? Could she have taken the bag?

Why
had she taken the bag?

River squeezed his eyes shut, roughly scrubbed at the back of his neck with one hand. Was this a good thing? Or a bad thing?

If she wasn't pregnant, would that make it easier for him to finally convince her that he loved her?

If she was pregnant, how in hell could he ever get her to believe that he loved her and wanted to marry her?

“Safe sex,” he said, stripping out of his briefs and turning on the shower. “Man, they aren't kidding when they say it's the only smart way.”

S
ophie stomped toward the stables, still wondering if she should make a list of all the reasons River James should be tarred, feathered and run out of town on a rail.

She could start with the fact that he'd left her alone at physical therapy six days ago. Sure, she'd told him to, but did he have to listen to her?

Number two on the list would have to be the way he'd been ignoring her ever since she'd opened her big mouth and said so many nasty, unforgivable things to him. Okay, so some of them might have been true, at least at some point in his life, but they both knew she was only striking out at him, deliberately trying to hurt him.

Three, definitely, was that he wouldn't let her apologize, damn it. He'd gone away Tuesday morning, to
some horse show somewhere, and hadn't come back until Thursday night. She'd dressed for dinner with such care, such anticipation, and he hadn't shown up, hadn't come up to the house a single time since he'd returned from the show.

That was just plain despicable of him! It wasn't as if she wanted to go down to the stables to confront him. He was making her do it. He had to know that she couldn't stand the way things had been left between them and needed to talk to him, that she would finally break down and go after him.

What was four? There had to be a four. There had to be a ten, and a twelve, and a forty-seven. She had
so
many reasons to be angry with him.

And a million reasons to be angry with herself, ashamed of herself—although she wouldn't think about that now, or she'd lose her courage, turn around and go hide in her room with the covers over her head.

“Drake?” she asked, seeing her brother walking toward her along the road leading from the stables. “Have you been to the stables? Is River down there?”

“River?” Drake shook his head. “No, Soph, he's not. I think he's at the house.”

Sophie shook her head. “No, he's not. I just came from there.”

“You did? What do you think of it? It's small, but he planned it sort of like our place—with a two-story central area, and room to put wings on each side later on.”

Sophie made a face and looked at her brother quizzically. “What are you talking about?”

“The house. River's house,” Drake said, then smiled slowly as he realized she didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about. He said so: “You don't have the faintest idea what I'm talking about, do you?”

She shook her head, unable to find her voice.

“I wonder why he didn't— Yeah, well, none of my business, right? Very military, with River doling out information on a need-to-know basis,” Drake said, then proceeded to tell her all about River's purchase of land, the house he was building, the stable that was already completed, the business he planned to start in the next month or so. “And he didn't tell you?”

“No,” Sophie said shortly, blinking back tears. “I—I suppose it was going to be a…surprise. Oh, well, not that it matters. Thanks for the information, Drake. I never did much like surprises.”

She brushed past him, still heading for the stables.

“Where are you going, Soph? I already told you, Riv isn't there,” her brother called after her.

“Riding. I'm going riding,” she said, having made up her mind at exactly that moment. “The therapist said I could if I wanted to, so I'm going to take a ride.”

“You know where you're going?” Drake asked.

“Oh, yeah,” she muttered as she nodded and waved at Drake, all the while still heading for the stables. “I sure do.”

Reason number four: She didn't have to have rea
sons. All she had to do was
think
about River James, and her blood began to boil!

 

Louise sat in her favorite deck chair, but didn't look comfortable. Her feet were both firmly on the brick patio, her knees close together. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair, her knuckles white with strain. Her mouth was pinched, her breathing shallow.

“Louise, relax,” Dr. Wilkes said, taking up her own seat in a folding chair she'd placed in front of her patient. “I'm not going to take you too deep, I promise.”

“I know,” Louise said, sighing, looking at the fountain that sat silent on the patio. “But—but what if the bad me comes out? What if she stays out?”

Martha Wilkes nodded, expecting the question, then chose her words carefully. “Louise, we aren't yet sure yours is a multiple personality disorder. Remember? You fit some of the criteria, but not all of them. That's why I want to hypnotize you, take you back, search your memory. Because this could be amnesia, you know. Some sort of trauma-induced, injury-induced amnesia.”

“Yes, you did say that. But amnesia? Isn't that just in movies and books?”

“I'll agree that it is just as rare as multiple personalities, surely, but it is just as possible. We've done all the usual—years of talk, personality testing, of building trust between us, and we've made progress. But not much, especially as you spent most of those years fighting me even while asking for my help. We're at a dead end, and this is probably the last way
still open to us. We've agreed on that. Now, the only thing left is—do you trust me, Louise?”

Louise wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and tried to smile. “You know I trust you, Martha. All right, let's try it. Turn it on. Since I haven't been brave enough to do it myself in this past week, we might as well try to get some use out of the thing.”

Martha reached down and flicked the switch that turned on the fountain, deliberately keeping her expression blank as Louise flinched at the sight and sound of the cascading water. “All right, Louise, look at the water. How soothing it is. It's so pretty. Isn't it pretty, Louise?”

“Pretty,” Louise agreed, relaxing her death grip on the chair arms, then folding her hands together in her lap.

“Yes. So pretty. So relaxing. You're relaxing, aren't you, Louise? All the cares, all the worries fading. Fading. Leaving you. And the sound. Oh, what a lovely sound. Gentle, like rain on a spring morning, as you lie in bed, smiling, turning over to go back to sleep. Are you sleepy, Louise? Your eyelids are heavy. Why don't you close your eyes, Louise? That's it. Close your eyes, listen to the water. Listen to the water and my voice. There's nothing else, Louise, nothing but the water and my voice.”

Louise's eyes fluttered, then closed.

Dr. Wilkes closed her own eyes for a moment, collecting her own thoughts, calming her own jangled nerves. She and Louise had been working at relaxation the entire week, so that it was now almost amazingly easy to lead her patient where she wanted her
to go. “All right, Louise,” she said after a moment. “We're going to go back now. Back to that other garden, to that other fountain. Do you see them? Do you see the garden? Do you see the fountain?”

Nodding, Louise said quietly, “Yes. Yes, I do see them. I see them both.”

“Are you there? Are you in the garden, Louise? Do you see yourself there?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. What are you doing, Louise? What are you doing in the garden?”

“Singing,” Louise said, a slight smile curving her mouth. “I'm singing. We're both singing.” Her smile widened, even as she kept her eyes closed. “‘Yankee Doodle went to town, riding on a pony…'”

“Oh, that's nice, Louise. I always liked that song. A children's song. Is that who's with you? A child?”

Louise's brow furrowed and she shut her eyelids tighter. “A little girl. Oh, she looks like me,” she said, her voice breaking, her expression one of incredible, aching sadness. “She looks just like me.”

“But she's not you, is she, Louise? She's a little girl. Who is she, Louise? Can you ask her to tell you her name?”

Cocking her head to one side, Louise seemed to be listening to something. “I—I can't hear her. She's still singing. ‘Put a feather in his hat, and called it Macaroni.' Isn't that silly? Who'd call a feather Macaroni? Yes, it is funny. We're both laughing…”

“Is she done now? Louise, is she done singing now?” Dr. Wilkes asked after a few moments, mo
ments in which she watched the beatific smile on her patient's face, her own heart breaking for the woman.

“What's your name, little girl?” Louise asked. “Why do you look like me? Why are we singing?”

Louise was taking charge of the session, asking her own questions. Dr. Wilkes held her breath, knowing that disturbing Louise now could ruin everything. So she waited, watched as Louise listened yet again and nodded.

“That's a pretty name. Aren't you lucky to have such a pretty name. That was my grandmother's name.”

Dr. Wilkes's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Not only the child's name, but the grandmother's? This was progress. She decided it was safe to push Louise just a little harder. “Louise, would you please ask the little girl who she is? Why is she in the garden with you? Why were you two singing together?”

She realized her mistake as soon as the words were out of her mouth, just as Louise's posture became stiff, guarded. Too far, too fast! Why had she pushed? “Louise? Don't ask her, not yet. Just be in the garden, Louise. Sing with the little girl. Enjoy the moment, go back into the moment.”

Louise's eyes opened wide, and Dr. Wilkes could see the fear in their depths. “What happened? Where did the little girl go? I don't want you here. You don't belong here.
I
belong here, not you. Not you!”

“Louise!” Dr. Wilkes said, her voice strong as she tried to regain control of her patient. “It's time to come back, time to leave the garden.”

“Mama said not to talk about you,” Louise con
tinued, lost inside her own mind. “She said you were sick, that we had to obey you, not see you. Forget you. I didn't want to, but it was for the best, wasn't it? It's what
you
wanted. I wanted to tell him, but the time was never right. And now it's too late. You're dead. I have the letter from that place they sent you to. It says so in the letter. They told me you were dead. Don't look like me. I
hate
that you look like me! Talk to me, Patsy.
Patsy, what are you doing in
my
garden!
”

“Louise! Louise!” Dr. Wilkes repeated, turning off the fountain. “That's enough. Listen to me, only to me. You're coming back now…”

Dr. Wilkes went through all the procedures she'd learned, telling Louise to relax, that she would wake now, refreshed, not fearful. Then she brought her out of the trance, greatly relieved when Louise blinked a few times, then opened her eyes once more and asked, “What happened? Did I say anything?”

“No, not much,” Dr. Wilkes said, knowing this wasn't the time for a rehashing of all that had just transpired. “We just visited the garden, that's all. We're going to go slowly, Louise. Take this one step at a time.”

Louise nodded, then stood up, went to the nearby picnic table to pour them each a glass of lemonade.

“What's your grandmother's name, Louise?” Dr. Wilkes asked, employing the same casual tone she would use to inquire about Louise's feelings concerning whether or not they'd have rain by that evening.

Louise continued to pour lemonade into the glasses. “My grandmother's name? It's Sophie. Why?”

“No reason,” Dr. Wilkes said, then waited until Louise realized what she'd said. It didn't take long.

One of the glasses tipped over, lemonade running across the tabletop, dripping onto the bricks below. Louise ignored the spill as she turned to look at the doctor. “Martha? How did I know that? I never knew that before. I know I didn't. I don't remember
anything
about my family.”

Dr. Wilkes shrugged. “Sometimes, after a session, a memory or two will pop up unexpectedly. I just thought I'd give it a shot. It's nothing to concern you. Do you want help cleaning up that mess?”

Louise frowned, turned to look at the spilled lemonade. “Oh, I didn't even realize! I'll go inside and get some paper towels.”

Dr. Wilkes nodded, but remained where she was, trying to sort through everything that had happened.

Sophie. The little girl's name was Sophie. What was her last name?

And Louise had said “him” again. A man, definitely a man, who played some very large role in Louise's life, at some point, at some time. But who was he?

Possibly more important—how had Patsy shown up in the garden? A fully grown Patsy, if Martha had interpreted Louise's statements correctly. Patsy, which was Louise's real name. Patsy, a grown woman, a woman who looked just like Louise,
was
Louise, but who didn't belong in Louise's garden.

Dead? Louise had said Patsy was dead. She'd even hinted that she'd gotten a letter from somewhere—from St. James's?—that
told
her Patsy was dead.
Dead? Cured? Which was it? A notification of death…or a clean bill of health?

Dr. Wilkes rested her chin in her hand. This was going to take some thought. Had Louise seen her other personality in that garden? Or had she seen herself—her
other
self, her
bad
self, the one she'd tried so hard to forget? Was it amnesia? That diagnosis seemed more feasible than one of multiple personality, but Dr. Wilkes couldn't be sure. Not yet.

Whatever it was, whatever Louise had seen, Martha Wilkes knew they were getting closer. Finally, after years of therapy, they were getting closer. She knew one other thing, a promise she'd made to herself and to Louise—she wouldn't stop now, not until they had
all
the answers.

 

River walked from room to room, amazed at the progress the builders had made in the two weeks since he'd been to see the house.

He hadn't wanted to come out here, not while his future was so up in the air, not while Sophie was running hot and cold, so that he didn't know if telling her about the house was the best or the worst thing he could do.