Guardian of the Fountain (8 page)

Keep me updated on everything! I gave you
all my spare cash so now I have to work on Dad to relax his tight fist and give
me some money for a trip to see you.

Love,

Mom

P.s. I had the strangest phone call this
morning. Trey was looking for you. I told him you were on a vacation in the
tropics. He’s a married man. He has no business calling you.

Chrissie
had known her dad would flip his top when he found out she was gone. She
smiled. He was so protective of his little girl. They had gone on hunting trips
together, rebuilt his 1960s Corvette, and been on daddy/daughter dates to the
ice cream shop. She closed her laptop and headed downstairs with her thoughts
lingering on her parents at home.

María
and Arturo sat at the table, drinking coffee. Chrissie entered the kitchen, and
they both stared at her like she was a ghost.

“Good
morning!” Chrissie sang as she loaded up her bowl with porridge. “Arturo, can I
go into town with you this morning? I thought about visiting everyone at the
clinic while you sold your produce. I’m going to ask for my job back.”

Arturo
nodded as he stared up at Chrissie with his mouth gaping open. “Do you think
that is wise?”

“Why
not? I feel fine. Plus, I don’t know what else I’m going to do while I’m here.
Might as well do some good at the clinic.” She shrugged off his doubts. “I’m
bored. It might be good for me.”

“But
you just slept for two days.” María stared at her sternly.

“I
did?” Chrissie took a step back. “I bet that freaked you out. I’ve never heard
of anyone doing that.”

* * *

María
burst into Brant’s office. “Chrissie just left with Arturo to go into the
village.”

Brant
looked up from the papers he was going over. “So … what’s the problem with
that?”

      
“She’s
going to ask for her old job back,” María sputtered out.

      
“Blimey! She
can’t. She just got up from sleeping for two days, and we don’t know how long
the water’s effects last on her.” He had to think quickly.

      
“The clinic
might be her only way to normalcy, but she is far from being healed. I don’t
like it.” María’s brows knitted together in concern.

      
“I can’t
keep an eye on her at the clinic.” Brant stacked up his papers and jammed his
truck keys into his pocket. “I’ll be back.”

      
He couldn’t
get to his truck fast enough and the drive down the mountain was the most
expeditious he’d ever driven down the windy roads. Brant’s pace into town was
slower, but it didn’t slow down the thoughts racing through his head. “What
makes her think she’s well enough to work? She’ll relapse, and I might not be
able to save her. I have to keep her close.”

He
jammed his sleek black car into park. “I need a plan.” He raked his fingers
through his hair as he paced back and forth in the parking lot. He pulled a
pocketknife out of his pocket and flipped it open. He placed the sharp blade on
his palm and sliced it open. Wincing, he closed the knife and put it away.

“There.
Now I have an excuse to go into the clinic,” he whispered to himself. The
secrecy was becoming more and more difficult.

Chapter
10

Chrissie
walked into the clinic just as they were opening their doors. Dr. Wilson sat at
the simple desk in the corner reading over charts, but he saw Chrissie enter.

“Chrissie.
What a pleasant surprise.” Dr. Wilson took off his bifocals. “Come sit and stay
awhile.”

“I
want to come back to work. I don’t want to sound cocky, but I was your best
nurse.”

“Wow.
You don’t waste any time.” He put down his clipboard. “I’m not sure María would
like that. You are very ill. In fact, I expected you to still be hooked up to
an IV line.”

“No,
I pulled that out the moment I woke up. I feel fine. Better than new, in fact.
Please, Dr. Wilson. What better place for me to work than in a health clinic
under your fine medical supervision? Just the mornings. Please?” She wanted to
feel productive. After a few months of lying around, she felt completely
useless.

“Oh,
all right.” Dr. Wilson didn’t put up much of a fight. “But, and this is a huge
but, if you feel the slightest bit ill, don’t even show up. Stay home.
Understood?”

“Perfect!”
Chrissie exclaimed. “I like it when I get my way.”

The
clinic doors opened, and Brant Winston sauntered in, looking devilishly
handsome to Chrissie. Why did he have to be everything a woman would desire? It
only made trying not to fall for him very inconvenient.

Chrissie’s
heart leaped gleefully in her chest at the mere sight of Brant. Such an odd
reaction to a man she’d only met once before.

      
“Mr.
Winston, what brings you in today?” Dr. Wilson greeted as he nervously looked
back and forth between Brant and Chrissie.

Chrissie’s
gaze went directly to the injured hand Brant was holding. She pointed to the
bloody towel. “Here’s my chance to prove myself useful.” She tossed her
cardigan to a chair behind the desk. “I see you’re injured, Mr. Winston. Do you
mind if I take a look at that?”

“I gave
myself a beastly cut fixing my car.” Brant smiled sheepishly.

“Look,
Chrissie, your first patient of the morning. You still remember how to do
stitches, right?” Dr. Wilson grinned.

“I
sure do!” Chrissie was eager to get back to doing something productive, even though
the thought of being so close to Brant Winston made her a bit anxious. Chrissie
had learned some doctor skills, since they were so short staffed. “Come with me,
Mr. Winston. I’ll get you stitched up in a jiffy.” She led Brant to the first
examination room down the hall to the right. He sat down on the examination
table as Chrissie began pulling out the supplies needed for the task.

“So
you’re a nurse?” Brant smiled. “Chrysanthemum Love Stevens is a nurse, she
dances the tango . . . and what other bits ’n bobs do you have up your sleeve?”
Brant unwrapped the white towel.

      
“I can’t
think of anything right now, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” Chrissie
gloved her hands and cleaned the cut before she started the process of numbing
it.

Brant
didn’t even flinch, his gaze never leaving Chrissie’s face.
His stare is so unnerving
.

“Looks
like a super-straight cut. Like a knife lacerated the palm of your hand open.”
She wiped the wound with a moistened gauze pad.

“I
think it was a corner of the radiator.”

“You
must have cleaned it before you came. I can’t find any grease or dirt in it
anywhere.” She examined his palm more closely.

“I
have a really clean radiator?” Brant smiled impishly.

Chrissie
felt that he was lying, but decided not to push for details. She began
stitching his palm shut. The hemostat and needle felt at home in her hand as
she began tugging the skin closed.

“You
could read my palm while you’re at it.”

“I
see six stitches in your future.”

“Anything
else? Wealth? A bit of romance?”

“You
are destined to be a lonely pauper. I’m sorry. Stinks to be you.” Chrissie
shrugged. She continued to loop the thread around and tie it in a knot to move
on to the next stitch.

“Cheeky.”
Brant’s smile implied that he was thinking much more than what he said.

“Next
time, tell the truth and you might just get a better fortune.”

“Can
I take you out for a bite to eat? Of course, as payment for doing such a
wonderful job.” His dazzling smile worked its magic on her. “I know this job is
volunteer, and I would hate to think I inconvenienced you in any way.”

Dang, he’s good. If he keeps on this track,
I might do anything he asks. That’s trouble. He’s trouble. Keep your cool,
Chrissie.

Chrissie
finished the last stitch. “I was right—six stitches.” She wrapped his
hand in a white bandage before adding, “I have to ask Arturo first—he’s
my ride home.”

“I’ll
go ask Arturo for you and pick you up at noon. We can go down to the café.”

 
How could she ever say no? Not that she
wanted to. The offer of food in the company of a good-looking man would work on
any woman’s self-control. “I didn’t even say yes. How do I know you aren’t some
villain out to get me?” Chrissie teased. Nothing in Brant’s presence made
Chrissie uncomfortable in the least. In fact, she felt safer being around him
than she ever did with Trey.

“You
shall see what I have in store for you.” He laughed with his best villain
impression.

“I’m
terrified. I can’t wait.” Chrissie escorted Brant to the front door. “See you
at noon.”

After
Brant left, Chrissie turned to see Dr. Wilson smiling at her. “Noon, eh?” He smirked.

“It’s
just lunch. Who’s next?” Chrissie flipped through the charts on the desk.

“Looking
for dinner, too?” Dr. Wilson chuckled.

“Only
if Brant Winston is buying.” Chrissie felt heat rise from her toes to the top
of her head. How could she let this man cause such a huge physical reaction? The
last thing she needed in her life right now was a relationship.

“I’m
sure we’ll have a few elderly men stopping by this afternoon.” Dr. Wilson
pulled up a chart to cover his face as he laughed.

“Give
me a break. I’ve had a dry spell. I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Chapter
11

Chrissie
walked out of the clinic at exactly eleven fifty-eight. Brant’s heart flipped
when he saw her delightful face. Prompt as usual. Brant smiled. Chrissie might not
remember some very important things, but habits are hard to break.

“Ready
to go?” Brant asked. He admired the way her hair was illuminated by the
sunshine, and her eyes sparkled with happiness. It reminded him of the old
Chrissie, when she was well.

“Yes,
I’m starving!”

“Will
you make it across the street?” Brant jabbed her with his elbow. She treated
everything like it was an adventure, even if it was just going to lunch.

“It
might be touch and go.” Chrissie stopped in her tracks and held her hand to her
chest as she sniffed in the air.

“What’s
wrong?” He began looking her over head to toe. She might be ill.

“Do I
smell churros?” She picked up her pace across the street, with Brant lagging
behind her.

“Oh,
I thought it was something serious.” Brant chuckled as he trotted behind her to
keep up.

The
café was painted in lime green and orange. When the door opened, a cool draft
of air wafted out with that smell of Pine-Sol and baked goods. Although the
building was old and it had various patches holding it together, it looked like
it would last another fifty years, from the layers upon layers of plaster. A
person had to be very selective in the establishments they ate at or they might
go home with a parasite as a parting gift. Large windows overlooked the patio,
and a middle-aged woman on a small step stool washed them, scrubbing them down
with crumpled-up newspaper.

“Can
we sit out on the patio?” Chrissie looked out the large café windows.

He
loved the way her nose wrinkled when she asked a question. “Anything you want.”
He meant it, too. He would give her anything she wanted at the drop of a hat.
All she had to do was say it.

“You
are very accommodating. Your mother taught you well.” Chrissie led the way out
to the patio with a swish of her skirt and a hint of a smile spreading across
her pretty face.

      
He hadn’t
seen her playful manner since before she had gotten sick. It was like Chrissie
was back—minus her memory.

“Yes,
she did.” He pulled out a white iron chair for Chrissie to sit on and took the
other chair to face her. They both picked up the simple paper menus. The memory
of his mother filled his chest with sadness. He didn’t want to forget her. She
had died such a long time ago, he worried he might.

      
“I don’t
even have to look at the menu. I must have eaten here at least once a week while
I worked at the clinic. It’s my favorite place to eat.” Chrissie put the menu
down. “I’m having cachitos de jamón and a side of tostones.”

“No
churros?” Brant arched an eyebrow. He knew she loved churros. Any baked
confection, he knew she would love. He didn’t think amnesia could erase her
love of what she called “carby goodness.”

“I
haven’t gotten to dessert yet. I must have churros, and I insist on paying. I
might make you poor by the way I eat,” Chrissie slapped her menu shut.

“I
highly doubt it.” Brant raised a brow. “We’re on a date.
I
insist.”

“So
you’re rich, eh?” Chrissie blushed the second the comment escaped her lips.
“Sorry. That was rude.” She shrank in her chair a bit.

Brant
chuckled at the way she said whatever she thought. “No, it wasn’t rude. How
much can a tiny thing like you eat?”

“You’d
be surprised. Lately, Arturo is no match for me, if that’s any indication.”

“Don’t
worry about the money. I invited you.” Brant closed his menu and set it on top
of Chrissie’s. He moved his sunglasses to the top of his head and leaned
forward on his elbows to inch closer.

“I
gave you fair warning.” She smiled nervously.

“Really?
If a gust of wind came up, I would have to put rocks in your pockets to keep
you from blowing away.” Brant leaned back in his chair, turned his face up to
the sun, and replaced his sunglasses.

The
sole waitress of the café came and took their order. While they waited for
their food, storm clouds began to roll in, and a slight breeze picked up. The
air smelled damp.

“Where
are those rocks to stuff in her pockets?” he mused to himself.

“So
much for picking a sunny spot to enjoy lunch. It looks like it might rain.”
Chrissie looked up at the sky and watched the clouds thicken.

“Maybe.”
Brant looked up at the clouds too. “It might just blow over, though. We have
cloud cover for a little bit, anyway.” He hoped for cloud cover so his precious
Chrissie wouldn’t overheat.

The
waitress brought out their food, setting their respective plates before
Chrissie and Brant. For the first time, he thought the waitress was acting a
little nervous. The colas rattled slightly on her tray. Her blue eyes kept on
looking to the street. The water clinked against the cola glasses as she set
them down. As soon as she had delivered all the food, she promptly retreated
back into the café and took a seat behind the counter inside.

“Okay,
that’s weird,” Chrissie said between bits of cachito.

“Margarita
did seem a little off. But I was too busy watching you chow down on your food.”
Brant stared at Chrissie. “Is your body completely hollow?” He waited for her
to slow down, but she never did. She was right—she could eat a lot. More
than her pre-sickness self. Brant took mental note of Chrissie’s new eating
habits, something he might need to inform Dr. Wilson about.
 
From the start, Chrissie had been doing
everything differently than what he knew of with Delphne Star poisoning.

“Well,
Margarita needs a Xanax and a trip to the beauty shop.” Chrissie’s hand flew up
to her mouth. “Ugh. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that either. I don’t mean to
be so judgmental. It’s just what Marla used to call it a ‘screw-it-yourself’
bleach job … the fried yellowy-orange strands do not compliment her pretty
olive skin.”

“That’s
the problem with the girls in the village. They think they need to look like
the white girls in the States. The opposite is true—they should be
embracing their native beauty.” Brant glanced back at Margarita. “She works in
her parents’ café to earn money to move to the city. It’s far better here, but
the grass is always greener on the other side.” He continued to eat his meal
more slowly than Chrissie. He didn’t want to rush his time with her.

“I
suppose,” Chrissie said before she sipped her cola.

“I’ve
never seen a girl, or anyone for that matter, eat like you,” Brant said as he
watched her. “You eat like this might be your last meal.”

“I’m
sorry. I must look like a pig.” A pink blush filled Chrissie’s cheeks. “I’m
just so hungry all of a sudden.”

This has to be a good sign. The water must
be working on her body, and it’s trying to catch up.

“No,
you’re not sloppy. You just don’t waste any time getting down to business,”
Brant observed. “Most girls don’t eat very much on lunch dates.”

 
“I’m making up for lost time. I’m
starving every waking moment, and sleep like a rock now that I’m back in
Venezuela.” Chrissie popped the last bit of churro in her mouth. Brant had only
eaten half of his lunch so far.

She’s eaten double what I have
.

“I
don’t put much stock in what other girls do, anyway. I think they’re silly.
What you see is what you get with me.” She waved away the worries.

“I
know. I like that.” Brant stared into Chrissie’s eyes. She momentarily slowed
her chewing as she stared back. Their gaze was broken as her eyes darted away
from his to something behind his shoulder.

A
black Escalade with black-tinted windows came screaming around the corner.
Everyone, especially Brant, knew these cars belonged to the cartel. But his
streets were supposed to be protected from them. Instinctively, Brant tipped
over the table and threw Chrissie to the ground behind it.
 

“Lay
flat!” he ordered. No one was going to hurt Chrissie.

“What
the heck?” Her eyes looked confused. “I was still eating!”

The Escalade
screeched to a stop, and a handgun pointed out the window, barking out bullets.
Brant stood up from behind the table and walked calmly to the car as bullets
whizzed by him.

“Who
does he think he is? Superman?” he heard Chrissie say from behind the table.

Brant’s
anger flared to levels he had never felt before, but then again he had never
had anyone threaten the love of his life.

 
He reached into the car window, pulling
the very surprised assailant out by the neck. The man didn’t look so tough in
his black suit now. He wanted to crush the bloke’s windpipe. With his free hand,
he grabbed the gun and threw it across the street, making a three-point basket
into the Dumpster. He felt his teeth gritting inside his head. His grip on the
man tightened and tightened with his anger levels. The man’s eyes bulged as he
gasped for breath.

Brant
held the shooter by his neck a foot off the ground to look him directly in the
eye. “You let your boss know he has been warned. I will not back down because
of intimidation. I will be looking for him.” Brant dropped the red-faced
shooter. “The village is to remain untouched.”

The
man fumbled with the door handle and escaped back into the Escalade. The tires
peeled out as it sped away, spitting loose gravel.

All
of Brant’s muscles balled into tension, ready to attack at a moment’s notice.
His hands clamped into fists so tight that his knuckles were turning white.

No one will come into my city and hurt my
people or my Chrissie
. He wanted to punch something and watch
it crumble beneath him. His hand shook with fury. The anger surging through his
body could easily kill a drug cartel member without a bit of remorse. This was
his territory.

* * *

From
her spot lying on the cement, Chrissie spied two large bloodstains seeping
through his crisp white button-up shirt.

 
“He’s been shot,” she whispered. Her
nursing instincts kicked in. She jumped up from the ground and ran to Brant.
Pushing him to the shade of the building in the alley, she began tearing off
his shirt, buttons flying like the bullets moments ago.

“Hey,
what are you doing?” Brant exclaimed as he held his arms out in surrender.

“You’ve
been shot. We have to stop the bleeding.” Chrissie had completely taken off his
shirt.

“If I’d
known it was this easy to get you to rip off my clothes . . .” Brant smiled.
“Help, someone! Please help. This beautiful woman is ripping off all my clothes.”
He feigned being victimized. “Your hands are cold.” He laughed.

He is enjoying his clothes being ripped
off way too much
.

“Shut
up! There’s an entry wound up here in your left shoulder, and one in the lower
right quadrant of your abdomen.” As soon as she said “abdomen” the bloody hole
sealed shut to a puffy pink line. The line soon faded before her eyes.
 
“You were shot twice. Now they’re gone!
They just vanished.” Chrissie looked down at her bloody hands in disbelief.

“You
weren’t supposed to see that.” Brant picked up his white shirt off the ground
and pulled it back on. “I drank the water.”