from her, his firm features set.
She endured the minister’s attempt at consolation as he eulogized her sister.
He meant well, but he didn’t know Susan the way she did.
She took her mother’s hand and held tight, forcing away the memories of Friday. Almost every night, she dreamed of the blood. She dreamed of Susan’s battered body. She relived that horrible time over and over in her head.
The pastor finished his eulogy and said a prayer, then reached for Kirk’s hand. “She was a precious soul,” he said softly. “We’ll miss her so much, but I know it’ll be nothing compared to what you’re going through.”
Kirk’s tears looked real, the pain on his face unrehearsed. It reflected Cheyenne’s own loss.
For one unguarded moment, she felt the kinship. As the pastor stepped away, Cheyenne touched Kirk’s arm. “We’re both going to miss her,” she whispered.
He jerked away, turning on her with the swiftness of a striking snake. “How are you going to live with yourself, knowing you killed your own sister?”
The viciousness of his words, his voice, sent a sting of shock through her. “How can you say that? I did everything I could to—”
“Save it for the jury.” He turned his broad back to her and stood.
Cheyenne stood at the foot of the casket, barely heeding the voices that surrounded her as she watched Kirk shaking the hand of the funeral director. He waved and nodded to others, like a gracious party host.
He looked aside and caught her watching him. His expression hardened.
She stepped backward and stumbled.
“Cheyenne? Are you okay?” Uncle Chester caught her by the elbow.
She felt a wash of dizziness. “I’m not sure.”
Mom rushed to her side. “Chey? What’s wrong? Are you sick again?”
“No, I…I’ll be okay.” How could he blame her? She’d done all she could do. She would gladly die herself, if only it would bring Susan back.
But nothing would bring Susan back—and Cheyenne didn’t know how she’d be able to bear it.
Chapter Five
Susan’s face floated into Cheyenne’s vision, interrupting a perfect in-house nap. The dark brown eyes were lit with humor, the classically high cheekbones glowed with health.
“I want to see you again, Chey.” Her soft voice floated through the darkness. “Make sure to come—”
With a cry, Cheyenne plunged from the dream, startled awake by its vividness.
She gasped, tugging the comforter around her shoulders. “Susan!”
The telephone beside the twin-size bed beeped at her.
“Leave me alone.” She turned away from the sound, covering her ears, desperate to catch another glimpse of the dream, to hear that sweet voice again.
Another beep, and the speaker came alive. “Dr. Allison? Hello?” A male voice. Tom, the R.N. on duty.
She turned and snatched up the receiver. “Yes?”
“Dr. Allison, I’m sorry to wake you. Are you okay?”
No. She cleared her throat. “What’s up?”
“We’ve got a patient with chest pain.”
“I’ll be there.” She disconnected and looked at the bedside clock. Six-thirty on Saturday, April 2. Exactly a month since…
How many dreams did that make now, thirty or so?
How much longer could she function this way? She felt the sting of tears as she reached for her stethoscope. “Oh…Susan.”
She quick-stepped to the ER and found Tom waiting for her at the central desk.
“Vitals?” she asked.
“Arlene’s in the room doing the patient assessment.”
Cheyenne selected a T-sheet and placed it on a clipboard on her way to the cardiac room. She stopped in the doorway and caught the faint scent of body odor.
The patient had black hair…olive skin…dark eyes…
Cheyenne’s clipboard clattered to the floor.
Arlene looked up from the monitor. “Doctor, are you okay?”
Stop this! It isn’t Susan.
“Doctor?”
“Yes. Sorry.” Cheyenne picked up the clipboard and looked at the patient again. Not Susan. Of course it wasn’t Susan. Get a grip!
“H-Hello, I’m Dr. Allison.”
The patient watched her closely, and Cheyenne realized Arlene was still staring at her from the other side of the room.
“Arlene, is something wrong?” she asked.
The nurse shook her head slowly.
Cheyenne questioned the patient, did an exam and ordered a drug screen, all the time aware that the nurse continued to watch her a little too closely. It rankled.
While she waited for the test results to come back, Cheyenne sat down at her workstation and struggled with the memories. As she often did, she planned to drive to the cemetery with a bouquet of flowers from the grocery store.
And then she would sleep through the day. After that, she had vacation for two weeks, which she desperately needed.
She checked her mail slot in the E.R. callroom. There were the typical copies of old lab reports and hospital memos, a request for her to stop by her director’s office before she left on vacation.
No problem, she could do that. Jim had a shift today. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had plans to do anything but sleep. With the physician shortage in the past few weeks, she’d worked several extra shifts in March, half of them nights. It kept her occupied, but it also kept her tired, especially combined with the insomnia caused by her frequent nightmares.
Jim walked past her desk. “You ready to talk to me in a few minutes?”
“Let me finish up a patient and I’ll be there.” He was obviously serious about something. Might as well see what it was.
Dane heard the familiar crunch of gravel announce the arrival of a macho engine. Opening the barn door, he saw the big red pickup floating in a cloud of dust, and the mayor of Hideaway behind the steering wheel.
This was not the best possible morning for Austin’s kind of company, but then, Dane couldn’t think of a time when he would welcome this man. Too much ugly history came between them.
With a final glance at Willy and Blaze hovering over the cows in the milking room, Dane strolled from the barn and ambled up the incline toward the house, catching a whiff of dust in his nostrils. They could use a good rain. In fact, he wouldn’t mind if the sky chose this time for a cloudburst.
Austin Barlow lit from his truck like some cowboy hero alighting from his trusty steed. Minus the hat, for once. At forty-two, Austin had a full head of auburn hair with barely a streak of white, while at thirty-eight, Dane knew his silver-blond hair was already more silver than blond. His beard had even more snow in it. His father had been the same way.
“Morning, Austin.” Dane reached out a hand, bracing himself for the man’s exaggerated grip. He didn’t wince when his knuckles squeezed against each other. “Breakfast will be ready in about thirty minutes. It’s our Saturday special—”
“No time for that today, Gideon, we’ve got other things to worry about.” The man loomed a little too close and tall, a sure bet he had conflict on his mind.