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“Not—not really.” She shrank against the pillows at the sparks that lit Gray’s eyes. “I can’t! It was just shadows and whispers, nothing I could explain. And fear. I felt fear. I had to run.” She shivered, and her voice died away at the cold black terror of it.
“It’s okay. You’re safe.” Gray’s fingers, warm and strong, closed around hers. “Anything else you can remember? Anything at all? A house, flowers? Did you follow a road? Anything?”
Because he looked so sad, she closed her eyes and waited for the black shroud to drown her. When it didn’t, she sighed, felt his thumb rubbing against her wrist in a soothing caress that allowed her to relax and stop fighting the hammer in her head. A picture wavered before her mind.
“There’s a river,” she whispered. “I’m swimming in a river.” Then the picture was gone and she couldn’t remember when or why or how she came to be in that river.
“That might not be a recent memory, Gray,” she heard the doctor whisper. “There’s no way of knowing just where her mind selected that from. She might have been a child.”
“I wasn’t a child,” she insisted, eyes wide open, slightly insulted that they thought they could speak in front of her, as if she were deaf. “I was like I am now.” She frowned. “No, wait a minute.” Something wasn’t right.
“It wasn’t exactly swimming,” she murmured, confused by the impressions she was feeling. “But I was in the water up to my neck. It was cold, but it felt good.”
“Was Cody there? Can you picture Cody?”
She cast about, trying to home in on a picture of a little boy, but nothing came.
“I don’t think so.” Marissa opened her eyes, shrugged. “I can’t remember.”
Gray sighed, the light in his eyes fading. She saw Luc reach out, touch his shoulder.
“Maybe it’s a nightmare, Luc,” her husband offered. “Marissa never swims. She’s afraid of the water. You wouldn’t believe the lectures she’s given me about water safety. When I took Cody fishing last year—”
She felt his hands tighten against hers before he drew them away, the sentence dying on his lips just as the hope flickered out of his eyes.
“Bubbles.” The word popped out of her without any conscious thought.
“What?”
Both men stared at her as if she were insane. Then Gray looked to Luc for direction. But the doctor was intent on his own thoughts.
“Bubbles,” she repeated, trying to understand what had prompted her to say it.
“You were washing.” Luc looked from Gray to Marissa, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Don’t you see? Soap. Bubbles. You were washing in the water.”
“Washing clothes?” she asked doubtfully, searching for the thread of a memory that eluded her.
Luc shook his head.
“Yourself. You said you were up to your neck. You wouldn’t go that deep to wash clothes, but you would if you were taking a bath.”
Gray stared at him, nodded. “So wherever you were staying, it was beside water. And you were confined.” He pointed to the marks on her wrists.
Marissa hadn’t noticed them before, but now the blue-tinged rings held her in a grip of fear. Get away. Get away from here.
The pain was suddenly excruciating and she whimpered as it flooded over her. Just from the corner of her eye she saw Gray glare at Luc, his eyes asking a question. Luc shook his head.
She closed her eyes, almost passing out as a new wave sucked her strength.
“Oh, please help me.” The hand with the IV in it felt too heavy to lift, but she did it anyway, rubbing one finger against her forehead to ease the stabbing pressure.
“What’s wrong, Marissa?”
“My head,” she whispered. “Please give me something to stop my head from hurting.”
“I’ll help you, I promise,” Luc murmured, checking her pupils again. “You can go to sleep soon. But I want you to think for just one minute more.”
The pinpricks of light from his flashlight sent waves of nausea over her body, but Marissa fought back, sucked in deep breaths of air and forced herself to relax.
“Think about what?”
“Your head hurts because it has a cut on it. Do you remember how you got that cut?”
The black curtain was hanging there again, just waiting to drop down and shut out all the questions. In a way, that’s what she wanted—oblivion. But the doctor’s tone was so gentle, so soothing, she tried to answer him.
“I was running,” she whispered. “Running away.”
“From what?”
But the answer wasn’t there. Instead, the black curtain whooshed down and Marissa couldn’t answer.
“Did she faint? What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing. Her brain had enough poking and probing and it shut down. She seems fine. Her vital signs are all excellent. Her scans were clear. She responded to all the stimuli tests we performed. The specialist’s report was faxed in this morning. Everything is normal.”
“What specialist?” Gray growled the words, knowing he should be thanking Luc, not badgering him. But every time he thought of her tied up, trying to get away, his stomach knotted. He slammed his fist against his thigh in frustration.
“I had her airlifted to the city as soon as we found her.” Luc’s cheeks turned red, but he held Gray’s stare. “I had to. I didn’t know how long she’d been out or what we’d find and I wanted to know immediately if there was brain damage.”
Gray winced, but kept his focus on Luc, pinning him.
“And you didn’t phone me until after they’d brought her back, did you?”
“No.”
“What if she’d died?”
Luc shook his head.
“Would God do that? Bring her home to let her die? I don’t think so, buddy. Where’s your faith?” He stepped backward when Gray surged forward, held up one hand. “Okay, okay. But just think about it. You had to concentrate on Cody. There was nothing you could do for Marissa. But I could, and I did.”
“You decided this all on your own?” Fury and indignation fought for supremacy. “Who consented to her care?”
“You did, through me.” Luc winced at his growl. “The three of us, Joshua, Nicole and I, consulted and decided it was for the best. We couldn’t let anything happen to Marissa, Gray. We just couldn’t.”
Gray sighed. What was wrong with him?
“I know. I should be thanking you instead of acting like an outraged—”
“Husband?” Luc grinned. “But that’s what you are. And I don’t blame you.” He picked up Marissa’s slim, scratched hand, grazing the tip of his finger over her injuries. “She put up quite a fight.”
Gray gulped, thrust away the images his brain conjured up. He could hardly bring himself to ask the next question, but he needed to know.
“You’re sure she wasn’t attacked?”
“Physically I believe she might have been,” Luc told him quietly. “But sexually?” He shook his head. “I did a full rape kit. There’s no evidence of that.”
“Thank God.” Gray sagged with relief.
“Indeed. You should be thanking Him for a lot of things, not the least of which is that your family has been restored to you. A little the worse for wear, perhaps, but they are back.”
“For now. But what’s to stop this from happening again? Who abducted them? We still don’t know that, Luc. And someone must have if her hands were tied.” He reached out, fury raging inside as he traced the unmistakable marks of rope burns.
Luc clapped him on the shoulder.
“I know you’ll probably tell me to mind my own business, but I have to say it anyway. This is something you have to take to God. There’s no other person who has the answers you want. You’re going to have to ask Him to explain it to you.” He turned, pulled open the door.
Gray stepped forward, grabbing his arm.
“Where are you going? Don’t you have to watch her for complications?”
“Someone will be monitoring her, Gray. They’ll keep me up to speed. Right now I’ve got rounds to do.” Luc paused a moment, spared a glance for Marissa, then smiled. “Besides, I’m sure you’re the best company for your wife right now. Why don’t you pull up a chair and just sit here for a while? I’m sure Marissa will have a thousand and one questions when she wakens.”
“Then you think she’s going to regain her memory? All of it?” Relief flooded him. One by one he loosened his fisted fingers. “When?”
“That’s not up to me, I’m afraid.” Luc’s rueful face gave away his feelings. “But God has a plan, buddy. A good one. And He knows what He’s doing. Leave it up to Him. Rest in His care.”
Gray didn’t want to wait for anything. He was sick of the uncertainty, sick of waiting for the next disaster, afraid to learn what waited around the next corner. If he could, he’d gather Marissa up in his arms, find Cody and take both of them back to the safety he could provide at the ranch. Unfortunately, hiding wouldn’t help either of them right now. Marissa needed medical care and Cody needed both of them.
“Did you hear me?” Luc asked.
“Yeah, I heard,” was all he could manage to say.
He stared at Marissa’s still form and wondered if they’d ever regain the life they’d shared, if she’d ever look at him the way she once had. He didn’t deserve it, not after what he’d said. But deep inside, away from the cynicism and anger, hope floated in a little round bubble.
Maybe, just maybe he hadn’t lost everything he loved.
“And Gray?”
“Yeah?” It hurt to look at her and know she felt nothing for him. Gray wheeled around, faced the doctor. “What is it?”
“Cody needs to see her. He needs to touch her and know she’s fine. Then I want him to see a psychologist.”
“Where?” How in the world could he nurse an amnesiac wife, protect his little boy and run a ranch?
“Right here, today. Dr. Scallion is here for his weekly appointments. God evidently knew we’d need the guy, so He had him change his scheduled day in town from yesterday to today. And he’s got lots of time to see Cody.”
“You’re the doctor.”
“Yes, I am. Don’t forget it.” Luc’s voice toughened to the gruff but tender tones Gray had heard him use on obstreperous patients. “Don’t tell me God hasn’t protected those two, Gray McGonigle. I doubt if you’ll ever know just how tenderly He cared for them when you couldn’t.”
The door creaked shut behind him.
Gray walked back to the bed, stared at Marissa’s bruised, battered face, and blood-covered hair, scratched arms. He recalled Cody’s tortured look each time he tried to fall asleep. He remembered his own long days, and even longer nights when he’d stuffed his face in his pillow to stop from sobbing his heart out at their loss.
What kind of tender care was that? What kind of God did that?
Ten thousand times he’d asked the question, ten thousand times he’d come up blank. God, or at least what he knew of God, was supposed to be love. He was supposed to tenderly care for those who followed Him. Marissa wasn’t perfect, but she sure didn’t deserve to be kidnapped by some crazy person. He, on the other hand, probably deserved everything God had sent him, and then some. But why not punish him directly?
He directed his arguments heavenward, but there was no response and his frustration and impotence at the situation burgeoned.
Some time later the door creaked open and Cody peeked around the corner. Gray held out a hand, drew him into the room, smiling at the cookie crumbs on Cody’s lips.
“I was just coming to get you. What have you been eating?”
Cody brought the little white box out from behind his back. He pointed to the delicate red script flowing across one corner. “Blessing Bakery—made with love.”
A creation from Miss Winifred. Gray might have guessed. He smiled at the older woman, motioned her to come inside.
“We had breakfast quite a while ago, then Cody saw a nice doctor. After that we went for lunch. I had Furley bring him over a little treat.” Miss Winifred glanced at the bed, smiled, then looked at him. “I don’t think you realize how long you’ve been in here, Gray. It’s almost two o’clock.”
He glanced at his watch, saw that she was right.
“I apologize, Miss Win. I’ve held you up from work. You’ve been wonderful to look after Cody like this, but he can stay with me now. Marissa woke up once when I first came in, but she’s been asleep ever since. They tell me that’s perfectly normal. That her body needs rest.”
“Yes, Luc told me, as well.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, dear?”
“I’m fine.” That was a lie. He was anything but fine. Still, no sense in upsetting Miss Winifred. It wasn’t as if she could do anything about their situation.
He glanced up, caught her brushing away a tear.
“Did Luc tell you she has amnesia? That she can’t remember anything?”
Miss Blessing nodded.
“Yes, he told me. But she’s alive, Gray. And she’s going to get better. You can thank the Lord for that.”
“Can I?” Bitterness ate at his insides. Cody pressed against his knee and Gray lifted him up, held on to the little boy and tried to tamp down his anger. “Can I also thank Him for allowing my wife to get her skull bashed in? Can I thank Him for taking my son’s voice, for giving me months of unending misery when I didn’t know if they were dead or alive? Can I really thank Him for all that, Miss Winifred?”
As soon as it was said, Gray wished he’d kept his mouth shut. But Winifred Blessing wasn’t abashed by his anger. She didn’t even flinch. Instead her quiet voice rolled over him like salve on a burn, soothing, easing away some of the sting as it cooled and refreshed.
“Yes, you can do all of that, son. You can rant and rave about the injustice of life till your cows come home.” Her eyes sparkling, she lifted her head and dared him to debate her on this. “Or you can get down on your knees and give thanks that God in His wonderful plan decided to give you and your family more time together, that He entrusted them to you for a little longer.”
“You don’t understand,” he muttered, lowering his voice as he became aware that Cody had homed in on the tension between them and didn’t understand. “I made God a promise that if He gave me a son and never let him go through the pain I experienced in my childhood, that I’d be the best possible father I could be.”
“And?”
She was staring at him as if he’d lost his marbles. Gray bristled, all his fears and worries massing together into one swell of raw irritation.
