Читать книгу Rain Dance - Rebecca Daniels - Страница 11

It wasn’t him, she could tell that now. He was short and stocky and this man was huge, built like a football player with his enormous shoulders and powerful arms. No, she could relax, it wasn’t him. She could walk a little slower, breathe a little easier.

She had to stop this, had to try to keep her wits about her. She couldn’t afford to become paranoid, imagining him around every corner and behind every bush. This wasn’t the time to let her imagination get the best of her. There was too much riding on her, too much depending on her keeping a calm head and not panicking.

Only, if it wasn’t him, why was he still behind her? Why did he have such a harsh look on his face and why was he getting so close? It wasn’t him and he was the only one she had to be afraid of, the only one she had to fear.

So if this man wasn’t him, why was she so afraid? He was a stranger, and yet he had such cold, black eyes when he looked at her.

“Logan,” he said in a voice that turned her blood to ice.

“No,” she groaned.

It wasn’t him—it wasn’t Logan—but when the hand clamped down hard on her shoulder, she’d realized he’d been sent by him.

“No,” she groaned again. “Tell Logan no. Tell him I won’t go.”

Her voice sounded as small and as weak as it had in the desert, lonely and lost like a cry in the night. Fear rose up from her throat, choking her words, stealing her breath. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t get away….

“Logan. Logan.”

Fear. Panic. And then, the darkness.

“Rain?”

The voice cut through the darkness, reaching through the layers of dreams and fragments of nightmares like a hand extended.

“Rain. Wake up, Rain.”

Suddenly she was warm; the warmth obliterated the cold and the darkness. She forgot about the panic, she forgot about the fear. She didn’t need to be afraid any longer. Like strong arms holding her, she knew she was safe.

“Wake up, Rain.”

She blinked, the light stinging her eyes, until she realized she was staring up into his eyes.

“Sheriff Mountain.”

“I heard you from the corridor,” he said, straightening up and slipping his hands from her shoulders. “Bad dream from the sounds of it.”

It was only then that she realized he’d been touching her, one hand on either of her shoulders.

“Yes,” she croaked, suddenly remembering the dark images and the cold eyes of a stranger. “Yes, a dream—a very bad dream.”

“You okay now?”

“Fine,” she said with a nod, pushing herself up against the pillows. Actually, she was out of breath and her heart hammered wildly in her chest and her hospital gown was drenched with sweat. “I—I’m fine.”

He reached for the pitcher of water beside the bed, pouring her a glass. “Here, drink this. You look like you could use it.”

She took a sip, the water feeling cool and soothing along her scratchy throat. “Thanks.” She pushed her hair back away from her face and took another drink. “Did you need to see me for something?”

“Not really,” he said, picking up the pitcher and refilling her water glass. “I was here on some other business. I was just passing by the room when I heard you.”

“I see,” she murmured, taking another sip of water. It was foolish to be disappointed, foolish to think he’d come just to see her.

“You want to talk about it? The dream, I mean.”

She thought of the awful face of the stranger in her dream and shook her head. “Not really.”

“Would you mind?” he pressed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his tablet. “Maybe there was something significant.”

She glared down at his tablet, hating that it was always just business with him. “In a dream?”

“You never know,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe you can dream about what happened even if you can’t remember it.”

He was right, of course, and she couldn’t let her vanity get in the way of solving the mystery of her past.

“There was someone, a man,” she began. “A big man.”

“Did he look familiar to you? Did you know him?”

“No, he was a stranger.”

“You remember what he looked like? Could you describe him?”

She drew in a shaky breath. “Oh, yes.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have a sketch artist in the county, but I could probably arrange to have one come down from Carson City. It would take a take day or two, though. Think if you jotted down a few notes to yourself you’d be able to remember enough to work with someone?”

That gruff, angry face was one she would have no problem describing. It was etched permanently into her memory—and one thing she actually wouldn’t mind forgetting.

“I think so,” she said, taking another sip of water. “Do you think my dreams could be important?”

“Hard to say,” he hedged. “But, maybe subconsciously you’re able to remember something.” He made a few notations in his tablet. “Do you remember anything else? Anything about what happened in the dream?”

She remembered gasping for air, remembered struggling to get away. “I know I was afraid.”

“Of the man?”

She stared at the glass of water, but she was seeing phantom, elusive images in her mind. “Not at first.” She looked up at him. “I was relieved—at least in the beginning. He wasn’t who I thought he was, wasn’t the man I was afraid of, the man I was running away from, but then…”

“Then?” he prompted her when her words drifted off.

“Oh.” She jumped, her thoughts scrambling. “Then I realized he was after me, too. Chasing me, grabbing me.” She gave her head a shake. “I guess I just dreamed everyone was after me.”

“Have you had this dream before?”

She shook her head, thinking about the dream she’d had of him even before she’d met him. “Not this exact dream.”

“But others like it?”

She nodded. “Several since last night.”

“About being pursued?”

“Yes.”

“Same man?”

“No.”

“Think you could describe any of the others?”

“I don’t know,” she said, thinking of dark images and shadowy features. “I don’t think so.”

She felt stupid and frustrated. Nothing made sense. What seemed so frightening in her dreams seemed almost silly now that she thought about it.

“This man you were afraid of, the man chasing you. Was he Logan?”

She felt a chill run the length of her spine, leaving her feeling unsettled and disturbed.

“No.”

“You called out the name Logan.”

She looked up at him. “I did? Again?”

Joe nodded. “But this man wasn’t Logan?”

Something registered in her brain, something from the dream. “No, he wasn’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he was sent by Logan.” She groaned, pounding a fist into the mattress. “This is crazy. It doesn’t make sense.” She closed her eyes, feeling a dull throb start to radiate from the tender area at the top of her head. “Logan. What’s Logan? Who’s Logan? I don’t even know why I keep saying it. I wish I could remember.” She opened her eyes, sitting up again. “It must mean something if I keep saying it.”

“Maybe,” Joe said.

“Or maybe it’s just the name of a character in a book you once read, or a neighbor, or your third-grade teacher.”

They both stopped and turned toward the door. Cruz reached into the pocket of his white jacket and pulled out a stethoscope as he walked into the room.

“I thought we had agreed you would wait for me at the nurses’ station, Sheriff Mountain,” he said, glowering at Joe.

“And I had every intention of doing that very thing,” Joe insisted, bringing his hands up in surrender. “But your patient was having a nightmare. I heard her calling out from the corridor.” He turned and glanced back at her. “I thought maybe she could use some help.”

“A nightmare,” Cruz said, the annoyance in his voice disappearing in his concern for his patient. Reaching for Rain’s wrist, he felt for her pulse. “Another bad one?”

“About the same as the other,” she confessed.

He looked down at her, running the backs of his fingers across her forehead. “You feel clammy and your heart’s still racing.”

“I dreamed the bogey man was out to get me,” she sighed with a humorless laugh. She was tired of thinking about the dreams, tired of thinking about what was real and what wasn’t, tired of trying to figure out what was important and what was just idle fantasy—and most of all she was tired of not knowing the difference.

“The bogey man, huh?” Cruz repeated dryly. “That doesn’t sound good.” He turned an accusing glance at Joe. “I hope you weren’t badgering her with more questions.”

“She said she dreamed someone was after her,” Joe admitted. “I thought maybe she might have remembered something.”

“Do you think that’s possible, doctor?” she asked hopefully, sitting up again. “Could I remember something in my dreams?”

“What I think,” Cruz said calmly, putting a hand on her shoulder and guiding her back against the pillows, “is that you had a dream.”

“I know, but—”

“A dream,” Cruz said, cutting her off and shooting Joe a dark look before turning back to her again. “And I told you I wanted you to get some rest, not be trying to interpret every little thing that pops out of your subconscious.”

“But it could have been something from my past, couldn’t it?” she insisted.

“It is highly unlikely.”

“But it’s a possibility,” Joe pointed out.

Cruz shot him another dark look. “An unlikely one.” He turned to Rain again. “It was just a dream.” He leaned closer, his voice growing softer. “I know this is scary, and I know you’re anxious to remember but your memory is going to come back when it comes back—no sooner than that.” He straightened back up. “But I do have some good news, though.”