Dream 3 - Finding the Dream (40 page)

Her shoulder—she'd dislocated it, he realized as he probed. It would be screamingly painful when she woke. Dear God, he wanted her to open her eyes. His breath came fast and harsh as he continued to check her. No breaks—a lot of bruises and some bad cuts and scrapes, but nothing was broken.

He agonized over her back and neck, knew he had to leave her to call for an ambulance. And the thought of leaving her alone there on that ledge, knowing that if she woke it would be to terror and pain, ripped him.

"It's going to be all right." He took her hand, squeezed gently. "Trust me. I won't be long. I'll be back."

When her fingers flexed in his, relief burned through him in cold fire.

"Laura, can you hear me? Don't move, baby. Open your eyes if you can hear me, but I don't want you to move."

Her world was white and thick and cold, so cold. Then there were shadows, shifting, receding, voices whispering under a brilliant roar. Then his face, close to hers, dark eyes so blue they burned.

"Michael?"

"Yeah." He had to swallow, couldn't. Fear had dried up every bit of the saliva in his mouth. "Yeah. You're going to be all right. You just took a little fall. I want you to—"

"Michael," she said again, then her white world flashed red. Pain sliced through her, long, ragged blades of it that had her crying out, rearing against his hands.

"Stop. I know it hurts, but I don't know how bad it is. You have to lie still. Lie still." But the way she'd already twisted terrified him. "Look at me. Look at me. Tell me if you can feel this."

He put a hand on her thigh, pressed. When she nodded, he pressed her other leg. "Move your feet for me, Laura. Okay, good." Part of his throat opened again when he saw her feet move and flex. "You're a little banged up, that's all." And in shock, he noted, studying her pupils. And in pain. "I'm going to get you up."

"My shoulder." She tried to reach for it, fought off a wave of nausea. Black and boiling nausea. The pain was unspeakable, and even breathing threatened to make her retch. "Did I break it?"

"No, just knocked it out of joint." His hands were clammy when he closed them over hers. Blood oozed from a dozen gashes he didn't even feel. "Done it myself a couple times. Hurts like hell. I'm going to be right back, okay? Just a couple minutes."

"No, don't—" The wrenching pain slammed into her. She tried to move away, escape it. Sweat pearled on her face and her eyes went glassy.

"Okay, hold on." He couldn't leave her like this, in shock and pain. Simply couldn't leave her here, suffering. He could fix it—though the thought of what it would take out of both of them churned like acid in his stomach. "I can pop it back in. I'll hurt you, but it'll give you relief. You're better off with a doctor, though. Just hanging on until I can get—"

"Please." She closed her eyes. Agony was an icy white knife digging into muscle and bone. "I can't think. I can't think over it."

He shifted, braced himself beside her. He wiped a hand over his mouth, smearing blood. "Don't think. I want you to scream. Let out one long, loud scream."

"What?"

"Scream, goddamn it." He held her down with one hand, took a firm grip on her arm, hissing when her eyes opened wide and stared into his. "Now."

She felt the jerk, the sick roll of it echoing in her stomach. And white again, white-hot. Then nothing.

His hands were slick with sweat and blood, slippery enough that he nearly lost hold. His stomach churned as he watched her eyes roll back, felt her go limp under him. Gritting his teeth, he snapped the joint into place. Then his breath whooshed out and he lowered his brow to hers.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He did lift her now, cradling her in his arms, rocking them both. He lost track—ten seconds, ten minutes, he had no sense of time passing until she stirred again.

"It's all done, don't worry." He pressed his lips to her hair, buried his face there until he managed a greasy grip on control. "It's better now."

"Yes." She was floating. Pain was everywhere, but it was dull now, throbbing almost gently in her limbs. "It's better. I can't remember—what happened? An earthquake?"

"It knocked you off, onto the ledge." Gently, he checked her head. The bleeding had stopped, but he worried over the lump and the broken skin. "You're going to have some champion bruises."

"Knocked me off—my God." She turned her face into his chest, shivered. Off the cliff, nearly into the sea, she thought. Onto the rocks below. Like Seraphina. "How bad? The house—the horses? Oh, Michael, the girls."

"It's fine. Everything's fine. It wasn't a big one. I don't want you to worry." He'd do that for both of them.

Now that he was calmer, he was taking stock. The quake had shifted rock and earth. There was nothing left of the rough path leading back up. He'd have to leave her, climb back up and get ropes.

"Let me look at you." He studied her face. Too pale, he thought, and her pupils were still dilated. "How's your vision? Blurry?"

"No, it's fine. I have to see if the girls are all right."

"They're fine. They're with your parents, remember? In Carmel." She was lucid, he told himself. Her pulse was rapid but strong. "How many fingers?"

"Two," she said and gripped the hand he'd held up. "Annie, the house—"

"I said everything's fine. Trust me."

"All right." She closed her eyes again and let herself float. "I fell off the cliff."

"That's about it." He pressed her hand to his lips, held it there until he could speak again. "Now, listen—I'm going to have to leave you here for a couple minutes. Then I'm coming back and I'll get you up."

"You have to leave me."

"You can't make the climb. I want you to lie right here, stay still. Promise me. Laura, open your eyes and look at me. Promise me you won't move until I come back."

She looked at him. "I won't move until you get back. It's cold."

"Here." He stripped off his denim jacket, laid it over her. "That'll help a little. Just relax now. Relax and wait for me."

"I'll wait for you," she murmured.

The world seemed to revolve in slow motion. She watched him rise, turn. Confused, she saw him scale the cliff, his hands and feet finding purchase, showering down little cascades of dirt. She smiled dreamily, thinking he looked like a hero scaling castle walls.

Was he saving her from the tower? Climbing up, so high, to kiss her awake? No, no, he was leaving her, she remembered. He was leaving her, she thought dully, and watched, too buffered by shock to feel alarm as he slid five full feet down the cliff face. She watched as he swung a hand up, dug in with bare fingers, and fought his way up the rough, unforgiving wall.

He was going away, she thought, but he would come back for her. He'd come back, then he would leave again.

When he reached the top, he stared down at her. His eyes seemed oddly close again, as if she could reach up and touch his face. Then he was gone, and she was alone.

He'd left her. He didn't want to be part of her life any longer. Or to allow her to be part of his. He would come back, she didn't doubt that he would come back and do as he'd promised. But she would still be alone.

And she would survive, Laura thought. Because there really was no other choice. She hadn't leapt from the cliff. She hadn't tossed her life aside. Fate had pushed her, but she would survive that as well. And go on.

Poor Seraphina. Drifting a little, Laura turned her head. She hadn't fought for life, hadn't survived. And had lost all of her dreams.

A tear trickled down her cheek, in sympathy, in sorrow, and as she turned to brush it away, her gaze fell on the small, dark hole in the wall of the cliff.

A cave? she thought hazily. There was no cave on this ledge. The rocks had moved, she realized, and sighed a little. Everything had moved. She inched her way toward the opening. A secret place, she thought. A hiding place. A lovers' place. She was smiling as she pushed herself up, sat, smelled—surely she smelled the faint scent of a young girl's perfume.

"Seraphina," she murmured even as she reached her hand inside the opening and laid it on the polished wood of a chest. "I've found you. Poor Seraphina, lost for so long."

She continued to speak, and if the words were incoherent, there was no one to hear. She knelt, waited for her head to stop spinning, and tried to drag the chest into the light.

"Laura, goddamn it."

Her smile soft, her eyes vague, she lifted her face and saw him atop the cliff. "Seraphina. We've found her. Michael, come and see."

"Stay put. Stay just where you are."

It was the hit on the head, he thought, and worked rapidly to secure the rope to the horn of Max's saddle. She was disoriented, confused. His heart drummed in his throat at the idea that she might try to stand. She might fall before he could get back to her.

"Hold steady," he ordered Max, then played out the rope. He went over the edge with more speed than caution, the rope burning his wounded hands and the cliff striking out to punish him.

His ankles sang when he landed, and his breath came fast. But he had her again, hard against him. Safe.

"You promised not to move."

"Seraphina. In the cave. I can't get it by myself. It's too heavy. I need Margo and Kate."

"In a minute. Let's get this on you." Working fast, he looped the rope around her. "You're not going to have to do anything but hold on to me. Max and I will get you up."

"All right." She didn't question it. It was all so simple, after all. "Could you get it out for me? Just out here in the light. It's been in the dark so long."

"Sure. Now I'm going to lift you up. You look at me, nothing but me."

"I will—but the chest."

"What chest?"

"In the cave."

"Don't worry about it. I'll—" But he glanced over at the gesture of her hand. And saw the dull gleam of brass against wood, the shadow of shape. "Jesus Christ!"

"Seraphina's dowry. Would you pull it out into the light?"

It was small, no more than two feet long, a domed box of cedar fitted with brass hinges. And no more than twenty pounds, he judged as he hefted it out. A simple box, uncarved, yet he could have sworn he felt something as his hands closed over it. Heat where there should have been none, a faint vibration that tickled his fingertips. It lasted only a moment, no more than two heartbeats, then it was just a small chest fashioned out of smooth wood and brass.

"AH of her dreams locked away," Laura said softly. "All locked away because the one she wanted most was over."

"The quake shifted the rocks." Frowning, Michael studied the cave, cut so neatly in the wall. "I'd say another one some time ago covered it up."

"She wanted us to find it. She's been leading us here all our lives."

"Now you have it." However intriguing the find, he had priorities. "I want you to put your arms around my neck and hold on. Can you do that? How's the shoulder?"

"It's sore, but I can manage. How are we going to—"

"Let me worry about it." He helped her to her feet, kept himself between her and the edge. "Just keep looking at me," he continued, pulling her arms up until they linked around him. It's a good strong rope. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Did you climb up the cliff? I thought I saw you climbing up."

"Nothing to it," he said, aware that her mind was drifting. "Fell off a few, too, on film." He continued to talk as he tested the rope. "Hold tight now, we're going up. Max! Back. Back." The rope went taut. With one arm firmly around Laura's waist, Michael let his feet leave the ground and put himself in the walker's hands.

Rocks scraped painfully against his back. He used his heels to aid the ascent while sweat ran down his face and the muscles of his arms screamed.

"Almost there," he told her.

"We didn't get Seraphina. We have to get her."

"I'll go back and get her. Just hold on. Look at me."

She snapped back into focus, stared into his eyes. "You came back for me."

"Sure. Hold on." For an instant his heart stopped. They were inches from the edge, dangling between sky and sea. If any one of them faltered, they would lose. "Reach up. Just one hand now. Reach up, Laura, and grab hold."

She did as he asked, watched her own hand grip the edge of rock and dirt, slip away, grip again.

"That's it! Pull."

Ignoring his tortured muscles, he levered her up, dragging himself behind her as his horse strained to pull them the last foot. Michael bellied up to level ground, then simply lay there, his body sheltering hers, his face buried in her hair.

"Laura. God. Laura."

His mouth sought hers, and for a moment he sank out of terror and into oblivion.

"We'll get you home. We'll get you home now." He drew back. "Pain?"

"My head. It's all right."

"Lie still, let me take care of you." He released the rope, let it dangle and gathered her into his arms.

"Max?"

"He'll come. Don't worry, he'll come." He carried her away from the cliffs and up the long slope to Templeton House, with Max following placidly behind.

His legs didn't begin to shake until Ann burst out of the front door.

"Oh, sweet Lord, I've been looking for her everywhere. What happened? My poor lamb."

"She took a fall." He continued moving through Ann's fluttering hands. "She needs to get inside."

"In the parlor." Sprinting ahead, Ann called desperately up the stairs. "Mrs. Williamson, Jenny! I've found her." Then, to Michael, "How bad is she? Everyone's on the way. I called when I couldn't find her. Lay her down here on the sofa and let me see. Oh, sweetheart, your head."

"What in the world—" Mrs. Williamson stopped, out of breath, in the doorway.

"She's had a fall," Ann snapped out. "We need hot water, bandages."

"I fell off the cliff," Laura said as her head settled back into place.

"Oh, my dear God. Where does it hurt? Let me look at you."

She broke off when she heard the sound of cars speeding up the drive, doors slamming. "Everyone's here." Ann pressed a kiss to Laura's brow. "Everything's all right now."

Susan burst through the doorway first, stopped, braced herself as her heart tilted. "Well," she managed calmly enough, "what's all this?"