“God,” she whispered.
“She’s Native American. She’s like you.”
“Like me?”
“In fact, there is a strong possibility you could be related.”
“I don’t understand.”
He sat across from her. “The people who came here to settle mostly came from Scotland. Many married people of the local tribes. Women of the lineage—Melissa and you—inherited traits specific to descendants. The eyes and the birthmark. The males with the birthmark are supposedly direct descendants from the Scots. When the male and female come together—”
“I know the birds and the bees, thank you,” she interjected.
“That wasn’t where I was going, actually. We, the males, have the ability to control electrical current flow—ours, the earths.”
“Ah.” She nodded, grasping some meaning, “The zapping.”
“When you and I are close, our currents align, shifting harmonics.” He held up a hand when she started to speak. “It also enables you to see electrical fields around animals, people, plants—”
“That Gulatega creature?”
“That one you do on your own. You don’t need…” his voice trailed off.
“My mate?” She watched his discomfort and felt a little better. “So, what does this have to do with the girl?”
“She was found wandering, unable to talk. She can’t tell us what happened. Testing has come back inconclusive. However, we know something is wrong. She’s growing weaker and weaker.”
Morgan didn’t know how she could help. None of it made sense, but she was willing to try. She’d been around Jenn long enough to see firsthand what attackers could do to a child. She had to give it her best. “Where is she? What do I need to do?”
Before Dorian could answer, there was a sharp rap against the front door. He rose, stepped around her and went to open it. Morgan followed behind him.
One of the most beautiful men she had ever seen stepped into the room. He was Dorian’s height, but about thirty pounds heavier with straight black hair tied in the back. His skin was the color of bronzed honey. His chiseled features were strong. His lips firm yet sensual. Black eyes met hers head on.
He smiled. “You must be Morgan,” he said and took her hand in his. “I’m John Davis.” His voice poured over her like warm whiskey.
He turned, took Dorian’s hand and thumped him on the back. “Thank you.”
“Wait, I was just explaining to Morgan—”
“Let’s go,” she broke in and grabbed her purse.
Dorian shrugged. John smiled at Dorian. Dorian smiled back. Meaning passed between them.
Morgan hopped in the back of John’s BMW. “I hope I can help. I don’t know what to do but I’ll do whatever I can.”
John glanced over his shoulder at her. “Just follow Dorian’s lead. He’ll guide you.”
Chapter Eight
They rode for about twenty minutes, most of it in silence. Morgan watched John’s cheek muscle twitch. It was obvious this girl meant a lot to John.
The car moved into a densely forested area and climbed higher, leveled out, and started downhill once more. Shortly after they began the decline, John swerved to the right and drove down a narrow road. It had to be hard to see, even if you knew where it was. Small buildings, set back in the woods, dotted the road on either side. The road wound around further into the trees and circled back on itself. John pulled to a stop in front of a concrete block building. Dorian opened the door for her.
As she stepped out of the car, Morgan’s nerves failed her. What was she doing here? How could she help a child who had been brutally attacked? Her hands trembled. Dorian quietly reached over and took her hand. They entered the plain, squat building.
The room was oppressive. Heavy drapes covered the windows. The only air seeped in through the screen front door and was immediately drawn out the back. Beads of sweat popped out across Morgan’s brow.
In the corner, on an iron cot, a small, frail figure lay curled up. Morgan halted. She looked down at the woman-child. Straight brown hair spread loosely across the pillow. Her forehead shined with dampness. A light sheet covered the tiny body. Morgan gripped Dorian’s hand tighter.
A woman moved forward from the shadows. Of obvious Indian heritage, she had John’s beauty, except in a completely feminine way. She was much shorter than Morgan but projected such a regal bearing, Morgan dipped her head in acknowledgment. John spoke. “This is my cousin, Kayla. Meadow is her daughter.”
“Thank you for coming,” Kayla said quietly. Tears filled her eyes.
“I don’t know what—”
The little girl moaned. Morgan stepped over to her and knelt down. “Hello, Meadow. That’s such a beautiful name.” Meadow tried to smile. She raised her innocent face. Vibrant green, facetted eyes stared back into her own. Morgan felt a lump in her throat. She looked around at Dorian.
“I am going to stand behind you, Morgan, with my hands on your shoulders. Take Meadow’s hand. Close your eyes. When I tell you to open them, look at Meadow and tell us what you see.”
Any vibration she felt she was sure was from fear. The small hand reached out and took hers. Morgan smiled at the trusting child. With her free hand, Morgan gently brushed back the damp bangs from the small face. Dorian’s legs brushed against her back and he rested his hands on her shoulders. The heat from his body encased her. The familiar pulsing began between them. She closed her eyes.
She waited and concentrated on the flow between them. The current synchronized until the individual rhythms of their energies became one. She inhaled and could smell his scent above all else.
“Morgan, open your eyes,” his voice resonated behind her.
She could do little else but obey his command. The form in front of her shimmered in a multitude of colors, vibrant and muted, some light, some dark. She wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but concentrated on what she was seeing, looking for inconsistencies—anomalies. The little girl squeezed her hand, as if encouraging her. Morgan smiled at her. The colors heightened and became more distinct.
A rainbow of spiking colors emanated from Meadow’s body, similar to what she had seen around Dorian. Morgan was drawn to her eyes. Green, like hers; faceted, like hers—they glowed the same iridescent green as her own. Except the glow was weaker and it pulsed. She watched as it took on a rhythm similar to the one flowing between her and Dorian. Maybe she was drawing energy from the two of them. She prayed it helped. Morgan let her gaze travel down Meadow’s body. Part of her abdomen was bluish-green with a dark center.
Maybe an infection
. However, what drew her was the child’s head. Above her left ear was a greyish-brown area, devoid of light.
That’s it
. That was what was making her sick. She couldn’t explain how she knew, but she did. She scanned the body one more time, squeezed the child’s hand, and broke contact. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Air rushed into her lungs like she’d held it the entire time. When she opened them, Meadow, once again, appeared as she had when she first saw her.
Dorian helped her to her feet, not questioning her silence. They walked outside, Dorian’s arm steadying her. The eighty-some degree breeze felt cool after the inside. She turned to the mother.
“I am not sure of what I am saying because I have never done this before. Her body is surrounded with a vibrant rainbow of colors.”
Kayla grabbed John’s hand and smiled. Obviously, this was a good thing.
“In her abdomen there is a bluish-green color with a dark center. I believe she may have an infection.” She faltered, then decided to give the information as she saw it. “It doesn’t feel like a pregnancy. I can’t tell if she was raped.”
Kayla leaned against John.
Morgan hated the fact that she had to go on. She hesitated before speaking. Kayla looked her in the eyes and nodded, waiting. “I saw a greyish-brown area above her left ear. It emitted no light.” She took Kayla’s trembling hand in hers. “You need to get her to a doctor, preferably a neurosurgeon. I think she may have a tumor.” She knew instinctively that what she was saying was correct. “I’m so sorry.”
Kayla nodded and let tears fall. “Thank you,” was all she said before she turned back toward the building. John walked with her, his arm around her shoulder, holding her up.
Morgan turned to Dorian. “Oh, Dorian…” she whispered and moved into his arms.
He pulled her close and pressed both hands against her back, letting a low current flow from him to her. He hoped it would ease some of her torment.
“How did Melissa do this?”
“I know this was hard.” He didn’t say anything about Melissa. “You probably saved her life.”
Sadness swept through her. She was too drained to think.
Dorian helped her into the back seat and told her to try to sleep on the way back, if she could. Something kept nagging at her. The house was too desolate for the bearing of the woman who occupied it. It didn’t match. She sat up.
John walked back to the car, his steps heavy.
Morgan waited until they were on the road to speak. “John, I know it’s none of my business,” she said and put her hand on his shoulder, felt it tighten, “but I have to ask. Why are they there? I didn’t see any other families. And that house is too…too hot…” she didn’t quite know how to go on.
“They’re in hiding. The man Kayla married is very powerful. He would like nothing more than to take Meadow away from her.” Morgan sensed the anger roiling beneath the surface. He continued, “I believe the attack was his fault. She went missing for a couple of days. I think her father sent someone to take her. She got away. But not before the bastard hurt her. Police found her outside of LaGrange, a city near the Alabama border. She hasn’t spoken since.”
Morgan’s heart stopped.
John’s hands gripped the wheel. His knuckles had turned white. “We searched for days. The police combed every square inch of three counties, thinking she had wandered off—possibly with friends. That devil denies knowing anything and is now using it as justification to get custody. As soon as Kayla got her, she came to me. They have been hiding there because it’s a deserted area. Not many people know about it. It has no air conditioning and is minimal…” His voice cracked. “I know they can’t stay there…” He couldn’t finish.
Morgan squeezed his shoulder. “I have a friend who owns several women’s shelters. The closest to here would be the one in North Carolina. However, the one in Virginia is near an excellent children’s hospital. Would you let me call her?”
She could tell he was thinking. He was also hesitating. “Trust me; this woman knows what she’s doing,” Morgan said. “Nothing will happen to Kayla and Meadow once we get them to Safe Harbor. They will be protected and Meadow can get the treatment she needs.”
John looked at Dorian. Dorian gave a barely perceptible nod. “Call her.” John’s voice was raspy.
Morgan pulled out her cell and dialed Jenn. No service. “I can’t get a signal.”
“We’re too far in the country. Keep trying,” Dorian said.
They were almost in Ruthorford when Morgan got Jenn. She explained the situation and spoke loud enough so John could hear her part of the conversation. She said she would call her later with more details. Jenn said to give her a couple of hours to make some calls and get things set it up. Morgan could almost feel Jenn’s mind racing, figuring, planning. Morgan smiled. John didn’t know it, but Kayla and Meadow were going to be in the best of hands.
John pulled in front of the bed and breakfast. He turned to Morgan. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Don’t. I’ll have Dorian call you when everything is set and we’ll tell you what to do. This is Jenn’s vocation, her passion—her life. Let her help them.” She leaned over and brushed a kiss across his cheek.
He smiled. He looked at Dorian, his eyes twinkling, “If—” he started to make a comment to his friend, before he was interrupted.
“Not a chance.” Dorian clasped John’s arm. “I’ll call you later.”
“Too bad,” John chuckled, then turned serious once more. “Thanks,” John said and drove away.
Morgan looked at the gorgeous Victorian in front of her. She had no energy. Her legs felt cemented to the ground. She was tired beyond words. She was wrinkled. She wasn’t sure she didn’t smell. Then, the faint aroma of rosemary wafted out and her stomach growled. She grinned in spite of herself. It seemed her stomach talked incessantly in this town.
Dorian grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the porch. Teresa burst out of the door and planted herself in front of them. “Don’t go in there!”
“Why?” Dorian asked.
“Jasmine’s in there. And she’s having dinner with Morgan’s friend.”
Morgan let out a groan. “How in the hell…,” she gave up and shook her head. She’d forgotten about Rob. And Jasmine. There was no way she was ready to confront that combination.
“Go back to the shop. I’ll have a basket sent over. I promise you, it’ll be better than being here.” She hugged Morgan. “You look beat, little one.” She threw a scathing look at Dorian.
“What’d I do?” he asked.
Teresa ignored him. “I’ll throw in a little something special for you,” she winked at Morgan and ushered them back down the steps. She looked behind her, watching the door, and waved them on.
“I adore that woman,” Morgan said as she walked beside Dorian. As tired as she was, Teresa had a way of putting a spring in her step. She wondered if that was Teresa’s “gift.” She wondered if everyone in Ruthorford had a “gift.” She put that on her growing list of questions.
With the next breath, she stopped smiling. She had forgotten Rob was even in town. And now he was with Jasmine. That couldn’t be good. Had Jasmine told Rob about her parents, about her? She looked over at Dorian and frowned. He and Jasmine were close. She wondered just how much he’d told Jasmine about her.
He stopped. They were outside the shop. He looked at the knob, reached down, turned it, and pushed it open.
“You didn’t lock it?”
He just smiled at her.
“What was that look you gave me?” he asked.
“What look?”
“The one before the door. The worried look?”
“Nothing.” She was too tired to worry about anything except helping Meadow.
The soft light shining from above the kitchen table drew Morgan forward. She started to sink down in the kitchen chair, only to rise when she heard Meesha’s bark from the back door. Dorian waved her back down. He opened the door. Meesha gave Dorian no more than a glance, pranced over to Morgan, and pushed her nose under Morgan’s hand.
“Hey, Meesha,” Morgan let her hand run over the soft fur.
“What am I, chopped liver?”
“No,” Morgan laughed, “cause if you were, she wouldn’t have come to me.”
At the sound of the dry food hitting her bowl, Meesha forgot Morgan.
A soft tap on the glass of the front door had Dorian moving quietly through the shop. She heard him speaking softly to someone at the door and then heard it close. He came back carrying a large basket. “Here or in the cottage?”
“Where are we least likely to be found?” Morgan couldn’t handle Rob or Jasmine for a good eight hours—or more.
“Not a problem.” Dorian turned back toward the shop and pulled pocket doors out of the walls, shutting off the shop completely. Morgan stared. She hadn’t noticed them before.