Endless Fear (8 page)

His harsh tone uprooted April’s chagrin faster than a gardener pulling weeds. Her hands landed on her hips and this time, prodded by the defiance heating her blood, she met his icy gaze with one of her own. “I lost them when I stumbled at the edge of the cliff.”

“
My God, woman! You could’ve been killed!”

“
Well, I wasn’t. Granted, I’m muddy and my pride is hurt, but otherwise, I’m fine.” Fine? That was a laugh. Her body ached in places she suspected she’d be too aware of in the morning, but she’d be damned if she’d let him know that.

She shoved past him, but he caught her by the arm. “Fine my hide! You’re quivering like a jelly fish. You’ll catch pneumonia standing barefooted on this damp ground.”

Before April could protest, Spencer scooped her into his arms and hauled her against his chest so hard, she could have sworn a rib cracked. If the gleam in his alluring gray eyes hadn’t stopped any struggle or objection she’d started to raise about being carried back to the house, his words did. “Save your breath. This issue is not open to discussion.”

Accepting the inevitable along with the welcome respite from the pain biting at her feet, April lifted her arms and locked her fingers behind Spencer’s neck, capturing the thick, coffee-brown hair at his nape beneath her palms. The intimate contact sparked a wild memory of his lips on hers, and for a few uncomfortable seconds he, too, seemed to be remembering.

Thane and Vanessa emerged from the woods. Like children caught playing doctor, April and Spencer flinched.

“
Well, thank God you found her. Is she all right?” The tension in Thane’s voice was as subtle as the perpetual murmur of waves in the background.

However, Spencer knew exactly what his twin was thinking. He’d promised Thane he’d steer clear of April and here he was, caught like a groom ready to carry his bride across the threshold. The analogy struck his heart and drew blood. “She lost her shoes running along the cliff. She’s a little cold and muddy, nothing a warm bath and some hot brandy won’t cure.”

“
Lost her shoes….” Vanessa hugged her arms around her middle, rustling the slick, Irish-green fabric of her ankle-length, quilted coat. “How in the world…?”

“
She can explain in the house.” Spencer boosted her higher in his arms. “It’s freezing out here.”

As Thane and Vanessa hurried ahead to inform the others that she’d been found, April tried to ignore the gentle jostling of her body against Spencer’s strong arms and his firm chest. Her inner turmoil ground her emotions until they felt as grimy and achy as her feet. Why has she been so quick to believe he had been chasing her on the cliff with intent to do her harm? Was it this place, this time of year? Whatever the cause, she knew instinctively it had its origins in her lost memory and Lily’s fatal accident. But how was she going to explain that to her family?

* * * *

The family gathered in the den, warming themselves before the fire and fussing over her. April didn’t know what to think. In Arizona, she lived alone. No one monitored her comings and goings. All this unexpected concern was somewhat overwhelming. It felt strange, and rather nice.

Cynthia, who had surprisingly assumed the role of nurse, knelt over a pan of water, tending her injured feet. She knew the woman was being gentle as possible, but nevertheless, soap in an open wound stung.

Pressing a warm snifter into April’s hand, her father said, “Drink up, honey. This is guaranteed to cure what ails you.”

If only it were that easy, she thought, catching a whiff of the sharp-scented liquor. The first sip burned a fiery path across her tongue and drew tears into her eyes, but the warm sensation it created inside was amazingly pleasant. With her eyes closed and her head thrust against the high-backed leather chair, she could almost block out the pain.

She took another swallow of brandy, then leaving out the theatrics, explained as simply as possible how she had come to be in this condition.

“
Where and what is Turtle Rock?” asked Vanessa. “Is it a famous landmark?”

Thane draped an arm around his fiancée’s shoulders. “Nothing famous or historical about it. It’s just a big rock about a mile or so along the cliff that looks like a giant turtle. April named it. She used to sit on it for hours when she was a kid, just staring out to sea, lost in her own little world.”

Vanessa seemed disappointed by the explanation.

“
Fool place to go in the dark. And right after a storm!” Aunt March sat next to April in the matching chair. Her arms were folded under her ample chest and her ruddy face was heightened by her irritation. “You could’ve got yourself killed. A fine how-do-you-do that would have been for the wedding festivities.”

Raising her head from her task, Cynthia glanced over her shoulder at her elderly sister-in-law, then back at April. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to worry any of us, did you, sugah?”

There was a slight reprimand in Cynthia’s soft drawl, but April wasn’t sure if it was meant for March or herself. Nor did she care. The brandy tasted better with every sip. “No.”

“
Of course not. There, all done.” Cynthia wrung out the washcloth, set it aside and rose. “None of the cuts are deep. Rub in a little salve just before you climb into bed.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the mention of bed or the effects of the brandy, but the need to clean up and go to sleep hit her in a rush. “I’m going to take a bath and hit the hay.”

Setting her empty snifter on the end table, she stood. But the soles of her feet weren’t ready to bear weight.

Without thought to the consequences, Spencer leaped to her aid and swung her once again into his arms. He could feel his twin glaring at him, but surely Thane realized he was the most likely person in the group to help April upstairs.

“
This is getting to be a habit,” she whispered, then giggled unexpectedly. The outburst both surprised and embarrassed her.

Spencer only chuckled. “Say goodnight, Gracie.”

“
Who’s Gracie?” April was totally puzzled.

Silence fell over the room. The expressions turned her way ranged from disbelief to pity.

Vanessa’s eyes rounded incredulously. “You
must
have been in South America a long time.”

The silence grew heavier. To save April any more embarrassment, Spencer whisked her from the den, and a short while later deposited her atop the fluffy toilet seat cover in the upstairs bathroom. “There. Now you’re within easy reach of the tub faucets.”

“
Who’s Gracie?” she asked again.

“
No one for you to worry your pretty head about.” He stood bent-kneed with his face on a par to hers. The willpower to pull away from her had deserted him. She seemed as unaware of the leaf caught in her hair and the dirty smudges on her face as she was of the effect her innocence had on him. He plucked the leaf free and flicked it into the waste basket, wishing he could absolve his guilt with as little effort. The lack in her education was a direct result of his actions. If only being sorry could change that.

“
Was she a friend of Lily? Was that why everyone got so quiet?”

If she’d stomped on his foot he couldn’t have straightened faster. “No. It’s a joke. An old television show. Start running your bath water. I’ll get you something to put on.”

By the time the tub was filled, Spencer had returned with a beach towel and a man’s teal terry cloth robe with the initials S.L.G. on the breast pocket.

The room was as steamy as a sauna and felt just as restrictive to Spencer.

Feeling altogether lightheaded and unaccountably naughty, April smirked at him. “I do have my own robe, you know.”

A hint of color tarnished his neck. “I didn’t want to prowl around in your room. You can return it tomorrow. Now climb out of those filthy clothes and into that hot tub.”

Another giggle spilled out of her. “Are you planning to stick around and scrub my back?”

Imagining that scenario unhinged Spencer’s poise. The misty air clogged in his lungs like wadded cotton. He backed up and bumped into the wall. A second later, he was in the hall, pulling the door shut after him.

Grinning, she limped across the room and locked the door. Standing there, she heard Spencer retreat, heard the opening and closing of a door farther down the hall and then something akin to muffled voices raised in anger.
Probably just the brandy
buzzing in her ears,
she decided, turning toward the tub.

A while later, clean and dry and dressed only in Spencer’s robe, April padded on tender feet across the thick carpet and down the darkened hall to her room. Apparently, everyone had retired for the night. She couldn’t reach her own bed soon enough. The effects of the brandy were wearing off, and her fatigued body felt like the loser in a twelve-round boxing match, with the bruises to prove it.

The old house seemed in as much pain as she, creaking and groaning, settling deeper into the cliff above Haro Strait. Or was she hearing the moans of Farradays past, ghosts, who could find no peace at Calendar House until their slayers were brought to justice? The thought and the noises set her nerves on edge.

April entered the sanctum of her tiny room. Rather than the relief she’d expected to feel, she was surrounded by a prickling sense of something amiss. Warily, she moved about the room, trying to calm her accelerating heartbeat. The weird sensation that someone had been here, invading her private haven with their unwelcome presence, refused to go away.

Outside, the wind keened through the madronas like banshees wailing at the moon. April made a perfunctory search of the room, but nothing seemed to be missing. Finally she came to the conclusion her mood was playing tricks on her. Again. Or maybe it was the relentless wind.

Worry nettled her as she donned a nightgown, laid Spencer’s folded robe on a chair, and headed to bed. Was she losing her ability to differentiate between fact and fancy? Maybe she’d better put a call into Dr. Merritt after all.

April pulled back the bedspread. A startled squeak leapt from her throat. She wasn’t imaging
this.

Someone
had
been here.

On her pillow lay July’s Barbie doll. But April doubted her seven-year-old sister had pulled off the doll’s head or spread its long blonde hair across the pillowcase or arranged its headless body in a sprawl reminiscent of her final images of Lily.

The dreaded vision flooded into her mind, bringing with it both the inexplicable guilt and her desperation to know the whole truth. April pressed her balled fists against her closed eyelids in an effort to coax the buried memory out of the darkness and into the light. But it did no good. The futile attempt only gave her a headache.

Opening her eyes, she immediately confronted the dismembered toy. Someone’s idea of a cruel joke, or another warning to make her leave Calendar House? Well, too bad, she thought, plucking up the doll and jamming its head back in place. Her anguish gave way to a revitalizing determination. Someone had wasted their time. The harder they tried to make her leave, the deeper she’d dig in her heels.

She unbent the Barbie’s limbs and tucked the doll beneath her sweaters in the dresser drawer.

* * * *

The next two days April stayed off her feet as much as possible. July promptly appointed herself entertainment chairman, seemingly determined to keep her older sister from boredom. It was a new experience for April, being revered for her existence, freely given and accepting hugs and kisses. She discovered forty-eight hours could pass swiftly when spent with someone you loved. They played everything from Nintendo to Checkers. However, the little girl made no mention of her missing Barbie doll.

By the third day, the rain had returned, railing against the windows in icy sheets, and April found she could walk without wincing. She dressed in faded blue jeans, high-top Nikes, and a gold Arizona State sweatshirt. Drawn by the aroma of frying bacon, she headed down the back stairwell into the big country kitchen. The Barbie doll was tucked into the waistband of her jeans and concealed by her sweatshirt.

Helga was at the stove. A grease-spattered, beige apron trussed her ample middle, protecting her tan-and-white checked dress. August, Thane, and Spencer, the epitome of casual in Levis and soft hued sweatshirts, huddled around one end of the black Formica table drinking coffee and dissecting some sports item in yesterday’s newspaper, while at the other end Vanessa and Cynthia had their heads together as they discussed wedding details.

Spencer heard her come in, felt his pulse joggle, but didn’t look around. He’d never have the right to claim April and for both their sakes, he had to stop wishing it were otherwise.