Fated Hearts (9 page)

She pushed any decisions about her future to the back burner, wanting only, for now, to enjoy where she was without having to worry about who she was. Or would be. Henley had been clinging to the fact that she still owed a debt to the sheriff’s department for her car. Why fester over the decision to stay, go back, or move on until she had to make a decision?

“Hi, Mom.” Henley considered it progress that calling home no longer sent her into a fit of nervous guilt.

“Henley. It’s good to hear from you. Are you still in that little town in Minnesota?”

“I am. I like the people here. I may have even made a few friends.”

“You sound well.” Henley knew she meant sane. “Does that mean you’ll be coming home soon? Perhaps reopen your practice?” She should’ve known her mother would ask—it was a routine inquiry. Henley always wondered if the question was made out of obligation. And resented the pressure she felt. Regardless, she wasn’t sure if Cleveland was her home. Not anymore. Maybe it had been once, before she’d left for college. But she felt a connection to Trappers’ Cove that she had never felt in her adult life.

“No, Mom. At least not yet. I have financial obligations here. I told you about the repairs the car needed.”

“I do. I also remember mentioning that your father and I are willing to help with that.”

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t ask for or accept their assistance. It came with strings. When she first left town, their conditions had included hospitalization. She couldn’t be sure they didn’t still.

“I appreciated it when you made the offer, and I still do. But this is something I have to do for myself. If I can’t handle what amounts to a secretarial position, I have no place opening a medical practice. This is good for me. I hope you understand.”

“I’ll try. If you’re not ready to move back, I expect you will be here for your sister’s wedding?”

“Pardon me?”

“Michelle’s wedding is the weekend after next. We fully expect to see you there. Your absence will be noted.”

“By whom, Mother?” Henley heard the frigidity in her tone, so her mother would have as well. “Seeing as how Michelle failed to tell me she was getting married, much less invite me to celebrate the event with her, I sincerely doubt she’ll miss me.”

“People will notice. And people will whisper. Our family does not need another scandal in your name.”

“This one would be on Michelle.” But her sister would spin it, make it crazy Henley’s fault. It’s what Michelle did best—look out for Michelle.

“Please consider it. It’s the least you can do, Henley, after all you’ve put us through.”

She stared at her cell for several seconds after she disconnected, weighing the pros and cons of calling her sister immediately or waiting, allowing her time to gain perspective.
Fuck it!
She dialed Michelle’s house line. Each ring fueled her indignation.

“When were you planning to tell me you were engaged?” Wasn’t how she planned to greet her sister, but Michelle’s chipper “Hello” had incensed Henley.

“Who told you?”

“Mom. We just got off the phone.” Henley heard a phone ringing in the background. “That’s probably her calling your cell.”

“She shouldn’t have told you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not invited and I told her you weren’t.” Henley had known as much, but hearing it still caused an ache in her stomach. “It’s my day.
My
day. And you’re not going to ruin it with your crazy bullshit. All my life, everything has been all about you. At first you were the golden child, the perfect sister I couldn’t compete with, and I thought that was bad. But then you lost your mind, and it got worse. Everyone worrying, everyone talking. Sure, you ran away, but I had to live with the humiliation of being your sister. Living up to you was hard, living you down was almost impossible.”

“I’m sorry my health issues were such a burden to your social status.”

“Screw you, Hen. And your fucking health issues.”

Click.

Henley flung her phone onto the sofa. She caught her image in a mirror meant to reflect the view beyond the window to bring the soothing greenness of the forest inside. Henley didn’t see the beauty of nature; she saw only her own hurt and disgust framed by an escape. Without thinking it through, she fled into the woods, chasing that escape and hoping the wonders around her would fill the hole her sister’s words had dug.

She’d been walking for some time, not paying attention to where she was, trapped in her own thoughts and rioting emotions. The comfort she’d hoped to find eluded her. Huffing out an aggravated breath, she stopped in a small clearing. Henley pulled her hair back with a ruthless flick of her wrists, dragging damp tendrils off her neck and face, as though the locks offended her. She stood with her hands braced on her hips and tried to figure out where she was and how far into the woods she had gone. She looked around, but nothing seemed familiar.

“Unbelievable.”

“Hi.” The pleasant chirp startled her, and she jumped, yelping, as the child stepped from between two bushes. A small bird perched in Tala’s right hand. It flicked its tiny head to the side as though Henley were the oddity in this situation.

“Jeez Louise, Turnip, you scared me.”

“Sorry.” Her grin didn’t convey any sense of apology.

“Your dad has a real knack for sneaking around these woods, too.”

“He taught me, but he’s a lot better than I am. He makes no noise at all.”

“Did he also teach you how to charm baby birds?” Tala giggled and wiggled her fingers. The bird cheeped, spread its wings, and flew up into the air. It circled their heads twice before dipping and then soaring up and out of sight among the bows.

“No, Daddy didn’t teach me that. Animals like me.” She crossed to Henley and took her hand. “If you want, I can lead you back to the cabin.”

Perfect. Just perfect. I let Mom push my buttons, let Michelle wind me up, and now I’ve got to rely on a little kid to rescue my crazy behind.
This day couldn’t get any better. “That obvious, huh?”

“It’s okay. Everybody gets lost, and anything can be confusing when you’re alone. But I’m here now.” Her delicate hand tugged, and Henley followed. She was a charming child. Intelligent and gregarious, but she had a way about her. Henley remembered something an older woman working at an abuse shelter where Henley had volunteered had said about a child having an old soul. Henley hadn’t understood the sentiment at the time, but it was an apt description for Maggie and Aidan’s little girl.

“Are we still on your family’s land?”

“Um, I’m not sure where it turns into the park. Daddy never put up a fence. He said it’s a sin to fence in nature, and if people wanted to get in, a fence wouldn’t stop them. He and Mommy don’t mind if people hike as long as they don’t get too close to the house and are respectful of the woods and don’t hunt.”

“Your mom mentioned that when she offered me the place. It didn’t occur to me that meant I could run into people in the woods. It feels private, like I’m all alone out here. It’s nice. I thought I saw you one day. Walking with what looked like a big wolf.”

“Animals like me.” Tala repeated it as though that simple, nonchalant response was a decent explanation. But she didn’t correct Henley and tell her it had been a dog. Or not her. She didn’t ask any questions, either. Instead, Tala scrambled over a felled tree that, based on the flora growing all over it, had dropped a long time ago. Henley needed only to step over it. Yet, the child had managed her maneuver with far more grace. With the dappled light shining on her dark blond hair and flashing across her creamy skin, she appeared ethereal.

“You remind me of the wood nymphs I read about when I was in school.”

“What’s a wood nymph?”

“They’re beautiful, magical creatures—”

“Like fairies?” Tala interrupted.

“Sort of, yeah. But I don’t think nymphs have wings. They live in the woods and take care of the trees, flowers, and animals. Protecting them, living among them.”

“That sounds nice. But I’d miss my mom and dad. And the horses.”

“And cheese fries at the diner,” Henley added with a wink.

“Where did you learn about wood nymphs?”

“In college, a long time ago, before I decided I wanted to be a doctor. I studied books. Especially old books.” Tala led her through a small glen and when they pushed through a row of bushes, Henley thought she was beginning to recognize the terrain. “The people who lived in ancient times were smart and imaginative. But they didn’t know much about science. So, they created their own explanations for anything they didn’t understand. Like thunder and why the seasons change. Most of the time the stories involved magical people doing the impossible.

“Those stories got retold over and over again. Eventually someone wrote the stories down. And the ones that were recorded are now known as myths. These myths have inspired books, paintings, statues, poems, plays, and movies. The Greeks called the wood nymphs dryads. And the Romans, the Japanese, the Scottish, the Burmese, lots of different cultures have their own versions, too. But I liked the dryads the best.”

Henley caught glimpses of the cabin through the tree line. She hadn’t gone far, but because of the serpentine path she’d cut through the woods, it had felt much further. The straight line Tala had navigated took them a third of the time to travel back. “Yeah, kiddo, you’re definitely a wood nymph.”

“I heard Mom say you have a lot of books. Do you have any about the dryads?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t. Tell you what, next time I go to the bookstore at the mall, I’ll see if I can find one.” They stopped on the edge of the clearing, the cabin in easy sight.

“You don’t have to do that.” The outgoing child suddenly seemed shy. Henley wondered if Tala’s parents had warned her against accepting gifts from strangers in general. Or from her specifically.

“I know I don’t, but I want to. I’ve piqued my own curiosity. And I’ll be sure to check with your mom first, okay?” Tala smiled her wide, gap-toothed grin and nodded her head, looking like any other healthy, happy little girl anticipating a present. “Would you like a ride home?”

“No, thanks. I’ll walk and pretend I’m a nymph. Bye.” The little girl waved and dissolved into the brush as silently as she’d appeared.

“Sweet kid. Weird, but nice.” As Henley approached the porch steps she realized the foul mood she’d been in, the one that had driven her from the cabin, had dissipated. She let herself in and, after cleaning herself up, decided to bake cookies.

• • •

Dublin reeked. Carter had let him out when he’d gotten home, as usual, and the dog had bounded out the door, as usual. But when Carter whistled for him, he didn’t return. That wasn’t usual. With dusk falling over the mountains that fringed the horizon, he’d gotten worried. It had taken more than an hour for him to find the mutt wedged in a crevice created by exposed tree roots. With the smell that had assaulted Carter after following the dog’s pitiful whimpers, he needn’t have bothered with the flashlight. Dublin must have been tagged by an entire family of skunks.

“Well, the flashlight came in handy anyway, didn’t it, stupid?” Beside him, the dog panted while Carter used the flashlight to break the roots he couldn’t muscle away from his dog. Dublin popped free and launched himself at Carter, not giving him time to block the canine’s affections. Now they both reeked.

After scrubbing Dublin’s fur with a mixture of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and dish detergent he’d collected from the kitchen pantry, Carter stripped himself naked and washed himself with that same mixture. He used the garden hose to rinse them both and washed out his clothes as best he could. The scent lingered enough that he didn’t want to put the clothes back on or bring them into the house, so he hung everything, including his socks, over the back railing. He suspected he may have to throw the clothes away. Naked and chilled, Carter carried the wet, shivering dog through the house directly to the bathroom, where he stepped into the tub—dog and all.

Following a rowdy shower that drenched his bathroom, Carter sat on the living room floor, drying the dog and explaining the folly in skunk hunting. He heard a car pull up out front, and headlights flashed behind the curtains. The engine stopped, and the world outside his front door returned to early twilight. He listened for the sound of a car door opening and closing.
There it is.
“I wonder who came to visit. Any ideas?” he asked the dog. “No thoughts on the matter, huh?” He ruffled the dog’s head. “You got the good life, stupid. Not counting the smell, of course.”

Carter headed for his front door. He was struck by the changes, not just to his location or his perspective, but to his instincts. He had lived and policed in a major metropolitan city. He’d been surrounded by neighbors; his friends and family often stopped by without calling first. Yet he couldn’t recall a single time he’d answered the door to his apartment without a gun within easy reach. Now, in the middle of Nowhere, Minnesota, without a soul within shouting distance and his world unaccustomed to unannounced guests, he barely considered either his service pistol or his personal handgun. They were locked away in his bedroom. The contrast amused him, but when he opened his door his small grin of deprecation froze. Henley Elliott’s fist landed soundly on his bare chest.

Henley gasped and tucked her arm behind her back. Pain rippled in waves from where her knuckles had rapped against his chest. The further the ripples spread, the gentler they became. With one glaring exception—the heat of arousal that settled in the pit of his stomach. Carter laid his hand over his diaphragm. It didn’t hurt, this thing that happened every time their skin touched. It was alarming, yes. It was startling, yes. He’d even use the word painful. But it didn’t hurt.

It intrigued.

“What’s up, Doc?” He knew it was a corny line but enjoyed it nonetheless. He enjoyed it nearly as much as he did the flustered blush spreading over her arresting features.

“I baked cookies.” The blush spread to her ears.

“Did you drive all the way out here to tell me that? Or are you planning on sharing your cookies with me?” He couldn’t contain his laughter. She flinched. She appeared mortified, and he suspected that if he teased her any further, she’d take off. That seemed to him her
modus operandi
—Henley Elliott was a runner. The thought ended his mirth, but he maintained his smile. “Either way, you didn’t come out here to stand on my stoop. Come in.”