Time Tantrums (9 page)

Strangely touched by his genuine feelings for this Mariah person, whoever she was, Taylor softened.
 
Stress drained from her rigid spine, and she sagged back against a pillow case damp from his ministrations. The tone is his voice convinced her he felt as baffled as she did. She gave a slow shake of her head. “I don’t pretend to know how you feel. But I think we both agree this whole thing is confusing. Actually, it’s just plain scary.”

Taylor ran her hands through her hair. “Why is the
face
 
in
the mirror not mine? And you’re right. The eyes I see are green, the hair red, the lips wider,
the
skin paler. It’s not me."
 
She touched her bosom. "This is not my body! How can I be someone I’m not?”

The creases in Frank’s brow deepened. He patted the back of her hand. “I don’t know. I guess we can only take this a day at a time and see what happens. It appears we don’t have much choice.”

She nodded. “I guess you’re right, but I have to say, so far things aren't going very well.” She turned her lips down in an exaggerated pout.

Frank mimicked her facial expression then gave a half-hearted chuckle. “It hasn’t been much better from where I sit either.”

The tension between them drifted away and unanswered questions reeled through her mind. Two kept returning to the forefront: how did one find a way back to a different century and how did she know she Frank wasn’t right about her being his wife?
 
Even the doctor believed it to be true. The dilemma made her head hurt.

Frank’s logic rang true. Maybe time would provide the proof she needed. In the meantime, there seemed no need to be a bitch
..
She inched closer to Frank. “Well, if we’re going to take it a day at a time, what do you have planned for tomorrow?”

Chapter
Ten

Awake before the nurse came for what she called her morning rounds, Mariah lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the usual prodding and poking. Rather than deal with worry, she clung to one positive thought. At least, today, she
was
 
finally
getting out of bed.

She closed her eyes, pictured Frank and their children, and wished when she opened them, she’d be
back
home with her family. The doctor and nurse entered and interrupted her thoughts.

Doctor Shaw approached the bed, his smile broad.
 
“Well, Mrs. Morgan, you get to go home today. I’m so pleased with your recovery, but I want you to take it easy for a couple of weeks. I wouldn’t consider going back to your job right away, if I were you.”

Job?
Mariah glanced from the doctor to the grinning nurse and puzzled over the word. She massaged the furrow in her brow. Did he mean being lady of the ranch? That wasn’t a job, but her responsibility. Warmth filled her when she pictured her bright kitchen and visualized cooking a wholesome meal for her family. She hoped upon hope to be returning to her comfy ranch home.

“But, what about my memory problem?”
She almost laughed as soon as she’d asked the question. To her, everyone else had problems recalling the truth. She definitely knew who
she
was.

The doctor grasped his chin and appeared to ponder. “Well…physically, you’ve made rapid improvement, but I’m not sure about the memory issues. I’m hoping the loss is just a side-effect of the accident. But I suggest if you don’t start getting things back into perspective soon, you might want to consider consulting a psychotherapist. If you like, I can recommend someone.”

Psychotherapist?
The word held no meaning for her. Accustomed to sighing of late, she released another and fought the flush creeping up her neck. Embarrassed at requiring constant explanations, she decided to wait and ask David about the suggestion. She smiled and nodded at the doctor. “Yes, that would be nice.” Every time someone spoke, more confusion crept into her already befuddled mind.

The doctor scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “Here, I’m sure you’ll like her.”

Mariah glanced at a name then lifted her chin, forcing a smile. “Thank you…and thank you for taking care of me, too.”
 
Even if he hadn’t solved the puzzle about how she came to be here, he
had
tended her injuries and offered encouragement.

She put the paper on the side table then obediently stuck her arm out for the nurse. “I really won’t miss having my arm squeezed every day.” The simple statement came out more like a grumble.

* * * *

Mariah took the clothing the nurse gave her to the
  
place everyone referred to as “the bathroom.” It resembled the water closet Frank was building, but with more newfangled equipment. She touched one of the knobs on the basin, turned it, and took a step backwards when water spewed all over the place.
Quickly, she stepped closer, turned the lever in the opposite direction then brushed droplets from her arm.

Her mind jumbled at all the strange new things she saw and heard around her. She focused her attention on the toilet, an intended addition to Frank's improvement.
 
She'd seen one in a catalog.
 
Truly amazing!
 
No more trekking out to the privy or relieving oneself in a chamber pot kept under the bed.

She flushed the toilet and watched the water swirl around the bowl and disappear, then refill. Worry niggled at her. She took a deep breath, and tried to comprehend going “home” with a total stranger. Her options were limited. She had no idea where she was, how to find Frank, or even if he existed at all. Had she conjured him up in a dream?
 
At least David seemed to care a great deal about her.
Sometimes a little too much, in her opinion.
An exhalation fluttered her lips as she convinced herself he really was a nice man and she had nothing to fear from him.

Mariah unfolded the clothing. Three pieces: A jacket, a blouse and another piece that didn’t consist of much material. She hung the tops on the door hook then held out the mystery piece for examination, holding the short garment against her waist.

Surely this isn’t the bottom.

 
It didn’t even reach her knees.

Lordy, I can’t wear this. It’s indecent.

 
She re-folded the items, then pulled her hospital
gown
 
back
around her and reached behind to make sure it was tightly tied.
 
"Some of the doilies in my parlor cover more than these…these garments."

She left the bathroom and crawled back into bed.

David walked into her hospital room with a big smile on his face. “Hey! I came to take you home, Mrs. Morgan.”

Behind him, the nurse entered, pushing a
wheeled chair. Mariah'd heard about them, but this one had shiny wheels and handles. David bowed and gestured toward it. “Your chariot awaits, my lady.”

Being called Mrs. Morgan no longer bothered her. There were far more important things to worry about. Until something happened to help her prove her real identity and explain all the craziness, she'd decided to stop fighting. Mariah eyed the chair’s seat and back. If it had hand tooling, the leather could have been from one of Frank’s saddles, and looked equally uncomfortable
.“
Do I have to sit in
that
?”

“Yes, you do,” the nurse answered. “It’s hospital policy. Everyone leaves in a wheelchair.”

David glanced at her with a raised brow. “Honey, why didn’t you put on your clothes?”

“Ah...I’m still pretty sore,” she lied, too embarrassed to admit her modesty. “I decided this is more comfortable. Is that all right?”

“Sure. We’re only going home.”

While the nurse gathered Mariah’s few personal items and put them in a bag, David walked to the night table and picked up the piece of paper left behind by the doctor. “What’s this?”

 
She fought to remember the long word Dr. Shaw used, but couldn’t. “The doctor recommended some Pisco... pisco... something or other for me to see if my memory doesn’t return.”

“Psychotherapist?”

“Yes!"
 
She bobbed a nod. "That’s the word he used. Maybe I could pronounce it if I knew what it meant.”

David laughed, but quickly sobered. “I’m not making fun of you. You sounded so cute and childlike, totally unlike yourself.”
 

“So, what is a psycho… however you say it?”

“A psychotherapist is a different kind of doctor—someone who works with a person’s mind.”

“Then, I’m
not
going.”
 
She crossed her arms. “I’m perfectly happy with my mind the way it is. I’m not crazy! I don’t have an explanation for all the strange things that are happening, but that doesn’t mean I’m deranged.”

David patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Psychotherapists don’t do anything
to
your mind. They listen, ask questions and analyze what’s going on. It’s quite painless and often very helpful. Come on, let’s go home. We can talk about it later.”

Mariah scrunched her mouth into a frown and slid off the bed.

“Fine, I’ll go with you, but I absolutely refuse to have someone meddle with my mind.”

What would it hurt?
 
The question plagued her.

She made sure her gown was properly closed and dropped onto the wheeled chair's cold
seat,
she clucked her tongue against her teeth. “Well, I might consider it, but I’m not making any promises.”

Chapter Eleven

Taylor stared up at the ceiling.

 
God, there’s nothing to do around here.

 
She considered getting out of bed, but lacked motivation. Glancing across the room at the mirror, she squelched the need to throw something at it—break it so she couldn’t be reminded every day that she
was
Mariah Cassidy. She twirled a lock of red hair around her finger, pondering the mystery surrounding her.

 
How could she explain feeling like Taylor Morgan but looking
like
Mariah Cassidy? Could she fathom being stuck forever in Mariah’s home, with her children and her husband… her so very handsome husband?
  
The last thought struck a guilty note. David was just as handsome, and somewhat used to her cursing.

Noticing she played with her hair, Taylor unwound the strands from her finger and pulled the lock straight out in front of her face. “Damn, I hate red hair!”

At a light tap on the door, she inched higher against the headboard. “Come in,” she called out.

Frank entered, filling the room with the scent of fresh soap and leather. “Good morning. I wondered if you wanted to come down to breakfast.”

Taylor shrugged. “Well, I guess I should eat something even though I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Maybe a change of scenery will help. I’d like to take you on a tour of the Rocking C afterwards. That is if you feel up to it.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

She thought a moment. Getting out of the house and into fresh air might do her some good.

She slid off the bed and stood. “That sounds great. I'll get dressed and be right down.”

Almost out the door, Frank glanced over his shoulder. “You know, Mar... I’m sorry, Taylor. I don’t know if I can ever get used to this. You’re Mariah in my eyes. But, we’ll work through this somehow. I just don’t want you to be upset anymore.”

Taylor fought a sudden urge to reach out and push a stray lock of dark hair away from his eyes, but instead clasped her hands together at her waist. Frank looked so innocent and scared, she forced a smile. “I know. This is hard on both of us. I guess we only can take a day at a time. None of this makes any sense at all. I keep feeling like it’s a strange dream that’s going to end any minute.”

“Well, before you wake up, come on down and eat some breakfast, then we’ll go for a ride.”
 

His good nature lightened her mood.

* * * *

Taylor found her appetite as soon as she spied the biscuits and gravy. She took a seat at the table and hungrily split open two big flaky rolls and smothered them with creamy gravy. Seeing heat vapor rising, she carefully took her first bite. After she swallowed, she paused before a second taste.
“Yum!
My compliments to the chef, whoever that might be.”

Frank refilled his coffee cup then pulled out a chair across from her. He turned it around and straddled it. Leaning against the back, he flashed a dazzling smile. “That would be me, I reckon.”