The Other Laura Page 7

  He spoke a few more words to Tom. The cowboy tugged his hat down low on his face and strode out of the courtyard. Ryder looked up at her again, waved and headed into the house.

  A few seconds later, he appeared in the doorway. He crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the jamb. “You’re not supposed to be sunbathing.”

  She fingered the satiny scar tissue along her jawline. “It’s not real sun. It’s the middle of winter.”

  “It’s spring, but even a little sun will worsen the scars. Even on your hands.”

  Tucking her hands under her arms, she gazed with longing at the mountains visible over the roof. “I think it’d be worth it. I’m tired of being cooped up. I’m tired of being in bed.” She didn’t add how terribly lonely she was.

  “Where’s Bertie?” he asked.

  “She went to town with Mrs. Weatherbee.”

  “Why?” His brow furrowed.

  “I don’t need anything and she was restless. I saw no harm in letting her enjoy herself a few hours.”

  The furrows deepened into a scowl.

  She fought down the urge to apologize. “She’s my nurse, Ryder. If I want to give her some time off, I don’t see where that’s a problem.” She caught the right wheel and pushed with all her strength. Her arm muscles quivered like gelatin. The chair turned a few inches. Before she could try again, Ryder stepped in and helped her turn the chair so it faced the doorway. His emphasizing her lack of strength frustrated her.

  “I hate being so weak!”

  “In all likelihood the doc will take off the cast on your next visit. All your movement’s returned. You can start swimming. That should put meat on you.”

  She glanced toward the courtyard. Other than the fountain, she hadn’t seen any sources of water. She imagined swimming in a high-country pond would freeze her to her bones. “Where can I swim?”

  “In the pool.” He waved lazily toward the back of the house. “There’s a pool, sauna and gym out back. You always liked swimming. You used to do forty, fifty laps a day.”

  “Really?” She thought hard, trying to raise any mental pictures of herself exercising. “What about bicycling and skiing? I love to ski. That’s a fact.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never known you to ski. Or ride a bike. You want to be slim, not muscular That’s why you swim.”

  “I remember skiing!”

  “Not since I’ve known you. You don’t own skis. Or a bicycle.”

  She fought tears of frustration. If what she remembered weren’t memories, what were they? “There are dozens of excellent ski areas within a few hours of here. I love to ski.”

  “Whatever.” He stepped behind the chair. “Let’s get you inside. If you get sunburned, the doctors will give me the devil.” Without waiting to hear her opinion about leaving the balcony, he pushed her through the doorway.

  Miserable over her treacherous nonmemories, she suddenly wanted to return to bed. She’d pull the covers over her head and sulk, even though what she really wanted was to scream and shake somebody. Anybody.

  He started to lock the wheels, but froze, staring at the fireplace. “Where’s the portrait?”

  He straightened, his frown darkening, his gaze suspicious. Turning his head slowly, he appeared to notice for the first time the changes in the room.

  If she had the strength, she’d have kicked herself. Even though he was sleeping elsewhere temporarily, she should have asked his permission before making changes. Caught, she said, “I’m sorry, but I had to remove it. I’ll put it back if you insist, but...it’s not very tasteful.” She braced herself for his displeasure.

  “You took down the mirrors, too.”

  “I asked Mrs. Weatherbee to store them. Is that all right? She didn’t think you would mind.”

  “Where are the roses?”

  “Uh, well, you see—I canceled the deliveries! The expense is much too much, and although I do deeply appreciate the thought, I don’t really like all those yellow roses.”

  Ryder nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, kneading the sun-dark skin with his strong fingers. “Would you like something else? Daisies? Carnations?”

  Unable to even guess what he was thinking, she twiddled her fingers. “Actually, I asked Bertie if she’d find me a green plant. A philodendron or ivy. A little bit of color.” She made herself look at him. “I know I should have asked, but this room is just so...” She hadn’t the words to describe the affect the French whorehouse decor had on her.

  “If you don’t like it, change it.” He lifted her off the chair and onto the bed.

  As he arranged her leg cast, she caught a hint of a smile on his supple lips.

  “You don’t mind? Truly?”

  “Do whatever you want. As long as you stay out of the sun.” The smile turned thoughtful and he left her.

  She wished she could remember how and why she’d married Ryder Hudson. She wished he would talk to her and help her fill in the blanks. He answered most questions she asked, but only the questions she asked. Figuring out the proper questions was the kicker. Figuring out what she actually had the stomach to hear was even more difficult.

  Later that day, the telephone rang. She started to lift the handset when she noticed it wasn’t the in-house line. It came from outside, on her private line. Bemused by the novelty of someone actually calling to speak to her, she allowed it to ring several times before she answered.

  “Hello?” she said cautiously.

  “Hey, baby,” a man said. His voice was throaty with amusement.

  “Hello?”

  “This is Laura isn’t it?”

  He recognized her, apparently, but she hadn’t a clue as to his identity. “This is Mrs. Hudson. May I ask who’s calling?”

  He laughed. “You don’t know who this is? Imagine that. After all we’ve been through together.” He tsked. “Or is it you don’t want to remember? Amnesia pays pretty good.”

  “What — ?”

  “But old Ryder is taking good care of you, huh? How does he like the new, improved Laura?”

  “You must have the wrong number. I’m sorry—”

  “Hey!” His hot-honey tone turned rough. “One of us in this little tea party is stupid, but it isn’t me. I suggest you do some hard thinking and consider just how much I know.”

  Frightened by the man’s threatening words, she slammed down the handset. Shivering, she hugged herself. She hadn’t recognized the voice, but a sinking feeling told her it didn’t matter. That man knew her, and hanging up on him wasn’t going to deter him in the slightest.

  Chapter Five

  For several days, Laura worried about the strange phone call. When the man didn’t call again and no one in the house mentioned that anything odd had happened, she finally wondered if she’d dreamed the call. Maybe it was another example of the bizarre aftereffects of her injuries.

  On the day she had the cast removed from her leg and her physical therapist gave her the go-ahead to use crutches instead of the wheelchair, she also had an appointment with her psychiatrist.

  She stated, “I’m going insane, Dr. Lopez. That’s all there is to it.”

  He sorted the pile of paperwork on his desk. “Why do you say that, Laura?”

  Of all her many doctors, Dr. Lopez was the only one she actively disliked. Which was funny, because he was the only one who hadn’t physically caused her pain. That his demeanor bordered on catatonic calm drove her crazy. He answered questions with questions. Whenever she did manage to pin him down, he tacked on qualifiers.

  “I’m still having that dream.”

  “The book dream. Has anything changed?”

  She shook her head. “I hear the animal scream. I’m holding the book. Like this.” She mimed clutching a large book against her bosom. “I’m scared. A woman is yelling and there’s a bad smell like...” Her nose wrinkled as she tried to conjure the elusive scent. “I don’t know what it is. Anyway, somebody is chasing me. He wants the book.” She shuddered. She’d fi
rst had the dream a few weeks before leaving the hospital. “I dream it almost every night now. It’s weird. Some of it seems so real, some of it is obviously a dream.”

  “Hmm, what else?”

  “It’s the same old thing. I’m remembering things, but no one else remembers what I remember.”

  “Such as?” He scribbled on a sheet of paper.

  One of these days she’d grab whatever it was he was always doodling on, and see what he wrote about her. “I live in a house Ryder insists I designed and decorated. It’s a crazy-quilt mansion in the middle of a beautiful valley. But it looks like a mad French king or a panel of drunks with gold credit cards decorated it. It is truly unforgettable.”

  “And so you do remember it?”

  “No. What I remember is a studio apartment. There are three apartments and wooden stairs in the building, so you can hear everybody going in and out. I have a couch that I bought at a flea market for ten bucks. It was bright orange, but I had it recovered in blue-gray tweed. I have a futon instead of a bed. I have a desk made out of two file cabinets and a door blank.” She frowned, wondering what he’d say about her memories concerning computers and the vague worries she harbored about letting somebody down, somebody who depended on her to do something with the computers. Though that sounded nuttiest of all, she finally told him about it.

  “Very vivid. What do you make of this?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ryder insists I never lived in an apartment like that. He also says I’ve never held a job and the idea of me doing anything with a computer is ridiculous. In fact, he laughed at me! It’s times like that when I’m just positive as can be that Laura Hudson is someone else and I’m suffering for her crimes.”

  “Suffering for her crimes? That’s a very interesting thing for you to say, Laura. Let’s talk about that for a moment.”

  “I don’t mean suffering... I don’t know what I mean.”

  “Do you wish you were someone other than Laura?”

  She slipped a finger inside her blouse and tugged up a wayward brassiere strap. Adding insult to injury, all her clothes, including her underwear, were too big for her.

  She chewed her upper lip for a moment, and stared blankly at the dusty foliage of a silk ficus tree. “I don’t think I was a very nice person before. I don’t have any friends. My daughter hates me. The only person who seems to like me is a beautician named Janelle.”

  She drifted a moment, wondering why Ryder tortured himself by taking her to the beauty salon every two weeks. While she had her hair and nails done, he waited, his expression painfully uncomfortable, an unread magazine on his lap. If a woman spoke to him, he blushed. Janelle’s gentle teasing made him sweat.

  “Let’s go back to your daughter for a moment. Why do you think she hates you?”

  Because I’m a bad, horrible person, and you’re right, Doc, I wish I was someone else...that other Laura isn’t me....

  “Talking about your daughter upsets you.”

  She snatched tissues from a box on the desk. “The only way she’ll come into my room is when her father carries her. If he does make her see me, then she has a tantrum.” She made herself look at him. “I think I’ve hurt her. But I don’t remember how or when or why.”

  “Have you asked your husband?”

  “Once. He wouldn’t tell me.” She scrubbed at her eyes then worried the damp tissue between her fingers. “I’m scared to ask too much.”

  “Why do you think he won’t tell you?”

  She’d asked herself that very question a hundred, no, a thousand times. The only answer she could find was that she’d been such a horrible, brutal monster that Ryder couldn’t bear to remind her of what she’d done to an innocent child.

  “It’s something he wants to forget,” she said, more to herself than to the shrink. Ryder’s smile filled her mind’s eye. When he smiled, his eyes shone with wonderful light. She’d do anything to have him smiling all the time. “Maybe he hopes I’ll never remember. That I won’t be that other Laura anymore.”

  “Do you want to change?”

  “I want a relationship with my child.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t remember having a baby, so it really isn’t about me. I have a responsibility to her. She’s only six years old. She needs a mother and I’m the only one she has.”

  When she finally escaped the psychiatrist’s office, Ryder was waiting for her. Setting a magazine aside, he asked, “How did it go?”

  She absorbed his words and his tone of voice. He asked her that question whenever she finished an appointment with a doctor or physical therapist. How did it go? She’d always accepted the question as his way of being polite. Today she heard his concern and remembered the heart-wrenching vigil he’d kept by her bedside when she’d been critically ill.

  Ryder had hope.

  He hoped she got well.

  Laura wished with all her heart that he hoped they could be husband and wife again.

  “It went well,” she said.

  He hovered anxiously at her back, his hands barely brushing her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re strong enough for crutches?”

  She didn’t feel strong enough to tweak a mouse’s tail. Without the cast, her left leg threatened to float away. Her right leg was in only slightly better shape. Her back ached constantly.

  She lifted her chin. “I’m getting stronger every day. May I have my hat, please?”

  He settled the broad-brimmed felt hat on her head. It served double duty in covering her slow-growing hair and shielding her tender face from the sun.

  She prayed Ryder didn’t hope she’d ever be beautiful again.

  Downstairs in the lobby, while she waited for Ryder to bring the Jeep around, she hobbled into the hospital gift shop for a pack of gum. Rolls of Lifesavers hard candy caught her attention. Butter rum. The memory of the rich butterscotch flavor was too piddly to be anything except real. She purchased two rolls of candy along with the gum.

  On the drive home, she watched the scenery. The grass on the hillsides was starting to green up, but the late-blooming scrub oaks hunched prickly and brown around the juts of gray granite and red sandstone formations. As they left the little town of Palmer Lake and turned onto the dirt road leading to the ranch, she chewed gum to ease the pressure on her ears.

  Ryder glanced at her. “I can get the road paved, I think.”

  “What?”

  He came to a patch of road that had been wash-boarded for traction. He slowed the Jeep to a crawl. Even so, they bounced and rattled. “I said, maybe it’s about time I thought about paving this road.” He swerved to miss a pothole.

  She gritted her teeth and clung to the armrest. Her back muscles felt on fire. “Don’t bother on my account.”

  Once they reached the house, Ryder pulled the Jeep around the circular drive. The ride from Colorado Springs always left her feeling as if she’d just run a marathon. She had to lean heavily on Ryder in order to get out.

  “I’ll carry you upstairs,” he said.

  “Not on your life, buster.” She lowered a glower on the steps leading into the courtyard. “I’ve been waiting too long for this. Crutches, please.”

  “Laura...”

  “It’s not like I’m jumping off a mountain, Ryder.” She chuckled. “Besides, I survived your driving.”

  Her gentle spoken dig made him hang his head. A flash of dark hair caught her eye.

  Abby peeked at them from around the courtyard wall. Knowing the little girl would probably like nothing better than seeing her mother fall on her butt gave Laura extra incentive to do well with the crutches. Balancing on her good leg, she settled the arm pieces under her arms and made sure she had a good hold on the grips. She concentrated on what her therapist had shown her. Balance, swing the crutches forward, make sure they were firmly in place and lean into them. She made her awkward way across the graveled driveway. She paused to catch her breath.

  Eyes wide and astonished, Abby stepped into view. She stared at the
crutches. Laura grinned. Already she was sweating and out of breath, but she kept going. Hop up on the step, bring up the crutches, find her balance, hop up the next step.

  “I made it!” she announced in triumph.

  Ryder loosed a long, relieved-sounding breath. He lifted his hat and mopped his brow with a kerchief.

  Even better, Abby crept forward. “You’re walking.”

  Laura raised her left leg. “No more cast.” Her leg, so thin her stocking sagged at the ankle, still felt as if it wanted to float away. “So, if you two will excuse me, I think I’ll go upstairs.” Not caring how long it took her, she made her slow way across the courtyard and into the house.

  She stopped at the base of the stairs.

  Who in her right mind ever thought this horrible double-curved staircase with open marble steps was a good idea? If she tripped, she’d break her neck.

  Sensing a presence behind her, she discovered Abby had slipped through the doors. Why the child was fascinated by the crutches, Laura hadn’t a clue. She wasn’t going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth, though.

  She grasped the white-enameled banister and tucked the crutches under her left arm. It might take all day, but she could do this. Holding tightly on to the banister, she hopped up the first riser.

  Up she went, one riser at a time. Hop, rest, catch her breath, adjust her grip on the crutches, hop another step.

  Like a dark little shadow, Abby followed her to the second floor.

  At the doorway to her suite, Laura leaned against the jamb and grinned at the little girl. She was exhausted, and sweat dripped off her face and soaked her blouse, but she’d made it. She was mobile, a prisoner no more. Triumph as much as exertion left her light-headed.

  Looking at Abby’s curious little face, Laura remembered Abby was the one who liked butter-rum Lifesavers. She fished in her pocket and brought out a roll. Winking, she tossed it across the hallway and Abby caught it in both hands. Her big eyes got bigger.

  “There you go, kiddo, don’t tell your mom.” Giddy with victory, she entered her room for some much-needed rest.