Here to Stay (11 page)

Making sure to avoid the squeaky spot on the scarred wooden floor, Mandy crept to her door, which opened onto the kitchen. She’d need to take him unawares. She grasped the brass knob, held her breath to give it a turn, and eased the door open.

A man
. He was silhouetted in front of her window, tall, broad-shouldered.
Memories
. Oh, how she wanted to ease the door closed and lock it. Nothing she owned was worth much. Why risk her life? Maybe she could call the police. They’d arrive in five minutes. In the meantime, she could hide in the closet. She was an expert at hiding. She had perfected the art when her father was on his drunken rampages.

Only—
oh, God
—Luke’s bedroom was even closer to the kitchen sink than hers. What if he heard the noise and got up? He might startle the burglar. He’d be totally helpless. Mandy had been protecting him all his life. She wasn’t about to leave him at the mercy of a possible killer just because her legs felt as if they’d turned to water.

She drew the door farther open and raised the lamp above her head. When she was two feet from the intruder, he made a choking sound and whirled around. Only moonlight illuminated the room, but, as terrified as Mandy was, there was no mistaking that profile.

“Luke?”

The choking sound came again. Her brother hunched over the sink. Mandy ran for the light switch. Luke had one hand clamped at his waist while the other gripped the counter. His face was crimson with faint splashes of chartreuse around his lips. He sucked for air, and again she heard the clogged sound.

Choking
. Mandy tried to drop the lamp and couldn’t. So she raced to the sink with the cord still encircling her wrist, the lamp clunking on the linoleum behind her.

“Luke? For heaven’s sake, what on
earth
?”

She whacked her brother on the back. He coughed and gagged. Mandy stared in incredulous shock as he puked up a half-chewed mass she identified as chocolate-chip cookie. The raspy sounds as he fought for air scared her.

Suddenly her brother caught his breath. “Sorry,” he managed. He gulped and gagged again. “You ... startled me ... choked ...”

Mandy gave his back another whack, resisting an ill-advised urge to bring the base of the lamp down on his head. Murderous thoughts slipped into her mind. Luke couldn’t go anywhere in the house by himself, but he’d managed to find the cookies? She gulped back expletives, untangled her wrist from the cord, and settled her hands on her hips. “What
is
this? You’re up in the middle of the night, stuffing your face with
cookies
?”

Luke gagged again. Mandy cranked on the cold water to wash away the evidence of his treachery. When he could speak, he said, “They smelled so good, and you didn’t give me any, so I came out to find them. Sorry, Mands. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

I’ll kill him
. The thought sprang unbidden into her mind. Mandy booted it out, aware that her legs trembled. No intruder to take on, only her blind brother, who’d suddenly developed an amazing sense of smell, not to mention an incredible ability to find his way around the kitchen. She sank onto a chair and stared at him in disbelief. He wasn’t anywhere close to being as helpless as he pretended to be. On some level, she’d suspected this, but she’d always shoved the thoughts away because she didn’t want to believe her brother was using his disability to make her kowtow to him. Now she could no longer kid herself. He used his blindness as a weapon. Against her. He’d been doing it for years. The realization bewildered her as much as it angered her.

She checked her watch. Three o’clock. Luke insisted on rising at six. Fresh surges of rage welled within her, but now wasn’t the time to address this problem. She should wait until she was wide-awake and her heart wasn’t stampeding. Willing the tension from her muscles, she glared at her brother’s back. He still hung his head over the sink. She no longer feared that he might choke to death.

She dredged up as neutral a tone as she could. “Well, have you had enough cookies now to satisfy your craving?”

His hanging head bobbed up and down. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Plenty.”

Mandy pushed up from the chair. She hadn’t known until now that outrage could make a person icy calm. “Well, then, I think we should both go back to bed.”

She grabbed the lamp and turned to leave the kitchen. Hearing her retreating footsteps, Luke swung erect. “Well, come on. Aren’t you going to take me to my room?”

“Don’t even go there with me,” she snapped. “You managed to find the cookies. I’m sure you can find your bed.”

Mandy stepped into her bedroom and slammed the door shut with more force than she intended. Silence from the kitchen.

She sank onto the edge of her mattress as realization overwhelmed her. Luke was navigating the house without her assistance. Even worse, she had put the cookies in a plastic container, and he’d still located them. Given the fact that she kept a lot of stuff in airtight plastic, Luke had to be familiar with the contents of the cupboards to identify a new addition to the clutter. How many times had he made kitchen raids? Thinking back, Mandy could recall a few times when she’d thought food might be missing, but she’d never paid close enough attention to be certain.

Helpless?
It was all an act, Luke’s way of trying to control her. A young man who could locate a bin of cookies should have no difficulty finding the wastebasket at the end of the sofa. He tossed the wrappers on the floor
deliberately
. If he could find cookies, he could find the bathroom. This helpless business was a fraud.

Thirteen years after the accident, Luke was still making her pay.

She lay on her bed. She heard Luke making a racket in the kitchen. Well, she would
not
race out there. He’d just been found out and was trying to bring her back to heel. Let him stew.

“Mandy, I fell. I’m on the floor and don’t know where I am.”

Oh, right
. “You know exactly where you are. Now get up and go back to bed.”

“I
need
you. You aren’t going to leave me out here, are you?”

Mandy wasn’t going to fall for it, not this time. “Maybe if I put a cookie on your pillow, you could smell your way back to bed.”

“Mands, you’re just being mean. I’m cold. Don’t feel good. Please come get me.”

And so it went until four in the morning, when Mandy’s eyelids grated against her eyeballs like sandpaper. The voices of Luke’s counselors bounced around in her brain.
Don’t enable him
. But, damn them, they weren’t here. For nearly an hour, her brother had been lying out there, on the linoleum, on a chill February night. What was she supposed to do, cram wax plugs into her ears and drift blissfully off to sleep?

“Mands?”

Hearing the tremor in his voice, Mandy sat up.
Okay, I’m an enabler. So hang me
. Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip. She’d tried so hard to encourage Luke to be self-sufficient, and he’d always played the guilt card. Despite that, she couldn’t leave him lying on the cold floor. Maybe when she met her Maker, she’d be condemned for going out there to help him. But what if he really had become disoriented, and she ignored his plight? Only a heartless person could do that.

She returned to the kitchen. Luke lay on the linoleum, shivering convulsively. She knelt beside him, curled her arms around his shoulders. He was crying, and even though visions of him gobbling cookies still filled her head, she felt sorry for him.

“Luke, I’m here. I’ll help you back to bed.”

“Why’d you leave me so long? I’m so cold I’m shuddering.”

Even though Mandy believed that Luke could find his way back to bed alone and that his tears were of the crocodile variety, he truly was shivering. Guilt settled over her like thick fog. She strained to help him gain his feet. And then, together, they went to his room. As Mandy helped him into bed, she accepted on some level that they would probably live like this for the rest of their lives, Luke deliberately helpless, she his faithful caregiver, bound to him by chains that were no less real for being invisible.

At seven a.m., Zach was still slumped on a kitchen chair, staring with reddened, aching eyes at his horse. She’d stirred during the night, mostly to move her legs a bit before going back to sleep. Now she tapped her hooves, not energetically, but with listless sidesteps. She looked expectantly at him. This morning, he said to hell with the stairs and picked her up to carry her outside. She dumped a huge load, the size of which amazed even Zach, who was accustomed to big horse droppings.

He scooped a measure of the dung into a bag. Tucker would want to know how much sand settled in the bucket. Zach didn’t relish the thought of stirring manure water, but a guy had to do what a guy had to do.

Cookie called at seven thirty on Zach’s cell. “Well, son, how’s our little girl doin’?”

“I think she’s a bit better,” Zach replied. “Not kicking at her belly or staring at her flanks. But she still isn’t back to normal. I’m taking the day off to keep an eye on her.”

Cookie huffed into the phone. “Well, friggin’ hell! If you think she might still go down, maybe you should call Tucker and take her to the clinic. We don’t want to lose that pretty little lady. She’s a sweetheart.”

Zach passed a hand over his eyes. “I’ll ask Tucker what he thinks.”

“Keep me posted,” Cookie said gruffly. “If you need help, just holler.”

“Thanks, Cookie. I appreciate the offer.”

Zach disconnected and settled a bewildered gaze on Rosebud as she proceeded to drain what remained in her water bucket. More strawberry Gatorade, coming up. After refilling her pail, he gave her a dose of Banamine and fed a tube into her nostril to administer more psyllium mixed with water. As he worked, he envisioned sand flooded with enough water to break it apart and prayed Tucker’s remedies would work.

By noon, Rosebud’s appetite was picking up. When Tucker called to check in, Zach couldn’t keep a note of exhilaration out of his voice. “I think she’s better, drinking tons of water and passing sand. The psyllium seems to be moving it out of there.”

“Good, good. What’s her temp?”

“Normal,” Zach replied. “Her heart rate is still a little fast, but nothing alarming now, and her gums look better.”

“Belly?”

“It feels softer to me. She’s not tensed up from the pain like she was.”

Tucker laughed. “Congratulations. You’re going to pull her out of it.”

“I hope so.” Zach’s sincerity alarmed him. He’d come to love the horse far more than was wise. When training ended, she would become someone’s service animal, and Zach would never see her again. “I’ll keep a close eye on her.”

“Good man.” The sound of a honking horn came over the airwaves, and Tucker mumbled expletives under his breath. “People are driving like maniacs.”

“Full moon. You out making farm calls?”

“I am. You can reach me on my cell if anything goes wrong.”

After the call, Zach carried Rosebud outdoors. Winter sunlight pooled like melted butter on the frosted grass, and the breeze carried scents of pine and hay to Zach’s nostrils. Walking beside the mini, he drew in deep breaths, savoring each smell, which had become part of the fabric of his life. He couldn’t imagine living where exhaust fumes overrode nature’s fragrances. Even the odor of horse dung appealed to him.

Rosebud’s movement was firm, but Zach still collected it for analysis, hoping he’d find more sand. An hour later, he’d just drained off the water and was grinning over the substantial amount of grit he’d found in the bottom of the bucket when his landline phone rang. He grabbed the portable, hit the talk button, and said, “The Crooked H, Zach Harrigan speaking.” His main line was essentially for business, the number listed in the phone book for the public. Only family, friends, and business associates with whom he was already interacting had his cell phone number. “How can I help you?”

“Hi, Mr. Harrigan,” a woman said. “This is Miranda Pajeck, the lady with the fake car trouble last night.”

Zach had already recognized her soft, lilting voice.
Pajeck?
Somehow that rang a bell, connected with something vaguely unpleasant, but he couldn’t think why. When he’d heard her surname last night, it had gone in one ear and out the other.

“I waited to call as long as I could stand it. How’s Rosebud doing today?”

The concern in her voice tipped Zach’s lips into a grin. Maybe he was nuts, but something about this lady spoke to him, and it sure as hell wasn’t only her looks. He’d bedded some gorgeous women. None of them had ever made him feel this way. Just the sound of her voice over the phone got to him. Almost as much as the gentleness in her tone last night when she soothed Rosebud.

He glanced down at the mini. “She’s eating and accepting her treats. Not eagerly, mind you, but she seems to be on the mend, and Tucker thinks she’s out of the woods.”

Zach heard her breath catch. Then she whispered, “Oh, thank you,
God
.” Then she laughed shakily. “I was so afraid you’d tell me she was dead. I know zip about horses and even less about colic, but it sounded extremely dangerous.”

“It definitely can be.” Zach settled his hand on Rosebud’s head, threading his fingertips through her forelock. “But Tucker thinks we caught it in time. She’s probably going to make it. Keep your fingers crossed.”

“I think I’ll just continue to say Hail Marys,” she replied. “I’ve found that to be more effective than finger crossing.”

She was a Catholic? He couldn’t remember seeing her at St. Catherine’s, the only Catholic church in Crystal Falls. “Well, I’m glad you’ve been saying Hail Marys. I’m so sleep deprived I caught myself saying the meal blessing instead.”

She laughed lightly, the sound almost musical. “Uh-oh, you must be on autopilot. That’s okay. I’m sure God understands how exhausted you are.”

Zach grinned, then turned his mind to their conversation last night. “If she makes it, and it appears that she will, maybe your brother will end up with her as his guide horse.”