for all you’ve done to help these past few days.”
“Don’t you even worry about that.”
Not only had this dear friend taken care of her when she collapsed the day of Susan’s death, but Ardis and Jim had been the ones to call Kirk in and tell him about Susan—a task Cheyenne would traditionally have undertaken.
Ardis leaned closer. “Have you spoken to Kirk at all?”
“He won’t communicate.”
“And so we still don’t know why she was driving under the influence—”
“Please.” Cheyenne felt the stab of fresh pain. “Does it matter, anyway? She’s dead, and no amount of fact finding will bring her back. The wreck wasn’t her fault, according to the police report. That’s all I need to—”
“I’m sorry, honey, of course you’re right.” Ardis squeezed her shoulder, then indicated the crowded church. “Look, I know you don’t believe in all this, but I hope it comforts you to know that Susan was very well loved.”
“My sister found…comfort here, apparently,” Cheyenne said.
“She’s receiving more comfort now than she ever received here on earth.”
Cheyenne nodded, too overwhelmed to argue. She respected Ardis’s faith even though she didn’t share it.
Ardis squeezed Cheyenne’s shoulder and returned to her seat several rows back.
The organ music drifted to silence. The deep baritone voice of a soloist echoed through the auditorium—waxing poetic about gardens and dew and talking with the Son of God.
Cheyenne focused her attention on the closed casket and the picture of her laughing sister, whose life hadn’t been lived long enough for her to ever be complete.
At the cemetery, the funeral director escorted Cheyenne beneath the canopy to the seat next to her brother-in-law.
He edged away from her, his firm features set.
She endured the minister’s attempt at consolation as he eulogized her sister.
He meant well, but he didn’t know Susan the way she did.
She took her mother’s hand and held tight, forcing away the memories of Friday. Almost every night, she dreamed of the blood. She dreamed of Susan’s battered body. She relived that horrible time over and over in her head.
The pastor finished his eulogy and said a prayer, then reached for Kirk’s hand. “She was a precious soul,” he said softly. “We’ll miss her so much, but I know it’ll be nothing compared to what you’re going through.”
Kirk’s tears looked real, the pain on his face unrehearsed. It reflected Cheyenne’s own loss.
For one unguarded moment, she felt the kinship. As the pastor stepped away, Cheyenne touched Kirk’s arm. “We’re both going to miss her,” she whispered.
He jerked away, turning on her with the swiftness of a striking snake. “How are you going to live with yourself, knowing you killed your own sister?”
The viciousness of his words, his voice, sent a sting of shock through her. “How can you say that? I did everything I could to—”
“Save it for the jury.” He turned his broad back to her and stood.
Cheyenne stood at the foot of the casket, barely heeding the voices that surrounded her as she watched Kirk shaking the hand of the funeral director. He waved and nodded to others, like a gracious party host.
He looked aside and caught her watching him. His expression hardened.
She stepped backward and stumbled.
“Cheyenne? Are you okay?” Uncle Chester caught her by the elbow.
She felt a wash of dizziness. “I’m not sure.”
Mom rushed to her side. “Chey? What’s wrong? Are you sick again?”
“No, I…I’ll be okay.” How could he blame her? She’d done all she could do. She would gladly die herself, if only it would bring Susan back.
But nothing would bring Susan back—and Cheyenne didn’t know how she’d be able to bear it.
Chapter Five
Susan’s face floated into Cheyenne’s vision, interrupting a perfect in-house nap. The dark brown eyes were lit with humor, the classically high cheekbones glowed with health.
“I want to see you again, Chey.” Her soft voice floated through the darkness. “Make sure to come—”
With a cry, Cheyenne plunged from the dream, startled awake by its vividness.
She gasped, tugging the comforter around her shoulders. “Susan!”
The telephone beside the twin-size bed beeped at her.
“Leave me alone.” She turned away from the sound, covering her ears, desperate to catch another glimpse of the dream, to hear that sweet voice again.
Another beep, and the speaker came alive. “Dr. Allison? Hello?” A male voice. Tom, the R.N. on duty.
She turned and snatched up the receiver. “Yes?”
“Dr. Allison, I’m sorry to wake you. Are you okay?”
No. She cleared her throat. “What’s up?”
“We’ve got a patient with chest pain.”
“I’ll be there.” She disconnected and looked at the bedside clock. Six-thirty on Saturday, April 2. Exactly a month since…
How many dreams did that make now, thirty or so?
How much longer could she function this way? She felt the sting of tears as she reached for her stethoscope. “Oh…Susan.”
She quick-stepped to the ER and found Tom waiting for her at the central desk.
“Vitals?” she asked.
“Arlene’s in the room doing the patient assessment.”
Cheyenne selected a T-sheet and placed it on a clipboard on her way to the cardiac room. She stopped in the doorway and caught the faint scent of body odor.
The patient had black hair…olive skin…dark eyes…
Cheyenne’s clipboard clattered to the floor.
Arlene looked up from the monitor. “Doctor, are you okay?”
Stop this! It isn’t Susan.
“Doctor?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
