called out the name Logan.”
She looked up at him. “I did? Again?”
Joe nodded. “But this man wasn’t Logan?”
Something registered in her brain, something from the dream. “No, he wasn’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he was sent by Logan.” She groaned, pounding a fist into the mattress. “This is crazy. It doesn’t make sense.” She closed her eyes, feeling a dull throb start to radiate from the tender area at the top of her head. “Logan. What’s Logan? Who’s Logan? I don’t even know why I keep saying it. I wish I could remember.” She opened her eyes, sitting up again. “It must mean something if I keep saying it.”
“Maybe,” Joe said.
“Or maybe it’s just the name of a character in a book you once read, or a neighbor, or your third-grade teacher.”
They both stopped and turned toward the door. Cruz reached into the pocket of his white jacket and pulled out a stethoscope as he walked into the room.
“I thought we had agreed you would wait for me at the nurses’ station, Sheriff Mountain,” he said, glowering at Joe.
“And I had every intention of doing that very thing,” Joe insisted, bringing his hands up in surrender. “But your patient was having a nightmare. I heard her calling out from the corridor.” He turned and glanced back at her. “I thought maybe she could use some help.”
“A nightmare,” Cruz said, the annoyance in his voice disappearing in his concern for his patient. Reaching for Rain’s wrist, he felt for her pulse. “Another bad one?”
“About the same as the other,” she confessed.
He looked down at her, running the backs of his fingers across her forehead. “You feel clammy and your heart’s still racing.”
“I dreamed the bogey man was out to get me,” she sighed with a humorless laugh. She was tired of thinking about the dreams, tired of thinking about what was real and what wasn’t, tired of trying to figure out what was important and what was just idle fantasy—and most of all she was tired of not knowing the difference.
“The bogey man, huh?” Cruz repeated dryly. “That doesn’t sound good.” He turned an accusing glance at Joe. “I hope you weren’t badgering her with more questions.”
“She said she dreamed someone was after her,” Joe admitted. “I thought maybe she might have remembered something.”
“Do you think that’s possible, doctor?” she asked hopefully, sitting up again. “Could I remember something in my dreams?”
“What I think,” Cruz said calmly, putting a hand on her shoulder and guiding her back against the pillows, “is that you had a dream.”
“I know, but—”
“A dream,” Cruz said, cutting her off and shooting Joe a dark look before turning back to her again. “And I told you I wanted you to get some rest, not be trying to interpret every little thing that pops out of your subconscious.”
“But it could have been something from my past, couldn’t it?” she insisted.
“It is highly unlikely.”
“But it’s a possibility,” Joe pointed out.
Cruz shot him another dark look. “An unlikely one.” He turned to Rain again. “It was just a dream.” He leaned closer, his voice growing softer. “I know this is scary, and I know you’re anxious to remember but your memory is going to come back when it comes back—no sooner than that.” He straightened back up. “But I do have some good news, though.”
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