other more than ever.”
“Difficult to figure, considering I never needed you at all.” He looked at his reflection in the mirror hanging above the hall table. A stranger stared back at him. Hair that hadn’t been cut in months, three days’ growth of beard on his face, partially hiding a fresh scar that began beneath his chin and zigzagged down three inches to the right. Surface changes, for the most part, with the exception of his eyes. Ghosts lurked there, haunted fragments of memory that he doubted he’d ever shake. But for all the changes, he was still Dr. Shane Farhold.
He just wasn’t certain who that man was anymore.
“Shane? Are you still there?”
“Yes.” With a mental jerk, he shifted his attention back to the woman on the other end of the line and answered her question.
“Well, that’s good, then. I wanted to tell you about the sweetest little shop I’ve set up. I’m selling Wiccan items and teaching some classes. You can’t believe the response I’ve gotten. With my ability for summoning the spirits, there’s a never-ending stream of people who are lonely for a long departed loved one. But not all people are open-minded about that, as you recall.”
He read the underlying message in what she didn’t say. “Run a little afoul of the local law, did you?”
Her tone was just right. A little bewildered, with a touch of the shakiness one might expect in a seventy-year-old woman. Except that Genevieve Fleming had never exuded signs of her age in her entire life. She didn’t admit to it at all, unless it could help her in some way. “They’re hounding me, Shane, treating me like some common criminal. They want a payoff, of course, a bribe to leave me alone to conduct my business in peace.”
“Really.” When he noticed his fist clenching, he consciously relaxed it, continued sorting the mail. “Are you sure it’s a bribe they want, Gran? I believe it’s more commonly referred to as bail.”
There was a moment of silence, while she rapidly regrouped, but only a moment. She’d always been quick to recover. Quick to assess any situation and milk it for all she was worth. Then she gave a martyred sigh, like a woman trying her best to be strong. “You have caller ID, I suppose. Well, as a matter of fact, I hadn’t wanted to alarm you, but for some reason I’ve been put in jail. I don’t know how to handle this. I feel so alone.” Her voice broke.
There had been a time, even a few months ago, when the sound would have tugged at his conscience. Guilt was a habit decades in the making, difficult to break. But right now he felt nothing. No guilt. No compassion. Nothing but a weary sort of irritation that he might have felt for a particularly annoying stranger. His grandmother was little more than that, at any rate.
“Considering your experience with jails around the country, it’s hard to believe you’re totally out of your element.” He tossed a credit card application onto the discard pile. “You have my lawyer’s number. Use it.”
“He hasn’t been helpful at all. Do you know, he expects me to plead guilty? If he was really worth the money you pay him, he’d post my bail and have the charges dismissed. He refuses to get me out of here.”
“Because you’ve skipped bail the last two times you’ve been arrested,” he reminded her. “Leaves us in a rather uncomfortable position when you can’t be depended on to show up for the court date.” His gaze dropped once more to the plain white envelope, its very simplicity inviting him to pick it up. Open it. To delve once again into a morass of emotion that he was reluctant to repeat. There was something to be said for the lack of feeling he’d been experiencing for the past few weeks. Absence of emotion also meant absence of pain. One of those damn silver linings the Pollyanna types always talked about. If he had an ounce of self-preservation left, he’d toss the letter away with the junk mail.
“Shane, if you’d just fly here to talk to me, I’m sure we could work this out. I need to see my only grandchild.” Genevieve’s voice quavered a bit. “Remember when you lived with me what a great team we made? We were inseparable.”
He smiled humorlessly. “Actually, I do remember teaming up with you. I remember everything. Which is why I have no interest in a reunion. I’d recommend that you call my lawyer and follow his advice. There’s nothing more I can do.” He was disconnecting the phone with one hand, even as he picked up Cassie’s letter with the other.
He could think of no better time to read her letter than right after dealing with his grandmother. They had, after all, so much in common. With any luck he could dispense with Cassie’s message as easily, as emotionlessly, as he had with Genevieve.
But that hope was dashed when he read the single line printed on the page.
We need to talk.
There was nothing else. Just four words followed by her neat signature. Nothing to hint at her reasons for contacting him. Certainly their last fight, a few days after the fair, had been passionately final.
We need to talk.
They’d said everything they needed to each other then, and, if truth be told, even more. When he remembered the bitterness with which they parted, regret surged, forging through the shield he’d erected around his heart. But as often as he’d turned it over in his mind, he’d never been able to figure another way for them.
He looked at the postmark on the envelope. It had been mailed after he’d been in Afghanistan for two months. His original assignment had been for four weeks, but he’d made arrangements to extend it. And then he had ended up staying even longer than he could have imagined.
His gaze dropped to the letter again. Whatever she wanted to talk to him about had already waited a month. Maybe she’d written the note in a weak moment, driven by memories and remorse. Perhaps she’d thought better of the missive as soon as it was mailed. At any rate, what would they talk about? If there was one thing he’d learned in the past few months, it was that regret never changed anything. What was done was done. And then one just figured out how to live with the results.
We need to talk.
He didn’t need to talk to Cassie. He didn’t need her on any level. He’d spent three long months learning that. What he needed at this moment was to contact the hospital, get himself back on rotation. To unpack and deal with his wash. Get some medical supplies, including a prescription of painkillers and maybe, if the mood struck him, a haircut so he wouldn’t scare his patients. Those were his priorities right now, and every one of them could be accomplished without dredging up painful feelings that were better left safely buried.
Decision made, he balled the note up in his hand, let it drop to the floor and headed out the door.
Cassie murmured soothingly to the half-wild stallion, not attempting to move any closer to it. Its rolling eyes and flared nostrils told her exactly how agitated it was. Now she’d see how much she’d taught it about trust.
Her hand inched upward a fraction of an inch at a time, even as she kept up a running litany of calming sounds. Her gaze never left the animal’s eyes. That was where she’d see its reaction first.
It whickered nervously, backed up a little, flicked its tail. She moved forward a step and it went still, warning her. She froze, but never stopped her low, soothing monologue. The horse shook its mane and danced sideways, then finally lowered its head and pricked its ears, watching her.
Recognizing that the timing was right, Cassie reached out slowly, stroking its shoulder before
