Carrie Weaver - The Road To Echo Point

“Go ahead.”

“Mom, this is Violet. She’s named after a flower just like you.”

“Yeah, as in shrinking Violet,” Vi muttered.

Daisy practically glowed with excitement. She gestured with her hands as she spoke. “Another flower woman. I should have known immediately. We’re kindred spirits, my dear. This is so exciting.” She floated across the room and slid her arm around Vi’s waist. “I’m so glad you came, Violet dear. It will be so good to have another flower woman to keep me company.”

Vi forced herself not to cringe. If she kept very, very still, her elbow would not brush against the woman’s bare breast. She sucked in a breath and managed a plastic smile.

“Violet. Yep. That’s me.”

Ian gently grasped Daisy by the shoulders and drew her away. “Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed and ready for your volunteer work. You can chat with Vi…ah…Violet, when you get home.”

“That would be lovely, dear.” Daisy twisted around to wave gaily. “We’ll talk later, Violet.”

And that had been the beginning of the end. She would continue to be Violet for the duration of her stay, she just knew it. Once Daisy latched on to something, she didn’t let go. Maybe it was because of all the memories she’d lost. Maybe that made what she did remember all the more precious.

A high-pitched whine interrupted Vi’s reverie, bringing her back to the present. The noise came from the corner. She swiveled on the stool to look into Annabelle’s concerned brown eyes. This time they didn’t trigger a flood of bad feelings. Annabelle was a big dog—what had Ian said?—a chocolate Lab mix? Really nothing at all like the terrier pup she’d had as a kid. The pup her dad had killed.

Annabelle whined again.

“I’m okay. Nothing to worry about, girl.”

Who was the crazy lady now? Talking to animals.

The whine grew more persistent, ending with a half bark.

Vi got off the stool and approached the dog, slowly, carefully. She seemed harmless enough. Head on paws, big beseeching eyes, who could resist?

Vi knelt a few feet from the animal and stretched out her hand. The dog sniffed her fingers, then her big, pink tongue swiped across Vi’s palm.

“Yech.” Vi wiped her hand on her pants, but leaned a little closer.

The dog didn’t move a muscle, just swished its tail slightly. Bolstered with confidence, Vi let her fingers wander over the soft, silky ears.

Annabelle’s tail thumped her approval.

Warmth flared somewhere near her heart. That wasn’t bad at all. She lowered herself to sit cross-legged next to the dog. Annabelle inched forward on her stomach and rested her head on Vi’s lap.

The warmth expanded. It became a reassuring feeling that grew with each stroke of the dog’s coat.

“You’re a lovely girl, aren’t you.”

The pink tongue bathed her wrist.

“You know, girl, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The big, brown eyes gazed up at her, as if she were the most important person on earth.

“And I don’t really think Daisy is as big a pain in the butt as I did at first. She just kind of freaks me out. Never knowing what she’ll do. And that’s a lot of responsibility. Ian says he trusts me, but he doesn’t know me. I can’t even keep a houseplant alive, let alone a confused old woman.”

Vi stroked Annabelle’s head and worked her way down her soft, silky back. She really was beautiful. Her hind leg was in a cast, but healing nicely according to the vet.

“And you know what, Annabelle? The woman insists on calling me Violet. I don’t want to be Violet. Violet, as in shrinking Violet. As in, let-people-walk-all-over-her Violet. And run-and-hide Violet….”

Annabelle whined, stretching up to lick Vi’s chin.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I promise I’ll help you get better. That way you can have your job back, and I can have mine. Sound like a plan?”

She nodded for the dog. Of course it was a good plan. Next time she went to Phoenix for more files, she’d stop off at the library and do some research on fractures. It would right a wrong, good karma and all that. And it would get her out of this mixed-up place where up was down and night was day.

IAN STOOD IN THE DOORWAY, watching Vi and Annabelle. The woman held the dog’s head in her lap, talking softly, so softly he had to lean forward to hear.

Remorse? And tenderness. And something missing, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Confidence. That cocky attitude.

Guilt, or the power bar, twisted his gut. It was okay to use her when he thought she was a heartless witch. But now she looked relaxed and very unwitchlike.

Her tender murmurs grated on his nerves. Ian didn’t want to hear anymore. He didn’t need to feel bad about disrupting her life.

He cleared his throat.

Vi’s head came up. Their eyes met for a minute, before she looked away. What he’d seen there made him curse under his breath. Confusion. And fear. Beneath that tough-as-nails stuff was a woman hiding from something. A woman who didn’t expect much from people. But with the dog, she’d let down her guard. Let out all that vulnerability. And dammit, he’d had to witness it.

“I was checking on Annabelle. Making sure she was okay.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Short run.” She raised an eyebrow.

Ian tried to convince himself he wasn’t seeing her any differently, but he was. “I don’t like being gone long. Force of habit. Besides, I’ve got a lot to do.”

He watched her pry Annabelle’s head off her lap, careful not to disturb the snoring dog. She rose so smoothly the dog didn’t even twitch.

“What exactly do you do?” she asked.

“Write. Kind of an action, mystery type thing.”

His shoulders tensed as he waited for the look. That surprised look. Sure enough, there it was. Then she eyed him up and down, before letting her gaze stop at his face.

The silence lengthened. He let it go on and on, until he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“I was an English Lit major. That was right after I quit dragging my knuckles and figured out those darn opposable thumbs.”

A flush crept up her neck. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

“Don’t bother denying it. You’re not the first to make that assumption.”

Her flush deepened, worked its way up her face. Amazing that her smooth, olive-toned skin could get that red. A few more twists in the breeze and he’d let her off the hook.

“Of course, those assumptions come in handy at times. Like when I helped out in Daisy’s dance studio. At first I was drafted against my will, but when I got a look at all those ballerinas in leotards, I learned a whole new appreciation for dance. The dumb jock thing was what kept me from being severely beaten on a daily basis. I learned to compensate.”

The expression on her face was priceless, well worth the soul-baring. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widened. “Ballet? You?”

“You got it. I was pretty good, too. Better quarterback though, much to Dad’s relief.”

Vi let the rest of Ian’s disclosure wash over her without registering. It was the only way she could keep her sleep-deprived brain cells from overloading completely.

This guy was a real trip. He’d developed the ultimate line. Not just a hard body, he was a renaissance man—intelligent, gifted and cultured, all rolled into one package. The average woman would buy it hook, line and sinker.

“How about antiques, what do you think of those?” she quizzed.

“I can take ’em or leave ’em.” He grinned, an amused half smile that lit his eyes. “I don’t enjoy show tunes, either. Never patted another guy on the butt, on or off the football field. ‘Good game’ worked just as well.”