Love Lies Bleeding: A Novel Part 8
Sam slammed into the cabin. "I'm going back to my bedroom," she called over her shoulder as she headed toward the hallway.
"Fine, I'll come get you when I've finished straightening up the kitchen." Anne flung her purse on the table and crossed to the counter. "We're going for a walk today."
The stress caused by the women at the beauty shop whispering about her and by being asked questions that she didn't want to answer was more than Sam could handle. She stopped short and turned back around. She didn't care what Anne wanted. She wanted to be alone, even if it meant locking herself in her bedroom. Narrowing her eyes, she studied Anne's biceps. Probably not a good idea. The woman looked more than capable of dismantling a door.
"I need rest," Sam cried with a stamp of her good leg. "You've been dragging me around all day. Can't you leave me alone for five minutes?"
"No problem," Anne replied pleasantly. "That's about how long it's going to take me to put away these dishes . . . then we'll go for that walk."
Sam crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the other woman. "I don't want to go."
"Sure you do. It's a nice afternoon and a short trip up the lane will help strengthen your leg. Then, when we get back, I'll do another deep muscle ma.s.sage."
Her self-a.s.sured tone had Sam gritting her teeth as she struggled to come up with a response. "Don't you ever get tired of giving orders?"
"Don't you ever get tired of trying to hide out in your bedroom?" Anne fired back.
"I'm not hiding out."
"You would if I let you."
"I've done everything you've asked-no, wait, told me to do."
"And b.i.t.c.hed about it the whole time."
It was no use. Anne was like an immovable object and arguments bounced off her like raindrops on concrete. She didn't listen to Sam any more than her father and Jackson did. Sam felt hopelessness threaten to swamp her.
Suddenly a woman's squeal drifted up from the lake followed by the sound of a deep baritone voice.
"Just touch it."
Her attention flew to the open patio door.
"No," the woman shrieked. "It's wiggling."
"Oh, come on," her male companion said. "It's not that big. It's only ten inches."
Out of the corner of her eye, Sam saw Anne's mouth twitch with a grin. "My G.o.d, I hope he's talking about a fish."
An absurd image flashed through her mind and something rose inside Sam like effervescent bubbles, driving away the hopelessness. Something so foreign, she'd forgotten what it felt like. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she laughed.
As Sam walked down the gravel path, the sun did feel good on the back of her neck, but she wouldn't give Anne the satisfaction of admitting it. The breeze blowing off the lake carried with it the smell of pine and honeysuckle. Ahead of them, a cloud of gnats whirled in the air. If Anne hadn't been with her, she might have stopped and let the sun soak into her body to warm the constant cold spot deep inside.
But if Anne wasn't with her, she'd be alone, outside, no longer protected by four safe walls. Out in the open, where anyone could find her. The cold spot inside grew and her steps faltered.
Anne noticed and halted. "Are you doing okay?"
She didn't answer and kept walking.
In two long strides, Anne came even with her and took a deep breath of the pine-scented air. "Doesn't this make us feel better?" She sounded like an adult talking to a little kid. "Being outside in the fresh air and sunshine? Instead of cooped up in that old cabin?"
"Look, Nurse Nancy, don't patronize me," Sam grumbled. "There is no *us.' There's you and there's me."
Anne shook her head, slowing her pace to match Sam's. "You are a p.r.i.c.kly one."
"I have the right," Sam shot back.
"Maybe you do," Anne said as her gaze wandered to the stand of pine trees growing along the road, "but a good outlook can help the body heal."
Sam lifted an eyebrow. "Another lecture about my att.i.tude? You really do like playing amateur psychologist, don't you?"
"No, but I've worked with patients who've suffered trauma and I know how it can mess with your mind," Anne replied calmly. "Dr. Van Horn told me about how you were attacked."
"At least you didn't call it an *accident,' " Sam muttered, lowering her head.
"What?"
"Nothing." Sam kept her focus on the ground. "I don't want to talk about it."
Anne ignored her. "He said it happened two weeks before your wedding, and-"
Sam's feet skidded to a stop on the pea gravel. "I said I didn't want to talk about it."
"Talking helps. It's not good to keep it all bottled up inside."
"Ha," Sam said with an angry snort. "How would you know?"
Anne lifted a shoulder. "I've had my share of problems . . . maybe not like yours . . ." She paused, as if weighing her words. "Before we moved here," she continued, "my son was running with a bad crowd and-"
Sam's hand flew to her throat. "Bad crowd? What does that mean? Your son was in a gang?"
A gang had ruined her life, and now here was a woman whose son was just like them. Her heart pounded. She had to get back to the safety of the cabin.
Spinning on her heel, Sam stumbled, but Anne's hand shot out and steadied her.
"My son wasn't in a gang, yet . . ." She faltered. "A friend-a coworker at the hospital-took the time to listen to me." Anne dropped Sam's arm. "She suggested we move to the lake, and coming here saved us. Maybe it will save you, too."
"It's not that easy . . ." Sam's hand strayed to her weak leg. "I've lost everything."
"You're still alive, aren't you?"
Sam felt the bitterness crawl out of the cold spot inside. "If you call this living-I don't." She took a step forward. "I want to go back to the cabin."
"Nope," Anne said, gently taking Sam's arm again and turning her around. "See that cabin down the road? Today we walk that far . . . tomorrow a little farther."
"Why do you have to keep pushing me?"
Anne gave her arm a little tug. "I was hired to help you and that's what I'm going to do."
"I've had enough help for one day."
"I don't think so," she replied, giving Sam's arm another jerk. "Come on; keep moving."
Sam shrugged away from Anne's grasp. Another battle lost. Okay, fine, she thought, she'd walk to the neighbor's d.a.m.n cabin. Maybe she had promised to cooperate, but she had to draw the line somewhere. Anne was taking complete control of her life, and she'd had enough of that from her father and Jackson. Anne wouldn't win the next fight. With a sense of purpose that she hadn't felt for a long time, Sam took a firm step. The other woman followed.
As they approached the cabin, two dogs rushed toward the chain-link fence surrounding the cabin, startling Sam. She stopped while the dogs danced around barking. Behind them, back in the far corner, she spied another dog, cowering next to a tree. Two black ears lay flat against its head while it stared at the world with haunted eyes, as if at any moment it expected a blow to fall. Pink patches of skin showed along its haunches, and even at this distance, she could see the poor thing's ribs. She thought of Alice's pampered poodles. This dog had never been pampered in its life.
The dog's eyes suddenly locked onto her, and in an instant, her mind flashed back to the parking garage, and she saw herself on her knees, begging for her life. Humiliated and afraid to move-just like that dog. It's not fair-no living creature, not even a dog, should ever experience that kind of terror. Her breath caught in her throat as the dog's eyes seemed to plead for help. The blood rushed to her face and all the anger bottled up inside her burst. She hadn't been able to save herself, but maybe she could save this dog. With determined steps, she limped past the fence and headed toward the small deck that extended from the front of the cabin.
"What are you doing, Sam?" she heard Anne call from behind her, but she ignored her.
Grasping the railing, she hauled herself up the steps, one at a time. She crossed the deck and pounded on the front door. From inside, she heard the soft strains of a saxophone.
Suddenly the music stopped and a man wearing jeans-no shirt, just jeans-answered and stepped out on the deck. Above his narrow waist, dark hair trailed across his tan chest. From what Sam could see, and she could see quite a bit, he didn't have an ounce of fat on him.
"Yes?" he said as his dark brown eyes questioned her.
Shaken by the vision of a half-dressed man standing in front of her, Sam felt her words die in her throat. Then she remembered the dog with the frightened eyes and her anger flared again.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she lectured, jabbing a finger at the man. "That poor dog out there. He needs help, and-"
"It's not a *he'; it's a *she.' Roxy. And I know she needs help," he interrupted, studying Sam. "You're not from around here, are you?"
Sam squared her shoulders and glared at him. "We're not talking about me-we're talking about that dog. And if you don't take better care of her, I'll report you to the ASPCA."
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against the side of the door. "Go ahead."
Her eyes narrowed. "You don't care if I turn you in for cruelty to animals? They'll fine you and take your dogs away."
"I know." Straightening, he reached into his back pocket. "Here's my card. You want to make sure you get my name right when you turn me in," he said, and handed her the card.
In the shade of the porch, she squinted to read the words.
The blood rushed to her face again, but not in anger-in embarra.s.sment.
The card read Greg Clemons, Animal Behaviorist, Scott County Animal Rescue League.
"You-you," she stuttered.
His mouth curved in a smile. "Yeah, I foster abused dogs-"
Sam turned away before he could say anything else, but he reached out and, touching her arm, stopped her.
"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarra.s.s you. I was only yanking your chain a little. Truthfully, I admire your pa.s.sion," he said with laughter in his voice. "Would you like to meet Roxy?" He looked over at Anne and waved.
"No, no, thanks," Sam said, jerking away from him. Putting her head down, she hurried across the porch. She heard Anne cry out to be careful, but in her haste, she missed the first step. With a squeak, she pitched forward, and thudded to the ground at the base of the steps.
Her right leg crumpled beneath her and both Anne and Greg rushed toward her. Rolling over on her bottom, she pulled up into a sitting position.
Crouching, Anne ran her hand gently down Sam's ankle. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," Sam replied.
Anne looked up at Greg. "Nothing feels broken, but it's starting to swell."
"I said, it's okay," Sam argued as Anne and Greg helped her stand. A small groan escaped as she tried to put weight on her ankle.
"Wait right here," Greg said, holding up both hands and backing away. Turning, he ran to the house, leaving Sam leaning on Anne. A moment later, he returned, now wearing a T-shirt and carrying keys in his hand. He hurried up to Sam and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing.
"Wait-stop." Hating this stranger's closeness, Sam struggled against him. "Put me down. What are you doing?"
"Taking you to the emergency room," he answered, and gripped her legs tighter. "You need an X-ray."
Sam squirmed harder. "No! No hospitals!" she cried with a helpless look back at Anne.
Anne came up even with them and placed a hand on Greg's arm. "Wait. I'm pretty sure it's not broken. It's probably just bruised. Why don't you take her inside and I'll give Dr. Miller a call? See what he has to say about bringing her in."
With a shrug, Greg reversed his position and carried Sam inside his cabin. Striding over to the couch, he deposited her on it, propping up her legs.
"I'll get an ice pack," he said, turning away and heading for the small kitchen off the living room. Anne followed, dialing her cell as she went.
Alone, Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. How could she have been so stupid? Yelling at a complete stranger then taking a header off the porch. If her father and Jackson found out about this, they'd have a fit. Looking down at her legs, she was more concerned about her father and her fiance's reaction to her fall than she was her ankle.
Her attention shifted to the small living room. A large sound system dominated the wall to her left and, in the corner, sat a basket full of what appeared to be chew toys. At least those dogs weren't forced to spend their entire lives outside, Sam thought, spying several dog hairs littering the couch. Plucking at one, she turned as Greg and Anne entered the room.
"Well?" she asked, her eyebrows lifting.
"Dr. Miller said to wrap your ankle and ice it," Anne answered.
"No X-ray?"
"Not now. But he'll want to see you if there's much swelling or if it isn't better by tomorrow."
Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "It will be," she said, swinging her legs off the couch. "I think you're making a lot of fuss over nothing."
She made a move to stand, but before she could, Greg swept her off her feet.
"Not again," she cried, pushing against him.
"I'm driving you back to your cabin," he stated flatly as he carried her toward the door.
"I can walk."
"That's not a good idea," Anne said from behind them. "Dr. Miller wants you to stay off of that leg as much as possible."
"But I can walk to the car," Sam argued, squirming in Greg's arms.
"You heard Anne," Greg said, his tone short. "And, lady, if you don't stop wiggling, I'm going to wind up dropping you." He leaned his head closer to Sam. "Then your ankle won't be the only thing that's bruised."