Where Love Abides

Besides, with his mother willing to watch Jenna most days, he didn’t have to resort to day care very often. Both he and Linda had agreed that the decision to have children brought with it a responsibility to raise them. They hadn’t believed in delegating that task to an outside service, unless there was simply no other option. He was glad he’d been able to follow through on that commitment.

“Look, I should be wrapping up here in the next half hour,” Dale responded when his mother finished the tale of Jenna’s latest adventure. “Don’t hold dinner any longer. I’ll eat later. See you soon.”

By the time Dale checked his voice mail at work and returned a couple of calls, Sam appeared in the door to the waiting room, closing it with a soft click behind him. Dale rose and tucked the phone back into its holder.

“Is she okay?”

“I think so. Looks like a mild concussion. I’d feel better if she had an X-ray, but she’s not too receptive to that idea. I’ve alerted her to the things to watch for and advised her to call me if she experiences any troublesome symptoms. In any case, she needs to take it easy for the next couple of days, and I’d prefer that she not spend tonight alone. It would be better if someone was close by in case she needs help.”

“I asked about family. Didn’t sound like she had any.”

“That’s what she said. You were right about her identity, too. She bought the Harrison place a couple of months ago and started an organic farm. Cara’s been meaning to call her about supplying the restaurant. My wife always has her ear to the ground for natural ingredients.”

Now the pieces fell into place. Dale recalled hearing some talk about the new organic farm a few miles from town. No one had seen much of the owner, but rumor had it that she lived—and worked—alone.

“Maybe I’ll run her over to Marge’s. The B and B isn’t usually that busy midweek.”

Sam flashed him a smile. “I like that idea. She’ll be well taken care of there.”

“Yeah. Marge is a good woman.” An answering smile softened Dale’s serious demeanor for a brief moment. “Let me ask you something, Sam. Did your patient act a bit…odd…with you?”

Puzzled, Sam regarded the sheriff. “I’m not sure what you mean. She’s a little woozy from the bump on her head, but I didn’t pick up anything abnormal in her behavior. Why?”

Raking his fingers through his hair, Dale shrugged. “She seemed pretty scared when I tried to help her. And she didn’t want me to get anywhere near her. I wondered if alcohol could be causing that reaction, but I didn’t detect any evidence of it. Any chance she might be on something else that could produce irrational behavior?”

“I didn’t see any indication of that. She was very coherent, and I didn’t notice any anxiety while I examined her. Under the circumstances, the behavior I observed seemed normal.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll run her over to Marge’s. Sorry again about interrupting your evening. Give Cara my apologies, too.”

Grinning, Sam stuck his hands in his pockets. “She’s used to far worse, trust me. Compared to my old hours in Philadelphia, Oak Hill is a cakewalk.”

The inner door opened, and Christine appeared on the threshold. There was a bit more color in her cheeks, and she was holding an ice pack gingerly against her temple.

“The sheriff has suggested you spend the night at the Oak Hill Inn, Ms. Turner, and I second that motion,” Sam told her. “I’d rather you not be alone for the next few hours in case you have any problems.”

Expecting an argument, Dale was prepared to press Sam’s point. But to his surprise, the woman capitulated.

“Okay. That might be best.”

“Don’t hesitate to call me—at any hour—if you need my assistance,” Sam added.

“I will. Thank you, doctor.”

“I’ll drop you off at the inn on my way home.” Dale held open the door.

Panic—chased by a hint of revulsion—whipped across her face, and Dale shot Sam a quick “see-what-I-mean?” look. The doctor quirked an eyebrow in acknowledgment. It seemed there was something about Dale in particular that disturbed Christine. But why? He was sure they’d never met.

It didn’t matter, of course. Considering she’d already been in town two months and their paths had never crossed, it was unlikely he’d see much of her in the future, either. But for some reason her aversion irked him. It wasn’t as if he’d done anything to earn it.

She continued to stand by the door to the inner offices, and Dale sent her a disgruntled look. “I’m already late getting off duty, and I’ve got a five-year-old waiting to be picked up. So if you’re ready…”

Looking from one to the other, Sam stepped in. “I’d be happy to save you a trip, Dale. I’ve got to stop at the hardware store. I can drop off Ms. Turner, if that’s okay with her.”

The tightness in her features eased. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”

Feeling dismissed, Dale folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll call the garage and make sure your truck is pulled out of the mud. And I’ll run you out there in the morning to get it, if you’re up to driving.”

He waited, wondering if she’d rebuff that offer, too. But she clamped her lips shut and ignored him, speaking to Sam instead. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

“I’ll lock up and be right with you.”

Without another word, Dale turned on his heel and exited. She hadn’t even thanked him for his assistance, he reflected as he strode toward his car. That was downright rude. As for her hostile nervousness in his presence—no way would he classify that as normal behavior.

No matter what Sam said.

Chapter Two

A faint knocking penetrated Christine’s slumber, pulling her back to consciousness. There must be someone at the door. Or maybe the pounding was only in her head, which was throbbing just as it used to when…

Her eyes flew open as the painful memories crashed over her, and she sat bolt upright.

Bad mistake.

At the abrupt movement, the hammering in her temples increased and she grabbed her head with both hands. An ice pack beside the pillow registered in her peripheral vision, and more recent memories displaced the older ones. She’d had a car accident. The sheriff had picked her up. She’d spent the night at the Oak Hill Inn.

“Christine?”

A woman’s voice came through the door, and Christine gingerly scooted to the edge of the bed and swung her legs to the floor. She recognized the jeans and shirt draped over a nearby chair, but had no idea where she’d gotten the oversized caftanlike nightgown in psychedelic shades of purple and hot pink. She had a vague recollection of slipping it over her head last night, but she’d turned the lamp off because the bright light bothered her. Otherwise she surely would have noticed the loud colors, which did nothing to ease the ache in her temples.

“Christine? Are you awake?” The voice was more anxious this time.

“Yes. Just a moment.”

Grasping the post on the elaborate Victorian headboard, she stood. Her legs felt a bit unsteady, but strong enough to support a trip to the door. Moving with caution, she worked her way across the ornate room, which looked as if it had been transported intact from the 1880s. She’d driven by the pale pink, gingerbread-bedecked B and B a few times since moving to Oak Hill from Nebraska, but she’d never been inside until now.

When she pulled open the door, Marge Sullivan, the owner of the inn, was standing on the other side. The woman’s attire of orange capri pants and a fluorescent yellow-and-pink tunic top edged with beads tipped Christine off to the source of her borrowed nightclothes. Considering they’d met only once, when Marge had stopped by the farm with a welcome gift of the B and B’s signature homemade cinnamon rolls, the older woman’s kindness was heartwarming. Even if her taste was a bit on the flamboyant side.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Marge asked.

“Improving, thanks.”

“Your color is better. That’s a good sign.” Marge gave her a swift perusal, her head cocked to one side, and nodded in approval before turning apologetic. “I’m sorry to wake you, but Dale stopped by to drive you to your truck. I told him you were still sleeping, so he said he’d come back in an hour. That was thirty minutes ago.”

With a frown, Christine checked her watch. Nine-fifteen. She’d slept for almost twelve hours!

“I had no idea it was this late. I’ll get dressed and be down in a few minutes.”

“I have some breakfast waiting for you.”