Double Blind. Hannah Alexander

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      A black shadow-image with long, pointed ears and sharp, blood-smeared fangs raced across the darkness after Sheila. Her mouth opened in a mute scream. Her body tensed, then jerked, bringing her wide-awake. She lay still for a moment, body stiff, as awareness of the dream slipped away and relief flooded her.

      She gazed around the shaded room, grown darker with the dying sun. Perspiration filmed her skin, soaking her hair and clothes, even the bedspread.

      A warm, dry breeze blew through the open window beside the bed, pushing past the lapis lazuli curtains. The tang of cedar was pleasant, but it stirred the dead ashes of the dream, evoking once more the monster that kept stalking her into her waking hours—a familiar specter that had impelled her here in the first place.

      “Sheila?”

      At the sound of her name, she had no trouble imagining the voice of that monster, calling to her from beyond the divide between sleep and consciousness.

      “Are you in there?” he asked.

      She felt a wash of relief and relaxed. It was Canaan’s muffled voice, reaching her from outside the apartment door. She blinked and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

      Canaan knocked.

      “Coming,” Sheila called, her voice barely more than a croak. She closed her eyes and swallowed, willing her heart to slow. The day’s events had mingled with her nightmares, making it all more real and more frightening.

      “Are you okay, Sheila?”

      “Yes, I’m coming, keep your cap on.” Great. She was in no mood to exchange small talk in the school cafeteria with new faces and with old acquaintances who had lived only in her memories for the past twenty-four years, and her reunion with Canaan wasn’t turning out to be as comfortable as she’d hoped it would be. So much for old friendships. After the incident with the dog, even Doc Cottonwood might no longer be so welcoming. She had prepared herself for this, though. She’d known it might not be easy to come back here; this could be a challenging exercise in patience—and fortitude.

      She opened the door, still fingering the hair out of her face. It didn’t surprise her to see that Canaan had on a different ball cap than the one he’d worn this afternoon.

      Sheila tried to force a smile that she couldn’t quite get to materialize. “Hi. Guess I fell asleep.”

      “I’m glad you decided to take a nap. Are we on speaking terms again?”

      “I hope so, because I wanted to ask you about your ball cap collection. How many do you have now?”

      He grinned. “I’ve whittled them down over the years, but I still have about fifty.”

      “You had more than that when I lived here.”

      He removed the one on his head to reveal shiny black hair, cut above his ears. Shorter than Preston’s.

      And why was she comparing the two men, all of a sudden? “I also wanted to ask you about the beautiful works of art.” She gestured toward two wood carvings on the coffee table. One was a life-size head of a bighorn sheep; the other was a startlingly beautiful replica of the famed Rainbow Bridge stone arch on Lake Powell.

      “The initials on the bottoms of these are CY. ” She picked up the carving of Rainbow Bridge. “Anyone you know?”

      “Sounds familiar,” he said.

      She sighed. Canaan York had always been willing to shoulder responsibility when anything went wrong, and always reluctant to take credit—like for the beautiful results of his creativity.

      “So you followed in your mother’s sculpturing footsteps,” she said. “Is she still creating her fascinating works?”

      He nodded, obviously proud of his mother. “Her name is known in some circles all across the country.”

      “I think these are just as beautiful. I’m honored you used them to decorate my apartment.”

      She replaced the carving on the coffee table, aware of Canaan’s flush of pleasure and his effort to suppress it.

      “Thanks. Are you hungry?”

      “Not too much.” Sheila glanced at her watch. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m really not up to this right now. Why don’t you—”

      “You need to eat.” His deep voice suddenly became firm. “Besides, you should start meeting some of the staff. You don’t want them to think that you think you’re too good to eat with them, do you?”

      Sheila grimaced. Her head ached. But she did need to start meeting the staff, and she didn’t want to do it all alone.

      “You aren’t my boss until I start work,” she said. “But I guess I can force myself to eat.”

      Canaan gave her a smile, erasing the serious expression that seemed to be permanently attached to the adult Canaan York. “Hope you still like mutton stew.”

      Sheila made a face, and Canaan chuckled.

      “It’s a special treat for the others. They’re also serving chicken fried steak for those with biligaana tastes.”

      “Good.”

      “By the way, Betsy Two Horses is still in the cafeteria. She’s head cook now. She and your mother were once pretty good friends, weren’t they?”

      “Yes, they were.” СКАЧАТЬ