The Texas Ranger's Reward. Rebecca Winters

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      After she’d helped him with his crutches, she said, “You can go home now.”

      Casey’s eyes rounded. “You mean I don’t have to get up on a table or anything?”

      Her mouth curved into a big smile. “Nope. That’s because you’re all better. When you come back tomorrow morning, I’ll let you look through the chest and pick out your own prize—if you walk all the way in from the car without your crutches. I’ll be watching from the front door.”

      “I … think I’ll be able to do it.” His son was pretty transparent.

      “Great! In that case I can’t wait until tomorrow.”

      Casey grinned. “Thanks for the leash. Blue’s my favorite color.”

      “Mine, too.” She flicked her floppy bow to show him. Travis noted her bracelets, and saw she wore no rings on either hand. “I like blueberry popsicles, as well.”

      “So do I!” Casey actually laughed. “Are you really a doctor?”

      “No, but don’t I look like one?”

      “No,” Casey said. “You’re too pretty.”

      Travis eyed his son in surprise.

      “Well, thank you. I used to be a nurse. Then I trained to become an orthopedic therapist. That means I work with patients after their doctor has seen them.”

      She finally glanced at Travis, just as he thought she’d forgotten him altogether. “We’ll see you and your son in the morning. I’ll put you down on my calendar for the same time, unless that’s a problem.”

      “No. We’ll be here at eight-thirty. Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome. Bye, Casey.”

      “See ya,” he called back.

      Travis followed him out the door. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought Casey walked most of the way, and used his crutches only for show. When they reached the car, Travis helped him in the back and fastened the seat belt.

      In another minute they were on their way home. Instead of complaining, Casey played with the leash. “That was fun! I can’t wait to get my prize tomorrow.”

      “Remember what Melissa said?”

      “Yeah. I gotta walk all the way from the car into the building and not use my crutches. I can do that.”

      Travis smiled tightly and didn’t ask any more questions. For the rest of the drive he remained immersed in thought. There’d been no preliminary discussion, and she’d given Travis no follow-up instructions. Nothing! It had irritated the hell out of him.

      Not until he pulled in the driveway did he discover what was wrong with him.

      There was an old saying about every person on earth having a double. This morning that saying had particular meaning for him.

      He’d just come face-to-face with a woman who resembled, in looks and personality, his murdered wife, Valerie.

      Travis was convinced that was the reason Casey had undergone a miraculous change at the therapist’s hands. Although she was a younger version, Melissa Dalton had Valerie’s sunny disposition and a way of making challenging things sound like fun. Her appealing energy had captured his son’s attention, and he’d wanted her approval. But the very qualities about her that had caused the first therapy session to go so well haunted Travis.

      He dreaded the thought of having to see her again in the morning. It had been fifteen months since he’d buried his wife in Texas. Melissa had unwittingly brought certain memories back to life. Casey’s willingness to do what she wanted might have been unconscious, but his son had definitely responded because of deeply embedded memories, too.

      It was going to be a long day and an even longer night, because Travis knew there’d be little sleep for him.

      MELISSA LEFT FOR WORK on Tuesday morning curious to see if the skinny, brown-haired Stillman boy would let go of his crutches for good. She knew there was nothing wrong with him physically.

      Probably never in her life had she seen such a handsome face or such sky-blue eyes. People would marvel over his remarkable features as he grew into manhood. Especially women. You needed to look no further than the boy’s father.

      But on the adult version—the man appeared to be mid-thirties—there were differences. She’d seen the lines left by life and grief around his eyes and mouth, the shadow of a dark beard on his square jaw. The artist in her had caught the fierce gaze of arctic-blue eyes, distant and speculative. Almost forbidding. She shivered at the memory.

      In the midst of her thoughts, she heard her cell ring. She reached for it and checked the caller ID. “Hi, Tom.”

      “Hey, how was your Labor Day weekend?”

      “Semiproductive.”

      Unfortunately, she’d found herself looking over her shoulder quite a bit while doing her artwork. She’d been at the family cabin on her own, not for the first time this summer. Neither her parents, nor either of her two married siblings had used the place in August, yet increasingly she’d had a vague sense that someone other than herself had been there. Though she’d seen no signs of forced entry, there were little indications, such as books and lamps in places she didn’t remember them being, the bedding not made up the normal way, and signs of dirty footprints on the floor by the back door. It made her nervous at night, so she’d turned on the generator, hoping the resulting sound and lights would ward off intruders.

      If she’d still had her bulldog, Spike, Melissa wouldn’t have felt so nervous. But soon after her divorce, her beloved pet had died of old age. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to get a new one. She couldn’t give an animal the time it deserved.

      “Same here,” Tom said, jolting her back to the present. “I’m afraid my children didn’t leave me any time to write.” That meant he’d had visitation through the long weekend. “I’m glad you’re back. Let’s meet for dinner at Rinaldo’s in Bell Canyon Plaza after work.”

      “I’m afraid I can’t. I promised the folks I’d spend the evening with them.” Melissa needed to talk to her parents about the problem at the cabin. After their whole family had gotten together there for a Fourth of July celebration, her parents had gone to Laguna Beach, California, for two weeks on their own. “How about lunch there on Thursday?” She would have finished her renderings by then. “I’ll bring everything you’ve been waiting for.”

      “Not till Thursday? I guess I can wait. What time?”

      “One o’clock?” It would be right after the Denton baby’s appointment. She had torticollis, a condition that curtailed her range of neck motion. Mrs. Denton fell apart emotionally every time she brought the baby for therapy. Melissa would need a break following the session.

      “Okay, see you then. I’m looking forward to it.”

      Melissa hung up, unable to say the same thing back to him. Tom Hunt was a prominent patent attorney specializing in intellectual properties. He was also a talented writer of children’s fiction. They’d СКАЧАТЬ