Fateful Waters Read online

  Back at the office, the deputy had been able to add Lexie’s height, at five foot three, and a weight of a hundred and five, to Melinda’s description. He downloaded a larger version of her photo from the Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles. He then tagged the resulting poster with large bold font “Missing!” for the heading. After including her name below the photo, along with instructions to call the sheriff’s office, he faxed her description to area hospitals and to the local media.

  Exhausted, he was tempted to just call Melinda about the discovery of her car. But that was too impersonal for the current turn of events. Dread wove its tentacles through a usually stoic persona to the point he had to give himself a mental reprimand. This isn’t the first time you have had to deliver unwanted news. Get a hold of yourself!

  Melinda answered the suite door on the second knock. Her hopeful expression changed abruptly to one of belligerence when he chastised her for opening the door before she knew who was on the other side. Patrick realized that the front desk called up to alert her that he was on his way up, but it was easier to deal with her a bit hostile than too optimistic.

  She held the door wide and made a sweeping motion with her free hand while inviting him in. Dripping sarcasm, she said. “Deputy Boyd! What an unexpected pleasure. Won’t you please come in?”

  He settled into the chair in front of the small desk, and glanced, out of habit, to the screen displaying her Facebook activity. She quickly crossed the room and closed the lid on the laptop. He placed the file folder in his possession on top of it.

  “These photos were taken at the scene where your vehicle was discovered.”

  Melinda stared in horror at the mangled remains of her new Escalade. Arms wrapped around her midsection as if she were attempting to ward off a sudden chill, she breathed, “Lexie?”

  “We haven’t been able to locate her yet. Her shoulder bag was found tangled in the branches of a downed tree a few feet from the submerged vehicle.”

  Tears were running freely, “She wouldn’t have left without it.”

  “She might have done just that in a split second choice between life or certain death.”

  “You think she is still alive?”

  “Until her body turns up, we are working on that premise. We’ve sent a photo and description to all law enforcement. Area hospitals received a faxed bulletin this morning. We had your SUV towed to the city police impound.”

  Patrick handed her a card with the police impound information on it. “You’ll need this information to have your insurance adjuster look at it.”

  After he departed, Melinda decided to put off calling the insurance company for a few days. Before she could contact the adjuster, she would have to inform her parents about the loss of the Cadillac. She wanted to wait in hopes that Lexie would materialize soon alive. Then she wouldn’t have to tell her parents and Lexie’s mother of her loss, too.

  4

  An annoying, incessant beeping sound, like a smoke alarm nagging her to change its battery, was making her head throb. The air had a strange odor, or lack of. Lexie tried to open her eyes to get her bearings, but her lids were like lead jackets refusing to budge. The effort was exhausting, so she sunk back into the restful, silent, dark void.

  Strange voices battled with the odd mechanical sounds the next time she surfaced from the seemingly endless abyss. As the fog lifted, she vaguely recalled the beep–beep–beep sound. This time, she also heard a strange raspy breathing that brought images of Darth Vader to her mind. A high-pitched female voice with a childlike quality fit right in with the rest of the bizarre sounds. The male tenor in the conversation reverberated in her skull, but neither of the voices were familiar. They were discussing someone named Ross, and it appeared she was knocking at death’s door. Her husband was spending so much time at her side that the hospital administration was considering charging double for the room. She found it difficult to process the information inundating her. Again, she tried to open her eyes; they fluttered a little, but remained glued shut.

  The heavyset, middle-aged nurse was bent over Lexie peering closely at her face.

  “How is she?”

  “Good evening, Mr. Ross. Her vitals are much better, and I swear I just saw her eyelashes flutter. I’ll make a note of the time, and notify the doctor that your wife appears to be attempting to open her eyes.”

  Cutter pulled the blue vinyl clad chair closer to the bedside, picked up her IV free right hand and leaned a little nearer.

  “Come on, Lex, let’s make a little more effort here. This Sleeping Beauty routine has gone far enough. You’re going to have to do this on your own; Prince Charming is not going to show up.”

  Her hand felt warmer, but it had been four long, miserable days since Doctor Callahan had her life-flighted to this torture chamber in Amarillo. She looked so pale and fragile. Her lack of response concerned him; he didn’t recall a word from her after declaration that my friends call me Lexie but you can call me Alexandra. Now the spirited little woman was hooked up to a machine that breathed for her, while IV bags dripped fluids through the tube attached to her bruised left hand, and another tube disappeared under the sheet. She sure wasn’t going to be happy about this invasion of her person, if he was any judge of character. She was most likely going to fillet him too when she joined the world again. He sighed, like a man resigned to punishment, sat back in the chair, and still holding her hand dozed off.

  On the morning of the fifth day following the flash flood, Deputy Boyd made the trip northwest to the ‘Rocking R’. A local TV station reported on the missing Alexandra Parker. The story included her photo and the contact number for information. Patrick had just about given up on locating the girl alive when Maria Rodriguez called the office.

  He sat at the kitchen table occasionally taking down notes as Maria related the circumstances that brought Alexandra Parker to Cutter Ross’s home. “We did not know the girl’s last name. Cutter was only able to get her first name, Alexandra.”

  “Where is Alexandra now, Mrs. Rodriguez?”

  “She was very sick; Doctor Joe said she had pneumonia. He sent her in a helicopter to a hospital in Amarillo.”

  “Thanks for reporting her whereabouts. I will advise her friend and family that she has been located and is alive. I’ll be in touch.”

  First thing Patrick did was to try to contact Dr. Joe Callahan to arrange a visit. He left a message with the doctor’s answering service, then he called to determine Melinda’s location and state of mind.

  Melinda had been working up the courage to call her folks when she got the call from Deputy Boyd. He’d located Lexie, alive! The phone call could wait one more day. David wouldn’t be happy she’d procrastinated once more. It was his opinion that she was irresponsible for not dealing with the insurance matter right away. Too damn bad. She wanted to see Lexie first.

  She swam to the top of the black sea enveloping her toward the bright light. Was it daylight or the light to the afterworld? At this juncture, it didn’t matter; she was fed up with existing in this dark purgatory. She broke through the persistent darkness surfacing to the light and stared into the face of a slightly gray-haired nurse in pale blue scrubs. The nurse’s completion turned grayer than her hair, and she quickly exited Lexie’s view. It occurred to Lexie that she must look a fright to be able to send a nurse into such a hasty retreat.

  She took inventory of her surroundings: machines beeped and buzzed around her. Lexie attempted to move in order to survey more of what appeared to be a hospital room, but was pulled up short by a pain in her left hand. A glance at her painful hand revealed a needle taped to the back of it. Eyes still not fully focused, she traced the attached thin tubing to a pair of clear bags above her head that fed the offending tube. She reached up with a functioning right hand and removed the nasty thing stuck in her nose. Lexie was working on removing the tape from her left hand when the nurse who had just taken flight returned with a doctor in tow. It appeared she had regained her color and her boss
y voice.

  “Stop that, Mrs. Ross!”

  “Who the hell is Mrs. Ross?” Lexie hadn’t seen anyone else in the room. It appeared to be a private accommodation. A thought flitted through her foggy mind my medical coverage doesn’t include a private room. The next words out of the nurse’s mouth made her empty stomach roll.

  “You are Mrs. Ross, and you shouldn’t pull at the IV like that. You will injure your hand. Your nose is already bleeding from yanking out your oxygen supply. If you don’t behave, Mrs. Ross, we will have to strap your hands in place so you can’t injure yourself anymore.”

  “Like hell!” Lexie couldn’t make her comment have the intended impact; her throat felt raw, and her voice came out scratchy, just above a whisper. She tried again. “I am not Mrs. Anybody; my name is Alexandra Pa…” Then her voice just gave out. She watched the doctor move closer.

  “Alexandra, I am Doctor Callahan, and Nurse Thacker is correct you need to calm down. You have been very ill with pneumonia, so you will have to be with us a while longer.”

  Lexie didn’t feel threatened by the tall slim slightly bald doctor with the warm brown eyes that were a close match to his sparse hair, but she didn’t trust the bossy nurse. She just closed her eyes to block them out, but listened to their conversation.

  “Do you think she has amnesia, Doctor?’

  “I doubt it, she is most likely just disoriented. Call her Alexandra when you speak to her. You can shut down the oxygen, she is breathing fine on her own. I’ll check back before I leave tonight.”

  “Maybe when her husband visits tonight, it will help her memory.”

  What the hell was happening? Lexie wondered as she eased into sleep.

  Time has absolutely no meaning to the unconscious, or those wrapped in the blanket of a deep sleep. Lexie was coaxed from her slumber by a familiar voice accompanied by a warming sensation radiating from her right hand straight to the core of her being. Once more, her eyes scanned the room. It looked the same, but it was hard to tell what time of day it was. She glanced down to find the source of warmth was a much larger and darker hand enfolding hers. Much as she had done earlier with the IV, she traced the appendage to its source, where her gaze collided with a pair of smoky gray eyes smiling back at her. She didn’t have a clue who the hunk with the dark brown hair and devilish grin was. His too handsome face was deeply tanned and small lines fanned out from his intriguing eyes, like he spent a lot of time squinting in the hot sun. She made a futile attempt to extricate her trapped hand, but he wasn’t ready to relinquish it.

  “Welcome back, Lex. How are you feeling?”

  She knew the deep voice, but couldn’t recall from where. There was absolutely nada familiar about the man from whom it emanated. Her voice came out a little stronger this time, but not by much. “Okay, who are you?”

  “I’m crushed, Lex, that you don’t remember me, after all we’ve been through together.”

  He didn’t look crushed to her. His grin had broadened, accompanied by an amused twinkle in his eyes. And absolutely no one ever called her Lex.

  “Just your name, smart ass.”

  “Well, I reckon ‘smart ass’ is better than being called a dumb ass, but my name is Cutter.”

  “That’s it, just Cutter? What kind of a name is that?”

  “Originally it was my mothers maiden name, but it is my given name. My last name is Ross.”

  Ross, Ross. Why was that familiar? “Ross! Maybe you can explain why people around here are calling me Mrs. Ross, and you can turn my hand loose.”

  She was definitely getting her temper up, so he opted to hold her hand a while longer in case she felt strong enough to latch on to the flower vase on the stand next to her bed and aim it at his head when he explained about her new name. “They think you are my wife because I that’s what I told them the night you were admitted.”

  “Why would you do such a thing? I don’t even know you.”

  “You were in no condition to talk, and admitting required insurance information.”

  “Your insurance carrier didn’t question it?”

  “I called and told them we were newlyweds, and the insurance had slipped my mind during our honeymoon.”

  “Are you crazy? Don’t you know that’s fraud, and you could end up in prison?”

  “Doc Callahan rushed you through emergency and up to ICU. He suggested I deal with the paper maze, so I did. Claiming you as my wife was the quickest most expedient way to deal with it.”

  “How did we meet?”

  “I plucked you out of a quagmire near a flooded creek where you were wrestling a newborn calf.”

  Oh my God! He was the big, intimidating ghost rider that she thought she’d conjured up in her fevered mind. “Please, just give me my hand back and go away. I can’t deal with this now; I’m really feeling sick.”

  He didn’t say a word, but released her hand, stood up, and left the room. Lord, when he rose from the chair she experienced an acute sense of vertigo. Sleep was a welcome escape. She couldn’t remember ever being so unnerved in her twenty-four years of existence.

  Cutter, however, was feeling twice his age—he’d just turned 32—as he forced his exhausted frame from the truck. The round trip to Amarillo took a four-hour bite out of his day. After the second day, when he paced the ICU waiting area, he cut his workday short to make the trip in the evening. While his wife of necessity was in intensive care, he could only visit ten minutes every two hours. He talked to her and stayed with her until the nurses kicked him back to the waiting room, where he would occasionally catch a catnap. Once she was moved into the private room that he’d requested, he was able to spend more time keeping vigil.

  As he entered the dining room upon his return home Maria greeted him warmly. After a rib-cracking hug, she placed a bowl of stew, a piping hot mug of coffee, and a slice of apple pie on the table at his usual spot.

  “Eat! You look like road kill.”

  He practically collapsed onto his chair. “I look that bad, huh?”

  Maria sat across from him, her hands around a similar stoneware mug. “Your little mud urchin was on the news last night. Her name is Alexandra Parker, age twenty-four, from North Olmsted, Ohio.”

  “She’d told me on the ride back here her name was Alexandra, but she lost consciousness before telling me more. I’d assumed by her accent when she had been cussing out the cow, and our subsequent brief conversation that she was a Yankee. Plus there was an Ohio plate on her Cadillac.”

  Maria refilled his mug and cleared his empty bowl after he declined her offer of seconds. She sat back down to fill him in while he attacked the large slice of pie. “Do you feel better now that your belly is full?”

  “It sure hit the spot. Okay, spit it out, something is bothering you.”

  “I called the sheriff’s office to report your finding the missing young woman. Patrick Boyd showed up to check it out. He contacted Dr. Joe about visiting his patient, and was told he had to wait until she regained consciousness. Since then, Alexandra’s friend, the owner of the Cadillac, called the hospital only to be told that visiting was restricted to her husband. She immediately informed Patrick, who showed up here again early evening.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I lied, and told him I didn’t know anything about it. Cutter you could be in a lot of trouble. I think what you did might be illegal.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “My Lord! Who have you told about this?”

  “Alexandra.”

  “She is awake?”

  “Oh yeah, and pissed off enough to tear a strip off my hide, if she was strong enough. Any more pie?” Cutter had a hunch that jail time was going to be the least of his problems.

  5

  David Decker fought the red haze of rage threatening to overwhelm him. He had thought his problems were behind him when he moved in with his maternal grandmother to help take care of her and run the ranch. When the old matriarch died, he’d expected a large
cash inheritance in addition to the five remaining sections of the ranch, but she had left a large chunk of money in trust for her other four grandchildren. Some went to charity, but not a dime to her two sons, or her late daughter’s drifter husband. Her children hadn’t been able get away from the ranch fast enough. He knew he should feel grateful that there were adequate funds left to him to run what remained of the outfit. Dear old Granny Sophie sold off more than half of the place after Grandpa Karl died, a decade before her grandson had arrived on the scene. Granny was always watchful, and he’d made an effort to impress her. She had held the opinion he was too much like his father had been. A good-looking, smooth-talking, conman, She’d never forgiven her daughter for running off with his dad.

  He took another slug of the Kentucky bourbon he favored, and tried to calm down. It wouldn’t be productive to lose control now. He was very close to his goal. Rich little Melinda Potter was his latest conquest. He’d spent the better part of a year courting her over the internet and by phone, urging her to come for a visit when she graduated. He zeroed in on the attractive brunette after his extensive research revealed she was the only daughter of filthy rich parents. Pain radiated from his cramping belly to register in his slightly pickled mind. David cussed his fate as he scrounged through the pantry and fridge. “It’s probably not the lack of food making my gut hurt, but the idea of having to marry again.” His complaints went unheard in the empty house.