Live Wire (Blue-Eyed Bomb #1) Read online

  “No!” I exclaimed. “No sheriff. No cops.”

  At that outburst, he pulled away from me.

  “See now, when you say things like that, it makes me question your story.”

  “I…I don’t know why I don’t want him here, but something in the back of my mind is screaming at me, telling me no cops.”

  He shook his head, standing up slowly.

  “Someone sure has done a number on you, girl.”

  I watched as he walked into the vintage kitchen, picking up a phone off of the counter. I held my breath as he dialed, wondering who he was calling. All the while, my mind repeated the words ‘no cops’ over and over again.

  “Cheryl? Yeah, hi. It’s Gabe. Listen, I know it’s the weekend, but I was wondering if you could possibly do me a favor.” I listened to the silence while the person on the other line spoke. “Can you bring the portable x-ray out to the farm? I have something I need you to take a look at.” More silence. “Well…it’s complicated. I’ll explain once you get here. When can you come? Thirty minutes? Perfect. See you then.”

  He clicked a button then tossed his phone back onto the counter, staring at me as he did. I could see him working over the facts in his mind, the nagging doubt he felt clear in his expression. And really, who could blame him?

  “A friend of mine is coming to x-ray that ankle. I’ll see what she can figure out about the state of your head, but she’s no expert by any means. That's the best I can offer outside of taking you to the hospital.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, dropping my eyes to my lap and my bloodied hands that lay clasped in it. “I’m so sorry about all of this.”

  “Since you don’t know who you are and you don’t know where you’re from or where you live, I’m guessing you don’t have anywhere to go? Anywhere to stay?” I shook my head no. “Do you have any ID on you?” he asked, coming around the counter to the living room. “Check your pockets.”

  I slid my hands into every pocket I had on me and came up with nothing.

  “Any jewelry? Tattoos? Things people would easily recognize as yours?”

  I mulled over his question.

  “I don’t know,” I said as I tried to stand up. I balanced with most of my weight on my good foot while I searched for any rings, necklaces, or bracelets. My search came up empty. “Do you have a bathroom with a mirror? I need to check for tattoos.”

  He came to my side and bent down so he could hook my arm over his shoulder. I wasn’t short by any means, but the difference in our heights was substantial nonetheless.

  “It’s through here,” he said, helping me into the adjacent room. It was a larger room—what was likely once the true living area—but in it now was little more than a dust-covered piano pushed up against the far wall, the staircase to the second floor, and an old wooden rocking chair with a grey-haired woman sitting in it, facing out the window. I stared at the braid that draped far down her back as Gabe escorted me to the tiny powder room that connected to the main room.

  “Is that your mother?” I asked, finally pulling my gaze away from her.

  “Yeah,” he replied tightly. He stood me in front of the pedestal sink, making sure I had a hold of it, then he let me go and stepped out, closing the door behind him. “Holler when you’re done. I’ll be right out here.”

  “I will.”

  I turned and stared at the stranger in the mirror.

  Her hair was black and wild and curly, her face peppered with bruises and smudged mascara. Her eyes were intense and blue and full of regret. And though I desperately wanted to, I did not know her.

  Swallowing back the fear that realization caused me, I gingerly stripped off my clothes, searching my body for any identifiable markings or scars. Sadly, I found none. Just fresh cuts and scrapes and bruises.

  With some effort, I managed to put my ruined clothes back on and open the bathroom door. Outside, Gabe was waiting.

  “Any luck?” he asked, voice hopeful. I shot down that hope with a single shake of my head. “Crap.”

  “Lots of things you can pour that brown bottle stuff on, but nothing to help identify me.”

  “Do you have any objections to me making a call to the police to see if anyone has reported you missing? I have a friend there; he’ll look into it for me but keep it quiet.”

  I sighed.

  “I guess that can’t hurt.”

  “Somebody has to be missing you. Family. Friends.”

  “I wish I knew.”

  He took my hand in his and held it for a second before wrapping my arm up around his neck again. As we made our way to the front room, someone knocked on the door.

  “Coming!” he shouted, helping me back into my chair. “Stay here.”

  “I wasn’t planning on making a run for it,” I countered. To my surprise, my retort made him smile.

  He swung the door open to reveal a petite blonde woman about the same age as Gabe and me standing there with a bulky bag in her hand.

  “You’re going to owe me big time for this, Gabriel,” she started, smiling up at him playfully. “So which horse is it this time? Jinx? Mason?”

  “Nope. This one’s named Trouble and she’s sitting over there,” he said, indicating the chair I was nestled into.

  Her grin disappeared in a flash.

  “Gabe, what the hell is going on here? You call me out of nowhere to come take care of a horse that really isn’t a horse, but a woman who looks like she’s been in a bar fight?” She lowered her voice, leaning in more closely to him. “Want to tell me what happened here, because it looks really bad.”

  “Listen, Cheryl. I’m sorry for the false pretense, but she’s scared and in need of help. She refuses to go to the hospital. Old Doc Hanson doesn't have the equipment that you do, and he had that stroke a month ago—I don’t even think he’s practicing anymore. I didn't know what else to do or who else to call.” Her eyes darted back and forth between him and me, her jaw flexing. “Please. Tell me you can help.”

  “I’m a veterinarian, Gabe. Not an ER doc.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she shut him up with a raise of her hand. “But I will do what I can.”

  Clearly frustrated, she entered the room, heavy equipment bag in tow.

  “My name is Dr. Smith,” she said cordially. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “My ankle is messed up.”

  “How’d it happen?”

  I hesitated, my gaze drifting up to Gabe and back.

  “She doesn’t remember, Cheryl.”

  “What’s his name?” she pressed, having made the same assumption Gabe did, only she was far less tactful about it.

  “I’m serious, Cheryl. She doesn’t know. She can’t remember anything. I think she has amnesia or something.”

  “Or convenient memory loss,” she mumbled to herself.

  “I don’t find not knowing who I am especially convenient,” I snapped, pulling my foot out of her hand. It hurt like hell when I did it, but I sure wasn't going to let her see that.

  She stared at me, no doubt trying to figure out my angle. But when her expression softened a bit, I wondered if she believed me, if only a little.

  “Okay. I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. My bedside manner isn’t the greatest with people. I prefer horses.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, giving her back my damaged ankle.

  “I’m going to have to twist your leg to get a decent shot of this. It might hurt.”

  “That’s fine.”

  I let her do what she needed to and awaited her opinion on what she found. She scrutinized the black and white image for a while before speaking.

  “Like I said before, I’m not an MD, but if there was a fracture, it would be obvious, and I don’t see anything that leads me to believe there is one. Now that doesn't mean you don’t have potential soft tissue damage: torn ligaments or tendons. But if you won’t go see someone about it, you’re going to have to just do what you can and see how it goes. Maybe your memory will come back before the
n. I’m sure that would help.”

  “Can you do anything to see if she has a concussion?” Gabe asked. I could hear the reluctance in his voice when he did.

  “Jesus, Gabe—”

  “I know, I know. I just want to make sure she’s not going to drop dead any minute.”

  “Nothing I can check would guarantee that.”

  She looked up to find his beseeching expression and sighed.

  Pulling out a blood pressure cuff, she strapped it around my arm and had me sit, stand, and lie down, taking measurements with each movement.

  “Does your head hurt?”

  “A bit.”

  “Any visual disturbances?”

  “Not yet…”

  “Well as best as I can tell, you seem okay. I don’t think she has a concussion, but you need to keep an eye on her, Gabe. I mean it. And I would wake her occasionally while she sleeps. I know there’s conjecture as to whether or not that matters, but I’d rather err on the side of caution.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Now if I’m all done here,” she said, packing up her equipment, “I’ll be off.”

  “Thanks, Cheryl.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me. You’ll be getting a bill in the mail.”

  Gabe exhaled hard.

  “Yeah. That’s fair. I’ll pay you when I can.”

  “Be careful, Gabriel,” she said, walking toward the front door. “Don’t get mixed up in something you don’t want any part of. You’ve suffered enough pain. I don’t want to see you get hurt again.” He nodded. She held the doorknob in her hand as she looked over her shoulder at me. “Looks like you’ve got two women to keep your eyes on now.”

  With that, she opened the door and left.

  “Soo…that was fun,” I deadpanned, looking across the room to Gabe, who was visibly stressed.

  “Yeah. Tons.” He sat down on a wooden bench next to the door and propped his elbows on his knees. His head fell into his hands and stayed there, hiding his face from me.

  “Will it be expensive?” I asked. “The bill she’s sending. Will it be a lot?”

  “Probably,” he exhaled, lifting his gaze to me. “I think my favor train just ran off the tracks.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret that statement, so I left it alone.

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “I know. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Maybe I can help out somehow? Earn my keep, so to speak?”

  “On that ankle? I doubt it. Farm life is hard.”

  “Maybe I could cook or something? Clean?”

  “Do you even know how to cook?”

  “Umm…no clue. But I could try.”

  “This is so not what I need right now.”

  “Well I don’t remember if it was what I needed right now or not, so…”

  I let a smile tug at the corner of my mouth, hoping he’d take the bait I’d thrown out. The mischievous grin I received in return told me he did.

  “Well, Trouble. Let’s see if we can get you set up in the kitchen somehow and see what you can do.”

  ***

  “So you think you’re okay with this? You’re not going to burn the house down or anything, right? You do know how to use a gas stove?”

  I shot him an incredulous look.

  “Yes. Maybe. I think so.”

  “Well that was confidence-inspiring.”

  “As it was meant to be.”

  “I shouldn’t be gone for more than an hour or two. I’ll check on you then.”

  As he walked away, my eyes wandered toward the entrance to the piano room, wondering about the woman sitting in there.

  “Will she need anything while you’re gone?” I asked, uncertain that I should have.

  “No. She’ll be fine.” His reply was short and curt.

  “Okay. I just—”

  “She’ll be fine. Just leave her alone, okay? I don’t want you trying to walk on that ankle any more than you have to. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I said, my shoulders slumping slightly.

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  He turned and crossed the small living area in a few strides and made his way out the door without a backward glance, leaving me alone with my thoughts, my questions, and his mother, who hadn’t said a word since I’d arrived.

  It seemed I wasn’t the only one with mystery surrounding her.

  Chapter 5

  Cooking wasn’t nearly the disaster it could have been.

  I felt at home in the kitchen, if a bit awkward, hopping back and forth between cupboards looking for things I needed. Gabe had set me up with a lasagna recipe, and that thing kept me busy for a solid hour. I had no clue if I’d ever made one before, but I made a mental note to never do it again.

  “What a mess,” I observed once I put the dish in the oven, setting it to the specified temperature. I set about cleaning the dishes, stacking them neatly on a towel beside the sink. It didn’t take too long for me to get the hang of balancing my weight on one foot while I scrubbed. Fifteen minutes later, I was wiping down the counter top when Gabe strolled in, covered in dust and dirt. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. It took me longer to get the food made than the recipe says. I guess it didn’t account for the gimp factor.”

  He smiled at me from across the room.

  “Why don’t we get you cleaned up while it cooks. When you’re done, we can eat.”

  “I probably should have done that before I made food,” I pointed out.

  His smile widened.

  “Probably, but what’s a little blood and dirt to a farm boy?”

  “Not being one, I don’t know. I’m guessing not much.”

  “Exactly,” he said, crossing the room toward me. “C’mon. I'll help you up the stairs.”

  I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and the two of us moved as one through the house to the staircase in the piano room. When we entered, I couldn’t help but notice that his mother hadn’t so much as moved an inch since I'd seen her last. I tried not to stare, but I must have done a lousy job of it.

  “She’ll stay like that until I come get her for lunch.”

  “Wow,” I uttered, finally pulling my attention away from her.

  “Easy on this first step. It’s a bit wonky.”

  Focusing on the task at hand, I made my way up to the second floor with Gabe’s assistance. Once there, we continued down the narrow hall to one of the four rooms.

  “This is the only full bathroom in the house,” he explained, pulling a clean towel from a cupboard near the door. “I'd fill the tub for you, but the stopper isn’t working. You’ll have to try to stand and shower.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured him, though I was less than convinced.

  “Okay,” he replied tightly. “I’ll be across the hall in my room in case you need me.”

  “I’m not sure what I could need you for,” I said, smiling up at him. “I’ll try not to drop the soap.” With a wink, I pivoted on my good foot and hopped two feet to the shower, turning it on.

  “The water will take a while to heat up.”

  “I’ll try not to be too eager then.”

  “Good call.”

  After an awkward pause, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. I moved to lock it, then realized that, on the off chance I did fall and hurt myself, I’d have locked out the one-man rescue squad. Not a great game plan. Instead, I stuck my hand into the icy stream of water and waited for it to heat up.

  ***

  “Gabe?” I called, poking my head out of the bathroom door.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, running out of his room.

  “Um, nothing’s wrong per se, but unless I’m planning on putting on my ruined clothes again or walking around the rest of the day in this wet towel, we're going to have to figure out some kind of clothing situation for me.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I didn’t think about that,” he said, clearly mulling over his options. “Gimme a sec.” He disappeare
d into one of the other rooms for a moment, then reappeared with a pair of jeans that looked close enough to my size and a white t-shirt. “Here. Try these.” He thrust them at me, turning his head as I opened the door a bit wider to reach them.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m going to run down and check on the food. Holler when you’re ready to come down.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I closed the door and heard his footsteps fade as he descended the staircase. Starting to feel the pangs of hunger, I threw the jeans on without underwear, then slipped on my dirty bra with the tee over it. The clothes were ill-fitting, something that annoyed me in a way I didn’t fully understand, but they were satisfactory. It was an improvement over the tattered stuff I'd shown up in.

  I was grateful to have them.

  I hung my towel on a hook near the shower and hopped my way to the door. The hallway was narrow enough for me to plant one hand on either wall, so I maneuvered my way to the staircase that way. Something inside of me seemed to hate being reliant on others—like I was incapable of doing things on my own—so I wanted to see just how far I could push myself. Gabe was too busy to wait on me, and his mother already seemed to be a burden. I didn’t want to be another one.

  With great care, I started down the stairs, holding the railing with both hands and hopping down from one step to the next. The movement was surprisingly graceful, and I smiled to myself, pleased with my efforts. Gabe, however, came storming into the room, looking far less enthused.

  “Are you trying to break your neck?” he asked, pulling an oven mitt off his hand and tossing it onto the piano bench.

  “Well I did a shitty job if I was.”

  He wanted to stay mad at me, but the smile I wore seemed too much to ignore.

  “You’ve got a smart mouth, you know that?”

  “I feel like that’s a really loaded question given my current memory predicament.”