Montana Dreams Page 9

  “Maybe they could see into the future,” Jaden grumbled.

  And know that an invalid would one day live here.

  He stopped at the threshold, out of breath and his mood remaining sour, and took in the dimensions of the miniscule room. It would be tight, but he should be able to maneuver inside by himself. Thank goodness. Nothing like having to ask for help just to do his business.

  “One of your brothers will stop by every couple of days to help you shower.”

  “Too bad. I was looking forward to you giving me sponge baths.”

  He hobbled into the room before she could reply and slammed the door in her face, and when he reemerged, he found her waiting in the same spot. She didn’t mention sponge baths, and he pretended he hadn’t been an ass and made that crack. She was going out of her way to help him out. He shouldn’t be a jerk.

  Additionally, he should apologize. But he wasn’t in the mood.

  She helped him back into bed and, after loosening his splint, retrieved a bag of ice and positioned it over his ankle. She then hit the button to raise the top portion of his bed. Once he was upright, she disappeared from the room a second time, returning with a tray containing a sandwich, a steaming mug of vegetable soup, a glass of ice, and a banana.

  He tossed a quick glance at the cupcake, still sitting beside his bed like some sort of trophy, but he made no comment.

  “There’s an assortment of drinks in the fridge.” She pulled several out, offering him a choice, and he accepted a Coke. Then he just stared at the tray in front of him. How had he gone from coming home and proposing to his girlfriend . . . to being bedbound and cared for by a woman he barely knew?

  And why was this woman willing to care for him?

  He picked up the banana, his mind whirling with a dozen questions. “I don’t understand why you agreed to this.” He returned his gaze to hers, trying not to peer upon her as if she were some sort of fairy godmother. “Who are you, exactly?”

  Her sudden look of concern indicated a fear that he might have a mental disorder. “I’m Erica’s friend,” she said slowly. “I was in the wedding.”

  “I remember that.”

  “Ooookay . . . Then my name is—”

  “I know what your name is, too,” he gritted out. “And I remember that we woke up in bed together yesterday morning. I called you the devil, you threw a vase at me, and I got the pleasure of seeing my bone sticking out of my ankle. Which currently has me in this pisser of a mood, by the way. But, Arsula, who are you? You work for Dani, but where did you come from? You’re not from around here, right?”

  He knew he’d never seen her before Saturday night. Nor had he heard of her.

  “Oh.” She finally smiled, and the move turned her features into a beam of light. He liked it when she smiled. “I moved to town last fall. I’m originally from Cheyenne—which is the only other place I’ve ever lived—and I landed in Birch Bay after waking one morning and knowing I was needed somewhere else. So I packed up my car . . . and voilà!”

  She smiled again, but he only frowned. Her reply provided more questions than answers.

  And a lot of concern.

  “You . . . knew you were needed somewhere else?” he said.

  “Exactly.”

  “And where were you needed?”

  She spread her arms to her sides. “Here.”

  He just stared at her. She made little sense. And Nate had said she had a couple of screws loose.

  Maybe he should have listened to his brother.

  He tried not to show his concern for the state of her well-being, and spoke in as casual a manner as he could muster. “Why were you needed here, Arsula?”

  There was no time like the present to put his counseling skills to use.

  She smiled again, her teeth white against her honeyed complexion, and he temporarily set aside the fact that she might be crazy. He couldn’t look away from her.

  “For you,” she said simply, and his budding fascination deflated.

  He returned his banana to the tray. “Say again?”

  She fluffed his pillows instead of immediately answering, the scent of soap and what was likely some sort of girly face cream circling him as she leaned in, and given that he had to sit up in order for her to fidget with the pillows, he took an experimental sip of the soup. Its smell was as enticing as hers.

  “Gloria sent the food over,” she informed him. “And that’s fresh-baked bread on the sandwich.”

  He eyed the sandwich, and his stomach growled. There was roast beef piled high between the two slices of sourdough. “Back to you.” He ignored the meal as he leaned onto the freshly plumped pillows. “I’m quite certain you didn’t come to Birch Bay for me. As I wasn’t even here.”

  “I’m aware of that. And it took me until the wedding to figure out who I was here for.” She pulled a straight-backed chair over from the corner and plopped down in it. “But to be honest, when I drove away from Cheyenne, I didn’t even know in what city—or state—I would end up.”

  He was starting to feel like a character in a Stephen King novel. Trapped in a bed . . . being taken care of by a madwoman . . . one ankle was already broken . . .

  He ignored the visual of the character Kathy Bates had played in the movie and swallowed a spoonful of soup. He also ran through a list of potential responses if he called Nate in the middle of the night and requested an immediate pickup. Nate would show up, for sure. But he’d also be spouting an “I told you so”—or more—which Jaden wouldn’t want to hear.

  “So you just woke up one morning and left?” He returned to the conversation at hand. “Because you had somewhere else to be? You were needed somewhere?”

  “Correct.”

  She was coming across as crazier by the second.

  He peeked at her while spooning another bite. “And what did your family think of that?”

  She gave an unconcerned shrug. “My family is rarely surprised by anything I do.”

  “So that means . . . what? That they’re all as nuts as you?” He said the words jokingly, but he watched closely for her response. After all, the woman thought she was there to help him. And he was the last person who needed any help.

  The light that had been in her eyes dimmed. “My three older brothers are all doctors,” she stated in a bored tone. “As is my dad. They’re all married, with very normal wives and lives, and my mother is a retired elementary school teacher. She works for the State Museum now, and she and Dad plan to retire within the next ten years and travel around, helping out those in poverty-stricken areas who don’t have easy access to medical personnel.”

  Jaden waited—impressed by the rundown on her family—but also guessing there was more to the story. After another minute, she made a face.

  “And I’m the only crazy one of the bunch, okay? Is that what you’re waiting to hear?”

  She crossed her arms and stared back at him, and though there was no doubt she was coming across as mentally disturbed, he also picked up on a flare of intelligence in her eyes. As if daring him to a game of chess, all the while knowing she held a world title.

  Or maybe daring him to ask her to prove her stability.

  Something about the challenge intrigued him. He wasn’t sold on her sanity, that was for sure. But he also seemed to be okay with her level of insanity.

  Did that make him the crazy one?

  “Why would you think I need help?” He asked his question with care.

  Did he need help?

  And how was it that a simple conversation with her suddenly had him questioning himself?

  “I don’t just think it.” The challenge disappeared from her eyes and was replaced with silent understanding. “I know it.”

  He pulled in a slow breath. “What kind of help?”

  She looked away from him then, her gaze making a pass over every item in the room. She took in the bags his brother had dropped off, his mangled ankle, his crutches, and everything else that had likely been brought in ju
st for him. And when their eyes reconnected, a new level of tenderness glowed back. “Why are you here, Jaden?” she asked softly. “Why would you ask someone you barely know to help you out, fully aware of how little you’re going to be able to do on your own, when you have multiple family members living within a handful of miles? All of whom are willing to do anything you ask.”

  He didn’t immediately reply.

  “What has you so afraid to stay in the house you grew up in?”

  “Nothing has me afraid.” Irritation flared at the assumption. “I stay at the house all the time.”

  “Okay. When?”

  He scowled. How had this conversation turned into him defending his actions? “We come in for harvest every July. All of us stay there for a couple of weeks. Then there’s Christmas. Weddings.” He shot her a smirk.

  “Then why not now?”

  Before he could say anything, she went on.

  “Why not stay with Dani or Nick if it’s the house you have a problem with?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Or is your issue with your whole family?” She watched him, and the way she seemed to see inside his thoughts made him fidget where he sat. “Maybe you refused their offers because the situation is different this time. You’re not the soon-to-be counselor coming home to impart your wisdom”—tenderness once again seeped into her eyes—“but you’re the one needing help?”

  His jaw dropped at the suggestion. “You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  And he couldn’t believe he was sitting there listening to this.

  He had the thought to push up. To get out of the bed and get the hell out of the building. But the irony of the situation hit him. He was exactly where he’d asked to be, and he couldn’t leave. Even if he wanted to.

  “Maybe I don’t,” she conceded. “But I do believe I’m on the right track.”

  She went quiet for a moment, her eyes studying him with an intensity that made every nerve ending in his body attempt to scream at once, and he didn’t know if he wanted to hear what she was thinking or if he wanted to start ringing the bell again, making it so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts.

  “Does it have to do with your mom?” she asked, and his pulse pounded in his neck.

  Didn’t everything have to do with his mom?

  “Do you want me to leave?” he ground out instead of giving credence to her question. “Is that what you’re hinting at? You’ve changed your mind, and you don’t want me here after all?”

  “I’m not hinting at anything. I’m perfectly fine with you being here. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t.”

  He glared at her. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem.”

  “Neither do I.” His temper shot higher.

  “Yet still”—she looked around the room once again—“here you are, aren’t you?”

  Anger burned hot, but instead of being ticked at her directness, he found that he was more annoyed with her comprehension. What did she know about his mother? And who had told her?

  Had Dani shared things about their childhoods? About him?

  He mentally shook his head. He didn’t think she’d do that. Not with an employee.

  Erica could have, though. She and Arsula were clearly good enough friends that she’d had her in the wedding. Except Erica didn’t know all that much herself. Not about him, at least. She’d only moved to Birch Bay last fall, and they’d met just the one time over Christmas. Of course, he had no idea what Gabe might have shared with her.

  He studied Arsula, trying to see more than the woman who claimed she’d come to Birch Bay for him, and he decided it was time to turn the tables. “Why don’t you tell me why I’m here? You’re the one who thinks she knows so much. Why am I here, Arsula? Why would I rather ask you to play nursemaid, a woman I just met—and who we both agree might be a tad unstable—instead of going home and staying with my dad?”

  “I never agreed to any instability.”

  “Fine.” He found himself on the verge of a smile at her instant rebuttal. “We’ll leave that open for discussion. But why you? What is it about you”—his tone grew both serious and soft—“that makes me so comfortable I’d ask this of you?”

  He really did want an answer to that question.

  “It’s because of my great-aunt Sul,” she stated simply. Then she stood from the chair and began fiddling with the bag of ice on his foot.

  “The woman you’re named after?” He recalled her mentioning an aunt at the hospital.

  “One of the women I’m named after.” She removed the ice and refastened his splint, all without looking at him. “She was also named after her grandmother, and there were a handful more before her.”

  He had the feeling this conversation was about to dip into crazy again. “And what about your great-aunt Sul makes me want to be here with you?”

  Dark eyes once again met his, and he’d swear an added level of quietness suddenly infiltrated the room. Or maybe it was calmness.

  Whatever it was, it made the back of his neck itch.

  “Many generations down my mother’s side of the family,” she began, “our relatives were full Navajo. Only a small percentage remains in our blood today, but something other than blood has continued to be passed down to the women in the family.”

  “Something other than your name?”

  “Exactly.”

  He wished he could stand up. Lying there like this put him at a disadvantage. “And what is that?”

  Her expression was one of both pride and hesitation. “Gifts.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he thought about the Native Americans he’d known over the years. Birch Bay butted up against a reservation, and he knew of many people who were highly spiritual. Some even created powders and balms for medicinal purposes. But he wasn’t sure about “gifts.”

  “I assume you’re not talking about old trunks and quilts,” he said, and a smile touched her mouth.

  “Those, too, actually. I have a one-hundred-year-old trunk in my bedroom that once belonged to my great-great-grandmother, and in it are several quilts handed down over the years.”

  He recalled seeing the trunk as he’d rushed to get dressed. “And your great-aunt has a gift?”

  “Had a gift.” A wistful look passed over her. “We lost her several years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” He could tell her aunt had meant a lot to her.

  “Thank you.”

  “So what was Great-Aunt Sul’s gift?” he asked after a moment of silence.

  “One of comfort. Dozens of people would stop in to see her every day. They wanted to be around her. To talk with her. And they always left in a more positive state of mind.”

  He could buy that. He’d met similar people with an ability to put others at ease. Heck, that was partially the point of counseling. Still . . . he wouldn’t refer to that as a gift. “And you think that’s why I asked you to let me stay here?” he hedged. “Because you, too, have this gift?”

  “No.” She gathered the tray he’d forgotten about, and he realized he’d plowed through the entire meal. After setting the tray by the door, Arsula returned and pushed the button to lower the head of his bed. “I didn’t get Aunt Sul’s gift. Typically, each woman is born with a unique ability. But what Aunt Sul did do for me was to teach me to respect my gift. As well as to expand upon it.” She closed her eyes as she continued to talk and laid her hands over her heart. “If you listen, all answers can be found inside you.”

  Jaden just watched. Apparently, Aunt Sul was where the crazy had come from.

  “Everyone is born with the ability to intuit things,” she continued, opening her eyes once again. “Some more than others, but we all have it. Even you. Only, most people quit listening to the whispers as they pass their childhood years. They’re too busy being taught facts and science instead.”

  “There’s a lot to be said for facts and science.”

&
nbsp; “True. But there’s also nothing wrong with listening to your inner self.”

  Yep. Nate had been right. Screws loose.

  “And one of the things I do is to help others reconnect with that ability,” she told him.

  “To listen to their . . . inner selves?”

  The peace that had seemed to transfix her only moments before evaporated the instant disbelief slipped into his voice. “Yes. And do not make fun of me. I don’t appreciate it, nor will I tolerate it.”

  “Fair enough.” He’d keep those particular thoughts to himself. “So is that your gift then? To teach others to listen to their intuition?”

  “No, that’s my skill, and I’m very good at it. I also picked up a few tips from the time I spent with Aunt Sul, and though I don’t come close to what she was capable of, I’m pretty darn good at comforting people as well.”

  He could agree with that. Because although she stood there talking crazy, and although she apparently thought she carried some sort of magical power inside her . . . this was still where he wanted to be. And not solely because he didn’t want to go home. “Then what is your gift?”

  He couldn’t believe he’d even asked that question, but as her features once again morphed, he once again wished he wasn’t horizontal. Because something warned him he wasn’t going to like her answer.

  “My gift is the ability to read dreams.”

  Yep. It didn’t take him long at all to put two and two together.

  “Read dreams?”

  Arsula watched as Jaden pushed back in the bed, as if desperate to get away from her.

  “You’re the nutjob Megan talked to?”

  “Well, I’ve never really considered putting ‘nutjob’ on a business card.” Arsula didn’t blink. Nutjob wasn’t even a unique term.

  “You told her to leave me,” Jaden accused.

  “I never told her to do anything.”

  “That’s right.” His disgust filled the room. “You just told her that I wasn’t the right person for her.”

  She did her best to remain calm. “I only helped her to understand what her subconscious was already saying.”