Home To You. Cheryl Wolverton

was at work, but only for a month.

      She was trying to type, but crying instead.

      She heard the whispers, saw the looks. It wasn’t good for business for her to be seen like that.

      Just a drink to help get her through the stares, to help her forget what the doctor had told her.

      She saw herself hitting the answering machine over and over, erasing messages from the doctor’s office.

      Why wouldn’t they leave her alone?

      She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t work.

      And then Rob had let her go.

      Oh, he’d been nice about it. He’d told her if she got her act together, to give him a call. She saw the smile on his face, that fake smile, painted on much like a clown’s face.

      And she realized she was already changing. She wasn’t like she was before. Nice, carefree, fun-loving. No, she was changing into the monster of her past—her grandmother.

      She couldn’t think about it.

      She wouldn’t think about it.

      Driving home she’d nearly hit a man crossing the street.

      That had been the final straw.

      With her last paycheck, she walked into a liquor store and bought enough liquor to help her forget.

      The mists swirled in and she relaxed, until she heard the pounding and realized the dream wasn’t over.

      Oh, no, she saw the car being towed and an eviction notice nailed to her door. The scenes swirled madly.

      She was on the street.

      She tried a homeless shelter, but was almost raped that night and fled.

      She’d demanded more liquor, anything to help her not remember, not know where she was.

      She didn’t want to remember what had been said.

      Life wasn’t fair.

      She’d lost her mom and now this.

      She wanted hope again.

      But there was no hope here, no life, nothing for her.

      In the deepest despair she’d ever been in, she remembered another time of deep despair, of a time she had been forced to lose her best friend.

      Yet, in that despair, a line floated into her remembrance.

      If you ever need me, I’ll be here.

      If only that were true, she thought.

      She tipped the bottle and drank.

      And walked. She watched herself head off down the street, the empty, black, lonely street, the mist parting as she walked.

      She didn’t go to pay the creditors or to the homeless shelter. She headed toward the one ray of hope in a life suddenly filled with desperation and emptiness.

      And then the dream ended and she opened her eyes in a strange house.

      And she realized, suddenly, that somehow she’d made her wish come true. At least she was certain she’d somehow found her way back to the past, back to Dakota Ryder’s house, and she was lying there now being tucked in to bed by a man with a stethoscope.

      His eyes met hers and she stiffened, waiting for the worst. The man smiled gently and whispered, “Go back to sleep.”

      And that’s exactly what Meghan O’Halleran did. She closed her eyes and tried to get back into the dream of the little girl in a soft bed—because she knew what she’d just seen couldn’t be reality. Not for her. Not for an O’Halleran.

      Safety and love could only come true in her dreams.

      Chapter Four

      He had thought about her all night. After his mom had arrived home. And the explanations for her presence had been few. She must have missed the bus and someone had sent her his way.

      “Good morning, Dakota.”

      Cody stopped at the sideboard in the dining room to pour himself a cup of coffee. Though his diminutive mother was now gray-haired and her hands had begun to show signs of age, those blue eyes of hers missed nothing. And though she didn’t demand questions, that wasn’t her style, he knew she was there, waiting to listen. When had she stopped being just a mom and become a friend? Nodding to his mom, he started around the table, pausing to kiss her cheek. So who was the woman who had said she was his “sister”? Cody thought once again as he had a dozen times last night.

      “Is our guest up?” he asked as he took his seat across from his mom and picked up the morning paper.

      He liked to go through the hospital and death section to keep up on the residents and what someone might be going through in town. Perhaps there was a hint of the woman upstairs, if someone was missing or such.

      “Not yet,” his mother murmured. “Are you ready to talk?”

      “About what?” he asked, though he knew exactly what his mother wanted to say. He was too busy to encourage her. He had to get to work, see about meeting Chandler’s concerning the new wing on the church. The reports he’d brought home still needed to be gone over, among a dozen other things. Of course, he’d known his mom would want to discuss the woman since she hadn’t said a word about it yesterday. The problem was, he didn’t know anything.

      “Your guest.”

      “My…” He paused and glanced up over the paper then shook his head. “She’s not my guest, Mother. She is someone who needed a place to stay and since we don’t have a shelter in town, I put her up.” Her face, slightly rounded though elegant and graceful, wore a soft smile as she waited—and that was more convincing than anything else. “Besides,” he added, returning to scanning the paper before taking a sip of the hot black coffee he’d poured himself, “she was unconscious. What was I supposed to do?”

      Okay, he felt a bit odd having a drunk in his house—his mother’s house. A drunk woman, actually. This was a first. He’d had many men come to his door drunk, he usually just let them sleep in the small apartment over the garage out back, and then in the morning, he showed up with coffee and an ear to listen.

      Never had a woman shown up on his doorstep and embraced him as she had—and then promptly passed out.

      Yes, this was definitely a first. The reason why she was upstairs and not out back like a guy. He shook his head again.

      “I suppose you should have done whatever you felt you should have done with the guest.” His mother went back to sipping her coffee.

      He didn’t know what to do with the woman, and frankly, he was still a bit uncomfortable over yesterday.

      Wearily he set aside the paper. “I really need to get to work.”

      His mother didn’t comment.

      Uncomfortable, he asked, “Do you think you can stay here until she wakes up?” He glanced at his watch. “I’m supposed to meet about the construction on the church in an hour.”

      When his mom didn’t answer immediately, he sighed. “I can call an officer to come over. Jerry would be glad to be here with you when she wakes up.”

      Dakota could tell his mom was disappointed. Frustrated, he wanted to tell her he was busy, so busy that he was meeting himself coming and going. He didn’t need one more unexpected thing added to his list—like this woman.

      Immediately his spirit stabbed at his conscience. That was his job. Of course, it should be added to his list.

      “I’m sorry, Mom. I suppose I can call and reschedule.”

      Instead of rebuking him, his mom set aside her coffee cup and folded her hands. With understanding, she studied him. “I’ll be fine, Dakota.