High Desert by Katherine V. Forrest

Author:Katherine V. Forrest [Forrest, Katherine V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781935226659
Google: vplynQEACAAJ
Amazon: 1935226657
Goodreads: 18051981
Publisher: Spinsters Ink
Published: 2013-12-11T21:00:00+00:00

11

Gasping, Kate lurched upright in her bed tearing frenziedly at her T-shirt. She instantly collapsed back onto her pillow, felled by lightning strikes of pain in her head.

“Oh Christ Jesus,” she muttered.

She realized the T-shirt was drenched in sweat, not blood. And that last night’s bottle of scotch had given her a head full of excruciating pain without the usual tradeoff of rendering her sufficiently comatose to prevent dreams. The worst dream yet, her house awash in blood with more pouring from the ceiling, this time with Cameron’s body at her feet, spilling its own crimson into the warm coppery-smelling blood that rose over her feet toward her ankles…

In infinitesimal increments she turned her pain-strobed head to see the clock: 6:15. She lay perfectly still again, waiting for the agony to subside enough to allow her to grope in her side table drawer for the bottle of Excedrin. She dry-swallowed four tablets, wincing at the ashy astringency filling a mouth that already seemed stuffed with cotton. Again she lay quietly, waiting for the pills to hit her bloodstream.

Why had she dreamed? Had her newly prescribed medication somehow interfered with the effectiveness of the scotch? Highly unlikely. Not this fast. What on earth would she do if her companion Cutty Sark, so dependable, so faithful over the years, was beginning to fail her…

It was after seven a.m. when she was able to sit up and strip off her damp T-shirt. She picked up her cell phone and selected a number.

To her surprise—and utter dismay—the phone was physically, not electronically picked up. She did not want to talk beyond leaving a message. Her caller ID was blocked to anyone she called, and her finger hovered over the disconnect key.

“Hello? Is anyone on the line?” asked Calla Dearborn.

“Kate Delafield.” A throaty semblance of her voice had somehow managed to emerge from her dry mouth and throat. “It’s too early for you not to have your answering machine on.”

“You’re right. I need to be more thoughtful about this working from out of my new home office. What’s happening?”

“I was calling to make an appointment,” she responded more normally, her vocal chords having finally unpacked themselves.

“Okay, we’ll do that.” Dearborn repeated, “What’s happening?”

“Another dream. Worst yet. Maggie’s better but I don’t believe that’s good news. I’m taking the antidepressant and wondering if it’s making things worse.”

“It’s had no time to have any effect,” Dearborn said in confirmation of Kate’s assumption. “Can you come over today?”

“Not till next week. I have to—”

“You’re calling me at seven o’clock in the morning, Kate. What I’m hearing tells me it should be today.”

“I have to be in the high desert today. I have a friend in bad trouble.”

“You’re in bad trouble.” Dearborn’s voice had picked up more than a degree of vehemence. “This once, think about putting care of yourself ahead of what you think are higher priorities.”

“This one’s higher than a high priority. Someone’s life is at stake.”

“Aimee’s?”

“No.” She would not elaborate.

After more moments of silence Dearborn asked, “When do you leave?”

Kate said honestly, “I’m having a very rough morning.

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