A Time to Remember

“Where have you been, Marissa?”

She didn’t open her eyes, but her voice was a whisper. “Please leave me alone.”

Didn’t she care enough to explain? Had five months changed everything between them?

“I was worried, Marissa. I hired a private investigator when I couldn’t find you myself. I was sure you’d phone or write, but I never heard a word. Where did you go? Why didn’t you contact me?”

She turned her head to the wall, stared at the blinds that someone had opened to the morning sun.

“Aren’t you going to answer me?” Gray asked his wife.

“Certainly. But I have a question, too.”

“What is your question?”

“Would you mind telling me exactly who you are?”

LOIS RICHER

Sneaking a flashlight under the blankets, hiding in a thicket of Caragana bushes where no one could see, pushing books into socks to take to camp—those are just some of the things Lois Richer freely admits to in her pursuit of the written word. “I’m a bookaholic. I can’t do without stories,” she confesses. “It’s always been that way.”

Her love of language evolved into writing her own stories. Today her passion is to create tales of personal struggle that lead to triumph over life’s rocky road. For Lois, a happy ending is essential.

“In my stories, as in my own life, God has a way of making all things beautiful. Writing a love story is my way of reinforcing my faith in His ultimate goodness toward us—His precious children.”

A Time to Remember

Lois Richer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

We are saved by trusting.

And trusting means looking forward to getting something we don’t yet have—for a man who already has something doesn’t need to hope and trust that he will get it. But if we must keep trusting God for something that hasn’t happened yet, it teaches us to wait patiently and confidently.

—Romans 8:24-25.

This book is offered, with love, to the Father.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

Gaunt, eerie shadows quivered through the forest. Overhead the pines swayed in the night wind, the long needles of their swooping boughs brushing like feathers against her skin as she clawed her way through them, searching desperately for a way out.

She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know if danger was behind or if it lurked ahead, waiting to trap her, to keep her from Cody. She only knew she had to keep going, had to press on, had to find her son. She knew she hadn’t eased his fears when she’d told him she’d be back. There had been no time. She’d had to make him understand that they would get only one chance to escape. He must obey when she told him to run.

And run he had! He’d pressed through the forest, legs churning like windmills as he bounced along beside her without saying a word.

Their captor slept. But who knew for how long? They had to make a run for it now, while they could. She had to get Cody out, get him back to Gray. Only then would her son be safe. Gray would protect Cody with his life.

Marissa had long since lost track of the days. But she knew the seasons were changing. The shorter days meant the warmth of the sun in the mornings had diminished. The river water felt chilly now, when such a short time ago it had seemed refreshing. If they didn’t get away before winter set in, she didn’t want to calculate their chances of reaching freedom. He had become too protective, too fixated. Her promises no longer satisfied him.

Now, as she ran through the bush, she prayed Cody was safe. She’d had to leave him, to detour around and disguise their tracks. Their abductor knew the bush, knew how to track. She knew very little, only that she had to make it as difficult for him to find them as she could.

Lord, she was tired.

Marissa leaned against a tree and fought to regain her breath. If only she could ask Gray what to do, if only she could borrow some of his strength. Gray. What must he think of her now? No calls, no letter, nothing. At least, she assumed there’d been no message to him. Maybe he thought she’d run away.

That last argument—no! He hadn’t meant it. She knew he hadn’t. It had been anger speaking, an out-pouring of frustration.

Had he searched for her? And if he had, why hadn’t he found them? Was it so easy for people to hide, even in this civilized world?

An owl hooted. She glimpsed its profile in the clearing just beyond.

Clearing? What had she done? Was she back where she’d begun?

“Oh, Father, I need help. Please show me the way. Get me to safety.”

She glanced around, saw a figure slip stealthily across the clearing below. The full moon caught the silent glimmer of steel.

That knife! He was so good with it. She smothered a gasp of fear.

She’d tried to escape once before. The warning still rang in her ears. Try again and the boy would stay—without his mother. That’s what scared her most. Cody growing up alone, without her or Gray. She had to get away.

Fear sent waves of panic rippling through her tired muscles. She’d run so far, tried so hard to cover their tracks. Would she stop now?

No.

The figure passed within inches of her, but Marissa shrank into the cover of overhanging boughs and remained hidden, scarcely breathing when he passed in front of her, sniffing the wind as if he knew she was nearby. At last it seemed safe. She eased out of her hiding place and tried to remember the direction she’d come before. But every path looked familiar. There was nothing to do but choose one and keep going.

And pray.

An hour later she admitted she was lost. Two hours later she’d passed her prison for the second time. Why hadn’t she marked the way? What if Cody was discovered? Defeat dragged at her, but she refused to give up.

“Help me now, God. Lead me to safety, to Cody and home to Gray.”

She opened her eyes, spied the moonbeams that lit up a small passage through the most dense area of the forest. If she went in there, she might never get out. But what other choice was there?

“‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,’” she recited silently. “He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.’” She kept walking, kept reciting with no idea of time except for the path of the moon, which led her onward.

A sound caused her to pause. She whirled, saw the figure behind her and ran as hard as she could down through the ravine, then scrambled up the other side. She dug her fingers into the earth, uncaring that the rough branches and stones tore at her hands, that the sharp needles of pine and spruce stung her face.

“You took him. You took Brett away from me. You shouldn’t have done that. Brett belongs to me. To me!”

Marissa tried to ignore the shrill screech. Was she closer now? She fought to gain a foothold in the mossy bank, forced her weary body to keep going.

“You have to be punished.” The voice came from right behind her.

Her feet were sliding and she couldn’t stop them. She reached out, grabbed something, heard an ominous crack above her.

He’d found her.

“Help me, God.”

Pain exploded inside her head and she knew no more.

Five months, two days, eighteen hours. That’s how long he’d been mired in this pit of suffering.

Gray McGonigle glanced around the cheerful kitchen his wife had taken such pleasure in decorating and felt his heart shrivel a little more. Would she ever come back, ever pull one of her pineapple upside-down cakes from the oven and tease him about his appetite?

And Cody—where was his son? Gray had promised God long before Cody was even born that he’d be the best father he could be as long as God kept Cody from the homeless life Gray had known as a child. So what had happened? Had he messed up? Was this God’s revenge—to take both his wife and child?

Something inside him screamed, “No,” but after five long months with few clues to their disappearance, Gray was so confused he didn’t know what else to think. He knew Marissa. She wouldn’t just take their son and disappear, not without telling him. Would she?

Maybe he didn’t know her as well as he thought.

Disgusted with himself and the ever-present clouds of doubt, he surged to his feet. His body ached for repose, but his mind wouldn’t stop asking questions to which there were no answers.

No one knew why Marissa had left, so how could Gray know if she would ever come back?

The phone pealed its summons into the silent room. He debated answering it, certain it would be Adam again, asking for money. His half brother had made no bones about his dislike of Gray or his disgust of their father’s will, which had cut him out of the ownership of the ranch. Gray had no desire to go over it all again. But the phone wouldn’t quiet, and finally he grabbed the receiver just to shut off the noise.

“Yeah?”

“Gray? Is that you?”

Not the baker woman! Dear Lord, he didn’t want to listen to another of her little pep talks tonight.

“Gray?”

He was about to snap a response, then hesitated. Something in her voice told him she was upset. And Winifred Blessing seldom got upset about anything life threw at her.

“What’s wrong, Miss Blessing?” Maybe focusing on someone else’s problems would help him forget his own.

“Gray, we—we found Cody. Bless the Lord, we found Cody.”

The words sucker punched him. His knees gave out and he collapsed onto a chair.

“Cody?” he squeaked, afraid to believe.

“He’s all right, dear. A little scratched and bruised, but he seems fine. Luc’s checking him out, just to be sure.”

Gray had to ask.

“Marissa?”

“We’re organizing a search party as we speak. Too bad it gets dark so early now, but we won’t let a little September dusk stop us. She wouldn’t have let Cody out of her sight, Gray. You know that.”

Miss Winifred was solid bedrock. But just now he thought he’d heard a wobble in her voice. A second later it was gone, replaced by the firm conviction that had stood her through more than six decades of life.

“She’s out there, I know it. We’ll find her. You just hang on to your faith, Grayson. Can you do that?”

Gray figured his faith had died about four months ago when he’d heard nothing from his wife and son in a month, had gained no information from the man he’d hired to find them. But he wouldn’t look back. Cody was home.

“Where are you, Miss Winifred?”

“In town, in the parking lot by the church. Can you come?”

“Try and stop me.” He was out of the house and barreling down the road thirty seconds later, his heart pumping like a jackhammer. “Come on, Marissa,” he muttered, peering into the gloom of an autumn evening. “Come home to me. Please come home.”

He couldn’t pray. God had betrayed him with the two things entrusted to him. How could he trust again? Now it was time for him to take control. It was his job to take care of his wife and son, and he’d do it, no matter what.

At the far side of the church parking lot a small crowd had gathered. Gray raced across the pavement, pushed his way through, his mind screaming his son’s name. He jerked to a halt at the heart-stopping sight of his boy seated in Miss Winifred’s lap, munching on a cookie he held in one hand. The fingers of the other were closed around the small glass figurine that had disappeared with him, a gift from the grandfather he’d barely known.

“Cody?”

At his whisper, the boy glanced up, grinned and jumped to his feet. Gray scooped the beloved wriggling body into his arms and held on as hard as he could. Tears obscured the landscape, blurred his vision, but it didn’t matter that the whole town would see him bawling. Cody was home. Cody was safe. For now he’d let himself revel in that.

“Gray?” Luc Lawrence stood at his elbow, his eyes dark with concern. “Can you give him to Dani? Just for a moment? We need to talk.”

Gray’s fingers tightened. He pressed Cody away just enough to stare into his tear-filled eyes, glimpsed the receding terror. Scrapes, bruises—yes, he had lots of those. But he looked fine. He looked wonderful.

“There’ll be time to talk later,” he told Luc, speaking past the lump lodged in his throat. “For now just let me hold my son.” He hugged the little boy close, wallowing in the feel of those precious pudgy fingers against his face. “Are you okay, Cody? Are you all right?” He tilted back, searched the eyes Marissa claimed were mirror copies of his own.

“Where’s Mommy, Cody? What happened to Mommy?”

Big fat tears coursed down Cody’s dirty cheeks as he stared at his dad.

“You can tell me, son. I just want to help. I won’t be mad. Honest. Tell Daddy where Mommy is.”

“Gray, please, will you just listen to me?” Luc dragged at his arm, but Gray jerked away.

“Leave us alone, Luc,” he snarled. “This is my son, my only son. If he has any idea where Marissa is, he’s got to tell us.” He smoothed a hand over Cody’s head. “Where’s Mommy, son?”

“Gray, he can’t tell you that.”

“What?” Gray stared at the town’s newest doctor, then glanced over at Joshua and Nicole Darling, seeking answers to questions he didn’t want to ask. His fingers tightened around the precious body pressed to his chest. “What are you talking about? Why can’t he tell me? Has something—”

“We don’t know where Marissa is yet. We’re still looking. Once the sheriff came, did his thing, the whole town showed up. They’re searching the ravine right now.” Dr. Nicole Darling’s eyes warned him to follow her lead. She stepped forward, placed her hand on Cody’s arm. “Cody, can you stay with Miss Winifred while I talk to your daddy for a minute? I promise it won’t take long. You can stand right here beside her and watch us, if you like. Okay?”

Misty silver eyes, too serious for a child his age, studied Gray for interminable minutes. Finally Cody nodded, pressed himself away from his father, struggled to get down, fingers white as he squeezed the horse he held. Gray let him go, barely stemming his need to grab him and hang on for all he was worth. Cody walked over beside Miss Winifred and thrust his hand into hers, but he kept his eyes on his father.

“Okay, something’s going on. What is it?” He glanced at the three doctors in turn and knew the news wouldn’t be good. “Spill it. Did something happen to Cody? Is he sick?”

“He won’t speak, Gray. We don’t know what happened to him, but we think something traumatized him badly enough to stop his speech.” Joshua Darling, the senior partner in Blessing’s medical practice, put a hand on his shoulder and kept it there, his voice low but firm. “There’s a technical name for this, which I know you don’t care about. The gist of the diagnosis is that Cody’s problem doesn’t seem to be medical—there’s no sign of injury. Though we don’t know why, we think he’s unconsciously decided that he’s not going to speak. Not yet, anyway.”

“Can you accept that?” Luc demanded.

“I—I don’t know.” Not speak? For how long? Cody, the boy who had always brimmed with giggles just begging to be free—that beloved voice silent?

What could have happened to do this to my child?

Gray wanted to hit something. Images he’d seen on the street when he was not much older than Cody rifled through his mind. What horror had his child observed? If he didn’t talk about them, didn’t let Gray help, how would they ever be able to erase those pictures? Then Gray remembered—he hadn’t yet forgotten the images from his own childhood, and he was a lot older than Cody.

Fear loomed large in Gray’s mind.

“How long will this not speaking last?”

“We don’t know. Tomorrow morning I’ll phone a specialist and Cody can see him. We’ll find out exactly what’s going on. But tonight I’ve told the police I think it’s best if you just let him get used to being back home. Don’t ask questions, don’t push him, don’t press for more than he’s ready to give. Most of all, don’t ask him about Marissa. Apparently it scares him.” Joshua frowned. “Can you do it? Because if you can’t let go of all the questions and just let him relax, I’m going to check him in to the hospital.”

“What’s wrong—”

Joshua shook his head.

“I checked him over. So did Luc. We can’t find anything wrong. The damage seems to be psychological, and even that may only be temporary.”

“The thing is, Gray,” Luc murmured, laying one hand on his arm, “he’s obviously gone through some sort of ordeal. But right now the details aren’t important.”

Gray snorted. “Of course they’re important. Marissa could be holed up somewhere against her will. We’ve got to find her.”

“Listen to me.” Luc lowered his voice, his look intent as he focused on Gray. “We don’t know about Marissa. You have to face it. We don’t know if she’s alive or dead. Not yet. But we know Cody is here. He needs you. You must focus on his needs right now. The police will find your wife and the perpetrator, but at this moment your place is with your son.”

“Marissa would never have let him go without a fight.” Gray’s confidence would not be shaken. “If it was possible, she would have followed him.”

“I know. We all believe she’s out there somewhere.” Nicole tried to soften the pain with her sympathetic words. “But maybe she’s hurt. A thousand things could have happened to her. There’s no point in conjecturing. Right now you’ve got to focus on Cody.”

She was right. Though his heart ached with loss for Marissa, though he wanted to tear up the countryside, find her and never let her go—right now one thing took precedence. Cody. Marissa would want him to concentrate on their son, to do what she couldn’t. Maybe never would.

No! He wouldn’t think like that. She was all right. She had to be.

All Gray knew right now was that he couldn’t lose this second chance to be the kind of father he knew he could be.

God wouldn’t fault him a second time.

He stood in the shade of the pine tree and stared down at her, scared by the trail of blood that trickled from her head. Blood was bad.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he whispered, angry that she hadn’t obeyed. “I told you not to run. That was very bad. Now you’re hurt and there’s no one to make you better.” He put his knife back in the leather holder strapped to his belt and waited for her to tell him what she’d done with Brett.

But she didn’t wake up. Not for a long time.

And then there were voices, people calling.

They were looking for her. If she woke up now, she’d run away again. Maybe she wouldn’t wake up, maybe they wouldn’t find her and he would learn where she’d taken Brett. He glanced down, saw the dirty shoes. If she couldn’t run, she couldn’t get away. He slipped them off her feet, tucked them into his belt.

The voices were coming closer.

He shimmied up the nearest tree, hid himself among the thick branches and waited. After a while some people saw her and rushed over to help her. Still she didn’t wake up.

“Look at this! Someone hit her with it.” A man in a police uniform held up a branch with blood on it. “Don’t move her. I’ll radio for a stretcher. Maybe one of the doctors will want to look at her first.”

He was scared now. He hadn’t hit her. He wasn’t bad. He wanted to tell them that. But they wouldn’t understand. Nobody understood about Brett. That’s why he’d run away.

So he sat in his tree and waited some more.

After a while he grew tired of sitting above them, watching in the tree. But there was no way to get down without being seen. Besides, maybe these people knew where she’d taken Brett. He’d have to stay still and listen.

So he waited some more.

“At least she got the boy to safety. Now he’s with his father, he’ll be okay.”

“I don’t know about that. I heard he won’t talk.”

Brett wouldn’t talk? He leaned down, trying to hear more.

“You mean he couldn’t tell them what happened?”

“Nope. Didn’t say a word.”

He smiled, nodded. That was his friend, his very best friend, Brett.

Brett wouldn’t tell them. Brett loved him. And he loved Brett. He’d just have to find him and bring him back. This time she couldn’t come. She didn’t belong.

He waited. More people came. Finally they carried her away. He waited and listened and watched, and when there wasn’t a sound in the forest, he slipped out of his hiding place and hurried back to the special place. It was pitch-black, but he needed no flashlight. He knew the way like the back of his hand. As he walked, he thought about what to do next.

Brett was with his daddy.

He remembered their talks, remembered about the horses and the long road and the big house.

He’d go back into town, listen to what the people said.

And then he’d find Brett and bring him back.

They belonged together.

Chapter Two

In the soft butter sun of midmorning Gray picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“It’s good news, Gray. We found her. In the ravine. Her clothes are tattered and torn, her body is a mass of cuts and bruises, but she’s alive.”

“What aren’t you saying?” Gray knew there was more. He could feel the tingles of apprehension winging over the airwaves.

“Right now she’s unconscious. Marissa has a head injury, Gray, and a pretty good-sized cut. I put in seventeen stitches.” Luc’s voice relayed his concern. “I think you’d better pray, buddy.”

Pray? Ask God again, when He hadn’t answered last time?

He pushed the frustration aside, concentrated on the words. Gray frowned.

“You’re saying she fell and hit her head?”

“Or was struck—from behind. The police found a bloody branch.”

“He followed her?” It was a nightmare from which he couldn’t seem to waken. “Why? He never took her money from the car. That was left inside, with her purse. At least, that’s what the sheriff said.”

“I don’t know why someone would have hit her. Maybe this guy’s a wacko. Maybe he wanted something else. We’ve given her a full examination, ordered scans, the whole bit. The main thing for you to remember is that she’s back.”

“I’ll come right away.”

“No, let Cody sleep. I promise I’ll phone as soon as she wakes.”

“You do that. Get her anything she needs, Luc. Anything. It doesn’t matter how much it costs.” He couldn’t say any more for the blockage in his throat.

“You know I’ll take care of her, man. Depend on it.” Luc’s voice was filled with promise. “How’s your son?”

“Cody hasn’t slept all night. His eyes close and he almost lets go, but then something jerks him awake. I’ve been watching him. Maybe he needs a shot or something?” Never in his life had Gray felt so helpless, so out of control.

“No, I’d rather not sedate him. Let him get through this on his own first. Later, if he needs something, we’ll administer it, but until we know more, I think he’s better to get reacquainted with his dad in his own way.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Luc.”

“My pleasure, man. My pleasure. I’m just glad they’re home.”

“Yeah.” Gray hung up, caught sight of Cody standing in the doorway and beckoned.

Cody raced over, then stopped. He glanced at the phone, frowned his question.

“That was Dr. Luc. Remember him?”

Cody nodded, one eyebrow quirked upward.