Above it all, Holden heard his mother, taking charge. Ordering everyone to remain calm, to sit down, to keep order.
“I assure you all,” Mary Ellen said in her Lauren Bacall voice, “everything is under control. We’ll explain all of this in just a few moments, but for now, I’m afraid I have to ask that no one leave. A crime has been committed. I’ve just spoken with Sheriff Grayhawk. He’s on his way here now, and asks that everyone stay just until he gets here and has a chance to speak with each of you.”
The crowd quieted. People muttered, asked questions, but the panic seemed to ease. No one could see through Mary Ellen Fortune’s facade if she didn’t want them to. No one but Holden. He knew his mother better than anyone. She had to be falling apart inside. And yet she’d already contacted the sheriff and was in complete control. Emotions well hidden. Ever the perfect hostess. Living with his bastard of a father had certainly trained her well, hadn’t it?
He glanced at Lucy Brightwater, and felt a surge of misgiving. He shouldn’t have asked her out. She may look as if she’d changed, but a lady was a lady. And just because she no longer looked like the sensitive, vulnerable, fragile thing she’d been, didn’t mean she wasn’t.
“Your mother has everything under control here,” Lucinda said. “Help me get your cousin upstairs.”
“What about Claudia?” Holden hefted a wilting Matthew into his arms as he asked the question.
“I sedated her, too. She’s sleeping now. God, Holden, who could’ve done this?”
“I don’t know.” Holden looked behind him as he mounted the stairs, staring at the stunned, restless crowd. At his brother and cousins, guarding the doors like bulldogs. At Rosita, one hand on her heart and tears streaming from dark Mexican eyes down over her plump cheeks. She dabbed at them with her apron, while her husband stood near another door, watching her worriedly. Ryan clung to Lily and Lily to Ryan. And Mary Ellen held them all together. She was the rock of this family and always had been.
“You didn’t leave Claudia alone, did you?” Holden asked suddenly.
“Of course not,” Lucinda said. “Vanessa is with her.”
“Good.” He carried his cousin up the stairs. Matthew was still muttering, but semi-conscious now. Lucinda led the way, opened the bedroom door, and preceded Holden into it.
“Holden!” Vanessa was on her feet and flinging her arms around Holden’s neck almost before he could finish lowering Matthew to the bed.
Holden hugged his cousin, and then stepped back to brush away her tears and smooth her hair. “It’s gonna be okay, Vanessa.”
“When I find out who took my nephew, he’s going to be one hurting son of a—”
“That kind of talk isn’t going to help anyone right now,” Holden told her gently.
Vanessa sighed, and pushed a hand through her short, sassy hair. “Maybe not. But I mean it.” She leaned over the bed, smoothing her big brother’s hair. “Is Matthew okay?”
“He’s just sleeping,” Lucinda explained. “I had to sedate him.”
“I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been here, Lucinda. God, Claudia was so—”
“I’m just glad you happened to walk by the bedroom when you did. I couldn’t have handled her alone.”
Frowning, Holden looked at Lucy, then looked again. Her dark hair was tousled, and there was a scratch beading with red droplets across one cheek. He quickly rounded the bed that stood between them. He hadn’t got a glimpse of the scratch until now. He’d been behind her up the stairs, and before that his cousin’s dead weight in his arms had blocked his view. Only as he neared her now did he notice how messed up she was. Then he saw the lamp that was smashed to bits on the floor behind her, and the table lying on its side.
“My God, what happened?” He palmed her cheek, tipped her face up for a closer look.
“She got a little hysterical. It’s a perfectly normal reaction and I should have expected it.”
“You’re bleeding.” Holden snagged a tissue from the decorative box on the nearby dresser, and dabbed the blood away, very gently.
Lucinda rolled her eyes in a mimicry of sarcasm. “Which of us is the doctor, again?”
He offered her a small, shaky smile, and continued dabbing. “Right now, I am. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
She lowered her eyes, shook her head.
Holden thought maybe she was lying, but he didn’t press the issue. She was tougher than she looked, reminding him yet again of his mother, the way she’d jumped in and handled things without batting an eye. That calm, deliberate action. That core of strength that didn’t show until a crisis hit.
He liked her, he realized slowly. But then, he always had. She looked up, meeting his eyes, briskly taking the tissue from his hand. “We’d better get back downstairs.”
God, she was as shaken by Bryan’s abduction as he was. It showed in her eyes.
“No. We’ll stay here. Keep an eye on Matthew and Claudia.”
“But the sheriff…”
“Will know where to find us when he’s ready to talk to us.” He turned toward Vanessa, who was eyeing him oddly. “Go on down and let the family know where we are. And maybe bring Lucy up a drink if you get a chance.” His gaze went back to Lucy’s face. It was pale, and she looked shaky. “Brandy. Okay?”
“Sure, Holden.”
An hour later Lucinda sat in a large, cozy chair, as instructed. Holden dragged a footstool closer and, lifting her feet, propped them on it. She smiled at him for just a moment. Then closed her eyes, shook her head. “I shouldn’t be sleepy at a time like this.”
“It’s the aftermath of chaos. You’re emotionally drained. I feel the same way.”
“It’s like being in limbo. I keep thinking we should be doing something…”
“I know.”
“And I can’t remember the last time I got a full night’s sleep.”
“Me neither,” Holden said. He glanced at the big double bed where Claudia and Matthew were out cold, side by side. “I don’t imagine they’ll be getting too much, either. Until Bryan’s home where he belongs.”
“I’ll leave a prescription. They’re going to need something.”
“Claudia might take it. Matthew won’t.”
“You’re probably right.” Lucinda closed her eyes and let her head rest against the back of the chair.
Holden’s voice came from close by, and she realized he’d pulled his harder, less comfortable chair closer to hers. “So what’s been keeping you up nights, Doc?”
She didn’t open her eyes. “Babies tend to come at odd hours. And Braxton-Hicks is almost always nocturnal.”
“Braxton who?”
“False labor,” she said with a slight smile.
“Ah. Right. So it’s your patients keeping you awake nights, then.”
“Among other things.” She took a deep breath, sighed softly.
“Matthew mentioned something about a clinic you want to build.” Holden stopped, waiting for her to fill him in if she wanted to.
She saw no reason not to fill the tense hours of waiting with conversation, so she told him.
“The lower income women need a clinic,” she said. “Particularly the Mexican and