At the memory, pain surged through her; pain so blinding and intense, it almost brought her to her knees. She sagged against the window and squeezed her eyes shut.
"No," she murmured desperately. "No . . . "
But the images came anyway; she was too weak to fight them off. Red-gold hair and murky blue-gray eyes. A pale blue blanket . . .
Thomas.
A strangled sound of grief escaped her. The memories battered her senses, left her shaken and defenseless. His tiny, quavering wail. The doctors horrifying words, Im sorry, Miss Throckmorton, theres nothing we can do. . . .
And the blood. Sweet Jesus, the blood . . .
"Oh, God . . . "
She covered her face and stood there, swaying in the center of her empty, lonely bedroom. She wanted to cry, ached to, but the tears were trapped in a cold, hard block in her chest.
"No more," she whispered shakily. Her hands slid slowly away from her face and dropped lifelessly to her sides.
She wouldnt think about Thomas anymore. She couldnt.
If she did, shed go mad.
Mad Dog stood by the table, his gaze fixed on the stairway that led upstairs.
To Mariah.
He backed away from the table, shaking his head. It wasnt his business. Whatever memories haunted Mariah Throckmorton were her own.
From upstairs came a whimpering, choked sound of despair.
"Christ," he muttered.
He knew what was wrong with her now, at least part of it. Hed known when he saw the headstone. And sweet God, he understood her pain. Hed felt it himself, still occasionally felt it. Even now, after all these years.
He found himself wanting to say something to her—he didnt even know what. Just
. . . something. And it wasnt because he wanted to rattle her or taunt her or make her react. He just wanted to let her know he understood.
He didnt know why—didnt want to know why—but suddenly it was important.
Slowly, knowing he shouldnt and yet unable to help himself, he climbed the stairs.
Each step was a creaking reminder that he was invading another persons grief, going where he wasnt welcome. It was something hed never done in his life; he was welcome in too many places to go where he had no invitation.
Still, he kept moving. With each step, his stomach tightened.
On the landing, he paused. There were three open doors and one closed one.
Instinctively he knew that Mariahs bedroom door would be closed. Always.
He stared at the closed door. Nows the time to back out, Stone.
He couldnt believe he was doing this. He shouldnt do it, shouldnt reach out to someone he had no intention of actually touching, but he couldnt seem to stop himself.
Fisting his hands, he moved slowly toward the door and knocked.
Nothing.
Then came the shuffling sound of hurried feet. "Just a minute, Rass," she called out.