Bouquet: Sequel to 'In Full Bloom': The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 3) Read online

  BOUQUET:

  Sequel to “IN FULL BLOOM”

  By

  B. A. Beers

  Bouquet: Sequel to “In Full Bloom”

  Copyright © 2012 B. A. Beers

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:

  ISBN-13:978-1478187165

  ISBN-10: 1478187166

  DEDICATION

  To the Arizona side of the family

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Like the first two books in this series, this book was completed thanks to the countless hours of mind-numbing editing, readings, re-readings and feedback from my sister, Patricia, my mother, Margery, and my brother, William. Without their love, encouragement, and dedication, I would have lost my way. I am eternally blessed to have these wonderful people in my life.

  Dear Reader:

  Although the text has received many layers of editing, typos and/or errors may still exist. Help me rid this book of these reader irritants by sending me your "finds". Contact me at: [email protected]

  Future readers of this book will be forever grateful, as am I.

  Yours in reading,

  B.A Beers

  Summer 2012

  Prologue

  *Author’s Note: This is the third book in the ‘The Trilogy of the Rose’ series. “Book One: The Crying Rose” chronicles Dr. Mark Stevens’ entry into Samantha Carter’s world. In this Prologue, I have included a brief summary of “Book Two: In Full Bloom, The Sequel to The Crying Rose” as a lead-in for this continuing story. You may want to read Book One and Book Two to grasp the entire storyline before reading this book.

  As The Trilogy of the Rose series continues in “In Full Bloom: The Sequel to The Crying Rose“, Dr. Stevens knows that his journeys to mend the broken spirit of Sami Carter have only begun. His detective mode kicks into high gear. Fully aware that he has barely scraped the surface of her fractured spirit, he forges ahead with determination and single-minded purpose to reassemble the pieces of her tortured soul. Driven by a force more powerful than any he has experienced before, he recruits a support team to aid him in overcoming the obstacles in his path, namely Sami.

  Sami’s brush with reality sends her racing for cover only to encounter the painful reminder of the consequences of her flight. Injured not only mentally but now physically, Sami needs Mark’s professional skills and his team’s efforts to balance her delicate state. Needing to tip the balance in his favor, Mark grants Sami’s wish to be taken to her mountain cabin. There, Mark discovers the reason for her need to hide from her emotional suffering – the history of her deceased twin, kept hidden by her well-meaning, yet emotionally-wrought mother.

  ONE

  Dr. Mark Stevens frowned at the awareness of Samantha Carter’s deathly-still body in his arms. Her cleansing-cry had ended abruptly. Warning bells sounded in him as he involuntarily tensed. Quickly reviewing the last few moments, he could find no clue for the reason for her rapid change. Sensing he was not going to like the reason, he braced himself mentally and asked, “What is it?”

  “Sweetheart?” Sami blasted out of Mark’s embrace and pressed herself against the headboard of her bed.

  Crap, Mark thought as he recalled his whisper to her. His heartfelt directions had awakened ‘Mrs. Carter’. Poor, sweet, lost Sami was overridden once again by this witch-side of her. He sighed deeply, not wanting to play this game. He wanted more time to celebrate the small victory they had achieved. He cursed himself for his lack of professionalism, knowing this personality of Sami had thorns. He had to toughen his skin around her or his injuries would only get worse. Needing to put distance between them before revealing his feelings verbally, he rose from the bed. His movement resulted in the framed poem, written by her mother for Sami’s deceased twin, to crash to the floor. The sound of the cracking glass echoed throughout the room. “Damn it,” he uttered, breaking eye contact with Sami and seeing the cracked glass of the frame. Bending forward to retrieve the broken frame, his head collided with Sami’s. The impact was jarring as both reached for the sore spot where their heads met. The aftermath of their collision should have been filled with apologies, but the room was silent as they glared at each other.

  Viewing her pained expression did little to calm his self-anger. Fearful of voicing his frustration, he shook his head and turned to the closed door. With his hand still rubbing his sore head, he opened the door and exited the room swiftly.

  His charge down the hall and across the living room to the outside door was made without comment. He felt Grandma Jo’s eyes on him as he blasted out the front door and slammed it. The extremely-cold wind from the snowstorm hit him in the face. Dropping his hand from his face, he fought the wind and moved to the edge of the front porch, gripping the railing with both hands. As his bare hands crushed through the snow that blanketed the railing, he shook — not from the cold which encased his jacketless body, but from the emotional surge he was experiencing. He knew that his actions were immature and even childish, but he couldn’t stop it. Every fiber of his body was impacted. His ever-present, common sense was telling him to control his thoughts. . .to be logical. Logical? he laughed. He needed to detach, to rid himself of his emotions in this case. He knew he was asking for the moon, but at the moment he wished for it to happen.

  ’Baby steps, Mark,’ Pat voiced in his head. ’You are not a good fairy. You don’t own a wand to magically bop on her head and make all your dreams come true.’

  Mark chuckled at his deceased wife’s voice in his head. “I would like to bop her over the head, but not with a wand,” Mark answered the voice.

  ’Think Mark. You got her to reveal the root of her problem — the seed which started these roots to grow in the wrong direction. You must redirect them to more stable ground,’ she continued.

  Mark shook his head. “Easier said than done,” he said. “That woman, Mrs. Carter, is not going to allow me.”

  ’You must deal with both parts of her, sweetheart,’ Pat said.

  “Sweetheart?” Mark questioned, remembering Sami’s words. “That word does not describe the woman I just left.”

  ’You are wrong. She is lost, Mark. It is that woman you must reach, not Sami. Your bolt from her moments ago has harmed your case. You need to continue to evoke Mrs. Carter. Your focus needs to be with her,’ Pat added.

  “It will tear Sami apart,” Mark argued.

  ’Then, you must do it to bring her back together. I know you, honey. This case is also going to tear you apart if you let it. I promise to protect your heart from the mistreatment. You won’t have the time to guard it yourself,’ Pat offered.

  “How am I going to do this without losing her completely?” Mark asked gently.

  ’You will need to accept it first,’ Pat said.

  “What?” Mark questioned.

  ’You must! If you cannot accept it, then back out now from helping her. Place her in either Peterson’s or Myer’s capable hands,’ Pat insisted.

  “I am in too deep to do that now,” Mark stated.

  ’Then, you have a problem. You will need to channel your passion for her to your professional side. Push your personal side deep. Protect your self-esteem. Commit to her recovery before you declare yourself. It was your endearment which set her into her current state. Place the blame on yourself and learn from it. Lock your focus on using this week for around-the-clock treatment. Gather your team. Unite them with a single focus. Don’t waste the isolation of this cabin on self-doubt or unfulfilled desires. Become clinical. Change her world of sterile and orderly control. Create chaos in her life,’ Pat offered.
>
  Mark laughed suddenly. “Whoa,” he called. “I need to take notes.”

  Standing on the porch overlooking the serene, falling snow, Mark took a deep, cleansing breath. His rational mind took over. He knew the conversation with his deceased beloved wife was his own mind personalizing his self-talk, but since her passing from cancer two years prior, it had been his way of coping with the loneliness. They say that a therapist has been touched by angels to enter such a difficult profession. The ability to compartmentalize patients’ hopes, fears, and dreams left little room for one’s own life.

  His own personal crisis in his youth had made him a hellion in his teens. Abandoned by his mother at the age of two, he had been raised by a woman-hating, alcoholic father. Struggling to cope with his father, he had developed a rebellious nature, which had landed him in trouble with the police. He had been court-ordered to undergo “treatment”. His resentfulness of the forced treatment resulted in many years of bouncing around the court-appointed therapists before his introduction to Jon Peterson, his friend and mentor. Jon’s approach was different from the rest. His down-to-earth, take-it-or-leave-it attitude had appealed to Mark. It provided Mark with the presumed control he needed to pull his life back together.

  Mark’s mind quieted as he reviewed his beginnings. He owed a great deal to Jon for setting him on this current path. Jon had brought order into his life and full understanding of free will.

  ***

  “Mark,” Grandma Jo called behind him. Mark glanced back over his shoulder at the door of the cabin. “You will freeze,” she remarked, handing him a large, down coat. “I found this hanging behind the door. Please put it on if you are planning on staying glued there on the porch.”

  Mark smiled at her, seeing her dressed in her tattered, blue coat. “I am fine,” he lied. “I barely feel the cold.”

  “Right,” she continued, looking at him and walking out on the porch. “Your cheeks are already bright pink from the cold.” Passing him the coat, she shivered. “Just do me a favor and put it on so I may go back inside and not worry about having to care for two people for the remainder of the week,” she said.

  Mark took the heavy coat and angrily stuck his arms in the sleeves. Buttoning and zipping anything he could find that needed securing, he pulled the attached hood over his head and yanked the drawstrings tight. During his forced compliance to her request, his movements were brusque, but he realized that the added protection was comforting. He suddenly felt foolish at his visible annoyance at being ordered to wear the coat. He slowly looked up to view Grandma Jo’s face through the oval, fur frame of the hood.

  Her crinkled-up nose told him volumes; she was not happy. He was tempted to say ‘Satisfied?’, but held back at her look. “Thanks,” he muttered, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of the coat, but his action was halted by something inside the pockets. Withdrawing the objects, he found fur-lined gloves. Diligently sliding them on his hands, he could just imagine the sight he presented and laughed lightly. He felt he could brave the Arctic Circle, if needed. As if the wind could hear his thoughts, it swirled around them in a forceful blast, leaving them dotted with snowflakes.

  Grandma Jo yelped at the impact and made an abrupt u-turn and darted to the door of the cabin. “Don’t stay out here for long,” she called, stepping through the door and closing it soundly.

  Mark chuckled, and with his gloved hands dusted off the snow from his body. His task complete, he stood upright just as the wind did an encore performance. This time, however, it packed more of a punch. The aftermath left him wondering if he had worn pants; his legs were freezing. Looking down to verify that he did indeed have on his jeans, he discovered that they had taken the brunt of the snowy winds. Stomping his feet to remove the snow, he believed Bill was right. This storm was going to be nasty. He had to call David and warn him. He knew David wasn’t expected until the following day, but travel to the cabin would be made on snow-packed roads. He had no doubt that his truck could handle it; after all, it was a 4 X 4, equipped with the off-road package. It was David for whom he was concerned. Did David know how to drive in these conditions? He hoped so. He needed David here to help with Mrs. Carter’s treatment.

  Reaching under the coat, Mark searched for his cell phone, and realized that he didn’t have it. Where was it, he thought. Recalling that he had used it to call the Clark’s earlier, he tried to picture where he might have left it. He just couldn’t remember. Where had he placed it?

  Knowing he had to go into the cabin to search for it, he held back, not wanting to face whatever was happening inside. Spotting the log chair that he had seen Sami head for the day before, he moved over to it. Curiosity consumed him as he recalled her locating the key to the cabin in the chair. Walking behind the chair, he noticed a notched-out area within the upper rail’s log. Clever, but dangerous, he thought as his gloved thumb played with the notch. “There are a lot of personal items within the cabin that could have been taken,” he said absently. “Why leave the key so accessible?” Mark lifted his eyes and scanned the snowy clearing. It was isolated to be sure, he considered, seeing the forest rim the clearing.

  Recalling the break in the trees to enter the path to the house, he knew he would have missed it if Sami had not pointed it out to him. They were not in a development; they were in the forest. He wondered how Sami’s family had procured this private land. Mark looked at the cabin construction. It was old, but well-maintained. Turning his eyes to the planks in the porch flooring, he was surprised to see what appeared to be new boards intermixed with the old. Confused, he inspected the front, wood siding of the cabin. Here, too, he spotted patchwork in the framing. Mark’s mind raced. By all accounts, Sami had not been here in the past four years. How could there be new woodwork?

  Remembering his observations of the interior of the cabin, he recalled noticing dust and cobwebs, but it did not have an abandoned look about it. “There has to be a caretaker,” Mark announced. He had to remember to ask Sami about it. A caretaker might have additional insights about her or her family. The key’s accessibility made sense to him now.

  Sitting in the chair, he envisioned Sami and her father in this spot while sharing a lazy summer afternoon together. . . just watching the grass grow. In his mind, the clearing was not snow-covered and the lake was not frozen, but rather he beheld a lush and full-of-life environment. He felt envious, as he had no such memory with his own father.

  Sighing deeply, he knew his respite had to end. Pushing himself up from the low-seated chair, he walked across the porch to the door. “Onward and upward,” he said quietly to himself as he turned the knob.

  ***

  TWO

  “Need more firewood,” Sami called as Mark opened the door.

  “Okay,” Mark responded, without removing his coat and heading to the kitchen door. Seeing Sami retrieve oil lamps from the bookcase near the fireplace, he stopped.

  “Take Molly with you,” she called, not turning to him.

  “Why the lamps?” he asked.

  “The storm will take out the power,” she answered. “It happens all the time.”

  “Oh, this will be fun,” he groaned, continuing to walk to the door. “Come, girl.” At the kitchen door, Mark glanced at Molly. “Let’s make this quick,” he directed. Opening the door, he observed that the small, covered porch was quickly accumulating snow. Both Molly and he hesitated at the sight. “Maybe, we should go out the front,” he said to her. Seeing the woodpile just beyond the door, Mark reconsidered. “Too far to tread from the front door in this weather,” he said, punching through the blanket of snow with his tennis shoes. He instantly realized his mistake as the wet snow clung to his shoes.

  Eyeing the twenty or so paces to the woodpile, he frowned. He had little options. They needed the logs, especially with the threat of the potential power outage. Trudging through the snow, he heard Molly’s tags tinkling behind him. “Do your thing, girl, and get back into the cabin,” he ordered, not turning.


  Lifting the tarp covering on the woodpile, he calculated there was maybe a cord of wood. They had plenty of wood to fuel the fireplace. Draping the tarp to the side, he reached out for the logs and heard a low, deep, growl emitting from Molly. The sound caused the fine hairs on the back of his neck to tingle. “What is it?” he whispered as he rotated to see her.

  He spotted her about a yard to his left. Her stance was rigid and her ears were alert; her eyes were focused in the direction of the lake. The fur down the center of her back to the nub of her tail was standing up. She growled a second time and Mark scanned the area directly in front of her. Seeing nothing out of place to explain Molly’s defensive stance, he relaxed. “It’s only snow, ‘sun dog’,” he said lightly. “It will not hurt you.” Returning to gathering the logs, he balanced them in his arms and spun around, noticing Molly’s still fully-alerted position. “Let’s go,” he directed.