Read Online The Last Daughter (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) by Jessica Ferguson - Free Book Online Page A

say? Nothing. Nothing would make it right. He shook his head, gave up, turned away from her, and stumbled into the house.
    ****
    Rayna clutched the doll to her chest. Within moments, the back door slammed.
    “We made him sick, Tiva. I knew that would happen.”
    She’d always suspected no man would want her once he saw her branded chest. She didn’t know who disfigured her, but she knew it wasn’t done in love. The lines of the heart-shaped brand were deeply defined. Once, when she was in a craft store, she’d happened on a set of cookie cutters. She’d picked up a heart-shaped one that perfectly matched her brand. Sadistically, she’d bought it. Even packed it in her suitcase upstairs.
    Sometimes she held it, wondering if her mother had lost patience with her while baking cookies in the kitchen. Or maybe some family friend or sibling was into torture? She only knew that she was marred, cursed, relegated to a life alone because men wanted soft, perfect beauty—not ugly, rough scars to caress. Didn’t Trent’s reaction prove her right?
    She sat on the sofa with Tiva lying in her lap. She buttoned her blouse and wondered what her next step should be.
    Would Trent deem her freakish and ask her to leave? No, she didn’t think so. He’d probably get a grip on his emotions at some point, come back and apologize to her. Beg her to forgive him for being repulsed, though she was certain he wouldn’t use that word. He’d tell her he was overcome with shock. She would believe him because she was still overcome with shock—every time she looked in the mirror.
    But if he really cared about her, wouldn’t he have taken her in his arms immediately?
    “He should have said something to me, something comforting,” she mumbled to the doll. “But we don’t care, do we? You’re here with me, just like before. You have answers. Now I feel like I have answers too because I have you. No matter how crazy that sounds.” She held the doll to her. “Oh, Tiva, if only you could talk.”
    ****
    Trent had to get away. The tightness in his chest scared him. His head pounded. He swallowed at the huge lump in his throat over and over again. He’d never experienced such emotions. He wanted to scream, curse, rant that anyone, anyone dared hurt Rayna and live to tell about it.
    If he’s still alive, I’ll kill him. I’ll force him to endure the same kind of pain.
    He didn’t know what made him think a man tortured Rayna. Could have been an abusive mother. Regardless of who it was, he wanted them destroyed.
    Walking through the neighborhood, finally calming himself enough to breathe in and out like a normal person, he gasped, inhaling the dry Oklahoma wind that blew against his face. Slowing his pace, he tried to piece together the strange occurrences happening since Rayna came into his life. She was being sent messages. What did they mean? The picture came out of the blue. For that matter so did the gunshot, and the doll. Looking at all three, the picture was a gift, the gunshot a threat. The doll—what? An apology? Nothing made sense.
    Who knew Rayna was there? Family back in Louisiana? No doubt. Louis. Who was he really? Someone in the neighborhood that lived there for years? Yes, a possibility. He’d canvass the neighborhood to learn all he could about the house, previous owners, and maybe even Rayna herself. The seller had been anonymous—a company of some kind. He needed to look at the paperwork more carefully. Maybe get in touch with the Realtor and demand to know who was behind the company that sold him the house. It hadn’t mattered to him until now. There must be someone around who knew the family who had lived there. Wounded Heart. That’s what the Realtor had called it, as well as the ad in the magazine. Undoubtedly, that name tied to the charred heart on Rayna’s chest.
    He pushed the image from his mind. Not yet. He couldn’t revisit that graphic visual just yet. He turned his thoughts to plans of action. And the