Fatal Memories

by Tanya Stowe

  At least that was how she felt now. This place—the heritage it represented, its potential as a home and the man in it—seemed like a dream worth having. She was pretty certain it was a dream the “pre-accident Joss” did not have. Everything had changed for her but nothing had changed for Dylan.

  She couldn’t afford to forget that again.

  Stepping outside, Joss saw a small patch of grass covering a square in front of the sprawling brick ranch house. A gravel road led to the side. Directly in front, huge cottonwood trees reached high into the sky—and had for generations. Their size attested to that. They ruled over the yard and the empty field on the other side.

  Beyond those massive monarchs, the field burst with natural grasses and spiny yuccas. Farther on, a dark ribbon of tall cottonwoods wound away, into the distance, marking the path of water. The San Pedro River. Dylan had said his home was close to it.

  The neigh of a horse dragged her attention away from the land blanketed in green from the monsoon rains. Following the gravel road, she hurried around the house. Not far away, a large barn stood in serious need of a coat of paint. The wide doors opened themselves to the sunshine.

  Joss stepped inside. The Appaloosa and palomino were tied outside the closest stalls. Dylan used long, firm strokes to brush the coat of the Appaloosa.

  Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she stepped forward.

  “About time you woke. The day is wasting away.”

  Joss made a sound. “What am I going to do today that’s so important?”

  Dylan shook his head. “You’re going to put everything behind you and relax. I can’t think of a better way to do that than to spend time with these guys.”

  He spoke without turning. He wore a weathered tan cowboy hat. His dark curling hair peeked out around the edges. The hat looked natural, like it belonged on his head, and he brushed the horse’s coat with comfortable familiarity.

  Joss walked close, awestruck by the amazing animals. They seemed so much larger up close. They stood far above her head. She reached a hand up to touch the palomino’s shiny coat, but he shivered.

  She jerked back and clutched her hands together as she slid a glance at Dylan. He seemed not to notice.

  “Are they yours?”

  “Yeah. They stay with Hank Martin, my neighbor on the next ranch. He takes care of them. I asked him to bring them over, and his wife sent some groceries and a casserole. They’re good neighbors.” He paused to run his bare hand along the Appaloosa’s coat. “I should have sold these horses to him a long time ago, but...”

  He didn’t finish. A fly landed on the palomino’s flank and he shivered again. Joss stepped farther back.

  Dylan paused to look sideways at her. “Do you ride?”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t think so. I might be a little afraid. They’re so big.”

  “Yep. They are. But they’re the best kind of friend.” He patted the Appaloosa. “I didn’t realize how much I missed them.”

  He strode to a nearby bench and grabbed a rubber brush. “He needs to be curried. Brush against the grain like this.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to hesitate or say no. He put the brush in her hand and cupped it with his own. It was warm and big and covered her hand completely. With his other, he gripped her shoulder and turned her to face the palomino. Then he stepped close behind her—so close, she could smell him.

  Soap and damp cotton. A good, clean smell. He placed her hand with the brush on the horse, then took her other hand and set it a few inches away. The horse jerked reflexively and she wanted to pull away, but Dylan’s hand on hers, and his arms around her, kept her in place. Soft breath teased the hair close to the back of her neck, and shivers tripped up her spine.

  Beneath her fingertips the horse’s coat was smooth. The muscles beneath rippled and her hands slid over him like silk.

  “They like to be touched. It comforts them.” Dylan’s voice was low and gentle. “Like people.”

  If she turned, his lips would only be inches away. What would it be like to kiss Dylan? To feel his warm lips on hers? Would it be as comforting as his touch? Or would it make her tingle and spin like now?

  “Talk to them. They like to hear your voice.”

  Like she liked to hear his? The sound of it, low and rumbling, made her knees weak, as if she could melt right into him.

  The palomino chose that moment to shift, stepped sideways into Joss and she jerked back, right against Dylan. His hand came around her waist, steadying her, and pulling her close for one breathtaking moment. She pressed her head to the curve of his neck and closed her eyes. He held her tight, close and safe for a moment. Then he released her and moved away.

  “I think you’ve got the picture.” His voice rasped a little.

  Joss looked at him. Dylan didn’t glance her way or pause, but he’d felt the elemental pull. He acted as if nothing had happened. Or that he didn’t feel what she did. But it was a lie. He felt it.

  In her condition she couldn’t lie or pretend. Her entire life had become one of cold, hard truth. That’s all she knew for sure. And the truth was, the feelings that washed between them were real. Not fiery and passionate, but deep and still. Like a continuous river current. Steady. Strong. They were the kind of bonds that created a lifetime of love. The feelings were new, barely there, like cool water in the hot August sun. But they were as real as the warm flesh of the horse’s flank beneath her fingertips.

  And just as impossible as before. Dylan was focused. Driven, like Holmquist said. Now that she’d seen his home, she understood more. He’d lost a wonderful family life and a home, but because of his loss, he’d become a legend in law enforcement circles. He’d cut a wide swath through criminal gangs, while she...she was more than likely guilty. Of what she didn’t know, couldn’t remember. But since she’d left the hospital, she’d learned to trust her feelings. They were strong and certain, and they told her she was guilty. She’d done something wrong. That was the only feeling that had not left her since her awakening. And because of the guilt, of that wrongdoing, she had no place beside Dylan.

  Ever.

  * * *

  They worked side by side. Dylan hummed, trying to distract himself from Joss’s closeness, but it didn’t work. He was acutely aware of her every movement. The light summery scent of cucumbers. How she touched the horse, with her graceful fingers stroking it as she might a cherished treasure. Long white fingers, softly rounded nails—they looked as if they should be stroking piano keys, not the shiny gold coat of a horse.

  Yet another discordant image. Joss was one giant puzzle. Mixed images. Lost memories. Brave but terrified. Strong but helpless. She was different from his “hotshot,” the woman he’d met weeks ago, but the same in many ways...the ones that counted. He knew she was hiding something...still, she had innocent ways.

  But there was nothing innocent about the things she brought to life inside him. She made him yearn for things he couldn’t have, had turned his back on years ago. Those thoughts were pointless and painful, and they needed to stop. Right now. He needed to get on track, but he couldn’t take his gaze off the sight of her slender, graceful hands as they smoothed over Goldie’s flank.

  His jaw clenched and he brushed a little too vigorously. Patches neighed softly and shifted. Gritting his teeth, he patted the animal’s side. “Sorry, fella.”

  He needed a distraction.

  “His name is Patches. And this one—” he pointed to Joss’s horse “—is Goldie.”

  “Patches to match the gray spots.”

  “Yep. Not very original, but my sister was only eight when she named them and they were ponies.”

  “They were her horses? Both of them?”

  A tactical error. The tenderness in her voice brought back all the feelings he was trying hard to put away. Her knowing tone brought an edge to his voice. “Yes. She raised them
from colts. She was good. Could have been a horse trainer if drugs hadn’t killed her.” He intended his tone to be harsh...like the truth.

  “I see why you couldn’t get rid of them.”

  Did she see...really see? Did she know what it was like to get a phone call in the middle of the night? To hear your mother sobbing in the background. Your father’s broken voice calling you home. Did she know what it was like to look down on the battered, pale, dead body of a little sister he could still see climbing onto the fence so she could reach Patches?

  Joss watched him with eyes like the cloudy gray sky outside. The gaze was open but troubled. The empathy in those beautiful eyes told him yes, she did understand that kind of pain. That’s why she didn’t want to remember.

  He didn’t want to remember either. After tossing the brush to the bench, he wiped his hands down his pant legs. “Let’s go for a ride.”

  Her pink lips parted. “I don’t think I know how.”

  “I’ll teach you. Besides, these guys are getting older. They’re over fifteen now, so not quite as rambunctious as they used to be. Let’s get out of here.”

  His tone brooked no argument. Beth’s saddles rested on the stands in the same spot where their father had placed them years ago. The leather was dry and brittle, but they would do for a quick lesson. He pulled the first one off and slid it onto Goldie’s back. All the while he kept up a steady monologue, pretending he was teaching Joss how to cinch up a horse, but really just drowning out his own thoughts.

  He led the horses to the corral behind the barn. Joss climbed the fence in the same spot Beth had used to mount the horses. He showed Joss how to sit, to brace her feet slightly to break the bounce. She might not know how to ride, but she was a natural, catching on even as Dylan talked.

  At last they were ready. He edged open the gate and they headed to the river, with Joss ahead of him, on Goldie. For a long while he watched her closely, making sure she was in control. When she reached down, stroked Goldie’s neck and murmured, “Good boy,” he knew it was safe to relax a little.

  He sat straighter in the saddle and looked around. The land hadn’t changed much. The monsoons had brought a green covering to barren fields that had once been filled with hay and alfalfa for his father’s cattle. Fortunately the thoughts that usually came with those memories stayed at bay.

  He didn’t see images of the past. Instead he studied the wild grasses gleaming gold in spots where the cloudy sky let the sun through.

  He let the clean air burn away all of the haunting images and all thoughts, until all that remained was the smell of the horses and the woman ahead of him, her body moving with the palomino, hair swaying, bobbing with a different rhythm. That ponytail made him smile.

  He brought her to the ranch for her safety, but seeing her here pleased him in ways he’d never imagined...the slight smile wavering over her lips, those sparkling gray eyes, her delight in the animals. The ranch was isolated, so the gang would never guess that she was here, but more than any other reason, he felt this place would be good for her. Some gut feeling told him she’d find healing here.

  He didn’t know why he felt that way...especially since he’d spent eight years avoiding this place like the plague. He only knew it was right for her.

  Joss slowed to a stop along the bank of the river. She held the reins tightly in her hand, almost as if she were afraid Goldie would tumble down the steep, dirt-filled bank to the muddy water below.

  “Someone told me the San Pedro was dry. That looks pretty full of water to me.”

  “It’s monsoon season. All the washes around here feed into the river. It’s probably ten feet deep during the summer rains. In the dry season, it’ll trickle to nothing. But it never stops flowing. The waters simply sink beneath the ground and bubble up in other places.”

  “You know this river...this place well.”

  “Like the back of my hand.”

  He glanced toward the ranch house. “Do you want to head in?”

  “Do you?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. I’d like to go a little way along the river.” His hand shot to his hip, where his Glock rested in its holster, then to the cell phone hooked to the belt. Both were safely in place, so they could go on. But one thing needed fixing.

  “You need this.” After lifting his hat, he settled it on her head. It slid down almost to her ears, but it shaded the white skin of her cheeks. That was important. Joss’s soft skin was far too pretty to turn an angry red.

  She smiled and tilted the hat slightly. “Does it look right?”

  Better than right. It looked perfect. Her dark ponytail hanging down the back, the white T-shirt and blue jeans against Goldie’s flank. She hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d climbed onto Goldie. She looked like a natural, a dream...one that could never come true.

  Swallowing hard, he tamped down his longing and said, “You look fine.” Then he gave Patches a gentle kick, reined around Goldie and headed upriver.

  The trail wove beside the bank. The roar of rushing water soothed the tension in his shoulders. For the first time in days, he allowed them to relax. The cottonwood leaves whispered a soft welcome. They brought another smile to his lips.

  “You’re enjoying this very much, aren’t you?”

  He turned, surprised to find Joss’s gaze fixed on him. “I suppose I am. Horses always make me happy.”

  “Are you sure it’s the horses?”

  Afraid of where her thoughts were going, he fixed his gaze on her. “What does that mean?”

  She gave a little shake of her head. Her dark ponytail got caught on her shoulder. He wanted to reach over and smooth it back.

  “I don’t know. It’s just...well, for someone who didn’t want to come back here, you seem to like it a lot.”

  He rested one hand on his thigh as Patches skirted a bump in the path with a little hop. “I came here for you. I knew this place would be good for you.”

  “Right.”

  He glanced over. The sarcasm in her tone was unmistakable, and another kind of smile settled on her lips. The kind that said she knew better.

  She was right. He had enjoyed being home. The land. The horses. Even his old friend Hank sparked something to life inside him...something he’d thought was dead a long time ago.

  “I never said I didn’t like it.” He pulled Patches to a stop and studied the brown water as it surged on its path. “The memories drove me away.”

  “Are they gone now?”

  He shook his head. “Never. They’ll never go away.”

  There it was. The reason he could never be content here. He had a job to do. A purpose. He couldn’t lose sight of that. He kicked Patches into motion. The animal gave a little jump and hurried ahead, leaving Joss behind. She only caught up when he slowed. The pleasure in the ride was gone, and he stopped, waiting for her so they could turn around.

  She rode up and raised a hand to hold the hat in place as a breeze picked up. “You know, it’s kind of sad.”

  Frowning, he turned Patches around to face her. “What?”

  “I’m desperate to remember and you want to forget.”

  Dark brows framed those wide gray eyes. There was nothing open about them now. They were troubled and thunderous, like the clouds gathering overhead. The sight of them made the air electric, like a brewing storm. But no matter how intense her emotions seemed, her words were false.

  “You’re wrong. I don’t want to forget. I’ll never forget what happened to Beth.” Tugging on his horse’s reins, he pulled around Goldie and headed to the ranch. Patches picked up the pace, leaving Joss behind again.

  She caught up quickly this time—too quickly. “Did you ever think that maybe those memories don’t go away because they are the only ones you have?”

  Dylan sighed, his pleasure in the ride completely gone now. “What’s that supposed
to mean?”

  “This is your home. A place where, from what I’ve seen, you belong. But you don’t want to be here. Too many bad memories. Maybe if you made new ones...good ones...the others would go away.”

  His irritation hardened and he squinted as thunder rumbled in the distance. “Is that what you are doing? Making all new memories and forgetting the old ones?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’ve seen how every time you get close to remembering something valuable to us, it creates some kind of emotional struggle. Your headaches return not long after that.”

  Her lips parted and she was silent for a time, long enough for Dylan to regret his hastily spoken words.

  At last she said, “I hadn’t noticed, but you may be right. Maybe I don’t want to remember because the truth is I feel guilty.”

  Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. The afternoon shower was about to hit, and when it did, it would come in a deluge. The horses were already skittish and so was Joss. She hated storms and kept shooting a nervous glance upwards. But maybe this was what she needed, this explosive confrontation of the truth. Maybe it would jostle her memory.

  He pulled Patches to a halt and turned in the saddle to face her. “Maybe you feel guilty because you were covering up your brother’s gang activities.”

  “I don’t think so. It’s not that.”

  Frustration rolled like a hard ball in his stomach as the horse continued its trot. “You don’t remember but you can say it’s not that. Maybe the truth is you don’t want to face the fact that the brother you love so much abandoned you to Vibora’s vengeance.”

  She halted Goldie and stared at him.

  “That’s not true. Jason would never abandon me.”