“And sometimes even those with no pasts at all,” she added in a quiet voice.
He paused, glancing at her from across the table. “Sometimes,” he acknowledged. “And sometimes it’s a place people come to find their lives again.”
There was something so soft in his voice, something so earnest in his expression it had her heart stumbling. “What about you, Sheriff Mountain? Is that why you came back to Mesa Ridge? To find your life again?”
Joe poked at his mashed potatoes. “Maybe. It seems that before I went into the navy, all I could think about was getting off the reservation, out of Mesa County and as far away from here as I could get.”
“And yet you came back.”
He shrugged and reached for his glass. “It’s home. After knocking around the world for four or five years, I was ready to come home.”
Rain felt a sudden lump of emotion in her throat. “I wonder if I’ll ever find home again.”
“When the time is right,” he assured her.
They both turned back to their food, finishing their meal in silence. But despite the noise and pandemonium around them, the silence between them was thick and awkward.
“You managed to make a pretty good dent in that, honey,” Sal said, pointing to the near-empty plate.
“Thank you,” Rain said, sitting back and taking a deep breath. “But I may never eat again.”
“So, you two ready for dessert?” Sal asked as began to stack the dirty dishes.
“Dessert?” Rain looked up at her as though she’d just made an off-color remark because the thought of putting another morsel of food into her mouth seemed offensive and wholly inappropriate.
“Hot apple pie, made fresh this morning.” Sal turned to Joe. “How about you, Sheriff? If I’m not mistaken, I think that’s your favorite.”
“You’re not mistaken, Sal, but I’m going to have to pass this time.” He gave Rain an expectant look. “How about you? Up for a little pie?”
When Rain shook her head, Sal tore the bill from her tablet and set it face down on the table. “Well, it was nice meeting you, hon, and you two have a real nice afternoon, okay?”
The diner had emptied out considerably and Rain felt much less conspicuous as they walked out.
“About your doctor’s appointment in the morning,” Joe said as he started the engine of his four-wheel-drive SUV. “I thought if you were feeling up to it on the way back we’d swing by the area where you’d been wandering, maybe take a look around to see if it jogs anything. What do you think?”
Rain had to admit she’d been a little anxious about the appointment she had tomorrow with the specialist Cruz had arranged for her to see. She didn’t look forward to delving into all those black areas in her memory, all those shadowy demons that haunted her sleep. It made her feel anxious and uneasy, but if that was what it took in order to get her life back, then it’s what she would do. Still, she didn’t look forward to it and took an irrational comfort in knowing Joe would be there with her.
“I think that would be fine,” she said.
“And if it turns out you’re too tired, we’ll put it off for a few days.”
Rain shook her head. “No, I’ll be okay.”
“Good.”
They drove back to the ranch in silence, but it was a comfortable silence this time. Rain watched the arid landscape pass, thinking about the morning she’d spent in Joe’s office and the lunch they’d shared together.
This was his world, the life he’d chosen and the place he’d chosen to be. What was it about this empty piece of the world, this small town and its singular inhabitants that made it home to him? And what was it about Joe Mountain’s world that she found so inviting?
The aroma hit him the moment he stepped out of the truck, bringing him to a dead stop. Garlic, tomato, onion and…
He walked to the back stairs, inhaling deeply. Oregano? Climbing the steps to the door, he drew in another breath, feeling himself start to salivate. Oregano, definitely.
Slowly leaning forward, he peered through the open doorway.
“Please tell me you’re hungry,” Rain said, spotting him as he stepped into the kitchen.
Considering the size of the lunch he’d had, it surprised him to realize that he was. “What’s all this?”
“I know how to cook,” she announced through clouds of steam billowing up from the simmering pots on the stove. “I know how to cook a lot.”
And cook was what she had done—in a big way.
He walked to the stove and began lifting lids and sampling dishes. “Chili con carne, spaghetti sauce, stuffed peppers?” Hardly believing the simmering feast before him, he turned to her. “What happened?”
She glanced up at him, looking overwhelmed and confused and her eyes glistened with tears. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“Awful?” Her helpless, vulnerable expression tugged at something in him and it was all he could do to stop himself from pulling her into his arms. “What do you mean awful? It all looks delicious.”
“I don’t know how it happened,” she explained, her voice cracking with emotion. She reached for a towel and wiped her hands. “I mean, I just walked into the pantry to get a tea bag and I noticed the spices lined up on the shelf…the chili powder, the cumin, the oregano, the garlic, and the next thing I knew—” she twisted the towel in her hands “—all this.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I am so sorry.”
“Sorry? Don’t be silly,” he insisted. “This is wonderful.”
She sniffed. “Really?”
“Really,” he said, reaching for a paper towel from the dispenser mounted on the pantry door and handing it to her. “Now blow.”
She did as she was told. “You’re not angry then?”
“Of course not,” he said, looking at all the food again. He’d dropped her back at the ranch after lunch with strict instructions that she rest, but it was obvious she had defied his directive. “But this must have taken you hours.”
She blew her nose again. “I don’t know. What time is it?”
“Dinnertime,” he said, picking up a spoon and sampling the spaghetti sauce. It was warm, rich and spicy. Picking up a fork, he pierced a meatball “I’m just wondering what army we’re going to feed all this to.”
In control now, she walked to the sink and washed her hands. “Maybe we could freeze some—and take hot lunches to work.”
“With food like this around,” Joe said, taking a bite of meatball. “I don’t think I’ll be seeing Sal for quite some time.”
“Okay, so what do you want for dinner?” she asked, reaching for a package of dry pasta. “Spaghetti and meatballs? The chili? A stuffed pepper?”
Joe popped the rest of the meatball into his mouth. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged, walking to the cupboard and pulling out two plates. “Just what you said—spaghetti, chili and peppers.”
“You want some of everything?”
He looked at her and shrugged. “Why not?”
She thought for a moment, then smiled and shrugged herself. “Yeah, why not.” She pulled out a drawer and grabbed utensils enough for both of them. “And maybe I’m not the only one with a healthy appetite.”
Dinner had been more than dinner, it had been a feast. Even though his eyes had been a bit bigger than his appetite, he’d still managed to eat enough to make himself miserable.
“Delicious,” he announced, tossing down his fork when he couldn’t hold another bite.
“Which?”
“Everything,” he said simply. “You are one hell of a cook.”
“It was so strange,” she confessed, leaning back in her chair. “It wasn’t as though I actually remembered anything. I mean, a recipe didn’t flash in my mind—a pound of this, two tablespoons of that. I just sort of did it. Somehow I just knew.” She reached for her glass of water, taking a sip. “I suppose that’s something I should discuss with Dr. McGhan in the morning.”
“Pro
bably wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he said, pushing his chair back away from the table and rising to his feet. Gravity sent the food in his system to the very bottom of his stomach, and he groaned.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” he insisted, giving his swollen tummy a gentle pat. “Just thinking about having a little antacid for dessert.”
“I thought you said I was a good cook?”
Her mischievous smile was almost as devastating as that soft, vulnerable look of hers. “You are too good of a cook, so good that I’m miserable. And now the cook gets to rest,” he announced as he began clearing the dishes from the table. “I’m cleaning up.”
“But I can help—”
“Don’t you dare,” he warned as she started to reach for her plate. “You’ve done enough for one day—too much, in fact. The only thing you’re going to do is relax.”
“Well, I am a little tired,” she admitted, sinking back into her chair.
“Cruz would have my hide if he knew how much you’d done today,” he said, carrying an armload of dirty dishes to the sink. “You’re suppose to be taking things slow.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
He turned and gave her a look. “I don’t think working all morning and cooking all afternoon qualifies.”
“Maybe not,” she confessed. “But to be honest, it felt good. All I’ve done is rest. I just spent four days in the hospital. It felt good to do something for a change.”
“Need I remind you that you were recuperating from a rather serious bump on the head?” he asked, purposely sounding sarcastic. “Not to mention exposure from one pretty nasty storm?”
“No, you don’t need to remind me, thank you very much,” she acknowledged with a saccharine smile. “But the doctor also gave me a clean bill of health—physically anyway.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “And now I feel tired.” Opening her eyes, she stopped him before he could say anything. “Deliciously tired which means I will sleep soundly tonight—no bad dreams.”
“Well, why don’t you take your deliciously tired self out onto the porch and relax while I finish up here? There should be a full moon out tonight.”
“You sure you wouldn’t like some—”
Holding up his hand, he gave her a killing look. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”
She held her hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t going to say another word.”
He watched as she walked out of the kitchen and through the dining room toward the front porch. She’d had a big day—too big, and he blamed himself for the signs of fatigue that darkened the tender skin beneath her eyes. Still, it had been wonderful to see her enthusiastic and excited about life. She’d been through so much, had seen and experienced the kind of fear no one should have to experience, the kind that was so devastating, so horrific that forgetting had been the only way to survive. If she’d gone a little overboard on her first day out, he would forgive her. She deserved it.
He quietly went about the job of cleaning up, the mundane chores making him forget about the discomfort of having eaten too much. He thought of the look on her face when he’d walked into the kitchen. She had looked confused and frightened and completely bewildered. Like an animal in the wilds, her instincts had taken command. He only hoped some of those instincts would resurface tomorrow in the desert and give him something concrete to go on.
“It’s such a beautiful night,” she said as he walked out on the porch after finishing in the kitchen. She was sitting on the top step, hugging her knees close to her chest and looking up at the sky. “I just saw a shooting star.”
“Did you make a wish?”
She turned and looked up at him. “I did. Want to hear it?”
She looked beautiful sitting there, her skin looking like satin in the moonlight. The curl of desire that seared in his belly wasn’t entirely unexpected. He was, after all, a man; and men wanted women, especially women who looked like her.
The only problem was, he wasn’t just any man and she wasn’t just any woman. She was a woman with no past, a woman who had lost who she was and he was the man who had to help her find her way again.
“Maybe you shouldn’t. It might not come true.”
“I’m not superstitious,” she said, leaning her head back against the rail post.
“Oh, really.”
She turned her head and looked up at him. “Not that I know of anyway.”
“Okay then,” he said, lowering himself on to the top step opposite her. “Tell me what you wished for.”
She glanced back to the night sky. “I wished that I could feel every night the way I feel tonight.”
Suddenly the desire simmering in his gut didn’t seem so innocent. “And how is that?”
“Warm, safe, hopeful,” she murmured.
“And full.”
She laughed, turning to look at him again. “Very full.” Her smile slowly faded. “And especially safe. I don’t ever want to be afraid of the night again.”
Joe sat up long after Rain had gone to bed trying to convince himself that what she had said meant nothing to him. Why shouldn’t she feel safe? She wasn’t in the desert any longer and whoever or whatever it was that had left her out there was no longer in her life. She was in a place and around people who were not threatening to her, who only wanted to help and restore her to the life she’d been taken from. She had every right to feel safe. It was not only understandable, it was reasonable and to be expected.
So why did her affirmation touch him so? Why was he having trouble breathing just thinking how she had looked sitting there looking up at him?
“Too close,” he murmured aloud. He was getting too close, too involved and it had to… “Stop—right here, right now.”
He was determined. Whatever game he was playing with himself, whatever fantasy or delusion that overtook him every time he looked at the woman was going to end—it had to. It wasn’t just a matter of keeping perspective, of reminding himself what he had to do as opposed to what he wanted to do. It was a matter of him doing his job and not allowing himself to be distracted.
It had been almost a week since she’d walked out of the desert and into his life. He’d spent days poring over missing persons reports and checking criminal databases and coming up with nothing. There had been a roadblock or a brick wall at the end of every lead they’d followed. He had no better idea now what had happened than he had that dark, stormy night, no clue as to who she was or where she belonged.
She was doing her best to adjust, healing from her physical injuries and grasping at what bits and pieces of her past she could. It was up to him to keep himself on target, to remember the job he had to do and not get distracted by moonlight.
He wasn’t a man given to fantasies and yet it seemed he’d had his share since she’d come into his life. He didn’t blame her; the fault was with him. She wasn’t forcing herself into his thoughts or into his life—that had all been his own doing. No one had held a gun to his head. It had been his choice to take her in, his choice to offer her work at the sheriff’s office, his choice to notice just how beautiful she looked in the moonlight.
“Right here, right now,” he whispered, reminding himself again. The fantasies, the delusions, the curl of hunger and need. They all ended. “Right here, right now.”
The gun was in his hand even before his eyes were open. He sat up, his heart pounding, the silence almost deafening as he strained to listen.
Air entered and exited his lungs, making his breath sound like a freight train in his ears, and so he held it.
It wasn’t as though the sound had been loud, because it hadn’t. It had been a faint, barely audible disturbance, yet one he’d been aware of immediately. It had been out of place, different and had broken the rhythm of the night, interfered with the unique sound of the house just as a train whistle shatters the silence of the countryside it passes through.
He sat frozen, feeling every taut, tight muscle in his body, but there was nothing in the
darkness now—nothing but the normal sounds of the house and the pulsing of his own heart in his ears. Whatever had awakened him was gone now and he let out his breath in one long, slow sigh. Easing his grip on the gun, he turned to slip it back into the holster that hung from the bedpost when he heard it again.
He didn’t wait to listen this time. He was on his feet and to the door of his bedroom before he even took another breath.
Again it wasn’t loud, nothing as dramatic or startling. It wasn’t a scream, couldn’t even be considered a cry, but still there was something soulful and pleading about the sound, like the last gasps of an animal caught in a trap.
Opening the bedroom door, he stepped out into the hallway. Immediately the sound not only became louder, but clearer as well. He could tell now that it wasn’t a gasp, nor was it a cry. It was more tormented than that, more of an anguished, sorrowful moan.
Slowly starting down the corridor, it didn’t take long for him to determine where the sound was coming from. It came from the other end of the hallway, from Rain’s room. She was having a nightmare.
The bedroom, when he opened the door, was flooded with the white, silvery light of the moon.
“No,” she groaned, her head turning back and forth on the pillow. “Is it Logan? No.”
There it was again. Logan. The sound of her voice when she said the name sent a chill running down his spine. She was terrified.
“Rain,” he whispered, walking to the bed. Kneeling down, he carefully set the gun on the carpet next to him. “Rain, you’re dreaming.”
“It’s not Logan, not Logan,” she mumbled. “Not Logan.”
“Wake up, Rain,” he urged, reaching for her and giving each shoulder a gentle shake. “Come on, it’s Joe. Wake up.”
Her eyes shot open and for a moment he wondered who it was she was seeing when she looked at him because it was obvious she wasn’t seeing him.
“It’s me, it’s Joe. You’re awake now.”
“J-Joe?” she stammered, recognition coming to her eyes.
Rain Dance Page 10
