by BJ Wane
“Better find that nice girl soon, pal, or you’ll end up all alone.” Dakota’s hat hid his black eyes, but Clayton caught his quick grin.
“You’re funny,” he returned with sarcasm. “I didn’t turn on the charm, just pointed out where she was.”
In truth, her annoyance with him calling her sweetheart had caught him by surprise. He couldn’t recall another woman who hadn’t cared for the endearment, or his attention. As much as she had occupied his mind this past week, he found her attitude bothersome, and he never let a woman get under his skin. There were too many willing to play nice for a short time to mess with the prickly ones. Since it was doubtful they’d run into each other again, he didn’t intend to spend another moment wondering about her or concerning himself with her welfare.
Shawn glanced at him with a smirk. “If she didn’t fawn all over you like all the others, watch out. That’s how Lisa snagged my attention at first. She tried avoiding all contact, including eye contact, until I wore her down. Nothing like taking a hit to the ego to stir up interest.”
“Poppy teased me, and that was a first. I’m more used to them running away.”
Dakota’s size and less than personable manner made a lot of women skittish, but Clayton also knew his friend was a good Dom who treated the members at their club to his undivided attention if he scened with them.
“It was a chance, short encounter. Quit comparing it to the first time you met Lisa and Poppy. Have either of you signed up for rodeo events yet?” he asked, thinking it was time to lead the conversation in a different direction. They participated in the annual rodeo benefit every year, and returning to their previous discussion ought to do the trick. He should have known better.
Dakota scoffed rudely as he looked toward Shawn, who was chuckling, and said, “You latched on to that quick change of subject too.”
“Hard not to,” Shawn drawled. “Did we yank a nerve, Prosecutor? She must have made a hell of an impression in that brief time.”
She had made a hell of an impression sleeping in her car in an off-road, secluded area, but he wasn’t about to give them more to rib him about. Lucky for him, he knew just how to get to them.
“Speaking of Lisa and Poppy – Dakota was nice enough to share. When are you going to do the same, Shawn?”
Clayton almost laughed aloud when Dakota swore and Shawn frowned and snarled, “I ought to shoot you and leave you out here for the coyotes.”
“And blow your chance to get elected sheriff next week? I think I’m safe.”
“Not from me if you bring that scene up again,” Dakota growled then kicked his massive stallion, Phantom, into a run toward the stables.
Blowing out a breath, Clayton shook his head. “He’s still worried about her, even though the bone marrow transplant was a success.”
“Recovery takes a long time, and Poppy’s not good at sitting around.” Shawn reached out and punched his arm, hard. “Don’t worry, we both know you were joking. We’re still getting used to the possessiveness that comes with loving a woman. I do believe Miss Betty is waiting for us. God, I hope that means she brought food. I’m starving.”
“Thankfully, I don’t have to worry about one woman. Let’s go see if my favorite woman brought dinner.” The only woman he seemed unable to quit thinking about was a stranger with trouble written all over her, the best kind to avoid. Clayton spurred Sienna into a gallop, hoping he’d seen the last of her and the unsettling distress he’d seen in her large brown eyes.
Chapter Three
“I’m sorry…marriage…a mistake…Love you…little misunderstanding…didn’t mean it.”
The man, her husband, Alex, gazing at the papers she’d given him…muscles bunching…eyes turning cold with the same look as before…same chilling, insincere smile.
Who was this stranger she’d married?
Skye shifted on the back seat of her car, trying but failing to escape the nightmare holding her in its grip.
“An argument…fought before…like how…make up.”
His gaze softened…she wasn’t fooled…he’d killed her trust. He stepped toward her, she retreated…feet moving faster than brain. A flash of calculated menace in his eyes… there again and gone…. she trembled….his face went hard…her blood turned to ice.
“Come on.” Cajoling…holding out hand… nodding toward the bed. “Comfortable… talk.”
Nausea churned even as she straightened her backbone on a wave of potent fury. Why was she scared and angry? What did those papers reveal? Skye shook her head. “No. Go away. Now.”
“I’ll never let you go, babe, not until I’ve had my fill.”
He stepped forward again. She moved back. White-hot pain exploded across her head…the room spun….a loud report reverberated as she fell.
Jerking upright, Skye gasped for air, shaking from the inside out. An owl’s hoot came from the darkened woods, the far-off echo of a wolf’s howl drifted down from the hills, but otherwise, the campsite was eerily quiet. Those sounds were as strange to her as the disjointed phrases of that vivid dream. Swinging her legs onto the floor, she wrapped the blanket around her and leaned her head back, tears pricking her eyes.
Something told her she wasn’t always this maudlin, then again, how often did one find themselves in her position? She scrubbed her hands over her cheeks, irritated with her tears. Crying wouldn’t get her answers. Racking her brain, she sifted through the remnants of what she could remember from the vague recollections. Like a jigsaw puzzle, the more pieces she could connect, the bigger picture she could put together.
They had fought prior to the scene that had frightened her into awakening, but about what, she hadn’t a clue. Alex was still a stranger to her, someone she’d eventually been scared of and determined to leave. That much she could put together from the bits and pieces of the dream and her fragmented memories, and she believed were true. The answers to more important questions remained blanks, those gaps still holding the power to make her skin crawl and her heart pound.
Had she been holding a gun? The sound of gunfire had come as she’d fallen, but from her or someone else? There wasn’t anyone else in the room in her dream, at least not to her knowledge, but that didn’t mean they’d been alone. Clutching the blanket, she groaned, realizing she couldn’t keep going like this. First thing in the morning, she would see if the clinic accepted drop-ins. From there, she would make one more trip back to Boise, stop at the Internet café, and go by her house. If all remained quiet about Alex’s death, she would have no choice but to either talk to the police or to retrieve Harper’s number off her phone and call her. Her funds were low, despite her frugal spending, and her memories weren’t returning fast enough to continue going on alone.
****
“Any headaches?” Doctor Stavinsky asked as he shone a light in Skye’s eyes and had her follow his finger back and forth without turning her head.
“Just mild ones.” She hesitated before revealing too much about her amnesia. Mountain Bend was such a small community. It wouldn’t be in her best interest if word got around about the camper with no memory of her past. “I’m having trouble remembering a few things, though.” That was putting it mildly, but safely.
He gave her a kind, teasing smile, stepping back from the exam table she was perched on. “You’re too young for senior moments, so we can rule that out. You said you fell and hit your head? When was this?”
“Almost two weeks ago.” It seemed longer than that, yet the image of Alex’s body sprawled on the bed was as vivid as when she’d first seen him.
“You still have a mild concussion. For now, I suggest you take it easy and try to avoid stress. If your memory lapses continue after another two weeks, come back and see me. I don’t want to put you through a scan unless it becomes necessary.”
“I appreciate that, Doctor.” Her budget had taken a hit from the fifty dollar co-pay, and she was hoping to find a recent deposit in her account when she stopped at the bank this afternoon.
“Here are a few samples of a mild sleeping aid.” He searched inside a drawer filled with pharmaceutical freebies and pulled out several packets. “A lot of rest is key to letting the brain heal. Try these if you have trouble getting to sleep or staying asleep.”
‘Thank you.” Skye took the pills, grateful for the no-cost prescription help. Avoiding stress was impossible under her current circumstances, so these might be necessary for a few nights.
Skye left the clinic and drove toward the deli she’d enjoyed eating at the other day with Poppy and Lisa. Having their company for the simple meal had eased her loneliness for a brief spell, but it hadn’t taken long for the solitude of her existence to get her down again. She squared her shoulders and gripped the wheel, determined to make headway toward answers today, to come up with anything to go on instead of trusting her fate to the police just yet.
Her hopes of picking up a sandwich to eat on the way into Boise were dashed as soon as she turned the corner and saw Clayton Trebek entering the deli with another tall cowboy, this guy getting out of a sheriff’s cruiser before meeting Clayton at the door. Just like the other times their paths had crossed, her heart skipped a beat and her neglected libido warmed with a happy dance. As long as she didn’t hear him call her sweetheart in that slow, sexy drawl that bugged her for some unexplainable reason, she could fantasize about him twenty-four seven without getting bored. Maybe it was just nerves over her tense situation or needing something else to fixate on that accounted for her inability to put him out of her mind or tamp down her escalating heated responses.
Whatever the reason, she thought, turning around, she needed to focus on finding herself and answers, not on a panty-creaming cowboy. Skye found a hamburger joint and stopped there, taking fifteen minutes to eat in her car before getting on the main road to Boise. She went to the Internet café first, recognizing a few more places in the city this time. Problem was, she wasn’t sure whether it was from memory return or her last trip into the area. At least Dr. Stavinsky had given her a good bill of health and set her mind at ease about suffering lingering or permanent damage after assuring her the blanks would fill in given time. He refused to speculate on how much time, though.
She searched for hours, until her eyes grew tired and the screen blurred, unable to find a word on Alex’s death, nothing under Harper’s name, Skye’s address, or her married name. The computer tech and Internet geek offered to help, but she couldn’t risk alerting anyone of her interest in the matter when his death finally made the news.
A late-day brisk wind had kicked up by the time she left the café, whipping her hair around her face as she walked to her car. At least the annoying change helped cool her off from the low 90s temperature. She doubted anything could distract her from the slow recovery of her memories and what had happened that last fateful day. Skye shuddered as she imagined herself pulling the trigger, shooting the man she assumed she had loved. What could he possibly have done or said to bring about such action from her or anyone else?
The not knowing was getting her down, and she didn’t like the feeling. Not yet ready to give up, Skye drove to the bank, getting there right before closing. The same teller stood behind the counter, and much to her dismay, she recognized Skye from before.
“Hi, Ms. Anderson. What can I do for you?”
This was always the tricky part, cashing a check instead of withdrawing from the ATM, unable to explain why she couldn’t recall any of her numbers or passcodes.
“I’d like a printout of my account, and then to cash a check, if you have time. I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“No problem. That’ll just take a minute.”
The young girl did a good job of masking her curiosity, but Skye caught the questioning look she gave her as she started typing in the information. She couldn’t blame her. The girl was younger than her, but both of them were too young to have handled their accounts any other way than at home on their personal computers or phone.
“Here you go.” The teller slid a sheet of numbers forward across the counter.
“Thanks.”
Skye scanned the automatic withdrawals following two large deposits at the first of the month from publishers. She recognized the publisher who deposited the larger amount having seen the name listed in the books she’d read so far. The other one remained a mystery but not where over 60 percent of her income went each month. Mercy Hospice automatically withdrew a hefty sum two days after payday, making her wonder whose care she was paying for. Did she have family there?
Her heart constricted as she thought of losing a relative, maybe her only kin, and a burst of pain stabbed at her head like an army of sharp-pointed needles.
“Ms. Anderson.” The teller laid her hand on Skye’s arm. “Are you all right? Your face is sheet white.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, shaking off the sadness tugging her down. “Just tired from not sleeping well lately.” That much was true. Scrawling a small amount on the check she’d started, she passed it to the girl. The sooner she left the bank, the better.
Skye took a deep breath as soon as she walked out of the bank, hating how fast her nerves put her on edge over every little revelation. I’m not a flippin’ sleuth. She might write suspense novels, but this was real life, not fiction where she could fill in the story as she pleased and write the ending to her satisfaction. As she got into her car, she thought of the concern in Clayton Trebek’s blue eyes and wished she’d had the backbone to confide in him when he’d offered his help. Knowing nothing about him, though, made that impossible. Maybe next time she came into Boise, she would be desperate enough to look him up at the café. But she wasn’t quite there yet.
Before she could chicken out, she drove to the neighborhood she still didn’t remember and parked across the street from the house, her house she amended, still finding that hard to believe. How could she have no recollection of a place she’d bought and lived in, or the man she’d lived with and supposedly loved? But no, even with the gray twilight hour dimming the view of the bright blue shutters on the front windows that matched the blue front door, the stark white of the rest of the house, and the brick walk leading up to the small porch, she continued to draw a blank about what had happened inside.
For all its charm and neat appearance, Skye should sense a welcome from the place. Instead, she experienced the same creepy feeling as the other day, a frisson of fear and disbelief she couldn’t find a reason for except her last look at Alex’s body. The elderly woman next door came out and settled in a rocking chair on her porch. When she looked her way, Skye drove off, hoping the neighbor didn’t recognize her. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she noted the older woman didn’t seem nervous or worried living next door to where a man had been killed.
Weirder, and weirder, she thought, not knowing what to make of no news about Alex’s death. Only two explanations came to mind. Either she’d been right not to trust Harper, or her friend had become a victim, also, after she’d fled. Both possibilities were upsetting.
She couldn’t resist going by the Mercy Hospice on her way out of town, hoping for a sign of recognition. But as she sat in the parking lot and watched patients with their caregivers walk around the grounds, she didn’t recognize anyone and the sense of peace that had enveloped her upon arriving dissipated. A few glanced toward her, but none moved her way to question her presence.
As much as she needed to guard her identity for a while longer, she couldn’t help the resentment over her situation from bubbling up to the surface. Her whole situation denied her even the simplest pleasures, like visiting a dying loved one, and angered her as much as it worried and depressed her.
Sitting there was getting her nowhere except more despondent and nervous, so she got back on the road toward Mountain Bend and the campsite as evening slipped into night. She’d spent more time in Boise than she’d planned, the hours ticking away in her desperate need for answers. There was a loneliness to driving at night between the two towns. The
sparse traffic and dark countryside once she left Boise seemed to emphasize her bleak circumstances, and suddenly the last thing she wanted to do was return to the campgrounds where she felt more alone surrounded by strangers having fun with family and friends.
Having topped off her gas tank before heading back, she kept driving, seeking a sign, a turnoff, a ranch, anything that looked familiar, even in the dark. Thirty miles past Mountain Bend, she saw a turnoff and lighted gates, the sign above them reading the Rolling Hills Ranch. This was the entrance to Clayton Trebeck’s property, she guessed, remembering when he’d mentioned it by the creek. She couldn’t see much in the dark, and, figuring she’d gone far enough, she pulled in and then back out, turning around. The last thing she wanted was to get lost, but she drove much slower, still in no hurry to bunk down at the camp. Halfway back, she spotted a narrow road she’d missed before, the hint of lights at the end of the short lane enough to reveal the roof of a large, wood building. Curious, she turned off to explore and reached a full gravel parking lot in front of what appeared to be a bar or nightclub called Spurs, as depicted on the sign above the double doors.
Skye couldn’t resist the chance to socialize in public without fretting over anyone remembering her should she end up a murder suspect. All she wanted was an hour to have a drink, maybe dance with a cute cowboy before calling it a day. A car arrived and parked near her, and a spasm of envy gripped her abdomen as she watched the tall man place a possessive hand on his date’s lower back before escorting her inside. The woman leaned into him, her contented expression when they reached the lighted entrance eliciting a spasm of envy in Skye’s abdomen. Had she enjoyed her husband’s touch as much as that woman appeared to relish her escort’s?
Shoving aside yet another unanswerable question, Skye slid out of her car in time to catch the faint strands of music from inside before the door closed behind the couple. She hoped the cover fee wasn’t too steep as she couldn’t afford to part with a lot of her limited funds. Whoever’s care she was paying for at the hospice must be someone special, and she wouldn’t jeopardize their well-being and comfort to ease her own plight.
