Sunset Promises

by Carla Cassidy

  “About six months ago. I was in Las Vegas for business and we met in the lobby of the Stardust casino.”

  “Are you telling me you picked me up?” Colette was appalled at the very idea. What on earth had been going on in her life that she would allow herself to be picked up by a stranger in a Las Vegas casino?

  “It wasn’t exactly like that,” he said.

  “Exactly what was it like?” she asked.

  He leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with an intimacy that made her wish she wore something different than the thin blue silk nightgown and robe, something more substantial to ward off the near physical heat of his gaze. “We shared a kind of instant attraction. We talked for a little while, then you went with me to the crap tables. I had a couple hot runs with the dice and we laughed about you being my good luck charm. With the high of the win, we had dinner together, then ended up in your room.”

  Once again he leaned forward and the scent of his cologne eddied around Colette’s head, hauntingly familiar, disturbingly recognizable. His breath was warm, evocative on her face. “It was one hell of a night, Colette. The memory of that night with you is what brought me to Cheyenne.”

  Colette’s mouth was dry, and she felt as if her nerve endings had all crawled to the surface of her skin. She was shocked at the circumstances that had apparently brought them together. But there was a certain amount of relief in hearing that they had shared a past, giving a rational explanation for her feelings of familiarity toward him. At least with this new knowledge, she no longer felt as if she were going insane.

  Other, less pleasant thoughts shot through her head. “So, what happened? We spent a night together, then you left? Did you leave skid marks in the parking lot?” She was surprised by the irritation she felt.

  “Whoa, it wasn’t exactly like that.”

  “Dammit, Hank, tell me exactly what it was like.” She stood and shoved her chair aside, frustration searing through her. “I’ve got amnesia. I don’t remember things. Help me fill in some of the blanks.”

  She started to pace, her mind still unable to completely fit his words into reality. “Did I tell you what I was doing in Las Vegas? Did you at least buy me breakfast the next morning?”

  “No, you didn’t tell me what you were doing there. You did tell me you were sort of involved with somebody, but things weren’t going well. I was only in town for that one night and the next morning we said goodbye and you told me if I was ever in Cheyenne to look you up.”

  Although at the present moment Colette knew little about herself, this kind of behavior seemed foreign, distinctly out of character for her. “So, you came to Cheyenne looking for me?”

  He nodded. “My previous job ended and I decided to drift in this direction, look you up and see what happened.”

  “And what did you expect to happen?” she asked.

  Once again he smiled, the gesture not quite reaching the shadows of his eyes. He stood and approached her, cornering her against a cabinet. “I didn’t expect anything, but I’ll tell you what I hope will happen.” He leaned into her, invading her space. “I want to share your bed again.”

  Colette’s breath felt trapped in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She felt the rise of her nipples beneath her gown, as if responding in anticipation to what he suggested. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen,” she replied, irritated to hear a slight hoarseness in her voice. She cleared her throat and continued, “I’m not in the habit of bedding strangers.”

  “I’m not exactly a stranger,” he returned, the wicked smile still curving his lips. He reached out and touched the collar of her silky robe. “You did a thorough job exploring me that night in Las Vegas. You know me better than I know myself.”

  Colette felt the heat of his touch penetrate through the thin material, burning her skin as if he branded her. She fought the impulse to jerk away from him, refusing to allow him to see how his touch affected her.

  Instead she looked at him with as much dispassion as she could muster. She wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. Although a one-night stand answered the question of why he seemed so familiar to her, why his kiss had stirred vague memories, it left dozens more questions unanswered. She simply couldn’t imagine herself picking up a guy in a bar and sleeping with him that night.

  She frowned as another thought entered her mind. “Six months ago. I would have been pregnant.”

  “Not that I could tell.”

  For some reason this only made her feel worse. Three months pregnant and picking up strange men. What kind of a person was she? “I think you’re lying,” she finally said, deciding she couldn’t be the kind of person to do what he’d said. She swatted his hand away and moved across the kitchen toward the back door.

  “Look in your suitcase, Colette. You have a rip in the lining and inside is a lucky hundred dollar chip. We put it there that night.” He walked back to the table, drained the last of his coffee, then joined her at the back door. “It happened, Colette. And if I have anything to say about it, it’s going to happen again.” With these words, he flashed her one more wicked grin, then left.

  On rubbery legs, Colette moved back to the table, her heart thudding the rapid beat of remembered passion. “It’s going to happen again.” It had been no threat. Rather it had been a smooth, velvet promise.

  Although her head held no memory of their night together, her body seemed to hold the memory. As she contemplated making love with Hank, her pulse rate increased, her blood seemed to thicken and heat grew in the center of her, expanding outward like a river of lava.

  But why, when she’d first seen him, had she experienced not a sensation of passion, but rather one of impending danger? Why did she get the feeling there was more to their shared past than a single night spent in his arms? And why did she still have the feeling he was lying?

  She left the kitchen and went to her bedroom. Bending down, she grabbed the suitcase she’d arrived with from the floor of the closet. She placed it on the bed, then opened it. Her heart thudded as she scanned the thin blue liner, looking for a tear.

  Sure enough, in one corner the liner was pulled away, allowing her hand to snake inside and find what was hidden within. Her fingers closed around a large chip. She pulled it out and stared at it. A hundred dollar gambling chip with the name of the Stardust imprinted on its face.

  Her heart resumed an unnatural rhythm as a memory nudged at her consciousness. Hank lying on a king-size bed, his naked body erotically sun-bronzed against the backdrop of the crisp white sheets. “You’re my good luck, coquette,” he said as he flipped the coin to her. His smile faded and his expression turned somber. “And let’s hope I’m yours. Before this mess is over, you’re going to need all the luck you can get.”

  Colette frowned, reaching for more of the slice of memory, but anything else remained elusive, just out of reach. Still, what little she’d managed to remember convinced her without a doubt that there was more to her past relationship to Hank. All she had to figure out was, what it was and why she sensed an underlying danger in the whole mess.

  She dressed in jeans and a summer blouse, checked on Brook, then went downstairs, her mind still reeling with the bits and pieces of the past she’d managed to glean. She’d just poured herself the last cup of coffee when somebody knocked on the back door. Peering out, she saw Bob Sanderson, one of the ranch hands, standing on the back porch.

  She opened the door. “Hi, Bob.”

  “Ms. Colette.” He pulled his dusty hat off his head. “Ms. Abby told me there’s a leaky kitchen pipe she wanted me to fix. So, I’m here to fix it.” He scratched the scar that ran down his left cheek, as if self-conscious about the livid mark.

  She stepped aside to let him in. “For the past two days that leak has been an irritation. It will be nice to have it fixed.”

  “It should take just a few minutes,” he explained as he set a small toolbox next to the sink and opened the cabinets beneath. He withdrew a large wrench from the to
ols. “I’ll have to shut this water off for a few minutes. That all right?”

  “Fine,” Colette assured him as she sat at the kitchen table. She stared into her coffee, her mind still sifting through the information she’d gained from Hank.

  “I guess you’ve gotten all settled in here. Where was it I heard you were before?” Bob asked, his head beneath the sink.

  “In California,” Colette answered absently.

  “Ah, California. I lived there for a while years ago. Beautiful state, one of my favorites of all the ones I’ve been to. I was working on a ranch out there and when the job ended, I took a couple weeks and stayed right out there along the coast. Nothing like ocean air to make you feel good. Did you get a chance to spend time near the coast?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. “Yes, sir, I love the ocean. I probably should have been a fisherman instead of a cattleman. Hell, now I’m too old and too tired to change my livelihood.” He popped his head out from under the cabinets and smiled at her sheepishly. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?” His lips curved up in a rueful smile. “My mama always told me I could talk the ear off a mule. Loose lips sink ships, that’s what she’d say.” He disappeared under the cabinet.

  An icy chill finger-walked up Colette’s back. Loose lips sink ships. Loose lips sink ships. Bob’s words echoed in her head. Those very words whispered in her ear, a hot breath warning her as hands gripped her shoulders painfully. “Loose lips sink ships, little lady.” Words hissed with venom.

  She stood, fighting an overwhelming impulse to run. Escape. A surge of self-protection she didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend.

  The back door opened and Abby and Cody walked in. “The fish weren’t biting and we got bored.” She looked at Colette, then at Bob, who’d stopped his work as they entered. “Everything all right?”

  “Right as rain,” Bob replied, apparently not feeling the tension that rolled off Colette. “I’ve just about got this pipe replaced and that should solve the problem.”

  “Good. Thanks, Bob.” Abby directed her attention to her son. “Cody, go and wash the worm gunk off your hands.”

  “I’ve got the water shut off,” Bob said.

  Abby eyed her son’s filthy hands. “Go out to the shed and wash up.” When he’d run outside, she took Colette’s arm and led her into the living room. “You okay? You’re white as a sheet and looked like you were ready to bolt out the door.”

  Colette drew a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?” Abby eyed her sharply.

  “I’m getting little flashes of memories.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s great. What are you remembering?”

  Colette frowned. “None of it makes any sense right now. Just bits and pieces of things, but not any kind of overall picture.”

  “It will come,” Abby assured her. “At least this is a sign that your memory is breaking loose, trying to find itself again.” She hugged Colette once again. “Why don’t you go outside and get some fresh air? Now that I’m home I’ll keep an eye on Brook. It’s a gorgeous day to be outside and you haven’t really been out since your fall down the side of the butte.”

  Colette nodded. “Thanks, maybe I’ll do just that.” Walking somehow made thinking easier and she needed to think, to try to put the little pieces of memory into a bigger picture.

  Fifteen minutes later Colette left the house and walked out into the bright early afternoon sunshine. In the distance gray storm clouds darkened the horizon, but she realized the rain was probably hours away. She’d have plenty of time for a leisurely walk.

  As usual, her first destination was the dragon tree in the distance. With the beginning of summer, the branches were fully dressed with thick leaves, the shape of the tree letting Colette know how it had earned its name.

  Silhouetted against the backdrop of bright blue sky, the green foliage resembled a mythical dragon, complete with huge wings and long snout. She gasped as a memory whispered in her head, evoking a mental image of three little girls solemnly pressing fingers together in a ritual of sisterhood.

  Every day she came here, somehow feeling if she could just sit beneath the magnificent branches, touch the gnarled rough bark, all her memories would come tumbling back. But her memories were selfish, flirting with only little pieces, sharing only shadows of scenes from her past.

  She leaned her back against the tree and noticed the dirt devils rising in the breeze above the corral. Was Hank there? Working out one of the horses? Hank. She still found it impossible to believe she’d met him and fallen into his bed all in the space of a single night. But why would he lie? What did he have to gain by making up such a story? He hadn’t lied about the money chip. It had been just where he’d said it would be. Did that mean everything else he’d said was true?

  She sank down to sit at the base of the tree. Not only did she have Hank to consider, but also the overwhelming sense of foreboding that had followed her from the moment she’d left the motel room in Las Vegas.

  She’d hoped the feeling would dissipate with each day she spent here at the ranch with her sisters, but instead it had grown. Danger seemed to pulsate in the air all around her, and yet she didn’t know the source of the bad vibrations.

  Leaning her head back against the trunk, she closed her eyes and immediately was gifted with a memory. She and her sisters, dressed like fairy princesses, playing house in the shade of the tree.

  “I’m going to marry a prince and we’ll live here forever and ever,” Abby said, her face nearly hidden by one of their mother’s pale white lace scarfs.

  “I’m going to marry a prince and he’ll be rich and I’ll buy Mom and Dad a new car,” Belinda exclaimed.

  “And I’m going to marry a prince and have lots of babies,” Colette could remember saying.

  Colette sighed, remembering how filled with hope they had been as young girls, how full of romantic dreams. Abby’s prince had been nothing but a drifter cowboy who’d disappeared with Cody’s birth. Belinda had yet to find her special somebody who would be her prince.

  Colette had gotten her wish of a baby…but where was her prince? Had she traded her dreams of happily-ever-after for a one-night stand? The Connor girls hadn’t done so well in the love department.

  She stood, restless beneath the weight of her thoughts. Instead of heading back to the house, she walked in a direction she hadn’t explored before, away from the ranch and toward the fishing pond in the distance.

  Before long she found herself in a pasture, the sweet scent of rich earth and tall grass filling her senses. Again she wondered why she had left the ranch. Had it just been an odyssey of youth? The need to escape her roots and see part of the outside world? Somehow she thought so. She could remember entertaining fantasies of what another place might hold, foolish youthful dreams of the grass being greener.

  Whatever had driven her away, she knew she was now home to stay. She could easily imagine Brook running through the tall sweet-smelling grass, enjoying the feel of the ground beneath her bare feet.

  She didn’t know how long she walked before she realized she must have walked off the Connor property and onto the Walker’s old place. The remnants of an old foundation hid among a grove of trees, only a leaning brick chimney rising upward to attest to an old homestead.

  Looking up, she saw that the storm clouds were getting closer, darkening the sky to the muddy color of turbulence. Time to get home.

  Before leaving the area, her attention was captured by a small bunny nearby. His nose twitched as he nibbled the sweet grass and Colette froze, enjoying the sight. He hopped toward a rise in the ground and Colette followed, surprised to see a tin-covered door appearing to lead directly into the depths of the earth. Ears raised, the bunny suddenly darted away, but Colette remained, staring at the door curiously. A storm cellar? Thick, waist-high weeds choked the area and waved in the wind that had whipped up. She fought through the weeds to finally reach the door.

  Grasping the handle, she tugged and with
a groan of age and disuse, the door creaked open. Wooden steps led straight down, disappearing into the utter darkness at the bottom.

  She wished she had a flashlight. She’d love to explore, see what was down there. Who knew what might have been stashed in the root cellar years ago? What treasures might it yield now? There would be no exploring this time. She’d be crazy to do so now, ill-prepared for the dark.

  She bent in one last attempt to see what might be down there. She heard a sudden flurry of footsteps running through grass. Before she had time to react, a blow smacked against the back of her head. A single moment of sharp pain, then darkness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Darkness. So deep. So profound. It surrounded her when she awakened. She lay sprawled, her entire body screaming in outrage. She closed her eyes and inhaled, wishing back her unconsciousness, seeking the oblivion that had shielded her from the pain. She wanted to fall into the black void, yearned to be embraced by its nothingness. No such luck.

  She’d expected green grass beneath her, the gray sky overhead, but instead she found solid earth and darkness. Where am I? She tried to clear her thoughts. She remembered. The blow to the head. The root cellar. She was in the root cellar.

  Tentatively she moved, stretching arms and legs, checking to make sure there were no broken bones. She sat, wincing with each breath, certain that her ribs were either broken or severely bruised. A headache pounded and, reaching up, she touched a goose egg on the back of her head.

  She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them close, needing a moment before attempting to find her way back up the stairs.

  Somebody had intentionally tried to hurt her. Somebody had snuck up behind her and hit her in the back of the head, then shoved her down the stairs. She shivered as she remembered her fall from the butte. That time she hadn’t been certain whether she’d slipped or been pushed. This time she was. Somebody had tried to kill her.

  Why? Why would somebody try to shove her off the butte? Why would somebody try to bash in her brains? Why would somebody want to kill her? She fought a wave of nausea. Why? Why? The question made her head pound.