Sunset Promises

by Carla Cassidy

  She couldn’t think about it now. She had to get out of here. She kneeled, disoriented by her fall, unsure if she faced the stairs or away from them. Reaching her hands in front of her, she encountered nothing but space.

  The sound of her breathing surrounded her. It bounced off the walls and let her know the area she was in was small. Moving her arms over her head, she stood. At least the ceiling was tall enough to let her stand. She moved straight ahead, like a blind man without a cane, unfamiliar with the surroundings.

  She stopped as her fingertips encountered an earthen wall. Turning in another direction, she moved forward once again, tactilely exploring, seeking the way out.

  A loud boom resounded overhead, causing her to jump and gasp in fear. Following the boom came the sound of rain on tin. She must have been unconscious for some time if the storm had moved in.

  With the noise of the rain to guide her, Colette found the edge of the stairs that led up to the door. She climbed seven stairs before her head touched the slanting door. Reaching her arms up, she pushed against it. It didn’t budge.

  She paused a moment to catch her breath. The sound of the rain was deafening and she fought against a suffocating claustrophobia.

  She tried to open the door once again, putting her shoulder into it and pushing with all her might. Nothing. Not a single inch of give.

  “Help,” she screamed, then realized how futile it was. Nobody knew she was here and the pounding rain would drown out what little noise she could make.

  For the first time since regaining consciousness, she fought against panic. Nobody knew where she was. Her ribs shot pain with each breath and she probably needed some kind of medical attention.

  She sank down onto one of the steps, the rain echoing in maddening furor. Pressing her hands over her ears to mute the loud noise, she tried to think, but one single thought held court in her head.

  Somebody had tried to kill her. And if she wasn’t found, they would succeed. She would die in here.

  * * *

  HANK RODE like the wind, the rain slicker little protection against the driving rain. His heart pounded as loud as the thunder overhead and the horse’s eyes rolled in terror as lightning slashed the sky.

  He had to find her. When several hours had passed and she hadn’t returned from her walk, Abby had raised an alarm, asking the ranch hands to stop what they were doing and try to find her.

  Hank had immediately saddled up and ridden out. He’d been working in the corral when she’d left the house and he’d watched her walk toward the distorted tree. Rusty had asked him to saddle up a couple of horses and when he’d returned from the stable, she’d been gone.

  He headed toward the grotesque-looking tree, cursing the storm and his own stupidity. When he’d seen her out walking alone, he should have followed her. He should have never let her out of his sight.

  Dammit. He tightened his grip on the reins, the horse protesting the heavy hand with a toss of his head.

  Perhaps she’d had another snap of memory, had wandered off and couldn’t remember how to get back to the ranch house. Maybe she’d slipped in a pasture rut and fallen, unable to walk home. So many maybes and perhapses.

  He reached the tree, but found no sign of her. Pulling his hat down on his forehead to shield his face from the rain, he eyed the surrounding area, seeking a flash of her clothing, anything that would point him in the right direction.

  To the right of the tree was nothing but flat plain and short-grass pasture. To the left, amid the waist-high prairie grass, he knew was the old Walker place. It was in this direction he headed, moving slowly, methodically, through the wild growth.

  Where could she be? Surely she’d known the storm was coming and would have come back to the house if she were able. A chill stole through him, one that had nothing to do with the cold, penetrating rain.

  He’d hoped she’d regain her memories here, at the ranch where she felt safe and secure. But time was running out and Hank was running out of options. When he found her he was going to have to face some difficult decisions about her future. He grimaced, not thinking of what might happen if he didn’t find her.

  When he reached the old stone foundation of the Walker place, he stopped the horse and looked around. Nothing. No sign that she’d come this way. Where in the hell was she? Where in the hell could she be?

  * * *

  TIME LOST all meaning as Colette huddled on the steps. Every few minutes she tried once again to open the door, but to no avail. Panic became her biggest enemy, along with the claustrophobia that threatened to suffocate her.

  This must be what it’s like to be buried alive, she thought, the scent of damp earth sickening her. The darkness frightened her, the noise of the rain on the door threatened to drive her insane.

  Despite the fact she knew it was futile, from time to time she yelled for help, until her throat hurt and her ribs ached.

  She steadfastly refused to consider the possibility she might never be found, knew that to dwell on that thought would truly send her into the depths of insanity.

  Somebody had to find her. Brook needed her. Colette wanted to raise her daughter, find her missing past. Her life was too incomplete for it to end now, in the bottom of a root cellar.

  A sob tore through her at the thought of her daughter. A child without a father. Would she also be a child without a mother?

  This thought spurred her to stand and bang on the door once again, tears racing down her face. She screamed for help, refusing to give up as long as her voice held out, as long as any strength remained in her body.

  She paused. Had she heard something? She stood still, trying to hear beyond her own ragged breathing, beneath the pounding of the rain.

  “Colette?” The voice was barely discernible.

  “Yes, yes, I’m here,” she yelled, once again using her fists frantically against the door.

  She stopped as a new noise resounded, the sound of something being dragged across the tin door. It stopped, then resumed again. There was another moment of silence, then the door creaked open.

  Lightning flashed, momentarily blinding her. As her vision cleared, she saw Hank leaning down, a hand extended to help her out.

  In a split second a flash of fear raced through Colette. This was the second time she’d found herself in a life-and-death situation and Hank had been the one to find her. Coincidence?

  “Colette…come on, let’s get you home.”

  She swallowed her fear, refusing to examine it at the moment. She just wanted to get out of the cellar and back to the ranch. Reaching up, she took hold of his hand and allowed him to pull her out of the dank, dark tomb.

  The sky was gray and dreary, but a welcome sight to her. She breathed in deeply of the rain-fresh air, wanting to rid herself of the smell of damp earth and death.

  Hank immediately took her by the shoulders and eyed her. His eyes narrowed and a muscle ticked in his jaw. “We’d better get you back to the house, then I want to hear what happened.” He pulled the rain slicker off and held it out to her.

  She pulled it on, although she was already soaked to the skin and chilling. With a practiced ease, he mounted the horse, then held out a hand to her.

  Colette’s ribs screamed in pain as she allowed him to help her up behind him. “You have to go slow,” she said through clenched teeth. “I think I have some broken ribs.”

  As the horse started to walk, she leaned into Hank’s back, fighting against waves of unconsciousness. Now that she was safe, the horror of what had happened chilled her through and through.

  Who would want to harm her? Who on earth would want to see her dead? Was it possible it was the man whose body heat now warmed her? Both times something had happened, Hank had been there.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I was looking down into the root cellar and somebody came up behind me and hit me in the back of the head. I woke up in the cellar. How did you find me?” she asked, grateful that the rain had let up to a f
ine mist.

  “Earlier I saw you take off walking. When Abby told us to see if we could find you, that’s where I started.”

  “But how did you know to look in the root cellar?”

  “At first I didn’t.”

  She had to lean forward to hear his words before they were snatched by the wind and carried out of her hearing range. “I went around the Walker place, but didn’t see anything to indicate you’d been there. Then I noticed the old root cellar. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it except there were three large rocks sitting on top of the door…rocks that didn’t belong there.”

  So that’s why she hadn’t been able to open the door. Again a chill worked up her spine and convulsively her arms tightened around Hank. Somebody had intentionally placed those rocks on top of the door to keep her locked inside. An additional death warrant if the blow to the back of the head hadn’t killed her.

  “Colette, we need to talk,” Hank said. But before he could continue, Abby appeared on horseback, riding hell-bent for leather toward them.

  “Thank God,” she said as she met them. “Are you all right?” she asked Colette.

  Colette all but ignored her sister’s question. She had to know about Brook. “Where’s the baby?”

  “She’s sleeping in her crib. Now, let’s get you home.”

  When they got to the ranch, Abby quickly took over, ordering Belinda to make hot coffee and insisting Hank carry Colette to the sofa in the living room. She put a call in to Dr. Washburn, then shooed everyone but Belinda out of the room. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes,” she said. “Belinda, run and get the flannel robe out of my closet.”

  Within minutes Colette was warm and dry, wrapped in Abby’s robe and sipping a hot cup of coffee. Hank stood against the door, his gaze dark as it lingered on her.

  “Now, tell us what happened. Where have you been?” Abby asked.

  “I went for a walk and ended up out at the Walker place. There’s an old root cellar out there. When I opened the door and looked in, somebody came up behind me and hit me in the head. I don’t know whether I fell or was pushed down the stairs, but when I regained consciousness I was at the bottom of the stairs. I found my way back to the door, but couldn’t get it to open.”

  “Somebody placed rocks on the door so she couldn’t get it open.” Hank’s eyes held a darkness as profound as what Colette had endured in the root cellar. “Somebody tried to kill her.”

  His words hung in the air and for a moment nobody spoke.

  “I’m calling Junior Blanchard,” Abby said, rising from the sofa and heading toward the phone.

  Dr. Washburn arrived and shooed everyone out of the room. After examining Colette thoroughly, he told her and the others what she already suspected. She had a bump on her head and badly bruised ribs. “You’ve suffered a shock and the best thing for you is rest,” he said when he’d finished. “Although you’re probably going to be sore enough you won’t want to do anything but stay in bed for the next couple of days.”

  “And I’ll see to it that’s exactly what she does,” Abby stated.

  “You won’t get any complaint from me,” Colette replied, grimacing as she changed positions on the sofa. “I don’t intend to leave this house until we know exactly what is going on.”

  A knock sounded at the door. “That’s probably Junior. Maybe he’ll be able to help us sort out this whole mess,” Abby said, then went to answer the door.

  She returned a moment later with the tall, gray-haired man in uniform. His rugged face creased with a warm smile as he approached Colette and took both her hands in his. “Abby explained to me about your memory loss. I didn’t realize the other morning when I stopped in that you didn’t remember my ugly mug. I was a good friend of your daddy’s.”

  “And he’s been a good friend to us,” Abby added, smiling fondly at the big man.

  He released Colette’s hand and sank into the chair opposite her. He took a moment to get settled, scratching his belly, then pulling a toothpick out of his pocket and popping it into the side of his mouth. “So, what’s up?” he asked Abby.

  It took only a few minutes for Abby and Colette to explain to him what had happened. Colette realized Hank was no longer in the room. He’d disappeared at some point before Junior had arrived.

  Junior listened patiently, swirling the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other then back again. When they’d finished, his smile was gone, replaced by a deep frown that wrinkled his broad forehead.

  “I knew I should have been keeping a closer eye on my girls,” he said more to himself than to anyone in particular. “Your daddy, God rest his soul, was my best friend in the whole world, but he’ll haunt my butt the rest of my days if anything happens to one of you.”

  He scratched his protruding stomach once again. “Abby, I’ll need a list of all the men you’ve got working right now. Have you seen any strangers around the place? Any vagrants?” Abby shook her head and he turned to Colette. “Have you made any enemies since coming back home?”

  Colette hesitated, remembering Billy Sims’s dark eyes glowing with dislike. “Only one.” She quickly relayed to the sheriff about Billy’s drunkenness and Abby’s resulting censure.

  “I’ll check him out, along with the others.” He rose. “And now I want to talk to this Hank fella who found you.”

  “I’ll go with you and get that list for you,” Abby said. Together they left the room.

  Belinda moved to sit on the sofa at Colette’s feet. “Want more coffee?” she asked.

  Colette shook her head. “I just wish this nightmare was over. I don’t understand what’s happening. I’m afraid and don’t know who to trust.”

  “You know you can always trust me and Abby.”

  Colette smiled. “That’s the only thing I know for sure.”

  When Abby returned she was once again alone. She sank down on the chair near Colette and Belinda. “Junior says he’ll be in touch. He’s going to run a background check on all the ranch hands and he said for you to stick close to us until he can figure out what’s going on.”

  “I wish I knew what was going on,” Colette said in frustration.

  “Colette…” Abby leaned forward in her chair. “Is it possible when you were in California, maybe you were looking into our background?”

  Colette stared at her in confusion. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

  Abby and Belinda exchanged a glance. “When we were kids, we discovered adoption papers. We agreed we’d never open them, never find out which one of us might be adopted,” Belinda explained.

  For a long moment Colette stared at her sisters. The memory she’d had earlier that day. “We…we made a pact beneath the dragon tree,” she said.

  “That’s right,” Abby exclaimed.

  “We pricked our fingers and made a vow.” The memory was once again clear and crisp in her mind. “No. I don’t think so. I wouldn’t have broken that vow. Whatever is happening now can’t have anything to do with that.” She said it with the certainty she felt in her heart.

  Despite her lack of so many other memories, the vow she’d made with her sisters was one she knew she never would have broken. It had been a sacred trust between the three of them, one she couldn’t imagine breaking for any reason.

  Colette roused herself from the sofa and stood. “I think I’ll take a long, hot bath.”

  “If you want to lie down for a little while, I’ll wake you up for dinner,” Abby said.

  Colette nodded and headed for her room. Once there she went to the crib, where Brook lay on her back, her little legs and arms moving as she softly cooed in contentment. Picking her up, Colette held her warmth against her breasts, needing this precious moment to usurp the dark despair she’d suffered in the root cellar.

  After several long minutes of closeness, she placed Brook back in the crib, then went into the bathroom and started the water in the tub. As it filled, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
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br />   The lump on her head seemed to have dissipated somewhat. “Who are you?” she asked her reflection. She knew her name, had flashes of memories of her life here on the ranch. But somewhere in her missing memories was the answer to who was trying to kill her.

  Adoption papers. As she continued to stare at her reflection, she thought about her memory of the sister vow they had all made beneath the dragon tree so long ago.

  Was it possible she’d decided to discover if she were the adopted sister? Abby told her she’d been working for a lawyer. Had he managed to dig up something about her birth that put her at risk?

  She frowned. It not only made no sense, the scenario didn’t ring true. She’d never wanted to know which of them had been adopted. She couldn’t imagine any reason that would suddenly make that information important.

  She touched a bruise on her forehead, imagining her memory locked directly behind it.

  She had to remember. She had to remember what had happened in California, why she had run from there. She now realized with a chilling certainty that her life depended on it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  She awoke to a hand clasped tight against her mouth. Her eyes flew open, but in the darkness of the room all she could make out was a large bulk of a shadow leaning over her.

  Instinctively she struggled, kicking out with her legs and twisting her head in an attempt to dislodge the hand that pressed against her mouth.

  “Colette. Stop it…settle down,” Hank’s voice breathed in her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you. We need to talk.” Without removing his hand from her mouth, he leaned over and switched on her bedside lamp. “If I take my hand off your mouth, will you keep quiet?”

  She nodded her head. As he pulled his hand away, she drew in a breath to release a scream. Immediately his hand clamped back across her mouth and he grinned with a rueful shake of his head. “I should have known not to trust you. Okay, we’ll do this the hard way. I’ll hold you down and you listen.”

  Colette stopped her struggle and gazed up at him suspiciously. What was he doing in her room in the middle of the night? How had he gotten into the house? She moved her mouth against his palm, indicating the desire to talk.