Sunset Promises

by Carla Cassidy

  He eyed her darkly, his raven hair spilling around his face to create shadows. “You want to try it again? I remove my hand and you don’t scream? If you cooperate, we can have a rational discussion and nobody will get hurt.”

  Again Colette nodded. He took his hand away, but remained tense, ready to spring should she decide not to cooperate. “Rational people don’t sneak into bedrooms in the middle of the night,” she retorted, wishing he’d get off her.

  The length of his body weighed hers down, making her conscious of the wild, evocative scent of him, the contours and planes of his lean, taut physique.

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he answered. “Somebody tried to kill you today, and it’s more than a little possible that same somebody tried to kill you the night of the hayride. You aren’t safe here. I want you to leave with me.”

  Colette stared at him. “You’re crazy. You’ve got to be nuts if you think I’m going to take off with you.” She shoved him off her and struggled to a sitting position. “According to what you told me, I hardly know you.”

  “What does that matter? I can take you someplace where you’ll be safe from harm.” He remained seated on the edge of the bed, far too close for Colette’s comfort.

  She eyed him curiously. “Why do you care, anyway? If we just had a one-night stand months ago, why do you care what happens to me?”

  “I’m a humanitarian. I care about my fellow woman.”

  “Yeah, right,” Colette returned dryly.

  He leaned toward her, his breath warm on her face, his scent once again surrounding her. “Okay, I’ll tell you why I care.” With the tip of his index finger he traced down the side of her face then paused, his finger lingering at her mouth. “I told you I want to make love to you again,” he said as he stroked across the fullness of her lower lip. “I don’t like people to mess with my wants.”

  Colette fought her impulse to draw his finger into her mouth, savor the taste of him. Her pulse rate increased, her breathing slightly painful as her bruised ribs bore the brunt. Desire beckoned, along with the sense of danger Hank exuded.

  She batted his hand away, unsure whether she was more irritated with him, or with her crazy response to him. “How kind of you to worry about my welfare just so you can get what you want.”

  “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.” He stood, as if unable to contain his energy. “Unfortunately, this isn’t a game, Colette,” he said tightly. “Don’t you understand that you’re in danger? Somebody is trying to kill you. If you don’t want to come with me for yourself, do it for her.” He gestured across the room to the crib. “Do you want her to grow up motherless?”

  As he spoke her deepest fear, Colette got out of bed and faced him. “Get out, Hank. Before I call Bulldog and he physically removes you. I might be in danger, but I’m not crazy. And I’d have to be crazy to go with you. Now get out.”

  He hesitated a moment, his eyes narrowed. “It’s your call.” He started for the door. “For now,” he finished, then disappeared out of the room.

  * * *

  HANK LEFT THE HOUSE as he’d entered, silently like a thief. Once outside he took up a position where he could keep an eye on Colette’s bedroom window.

  Time was running out. Each day that passed made danger more imminent, the stakes higher. He was going to have to do something soon. In a little more than two weeks it would all be over. One way or another. It was definitely time for him to make a final move.

  He tensed as a figure loped toward him, relaxing somewhat as he recognized Bulldog’s bulk. “Who’s there?” Bulldog asked.

  “It’s me. Hank.”

  Bulldog grunted. “You keeping an eye on things, too?” The scent of peppermint filled the air as he stood next to Hank. “If I find out who hurt Colette, I’ll kill him.”

  “Drastic times call for drastic measures,” Hank returned. Now all he had to figure out was what kind of drastic measure he intended to use to fulfill his duty to his superiors.

  “Too bad she can’t remember stuff, then maybe she’d know who was after her. I don’t remember stuff, but I don’t have that amnesia.” Bulldog pressed his hat more firmly on his head. “I’m going to walk the perimeter. I saw that in a movie one time. That’s how you keep things safe…by walking the perimeter.”

  Hank watched Bulldog until his shadow merged with the night. The easiest course of action would be to tell Colette everything he knew. But he knew her amnesia was a kind of self-protection and he feared what might happen if he forced her to remember things before she was ready. If he pushed her over the edge of sanity, she’d be no use to anyone.

  The last thing Hank had wanted was for local law enforcement to get involved in any way. If they dug too deep into his past, they’d come up with questions that would be awkward to answer.

  Yes, drastic times called for drastic measures, and the time for drastic measures was quickly approaching.

  * * *

  THE VOICES stopped her before she left the office for the day. She tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear to the thick wood. Who was in there with her boss? She hadn’t seen anyone enter his office and yet she was certain she heard two distinctly different voices.

  Words. Frightening words. Suddenly the door flew open and Colette was running. Down the hallway of the office building, aware of footsteps behind her, she ran with the knowledge she was running for her life.

  “Loose lips sink ships.” The words were hissed in her ear and she ran faster…faster.

  Her sides ached, her lungs burned with the fever of exertion. When finally she could run no farther, she turned and looked back at her pursuer. She gasped and stumbled backward as she saw Hank astride a huge black horse galloping toward her, his features twisted in rage.

  Colette hit the floor with a thud, her hands out in front of her in a gesture of self-defense. For a moment she remained unmoving in the dawn-lit room, disoriented from the nightmare that had thrown her from her bed.

  Damn her mind and its relentless hold on her memory. Like a miser reluctant to share his gold, her mind released memories selfishly in distorted dreams that meant little to her.

  And yet this particular dream had become a recurring one. First the overheard conversation, then the chase, finally Hank, the sequence never varied and Colette wondered if somehow the odd dream reflected something of her past.

  She pulled herself off the floor, grateful to discover that although her ribs were still sore, they weren’t as bad as they’d been when she went to bed.

  After a long, hot shower, she studied her reflection in the mirror, surprised to find the tenderness at the back of her skull and the bruise on her forehead the only apparent remnants of yesterday’s trauma. That, and an abiding awareness of danger surrounding her.

  Once she was dressed, she walked over to Brook’s crib. Her heart ached as she gazed at her baby who had no father. Would whomever was after her succeed? Leaving Brook an orphan?

  She closed her eyes, for a moment fighting down the panic that crawled up in her throat. Maybe she should leave here, take Brook and run. She thought of Hank and his suggestion that she leave with him. How could she trust him? She knew nothing about him, didn’t even know if she could believe what little he’d told her about the night they’d supposedly spent together.

  No, she was better off here with Abby and Belinda. She’d be crazy to try to run with Brook in tow, hiding from an unknown killer for an unknown reason.

  After changing Brook and giving her a bottle, Colette returned to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

  “I’ll never allow it. It’s just not going to happen.” Abby’s voice, filled with tension, drifted out from the kitchen.

  Colette entered to find her sister on the phone. “Why now? Why after all these years?” Abby didn’t seem to notice Colette’s presence as she paced back and forth the distance that the phone cord would allow.

  Colette poured herself a cup of coffee, then slid into a chair at the table, wonder
ing who Abby was talking to with such agitation. Colette wrapped her hands around her cup, thinking about her own source of agitation.

  Hank. Sleep had been impossible for a very long time after he’d left her room last night. Not only had he stirred her senses on a sensual level, but he’d also stirred more questions about him and his place in her past.

  Had he followed her here to the ranch? Was he some kind of deranged stalker? Was it possible he’d arranged her accidents to then be her rescuer and gain her admiration? Sounded crazy, but Colette knew the world was filled with crazy people. Her only concern was whether Hank was one of them.

  Or did her near accidents have nothing to do with her past, but instead were products of Billy Sims’s anger?

  “And I’m warning you,” Abby’s voice rose angrily, recapturing Colette’s attention. “I won’t have you messing up our lives.” She slammed down the receiver, her entire body vibrating with anger.

  “Abby?”

  She looked at Colette as if surprised to see her sitting at the table. She closed her eyes for a moment, then sank into the chair across from Colette. “I can’t believe it. That was Greg, my ex-husband.”

  Colette looked at her in surprise. “What did he want?”

  “He’s planning on coming here sometime in the near future. He wants to see Cody.” She released a short, bitter laugh. “He’s decided he wants to be a daddy after all these years. Damn him.” She jumped up, sending her chair crashing to the floor behind her. “I can’t believe the gall of him. Six years without so much as a postcard and now suddenly he wants a relationship with his son.”

  “What are you going to do?” Colette asked.

  Abby leaned against the counter, like a balloon deflated, anger spent. “I don’t know.” She rubbed her forehead, as if trying to ease a headache. “I just don’t want him messing up Cody. Cody doesn’t need Greg’s broken promises in his life.” She shot Colette a half smile. “I’m probably worrying for nothing. If Greg proves true to form, his phone call was just a momentary impulse but he’ll never show up here.” She picked up the chair from the floor, then sat once again. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Like I was run over by a cattle truck during the night,” Colette admitted.

  “The bruise on your forehead is an attractive shade of purple.”

  Colette reached up and touched the tender area. “Yeah, I noticed when I got up. At least my ribs aren’t as painful this morning. I can live with a purple forehead as long as it doesn’t hurt to breathe.”

  “And still no idea why somebody might be after you?”

  Shaking her head, Colette released a deep sigh. “None.” She didn’t mention her concerns about Hank, wasn’t even sure where to begin to talk about him. “Whatever the reason, it’s apparently locked in my head along with the memory of my life in California.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  Colette shrugged. “What can I do? Stick close to you and Belinda. Make sure I don’t wander off by myself, and wait for my memory to return.” She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “I’d say whoever is after me apparently wants my death to look like an accident. Otherwise, why not just shoot me? I mean, I was out in the open and nobody else was around. Why hit me in the back of the head and push me down a set of stairs into a root cellar, why not just kill me?”

  “But what about the rocks Hank found on top of the cellar? Those would certainly attest to the fact that somebody didn’t want you to get out.”

  “Who knows? Maybe whoever did it intended to come back in a couple of days and move the rocks. Without those rocks, nobody would have known I was down there.” Colette shivered, thinking what might have happened had Hank not found her. “Abby…” She reached across the table and took one of Abby’s hands in hers. “I want you to make me a promise.”

  “Anything.”

  “If anything happens to me, promise me you’ll raise Brook.”

  Abby snatched her hand back, obviously horrified. “Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said emphatically. “Belinda and I are going to watch your back and Junior will find out who is responsible.”

  “Junior.” Colette smiled as she thought of the gray-haired sheriff. “Is that really his name?”

  Abby nodded. “Apparently when he was born, his father and mother wanted him named after his father, then decided that everyone would probably call him Junior, so why not name him that instead. It’s a story he likes to tell. I know you don’t remember this, but he and Dad were always close. Junior was here about everyday when we were growing up. He was like a favorite uncle. He’s been a wonderful support since Mom and Dad died.”

  “I just hope he’s a good sheriff and can help me. Until we know who’s after me I’m going to be living like a prisoner, afraid to leave the house.” Colette frowned. “Maybe I should go someplace else until I get my memories back. I’d never forgive myself if I brought danger to you and Belinda.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense,” Abby replied. “There has been nothing to indicate anyone is in danger but you, and the place for you is right here with us. Now, no more of that kind of talk.” Abby stood. “And now I’ve got to get busy. Greg’s phone call gave me a dose of aggression I’d better vent doing something constructive. Besides, I need to check on a horse about ready to foal. I’ll see you later.”

  She started out the back door, then hesitated. “Belinda’s already out for the day and I’m going to tell Bulldog to keep an eye on the house. He’s not real bright, but he’d turn himself inside out to keep all of us safe. He’ll see that nobody gets in who doesn’t belong in. Keep the doors locked while you’re here alone.”

  Colette nodded, immediately feeling alone and vulnerable as her sister left the house. The thought of sitting around waiting for something to happen filled her with a combination of insecurity and frustration. She had a feeling she’d never been one to just sit and patiently wait.

  Going back up to her room, she grabbed the sheet of paper Abby had written for her that contained the names of the men who’d recently started to work at the ranch. She was certain one of them was the person trying to kill her.

  Once again in the kitchen, she sat at the table, the list in front of her. Roger Eaton. It was hard to imagine that behind his friendly smile and open face might lurk the mind of a killer. Still, what face did a killer wear?

  She frowned as she studied the next name. Philip Weiss. Surely he was too old to be a killer? And yet she knew it hadn’t taken much strength to shove her off the butte or smack her in the back of the head.

  Billy Sims. Certainly he was physically capable of anything and his demeanor made him the most likely suspect. Still, it wasn’t the open hostility that frightened Colette, it was the fear that somebody wearing a smile intended her harm.

  Bob Sanderson. The rambling plumber and Rusty’s right hand. Was it possible he’d come in with the intention of harming Colette and his intentions had been stymied by Abby and Cody’s sudden reappearance?

  Certainly he’d said words that had recalled fear in her, but it had been a common enough phrase. Loose lips sink ships.

  Finally she stared at Hank’s name. Hank Cooper. One-night lover or accomplished liar? She wished she knew what to believe about him. His kiss had stoked a fire of desire deep within her, but she couldn’t deny that he also created in her a vague sense of threat.

  From the first instant she’d seen him, while in the throes of labor pains, she’d had the distinct impression that rather than escaping danger, she’d run directly into the arms of danger. Why? Why were her feelings for Hank so ambiguous?

  By the time Abby and Belinda showed up for lunch, Colette was no closer to understanding the mess she was in or her strange feelings toward Hank.

  Throughout the noon meal both Abby and Belinda appeared distracted. Abby’s gaze wandered time and time again to her son, and Colette knew her sister was worrying about Greg’s threat to become a part of Cody’s life.

  Would Colette one day f
ace this same sort of dilemma? Someday would she get a phone call from the man who’d fathered Brook, and would he demand a place in the little girl’s life?

  Who was he? Who was Brook’s father? Had he been a co-worker at the law firm? Had Colette loved him? She couldn’t imagine sleeping with a man she didn’t love.

  Her face burned as she thought of Hank. If what he’d told her was true, love had had nothing to do with them falling into bed with each other.

  “Abby, what was the name of the law firm I worked for in California?” she asked as they finished eating.

  Abby frowned a moment. “Washer, Brakeman and Collins…no Collier. Washer, Brakeman and Collier. You worked mostly for Cameron Collier. Why?”

  Colette shrugged. “I was hoping the name would jog something in my memory.”

  “And does it?”

  Colette shook her head and sighed. “Maybe while I was in California a mad scientist zapped my memory permanently.”

  Abby and Belinda laughed. “I don’t think there are any mad scientists in San Bernardino, California.”

  After her sisters left, Colette cleaned up the kitchen, then wandered around the living room, her mind whirling once again with questions that had no answers.

  Was it not logical to assume that perhaps all her present problems—the amnesia, the threats—everything stemmed from something to do with her work?

  Before she could change her mind, she grabbed the phone and dialed for California information. A moment later, armed with the number of the Washer, Brakeman and Collier law firm, she gripped the receiver tightly and dialed.

  “Washer, Brakeman and Collier,” a pleasant female voice answered.

  For a moment Colette was struck dumb, unsure how to respond, what to say.

  “Hello?”

  Colette drew in a deep breath. “Hello, my name is Colette Connor.”

  “Colette! It’s Marcia. Where are you? How are you? Gosh, girl, I’ve missed you around here so much.”