Virgin without a Memory

by Vickie Taylor

  “No,” Manah answered, wondering how her friend would take the news. “Molly’s not due for another week.” Molly was carrying Jet’s first foal. Gigi knew she was anxious about the impending birth.

  “What then?”

  “Um, I need you to look at someone else.”

  “Well let’s get a move on.” Gigi wheeled around and strode off toward the barn.

  “Not down there.”

  Gigi turned back with both eyebrows raised.

  “He’s up here.” Mariah said.

  Gigi grinned. “Girl, I know Jet is the love of your life, but don’t you think letting him move into the house is a bit over the top, even for you?”

  “The problem isn’t with Jet. Or any of the horses.”

  Gigi’s grin leveled into a curious slant. “I’m not sure I’m going to like this,” she said, stepping onto the porch.

  “I’m not sure you will, either,” Mariah admitted.

  Gigi stopped still when she reached the doorway to the bedroom. “Oh, my God.”

  Mariah slipped past her to the side of the bed, frowning. “I think his ribs might be broken, but I don’t know how to tell if he’s punctured a lung. And I’m not sure how serious his head injury is. His pupils are even and they respond to light, but he hasn’t been fully conscious since yesterday evening.”

  “Yesterday evening?” Gigi squeaked, still standing in the doorway.

  “Late evening. Night, actually.”

  “Mariah, you can’t think I’m going to examine, much less treat, a human. Why in the Lord’s name haven’t you called an ambulance?”

  Mariah studied the toes of her boots. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t why?”

  Exasperated, she looked up at her longtime friend. “I just can’t, that’s all. It’s a long story. You’re all he’s got. Now, are you going to help him or not?”

  “Mariah—”

  “Gigi, please—”

  Luckily for Mariah, at that moment Eric pitched and rolled, coughing and struggling for breath. Both women were at his side in an instant, easing him onto his back, smoothing the hair from his damp forehead.

  Gigi eased his eyelids back with her thumb one at a time. Then she took an instrument from her bag and checked his ear canals. “I don’t see any sign of cranial bleeding. But you’re right,” she said, probing his scalp, “he does have a head injury.”

  Next she listened to his chest with a stethoscope. She moved the device higher, then lower on his rib cage, holding up her hand for silence when Manah started to ask questions. The veterinarian poked and prodded his abdomen with sure hands, as if she worked on humans all the time.

  Shaking her head, Gigi straightened. “The ribs are probably cracked.” She wound the rubber tubing of her stethoscope slowly around the metal. “But I don’t think they’re bad enough to puncture a lung. And I don’t see signs of any internal bleeding.”

  She looked sternly at Mariah. “Still, he should be in a hospital.”

  “Are his injuries life threatening?”

  “I’m not qualified to make that call. This is not a horse we’re talking about here, it’s a man.”

  That much Mariah knew all too well. She felt a blush creep up her neck. She couldn’t help glancing down at the expansive male chest Gigi had left exposed. Reaching down, she flipped the blanket over his torso.

  “Just tell me what to do for him, Gigi, and what to watch for. If he gets into any real trouble, I’ll call an ambulance, I promise.”

  “He’s already in real trouble, girl. So are you from the look of things. Now you’re getting me in trouble, too. I could lose my license for treating him.”

  Mariah suppressed a guilty gulp and waved toward the man on the bed. “He’s out of it. He’ll never remember you were here, and I’m sure not going to tell anyone.”

  Gigi looked dubious.

  “I’ve pulled some colts through that even you thought couldn’t be saved,” Manah added. “I can take care of this, too.”

  Gigi crossed her arms over her chest, studying the man on the bed. Thankfully, he breathed easier now.

  “That gash on his head needs to be sutured.”

  “Then suture it. Or I’ll stitch it myself, if I have to.”

  Gigi’s already-serious mien deepened. “Who is he that you would do this for him?”

  She asked the question as if she thought he must be someone Mariah cared about. If only she knew...

  “He’s just...a friend. I met him at that horse show in Salt Lake last month. His name is Eric.” A semiplausible story came to her in a rush, and that’s how she spit it out. “He hates hospitals. It was a terrible accident when he was young—he spent weeks in intensive care. He still has nightmares about tubes and wires and machines that go beep in the night. He even hates white shoes.”

  Mariah caught herself rambling and clamped her mouth shut.

  “If he’s just a friend, what is he doing here at the crack of dawn?”

  “Uh...” Mariah had run clean out of stories, semiplausible or otherwise.

  Gigi’s eyes suddenly went wide. “Don’t tell me you finally...” She broke into a smile.

  Mariah blew out a breath. Gigi’s overactive imagination had given her the excuse she needed to make this work. Gigi would do just about anything to see Mariah happily attached to a male.

  “Well, you’re the one who is always saying I need to find a man.”

  “So what, you beat this one over the head with a club and dragged him home, cave-woman style?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Mariah thought fast. “He was helping me feed. One of the mares got him. Pinned him in the back of the stall and kicked him good.”

  “One of your mares?”

  “Of course one of my mares, whose mares do you think, Old Man Granger’s?” Mariah wished she had thought of a better excuse. Gigi knew that Mariah’s broodmares, unlike her neighbor’s horses, were the sweetest-tempered animals in Utah. Mariah wouldn’t have it any other way. Temperament was a genetically determined trait, and she wouldn’t breed bad-minded horses.

  Gigi paused, then stared at her knowingly for several long seconds. “Bull. Not one of your mares would step on a toad. And you, my friend, do not have pajama parties with men you hardly know. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t like it. If I didn’t have a full slate of appointments, girl, you and I would have a long, long talk.”

  She gave Mariah a thoughtful look, then sighed. “But as it is, I barely have time to put in those stitches and get to Granger’s place by eight.”

  Mariah’s shoulders slumped in relief. Gigi’s expression softened. The unconditional acceptance she had come to depend on from her friend returned.

  “You know how the old geezer gets when I’m late,” Gigi continued.

  Yes, Mariah knew how Old Man Granger got. Her neighbor treated the world as if it were his private theater, and the people on it like actors under his direction. Mariah knew from personal experience how ugly he could be to someone who ignored his stage call.

  Gigi unpacked items from her bag and laid them in a row along the side of the bed. “Let’s get on with it. Same routine as with the horses. Hand me some gloves and the Betadine.”

  Fifteen minutes and five sutures later, Gigi snapped off the blood-and-Betadine-stained gloves. Through it all, the man hadn’t stirred more than to lift his hand ineffectually and mumble a few unintelligible words. Gigi had told her even that was a good sign, that he wasn’t completely comatose.

  Her friend swiped at her blond curls with the back of her hand as she headed to her truck. “That will do it. You can cut those stitches out in about a week, if your ‘friend’ is still here. Otherwise, have him check in with his own doctor.”

  Gigi leaned on the door to her truck before getting in. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  Mariah nodded, and Gigi settled herself in the driver’s seat. “He should be okay, but keep a clos
e eye on him just in case.”

  As Gigi’s taillights disappeared down the drive, Mariah watched Molly prance along the fence. The yearlings in the far corral acted just as antsy, impatient for their breakfast.

  Chores awaited. She fed, watered and mucked out stalls, groomed Jet and checked all the pregnant mares due in the next month.

  Between tasks in the barn, she returned to the house and coaxed fluids down Eric Randall’s throat. Each time she’d gone to him, he’d been slightly more responsive.

  And at lunchtime, she planned to sit him up for a bowl of soup, even if she had to spoon it down him herself.

  Back in the barn, Mariah found herself humming, her mood lightening as she fell into the daily routine, until the sound of another engine in the drive cut short her tune. The sun scorched her eyes as she stepped outside. She raised her hand to make a little shade.

  Sheriff Shane Hightower stepped out of his black fourby-four and took off his sunglasses. Tall and lean, with skyblue eyes and tawny hair, he was as good-looking at thirty as he had been at seventeen, when she’d first laid eyes on him.

  “Hey, Mariah,” he called out, smiling.

  “Shane.” Her hand went to her belly, as if to suppress the hornets swarming there. Shane’s eyes scanned the property as if looking for something. Or someone.

  “What are you doing way out here?” she asked.

  “Just wanted to make sure you were okay. That storm last night was a doozy. Seth and Rodney said they stopped by but couldn’t find you. I was worried.”

  “What were they doing so far from town?”

  He hesitated, his thumb rubbing restlessly at the butt of the pistol jutting from his hip. “Just following up on a complaint of a stranger in the area. They didn’t find anything. Probably just a vagrant passing through.”

  It was more than that. Seth and Rodney wouldn’t have been out in that storm last night without a dam good reason. Either Shane was lying or the deputies had lied to him.

  “You haven’t seen anyone on the mountain that shouldn’t have been there? Even last week? Anything strange at all?”

  Last week? Was he talking about Eric, or did he know about Mike? “No.” She managed a weak smile. “Unless you count Old Man Granger. He’s always a little strange.”

  Shane threw her a quick grin, looking more like his old self. “A lot strange if you ask me. It’s a shame there’s nothing illegal about being rude. Otherwise I could have busted him weeks ago.”

  He turned serious again and put his hands on her arms. She forced herself not to pull back.

  “So everything’s okay with you?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Good then. Why don’t you come into town one day this week? I’ll buy you lunch.”

  “I don’t know, Shane. I have a lot to keep up with here this week.” It was the same evasion she’d used for the last six weeks, ever since he’d appeared from nowhere to take over the sheriff’s office when Jay Robb Blake had retired. The excuse sounded old and tired, even to her ears.

  “Some other time, then.”

  She nodded but knew he saw through her. There would be no other time.

  He looked ready to say something else, spinning the brim of his hat in his hands.

  “Shane, please don’t,” she cut him off. “Please.”

  He nodded. The peck he pressed on her cheek might have been curt, if it hadn’t lingered a second longer than necessary.

  Long after the Blazer’s taillights disappeared, Mariah stood in the drive. Had she made the right decision in not telling him about Eric Randall?

  Once she would have trusted Shane. She still might, if when she’d looked into the eyes of the man he was now, she’d seen the same compassion, the humanity, she remembered so well in the eyes of the boy she’d known. But Shane had changed in the years between when she’d last seen him, at the youth home where they’d both lived for a time, and his sudden appearance in Washington County a few weeks ago. He’d hardened.

  Now when she looked at him she saw weariness, and wariness.

  And still she might have trusted him, if she hadn’t heard his address at the welcome dinner the townsfolk threw for him. If she hadn’t seen him stand and tell them how he’d grown up the son of a Wyoming rancher, played quarterback for his high school team and attended a community college nearby. If she hadn’t known every word of his pretty speech to be a lie.

  Afterward, when he’d seen her in the crowd, he’d cajoled her into silence. He explained his lies by saying he didn’t like people feeling sorry for him, for the life he’d had to live, abandoned as an infant.

  She supposed she couldn’t blame him. She didn’t like to talk about her days as a ward of the state of Utah, either. But it had still felt wrong, the lying.

  Eventually, she left the drive and turned to the house. Right or wrong, she’d made her choice. She had a man to take care of.

  Mariah dragged herself up the porch stairs and closed the front door behind her. Her eyes automatically went to the end of the hallway and the bed visible through the guest room doorway. A moment later the sight registered: rumpled sheets, pillows askew, but no man. Behind her she heard the unmistakable metallic clack of a pistol being cocked.

  Enc Randall was awake, and he’d found the gun.

  Chapter 3

  From his place in the shadows, Eric watched as the woman faltered. He expected her to pull inside herself, to shrink into the woodwork. Incredibly, she did the opposite. Her shoulders drew back. Her spine drew straight as the trunks of the ponderosa pines he’d seen on the mountain.

  He didn’t know why her reaction surprised him. She hadn’t backed down from him yesterday, why would she now? But he still had to find out what she’d said to the sheriff.

  “What did you tell him?” His voice echoed off the polished hardwood floors, booming through the quiet country home.

  “Nothing.” Her chin jutted stubbornly.

  Using the barrel of the revolver, he pushed back the edge of the gauzy curtain draping the window and peered outside. Fat horses grazed in a green pasture. A squirrel scampered along the top of a four-board fence. Only the dark mountain looming in the background dampened the tranquil scene. So where had the sheriff gone?

  Eric let the curtain fall back. “What was he doing here?”

  “He just stopped by for a friendly visit.”

  Ignoring the pain that sliced through him with each step, he shuffled toward her. “Uh-huh. He looked like he wanted to get real friendly.”

  She lifted masses of straight, fine chestnut hair, glistening with golden highlights, away from her neck. The tips of her delicately shelled ears were pink.

  Blushing over a simple kiss? As he stepped closer, she raised her face. Sure enough, a blush spread over her cheeks like the petals of a rose opening to the morning sun.

  Yeah, a look like that could make a man very friendly.

  She dropped the ponytail she’d wound in her hand. His breath deepened at the memory of that hair blowing in his face yesterday. He could still feel the way his cheeks had tingled as the wind had whipped it against him, still smell the fragrance, light and simple. Baby shampoo, maybe?

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  Had he been staring? He snapped his mind back to the task at hand. “I want to know what you told the sheriff on this friendly visit.”

  “I didn’t tell him anything.”

  “Why not? Why didn’t your boyfriend come charging in here to rescue his woman?”

  “He is not my boyfriend.”

  “No?” Eric let his voice fall into his best velvet tones. “Do you let all your nonboyfriends kiss you like that?” He wasn’t being fair, and he knew it. It had been a simple peck on the cheek, hardly romantic. But he couldn’t resist taunting her, testing her. He had to know exactly what kind of relationship she had with the sheriff. His survival depended on it.

  Besides, her blush intrigued him. He pictured her in bed, wearing nothing but tangled shee
ts and that blush. It was enough to send a blast of heat to his groin.

  “I am not ‘his woman,’ and I certainly didn’t need rescuing. You were practically unconscious. You should be thanking me for saving your life, not bullying me.”

  Pulling himself back from imagination to reality, he clutched his ribs and stalked close enough to loom over her. “Bullying you? Lady, you haven’t seen bullying yet. But you might, if you don’t tell me what you told that sheriff.”

  Despite the flicker of concern in her eyes, she held her ground. “Why don’t you sit down? You can hardly stand.”

  “Why don’t you answer the question before I show you exactly what I can do?”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” The gathering storm clouds in her eyes said differently.

  “Maybe you should be.”

  He saw the thin filament of control snap in her eyes. She swiped her hand out as fast as a bear’s paw in a spawning stream to snag the gun. Stepping back, with two hands wrapped around the handle, she leveled the weapon at him. Actually, about a foot to the left of him, but he didn’t let on that he noticed.

  “What could you do to me? Shoot me?” she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  One corner of his mouth lifted in a sickly grin. He had to give her points for tenacity. “Among other things.”

  “Oh, what then? Rape? Torture? Then murder?” She pulled back the hammer on the revolver. “I don’t think you’re up to it.”

  “Maybe not.” He limped another step forward. “Yet.”

  “Then I guess I ought to shoot you quick, before you recover.”

  “Go ahead.” He shifted to his right, putting himself directly in front of the barrel.

  “What?” Her eyes widened, two violet seas of uncertainty.

  “Shoot me.” He took another step. Then another, until the muzzle pressed against his bruised chest.

  It was stupid, he knew, this test he was putting her through. Pointless. But he wanted to see how far she would go.

  “You don’t think I will?” She licked her lips.

  “I don’t think you can.”

  He counted ten ticks from the clock marking time somewhere behind him before he slowly reached out, then up. He closed his palm over hers and pushed the gun down. She dropped her eyes from his as her hand fell to her side.