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Rain felt herself smiling again. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
She watched as Carrie sailed out the door and down the corridor, then sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She thought of the dream she’d had, thought of the man who had held her and made her feel wanted and safe. Had the tall stranger come looking for her? Would he hold her and whisper to her and make everything feel better again? Would he give her back her name, her identity, her life?
“Hello.”
Chapter 3
Rain opened her eyes and felt every nerve in her body come to full alert. She didn’t know what she’d expected when Carrie had told her the sheriff was there to see her, wasn’t even sure she had any sort of expectation at all. Somewhere in the back of her brain she’d conjured up images of a badges and uniforms and guns in black holsters, but whatever she’d imagined, a tall Native American with long black hair and dark, haunting eyes wasn’t it.
She realized in that moment the stranger from her dreams, the man to whom she had turned to for comfort, the man who had held her and in whose arms she had felt so secure was a stranger no longer. He wasn’t someone from her past, someone who could tell her who she was and where she belonged. The stranger from her dreams was from the here and the now. He wasn’t someone she’d imagined or made up in her head, he was real—and he had a name and a face.
“Sheriff Mountain.”
He stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders and powerful frame all but swallowing up the space.
“Joe Mountain,” he said by way of introduction.
“And I’m…well, I’m Rain,” she said with a small laugh. She sat up, pushing a hand through her hair and wondering what she’d done with the comb Carrie had given her. “But I guess you already know that since I understand you’re the one who named me.”
If he was embarrassed, or pleased by the acknowledgment, it didn’t show in his expression. In fact, nothing showed on his hard, lean face and Rain felt herself growing tense.
“May I come in?” he asked politely.
Her first reaction had been to refuse, to put him off and turn him away, but that was not only unreasonable, it was irrational. For some thoroughly inexplicable reason, she found herself hesitant, reluctant—almost shy about facing him.
She couldn’t explain it. The whole thing was crazy. The man was only there to help her, was probably her best hope at putting her life back together. She had nothing to fear from him. He’d found her in the desert, had gotten her the help she’d needed. At the very least, she needed to thank him for saving her life. And besides that, she needed to talk to him, she wanted to talk to him. She had questions she’d hoped he could answer, concerns she’d hoped he’d address. So what was her problem? Why was her throat freezing up and the palms of her hands turning moist?
The dream. That stupid, silly little dream she’d had during her nap. He’d been in it, had been the tall dark stranger in her dream, the one who had touched her and held her and made her feel safe and warm. She felt like she knew him, like she meant something special to him and that was ridiculous. She felt embarrassed. The man was a stranger to her and she to him and there was nothing special about that.
“Of course,” she said, doing as best she could to push her apprehension aside. “Please do come in.”
Even though his khaki uniform was contemporary and looked appropriately official, Sheriff Joe Mountain had a rugged, distinctive look. Holding a weathered black cowboy hat in his hands, his dark hair pulled into a ponytail down his back, he looked like he belonged to a wilder, more uncivilized time.
Nothing about him was reserved or unsure. He crossed the room with strong, bold steps—each one speaking of confidence and ability. A man on a mission, he knew what he wanted and went after it. This was his realm, his arena and you played by his rules. Mesa Ridge, Nevada, may be a million miles from nowhere, but it was definitely Joe Mountain’s town.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he crossed the room toward her.
“F-fine,” she stammered, feeling heat rise in her cheeks and banking down her nerves. “I’m feeling fine, thank you.”
“I understand you had quite a morning.” It was a statement, not a question or an inquiry and there was nothing empathetic or particularly charitable in his tone. His voice was as devoid of emotion as his expression appeared to be.
“They ran tests, yes,” she told him, brushing off the tedious hours in the lab with a casual wave of her hand. “And I saw the doctor again.”
“I have a few questions, if you’re feeling up to it—about last night. About what you remember.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said with a small shrug, telling herself it was foolish to feel disappointed. This was the shadowy figure from her dreams, the one she’d hoped would come find her, the one she’d hoped would make her feel safe and secure again. Only he had found her and she was feeling anything but safe and secure now. “I just don’t know how much help I’ll be.”
“I talked with Cruz—Dr. Martinez,” he said, setting his hat on the nightstand beside the bed and reaching for a tablet from the pocket of his shirt. “He’s given me a pretty clear picture of your injuries and the memory loss.”
“Yes,” she mumbled, picturing the two men discussing her. The thought made her awkward, self-conscious. What had they said about her? What was it Joe Mountain had asked about her?
Turning away, she suddenly became distracted by the comb in the bed table. A lot of good it would do her now. She didn’t know if she’d always been concerned about her appearance, but she seemed to be concerned about it now—or at least she was since Sheriff Mountain walked in.
“So just to clarify things, is it correct to say you have no memory of anything before waking up in the desert?”
She looked up at him, forgetting about the comb and her vanity. “That’s right.”
“Nothing?”
She thought of the black hole in her memory and slowly shook her head. “Not a thing.”
“So you don’t have any idea why you might have been out in such a remote area, don’t know how you got there?”
“That’s right.”
He flipped through the pages of his tablet. “Let’s talk about the desert, then. Why don’t you tell me the first thing you do remember?”
She closed her eyes, trying not to think about the gnawing fear she remembered. “The rain.”
He looked up from his notes. “The rain?”
She nodded. “Against my face. I was lying there looking up at the clouds and it kept getting in my eyes.”
“So you were on the ground?”
Rain opened her eyes and looked up at him. “I guess I was. I never thought about it really, but I guess you’re right. I was lying on the ground.”
“As though you’d fallen?”
She thought about it a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. At least, I don’t remember falling.” She gave her head another shake and shrugged. “But then I suppose I could have. I don’t really remember.”
“And after that? You were lying looking up at the clouds and it was raining. What happened then?”
She closed her eyes again. “I remember my head hurting and when I got to my feet I felt dizzy.”
“Did you see anything then—around you I mean? Was there anyone with you? Was there a car there? Any people?”
She opened her eyes, knowing she would never forget the cold, desolate feeling she’d had. “No, nothing.”
He thought for a moment, then made a notation in the tablet. “You were near the highway?”
“No,” she said, looking up at him. “I—uh—I remember because I didn’t know which way to go. It was raining so hard and the ground was wet and muddy.” She didn’t like thinking about how lost and alone she had felt or how faint and ineffectual her screams had sounded. “I just started to run.”
Something flashed in his eyes when he looked at her, something she would have sworn was soft and compassionate, but it was so fast and so fleeting, she couldn’t be sure.
“So you pretty much just stumbled upon the highway?”
“Pretty much. I had no idea where I was. It was getting darker and I confess, the thought of being out there alone in the middle of the night…” A clutch of emotion had the words catching in her throat and she put her head back against the pillows.
“Are you all right? Need something?”
She shook her head, taking several deep breaths and feeling her composure restoring. “No, I’m fine, honestly. I just don’t like…it’s a little difficult to think about it. Coming to like that, in the middle of nowhere and not remembering…”
Once again emotion had her strangling on the words and she squeezed her eyes tight against the sting of tears. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, I’m not normally so emotional….” She realized what she’d said and looked up at him, feeling almost as lost and as helpless as she had out in the desert. “At least I don’t think so,” she said with a humorless laugh. “But the truth is, I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
Joe reached for a box of tissues from the nightstand and offered them to her. “We could do this another time, if you like. Maybe when you’re feeling a little stronger.”
“No, I’m fine,” she insisted, pulling tissues from the box. Everything about him spoke of strength and courage, of power and determination. She felt weak crying in front of him and for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she didn’t want him to think of her as weak. “It just bothers me to think about it, to not be able to remember. It’s very…frustrating.”
It was also very terrifying, but she didn’t feel she needed to make that confession.
“That’s understandable.” He walked to the chair beside the bed, gesturing to it. “May I?”
“Oh, please, yes,” she said, blotting her cheeks dry. “Sit down.”
He pulled the chair close and lowered his tall frame into it. “So once you’d come to, you’d started walking.”
“That’s right.” Her nose was stuffy and probably needed a good blowing, but that phantom vanity had her refraining from doing so. It was bad enough that her hair was snarled and her face was completely devoid of makeup.
“Do you have any idea how long you might have walked around out there?”
Rain remembered the bitter cold and her aching muscles. “It seemed like forever. I can’t really say, but it seemed like a long time.”
“Hours do you think?”
“At least.”
“And you were walking that whole time.”
“Except when I ran.”
He looked up from his tablet. “Ran?”
“Like in circles,” she confessed. “Panic, I guess.”
“I suppose that would be understandable, too.”
She watched as he looked down at the tablet again and started writing. She suspected the acknowledgment was about as close to sympathy she was going to get from him.
“Before you reached the highway, do you remember anything about the surrounding landscape? Were you heading toward the mountains? Did you see any large rocks? Anything like that?”
She thought for a moment. “Not really. It was dark and nasty because of the storm, of course.” She closed her eyes and thought for a moment longer. “Oh, wait,” she said, her eyes popping open. “I do remember seeing mountains in the distance.”
“Okay,” he said, jotting in his notebook. “And when you were walking, were you walking toward the mountains, or away from them?”
“I walked toward them.”
He made another notation in the tablet, his head bent in concentration. “So when you reached the highway, which way did you turn? Right or left?”
Rain thought for a moment. “I think it was right.”
He looked up. “You think?”
“It was right—I’m pretty sure.” She hesitated, watching as he continued to write. “Why? Is it important, Sheriff?”
He lowered his tablet. “I don’t know. Just trying to get a better idea about where you were out there. I know where you were when I found you. Trying to see if I could retrace your steps.”
“I see.”
“So you turned right?” he asked again. “You’re pretty sure.”
She closed her eyes, trying to relive the moment again. “It was right,” she said, opening her eyes. “I remember now because I thought I’d seen a light coming from that direction.”
“A light? You mean like a headlight? A porch light? Streetlight?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It was more like a flash—like the sun hitting something shiny.”
“Except it was raining.”
She shrugged meekly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’ve given me something to go on here.”
“I have?” she asked, feeling ridiculously pleased.
“Sure.”
He did something then that had her heart actually leaping in her chest. He smiled. Not a full-out smile, but a small, funny little one that nearly knocked her socks off.
“Oh,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Good.”
He nodded, no trace of the smile showing now, and made another notation in the tablet. “Okay, good.” Looking up, he leaned back in the chair. “What does Logan mean?”
She sat up. “Logan? I don’t know. Why?”
“It doesn’t sound familiar, doesn’t ring any bells?”
Her eyes grew wide. “Is that my name?”
He glanced up from the tablet again. “I don’t know. You kept saying it over and over in the car last night.”
“Logan,” she repeated slowly, trying to tell if the name sounded familiar on her tongue. “Logan.”
“Well?”
She sank back against the pillows. Her head began throbbing again and she remembered what Dr. Martinez had said about forcing the memories.
“No,” she said with a tired sigh. “I don’t know what it means. It doesn’t sound familiar to me.” A sudden thought had her sitting up again. “But it could mean something, couldn’t it? I mean, maybe it’s a…a clue.”
