Читать книгу Colton On The Run - Anna J. Stewart - Страница 12

If only the water could wash away the fear.

Jane—she didn’t feel like a Jane—scooped warm water into her hands and pushed it over her tangled hair. She turned one side of her face into the spray of the shower, then the other, grimacing as the gash on her head protested. Looking down, she saw the water turn dark, tinged with blood as it cascaded off her body, swirling into the drain as if taking what had happened to her with it.

But something had happened. Something she couldn’t remember. She tucked her arms tight around her waist. Whatever did happen had robbed her of her memory, and now she had no inkling of who or what she was.

It crossed her mind to bang her skull against the white tile wall in the hopes of jarring something loose, but she didn’t want to alarm Leo or Ollie.

Leo.

Jane moved deeper into the spray and let the water pound over her ears. Finding the barn last night had seemed like heaven on earth. A solitary floodlight had blinked on as she’d approached from the cover of the trees and she’d stopped, frozen as if caught in a spotlight. But the flash of light had given her enough to see by so she could squeeze through the open door. The night hadn’t cooled off much, but she couldn’t stop shivering as she’d made her way into the back corner, digging and pushing her way through the hay until she’d collapsed.

Jane had lost track of the miles she’d walked. And had no clue of the direction she’d come from. If anyone were to ask her where she’d been held, she’d never be able to tell them, other than that it was near a road that led...somewhere.

When she fell asleep, she’d fallen hard and deep, and hadn’t awakened until she’d heard Ollie’s bark cutting through the peaceful silence.

“Jane.” A gentle knock sounded on the bathroom door. She jumped and nearly slipped. “I’ve left some clothes for you to wear on the bed, okay?”

“Yes.” She gripped her fingers against the tiles. Leo. It was just Leo. Leo Slattery, who, for whatever reason, didn’t evoke that sense of unrestrained fear she’d been harboring since she awoke in that shed.

Leo with the kind, dark, soulful eyes. The slightly unkempt, slightly curly hair that tempted her to reach out and brush her fingers through it. He was a beautiful man, probably more beautiful that he’d ever be comfortable with her thinking. But it was that gentle, understanding smile he’d offered upon seeing her that had soothed the bruises around her heart. That and the way he’d held her hand.

As if he’d protect her from whatever was out there. Whatever was to come.

And something was out there. Something was coming. She could...feel it.

Dark. Dangerous. Almost as if she were prey in a hunter’s sights. She shuddered. A hunter with an agenda she couldn’t begin to fathom. Why her? Why had this happened to her?

And what was she going to do about it? She couldn’t explain the abject terror that struck at the thought of calling the police, and going to the hospital would only result in the same. She didn’t know much at the moment, but she knew enough to trust her instincts and right now her instinct told her the only person she was safe with was Leo.

Beneath the warmth of the water, she shivered and focused on ridding herself of the last of the mud, dirt and blood. The soap and shampoo smelled of wildflowers and honeysuckle. For an instant, she flashed on the image of a luxurious spa reminiscent of... Jane frowned. France? Why on earth would she be reminded of France out here in the middle of—

She hadn’t even asked Leo where she was. Other than the obvious—that she was on a ranch in the rural countryside—she had no notion of her actual whereabouts. She turned her hands over, watched the water cascade over broken nails and scraped skin. Leo had looked at her hands. Had he seen what she saw? She chipped at the polish that remained before dragging her fingers through her hair.

A few minutes later, she stood in front of the small mirror above the sink, wrapped in a buttercup-yellow towel and dragging a fine-tooth comb through the knots and snarls in her hair. Staring at herself, tears blurred her eyes. The face was unknown. It was her, but not. She traced gentle fingers over the welt on her face. The ghostly image of a handprint marring her cheek had broken through; the raw scrape might very well scar. Taking a shuddering breath, she popped open the door a bit to let some air in to defog the mirror and found herself smiling when Ollie poked his nose inside.

“Are you watching out for me, boy?” The very sight of the canine made her feel better. As did the comforting cooking sounds emanating from the kitchen.

Ollie plopped his butt on the floor, wagged his tail and inclined his head.

“You and your master have the same intent, I see.” She peeked out into the bedroom and noticed the door was closed. “A gentleman, too.”

She’d washed her underwear and bra in the sink, left them to dry over the shower door. She wadded up what was left of her clothes to throw away in the trash. The soles of her feet felt more tender now that feeling had returned, and she found herself walking on the sides of her feet as the pain began to set in.

The sweatpants and button-down shirt would do for now. The garments were large and comfortable. She rolled up the cuffs on both the legs and sleeves before braiding her hair down her back. She held the tail of her hair in one hand and carried her ruined clothes and the clean socks back into the kitchen, where she found Leo standing in front of the stove stirring a mound of eggs.

“Two would have been enough,” Jane told him, and earned a sheepish smile tossed over one strong, firm shoulder.

“I thought I’d join you. I’ll get the toast going in a minute. Here.” He pulled the cast-iron pan off the stove and put a plate on top of it to keep the eggs warm. “Let’s get those cuts of yours tended to.”

“Do you have somewhere I can throw these?” She held out the silk top and linen pants. Regret she couldn’t quite relate to swept over her. “They must have been expensive.”

“They’re designer,” Leo said as he took them and glanced at the labels. “Which is why we’re going to keep them. When you’re ready to remember who you are, the labels might come in handy.”

When she was ready? “You make it sound like it’s my choice.” She watched him put the clothes in a paper bag and place it on a shelf on the back porch above the washing machine. A stack of rubber bands nearly obscured the doorknob of the pantry, and she snapped one off to secure her braid.

“Maybe it is.” Leo’s casual tone made it sound as if they were discussing the weather rather than her obviously severe case of...

Amnesia.

Jane groaned and dropped back into the chair she’d occupied earlier. “How can I know what amnesia is but not remember who I am? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It does if your amnesia is somehow connected to who you are.” Leo retrieved a bright white metal box from the back porch and set it on the table. Before he returned, he poured them each a cup of coffee. “The brain is a complicated thing. I told you, don’t push it. You’ll remember what you’re meant to remember when you’re ready.”

“That sentence alone gives me a headache.” The pounding in her head wasn’t getting any better, but at least it wasn’t getting any worse. “I don’t even know where we are.”

“Colorado,” Leo told her. “Roaring Springs. Well, the farthest edge of it.” He arched a brow as if expecting the information to open a floodgate of memories. “Nothing?”

“Zippo.” The frustration began to eat at her. She just felt so...stupid! And it was not a feeling she liked. At all.

“How do you take your coffee?” He set a flowered mug in front of her.

“Cream. No sugar.” Her laugh sounded strained even to her own ears. “Would have probably taken a complete lobotomy to forget that.”

“Everyone knows how they take their coffee,” Leo teased. “Ollie, you’re becoming a pest. Go get in your bed.”

“He’s fine.” Jane pressed her hand into the dog’s neck. “I’m fine with him around.”

“Good to hear it. Now, drink some caffeine and brace yourself. This is probably going to sting.” He swabbed a large cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and pressed in against the long gash in her hairline.

She sucked in a breath, gritting her teeth as her eyes watered against the pain. “Oh, wow. Yeah.” But she didn’t pull away. It was something that had to be done. Besides, the comfort she felt with Ollie so close was nothing compared to how she felt around Leo Slattery. The man was...smoking hot. In more ways than one. She found herself transfixed by the muscles in his arm as he tended to her. He smelled amazing, too, like soap and wood with a hint of citrus that set her nose to tingling. She took a deep breath to steady herself, but that only set her head to spinning in a completely different way.

“Why don’t you scare me?” Given what must have happened to her, she should be terrified of everyone and yet...

He stopped, pulled his hand away and sat back in his chair. “What?”

Jane’s cheeks flamed. “Did I say that out loud? Oh, wow.” She pressed a hand against her face. “My brain must have been seriously bashed. That was—”

“Honest.” The smile that broke across his handsome face could have healed a thousand wounds. “I don’t have an answer for you other than I think it means you know I don’t mean you any harm.” It was the way he said it, not as a question exactly, but the inquiry was there nonetheless. Her mind raced for a response as Leo turned his attention to the welt on her upper cheek.

“But someone did. Mean me harm,” she added as if needed. “Who?”

“Again, I don’t have an answer.” He tossed the soiled cotton ball onto a napkin and retrieved three butterfly bandages from the kit. “I’m not sure we’ll know until you remember who you are. And it’s doubtful we’ll find that out without help.”

“No police.” The protest was out of her mouth before she even thought the words. The very idea of talking with the police was enough to turn the coffee in her empty stomach to bile.

“They might recognize you.”

“Why?”

Leo smiled, but for the first time, there didn’t seem to be any humor behind it. “You’re not from around here, Jane. Your clothes, your hands. Your hair. You. You don’t live a rancher’s life. And around this part of Roaring Springs, that would make you stand out. I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t think you’re a country girl. There.” He pressed his fingers against the bandages. “Now, let’s see your feet.” He scooted his chair back and patted his thighs. “Up.”

“Um. Okay.” She drew her feet up and did as he requested. The second his hands landed on her feet, she shivered. Strong, determined fingers examined the soles, pressing and checking for open wounds. “How bad?”

“Not as bad as I thought. You’re going to want to stay off them for a day or so. Let them heal a bit.” He repeated the process he had with her head, cleaning the scrapes with alcohol before applying ointment and covering them with gauze that he secured with tape. “What’s this?” He angled her left foot to the side, narrowed his eyes as his fingers gently grazed her skin.

She shook her head, that sick fear clogging her throat.

“They look like finger marks.”

Jane squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to shake. “I know,” she whispered. But that was all she could manage. Watching him, she took comfort in the shift of expressions over his face. Concern gave way to curiosity, which sharpened to anger at her words. But his touch didn’t change. The featherlight pressure of his fingers danced along her skin like a healing balm.

“Those socks should help.” He picked up the pair of thick, white socks from the table. “Besides, you shouldn’t be moving around with a head injury. We’ll give it a day or so, see how you’re feeling, then discuss what comes next.”

“What comes next?” Panic dropped over her again like a blanket.

“People are bound to be missing you, Jane. They’re bound to be worried. If you aren’t going to let me go to the police or take you to the hospital, then we’ll have to find those people ourselves.”

“Or I could just stay here.” Here, in this pretty little country kitchen with sunflower curtains over the windows and a collection of teapots behind one of the glass-door cabinets.

“You mean hide,” Leo corrected. He slipped the socks on her feet, gave her ankles a quick pat, then placed her feet back on the floor. “Wrist, please.”

“Lord, I’m such a mess.” She winced, remembering the feel of that saw blade scraping against her skin. “He was going to come back.”

Leo’s hand stilled for a moment before carefully dabbing at the scratches. “Who was?”

“He. They. Whoever left me in that shed.” And just like that, the anxiety and terror she felt when she’d first come to overtook the panic at the thought of leaving. “As soon as I woke up, as soon as I realized what was happening, I knew whoever took me was coming back.”

“Tell me what you remember about where you were.”

“Mmm.” Jane frowned and wished she’d get used to that stinging sensation coating her skin, but the pain was offset by Leo’s tender touch. “It was an old shed. One window. One door. I’d been tied up. Obviously.” She lifted her hand as proof.

“Rope.” He traced a finger over the burns among the cuts. “Not duct tape. Interesting.”

“Why? Duct tape might have been easier to cut through.”

“Maybe. What was in the shed?”

“Garden tools. A lawn mower, shovels. That kind of thing.” Her mind raced back there. “And old woodworking tools, too. The door wouldn’t open.”

“So you broke through the window.” He reached behind himself for a pair of tweezers.

“How did you—Ow!”

He plucked a tiny shard of glass out of the side of her wrist and held it up for her to see. “Glad there weren’t any in your feet.”

“Me, too.” She watched him examine every inch of her hands and wrists and forearms. “You sure you aren’t a doctor?” She felt her face warm again, and wished she didn’t sound like a teenager with a crush.

“I did some emergency first aid up in Alaska over the years. Nothing major, but what you learn sticks. Most of the time.”

“So you aren’t a rancher? But I thought—”

“I am now.” He rubbed a soothing salve into her skin before wrapping her wrists in gauze. “This was my grandparents’ place. They passed last year, so now it’s mine.”

“The pictures in the bedroom.” Jane looked behind her toward the photographs she could see perched on the dresser. She’d glanced at them earlier. An older, laughing couple. A young woman holding a grinning baby she assumed was Leo. A man, a more intense version of Leo, standing in full military uniform. “Your family.”

“Yes. My grandmother Essie showed us off at every opportunity. One thing that isn’t lacking in this house is photographs.” Even the smallest smile lit up Leo’s face. “Every celebration, every get-together, we had to take photos.”

“What about your parents? Did they not want to take over the ranch?”

“My mother died when I was little. My father was in the army for most of my childhood, so I lived here when he was deployed.” He cleaned up the kit, threw away the garbage, washed his hands and dropped a few slices of toast into the toaster. “He served three tours in the first Gulf War. I was supposed to go live with him when he was discharged, but he came back...different. So he moved in here with us. Until he died.”

The thought that Leo Slattery was alone in the world, that he’d lost all his family, pierced something inside her. “I’m so sorry, Leo.”

“It’s life.” He didn’t shrug, didn’t try to make light of it, but what he said rang true. “Bad things happen, Jane. To all of us. It’s how we deal with it that matters.”

She resisted the urge to squirm in her chair. “It’s a bit early in our friendship for you to be sending subliminal messages. I’m not going to the police.” The very idea still made her shudder.

“It wasn’t subliminal if you got it.” The grin he tossed her eased the uncertainty that continued to course through her. “Maybe you didn’t take such a big whack on the head after all.”

“Oh, I think I did.” In fact, the headache was coming back full force. “What painkillers do you have in that magic box of yours?”

“Let’s get some food into you first. Don’t want an upset stomach on top of everything else.” He set a plate of eggs in front of her and retrieved her toast. “Wait.” He opened a cabinet near the refrigerator and pulled out a jar. “It isn’t toast without my grandmother’s blackberry jam. Trust me.” He opened it and set it on the table.

“I do.” The fact that she did still didn’t make sense. But it did bring her the only semblance of peace she could find at the moment.

“Jane.” He caught her hand as she stabbed her fork into her breakfast. “We’re going to find out who you are and who hurt you. I promise.”

“You do?”

“I do. And I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” The determined glint in his eye convinced her. Settled her. Warmed her. “I’ll get you home, Jane. You have my word.”