Читать книгу Lost Christmas Memories - Dana Mentink - Страница 16

She woke from the nightmare, the strong hands squeezing, throttling, killing. Heart slamming, she fought her way to consciousness, waking up with one thought in her mind...murder. Her vision cleared and she jerked to a sitting position to find herself in a hospital bed, startling the three people gathered there. For one long, terrifying moment, she searched her mind and found it blank. Where? How? Who were they? And who was she? Why was an image of murder circling her brain?

“It’s okay,” the gorgeous blue-eyed man said. His arm was in a sling, a cowboy hat tucked in the crook of the other elbow. A fringe of dark hair framed his face. “You’re all right, I promise.”

The dull roar in her head quieted just a fraction. The doctor edged forward and smiled. “You’ve had a little bump on the head. Can you tell me your name?”

Again terror ballooned until facts began to land clumsily into place like heavy stones dropped into a creek. “Tracy. My name is Tracy Wilson.”

“Excellent. That matches your driver’s license, so we’re doing great so far.” He asked another round of questions. Slowly she recalled the year, her age, her career as a bloodstock agent. She would have told him of her father if the ache in her heart hadn’t stopped her. All the while, she eyed the familiar cowboy and the police officer standing next to him. Police, hospital—it all added up to something bad but she could not command her thoughts.

“It’s Friday morning.” The doctor’s words finally penetrated.

“Friday?” she squeaked. Where had Wednesday and Thursday gone?

“Do you remember visiting the Mother Lode Equestrian Center on Wednesday night?” the cop asked.

Did she? Her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket and she blinked hard.

The cowboy shot a hostile look at the cop. “Can’t you let the doctor finish?” There was something difficult between them, something that had started a long time ago, she guessed. The cowboy was beyond handsome, long and lean, a five o’clock shadow darkening his chin. It took her a moment to realize she knew him.

“I’ve met you, haven’t I?”

His face lit with a breathtaking smile. “Yes, ma’am. Keegan Thorn.”

Fear bubbled in her stomach as she tried to recall where. The unruly fringe of hair, the deep baritone of his voice were all familiar. Her fuzziness subsided a fraction. He’d helped her, this cowboy.

“I changed your flat tire, but I practically had to arm wrestle you to do it.” He grinned, but she thought the smile didn’t quite reach through the worry nestled in his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said. “For doing that.”

He shrugged. “No problem. Happy to help.”

“But how did I get a head injury? Was I in an accident?”

Keegan’s smile vanished and he looked away. More alarm bells clanged in her mind.

The crew-cut officer inched forward. His blue eyes were similar to Keegan’s, though edging more toward slate than sapphire, but he was a few inches shorter, his face narrow and mouth not as full. There was certainly a resemblance, though, along with the unmistakable tension. A snippet of conversation flitted through her consciousness.

I’m not the chief’s favorite guy... He’s my half brother.

The cop was staring at her. “I’m John Larraby, chief of the Gold Bar Police Department, Miss Wilson, and yes, you were in a vehicle accident.”

The doctor checked her pulse and the bandage on her head. “You were in a crash and you sustained a moderate head injury in the wreck. Things may be a bit jumbled. Oftentimes the most recent memories are difficult to recover at first.”

“So do you remember visiting the Mother Lode Equestrian Center in Copper Creek?” John asked again.

She rubbed at the ache building between her eyes. “I remember arriving in town. I think I stopped there.” She caught Keegan’s eyes. “When did the wreck happen?”

Something in Keegan’s expression sent nerves jumping along her spine. “Was someone hurt?” Her body went tense, the action sending the blanket askew. “Did I hit anybody?”

“No,” Keegan said, pulling the blanket back into place. “You didn’t hurt anyone. I met you at an abandoned train station where you stopped because of your flat tire. We were... I mean...do you remember why we were in such a hurry to leave the train station?”

Again, the flickering images of violence erupted in her mind. Was it bits of a leftover nightmare? “I’m not sure.”

The officer tucked his thumbs into his gun belt. “You told Keegan here that you’d been at the center to meet Bryce Larraby.” He paused. “You also told him you’d witnessed a murder, but you did not identify the killer or the victim.”

Tracy would have leaped from the bed if the doctor hadn’t restrained her. The nightmare wasn’t a dream. “I did. I thought it was a dream when I first woke up, but it must have really happened. I can remember seeing a man strangling a woman. It must have happened there at the center.”

“What man?” John said. “What woman?”

“I...I don’t know.” She fought against another rising tide of panic. “Did you go there to investigate? To the Mother Lode, I mean? Was there...?” She swallowed.

“We did and found nothing. You never met my father, Bryce Larraby. He said you’d emailed him to set up a meeting, but you two hadn’t confirmed a time. My officers finished combing the place. There’s no sign of foul play, nothing out of the ordinary.”

Tracy stared, mind whirling. Why couldn’t she remember where she’d been? Whom she’d seen? Her mind was a mess, but her gut kept screaming that what she did remember was real. It was clear from the chief’s tone that he didn’t believe her. Her chin went up. She’d learned long ago not to care what people thought of her. “Quietly plow ahead” was her motto. Alone preferably. With others when absolutely necessary.

“Chief Larraby, I’m not a liar. If I said I saw a murder then I did.”

“I’m sure that’s what you thought you saw. People can make themselves believe almost anything.” He paused. “We found medication in your bag. Topiramate.”

She sucked in a breath.

“Wait a minute,” Keegan said, mouth tight. “What are you implying? She’s just been through a head injury, John.”

“I’m well aware.”

Tracy let out a long, slow breath. “Those pills are for seizures, Chief Larraby, and I haven’t taken any lately.”

“How do you define lately?”

“I haven’t had a seizure in more than six months, which is why I can drive.” Her tone was cold and she hoped he got the full impact of her distaste for his questions. “I’ve been tapered off the meds under a doctor’s care. I carry them because my property is in a remote area and I haven’t found a local doctor yet. I’m not an addict, and whatever I witnessed wasn’t a product of drugs. That much I can tell you for certain.”

“Confusion, short-term memory loss.” John ticked the items off on his fingers. “All symptoms of overuse. And the medication, Topiramate—it’s used to treat alcohol addiction, isn’t it?”

“Knock it off.” Keegan’s tone was savage. “We got shot at both at the train station and the road just before we crashed. That’s fact, and you can’t gloss over it.”

Tracy gasped. Shot at?

“We’ve examined the scenes and the car,” John said coldly, “but we’ve got nothing on the shooter except some tire tracks. Doc, can you run a blood test to check for drugs in her system?”

“That’s—” Keegan started angrily.

“That’s perfectly fine,” Tracy said, cutting him off. “Go ahead.”

“I can run them, of course,” said the doctor. “But most will only stay in the system for two to three days, so you may not find anything anyway.”

“Run the tests,” John repeated. “We have to check out her story.”

“It’s not a story,” Keegan snarled. “Stop treating her like a criminal.”

“I’m doing my job and you need to back off.”

Keegan’s eyes flashed blue fire. “No, you’re not. You’re punishing her because I helped her. Or maybe you’re trying to cover up for one of dear old Dad’s employees. Is that it? Does Bryce have some skeletons over at the center he’s pressuring you to bury?”

John whirled to face him, hands fisted. “Keegan...”

“Gentlemen,” the doctor said. “She needs rest. Your visit is over.”

“I have more questions,” John said.

“They’ll wait. Out.” He ushered them to the door.

John followed the doctor into the hallway and Tracy could hear him begin a conversation on his cell phone.

Keegan stopped and turned before he cleared the door.

“I’ll be waiting out in the hall in case you need anything.” He lowered his voice. “I think they’ve refilled the free cookies at the nurses’ station by now since I ate the last six. Not homemade, but they’ll do. I’ll sneak some in for you.” He turned to go.

“But...” She didn’t know where to begin. Her memory was as ragged as an old coat—they’d apparently been shot at. “Someone tried to kill me? And you got shot because of it? I don’t understand all this. Why can’t I remember the murderer’s face? The victim’s? What is happening to me?” To her dismay, tears flooded down her cheeks and she bit her lip to keep from outright sobbing.

He was at her side in a moment, tender and soft. “Hey there, Pockets. Don’t worry. Soon as you get some rest, we’ll figure it out, okay?”

Pockets? His hands were strong as he brushed at the trickle of tears.

“We’re...friends?” she found herself whispering. Friends were not something she sought out. Too much disappointment down that road after she’d seen her closest friends abandon her when the truth came out about her father. His shame had cloaked her like a stain, it seemed, friendships abruptly evaporating when he’d been sent to jail.

Focus on Grandpa. Get out of here.

Still, there was something so warm in Keegan’s touch. She allowed herself to feel comfort in it, the solace of knowing he wanted to protect her. It was a new feeling, both delicious and unsettling.

He grinned widely. “Yes, ma’am, we’re friends. I mean, you tried to shoot me and all, but once we got that out of the way, we bonded like two horses in a snowstorm.”

“I...shot at you?” She gazed in horror at his arm. “Did I do that?”

“No, ma’am. No offense, but you’re not that good a shot.”

“I’m not?” she said weakly.

“Nope. You probably couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn, as my brother Owen would say.”

Her small giggle surprised her. “That’s exactly what my grandpa Stew would say, too. He’s an old cowboy from way back. When he had to sell his land, it nearly killed him.” She chewed her lip. “He’s arriving tomorrow, Saturday. I have to get out of here to meet him.” She looked around. “My cell phone. Have you seen it? I have to call him. I think I lost it somewhere.”

He leaned down and caught her eyes with his. “You didn’t have one at the train station, but I’ll ask the doctor anyway. Don’t worry. I know you’re scared, but it’s gonna be all right.” He winked at her. “I promise, and I always keep my promises.”

How could she believe that? She didn’t even know the man, not really, but she found herself clinging to the idea that Keegan Thorn might be what he said he was: her friend. It wouldn’t hurt to have a friend right about now when she seemed to have garnered an enemy in John Larraby.

The doctor stuck his head in, voice stern. “Mr. Thorn, when I said it was time to leave, I meant it.”

“Sure thing, Doc,” Keegan said, giving a lock of her hair a playful tug. “I’ll be right outside, Pockets.”

“Why did you call me that?”

He grinned. “Oh, that’s a story for another day. And trust me, you’re gonna love it.”

Despite his playful words, fatigue and worry pressed down on her as the door closed softly behind him.

Tracy was released late that afternoon and Keegan was ready. She could not drive for three days due to her head injury, so Keegan took one of the ranch trucks, having discarded the sling as soon as he was out the hospital doors.

“I really think you should come and stay at the Gold Bar,” he said as he opened the passenger door for her. “There’s room. My brother Barrett and his wife, Shelby, are living in her uncle’s house and tending his ranch while he’s in Europe since their own place isn’t done yet. Something about grout and shutters.”

She climbed in gingerly, wincing, and he realized for the first time how petite she was, the top of her head coming only to his collarbone. “I can’t remember much more, but I did recall something to do with celebratory pomanders.”

He chuckled. “Double wedding. Pomanders are for that. Baby coming, too, for Barrett and Shelby.”

“That’s enough without squeezing in an addled stranger.”

He climbed into the driver’s seat. “You’re not addled. The doctor says you’re likely going to get your memory back in time.”

She bit her lip, a look of fear flickering through her hazel eyes. Her blond hair was tucked behind her ears, revealing scratches and a bruise along her jawline. Her profile was so delicate, he marveled at it.

Aww, knock it off, Keegan. She just needs someone to keep her safe and get John off her back until she regains her memory—a friend, nothing more.

Keegan had never been short of friends, especially female ones who loved his reckless pursuit of fun and his “barn burner” attitude, as his adopted mother would put it. And that was all he required of his relationships: companionship, shared interests and a zest for adventure. He was too restless to look for anything deeper.

He realized she was looking at him.

“Oh, sorry, did you say something?” he asked.

“No. I’m the quiet type, but I...I mean...” Her fingers twisted together on her lap. “I’m very sorry for shooting at you. I can’t imagine why I did that.”

“Plenty of people would line up to take a shot,” he joked.

Her eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Well, maybe a punch rather than a shot, but you get the drift. I got one particular gang member who would love to lay me flat. Sonny B, he goes by.”

She nodded, more out of politeness than understanding, it seemed. He’d probably scared her.

“I lived a wild youth. I’d like to say I’m reformed, but the jury’s out still.” Exiting the parking lot, he headed for the main road. He’d figured she’d be too well mannered to ask, and he was right.

The winter sun was low in the sky, glaring through the windshield as they drove west, so she pulled down the visor. Three plastic-wrapped sticks of beef jerky fell into her lap.

“Good catch.” He laughed. “Snacks. I’m always hungry. Want one?”

She laughed. “Maybe later. I’d really appreciate a ride to my property, if it’s not too much trouble. It’s up in the foothills.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Give me directions.”

“About seventy miles east. I just bought it two months ago.”

Though he asked a few questions, she kept her answers vague. Didn’t trust him, and maybe she was right not to. Strange guy, strange town, bullets flying and a murder she couldn’t remember.

She toyed with the zipper on her jacket. “Keegan, you’ve been good to me. I don’t want you to think... I mean...what John said about the pills... I was thrown from a horse and I had a series of seizures for a period of time. I didn’t...”

He put his hand on her forearm, surprised at the delicacy of the bones there. He could circle her entire wrist with two fingers, yet she’d fired a gun at him, so the size of her spirit outstripped everything else. “I know you aren’t abusing.”

She looked at him full on. “But how can you know that when you don’t know me, not really?”

Secrets flickered deep down in her eyes and he suddenly realized that her past might just be nearly as complicated as his own. Complications were things he usually avoided, but he felt an urge to dive right in to her messy situation and help.

She didn’t ask, Keegan. Cool your jets.

“Maybe I don’t know you well, but John is a jerk and he’d happily discredit you in order to preserve dear old Dad from embarrassment.”

“He’s a cop, surely...”

“He’s a jerk, trust me.” The words snapped out harsher than he’d meant, so he gave it a beat before he continued. “You were beyond scared when I met you at the train station—terrified because you’d witnessed a murder. And that wasn’t due to alcohol or pills.”

She shot him a nervous glance. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, I do.”

Again the shadows flittered across the hazel irises and she looked away, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was cold. He flipped on the heater.

“But how could there be no sign of it at the center?”

“Because someone is trying to cover it up, and I’m going to find out who that is.”

Tracy straightened. “I appreciate it, I really do, but you’ve done enough. This isn’t your fight.”

“Yes, it is.”

Her jaw went tight. “Please don’t dive into my problems because it’s a way to even the score with your brother.”

Her tone was soft but the words cut right to his core. Was that what he was doing? Why he’d stayed in the hospital after his wounds had been treated?

No, this wasn’t about revenge; it was justice he was after. Justice for both of them.

It was an effort to keep his voice calm. “I’m in this mess because I got shot at, too.” But if my father is covering up with the help of my brother, he’s not going to get away with it.

He cleared his throat. “Where do we go from here?”

Her gaze drifted to the turnoff that led to the Mother Lode Equestrian Center. A frown creased her forehead. “Can you drop me here instead? I’ll get a ride from here some other way.”

“Nope.”

Her frown deepened. “I wasn’t asking your permission.”

“I know, but I’m going to go with you. I’m helping. I’m awesome like that.” He made the turn, the truck rolling by acres of grass just starting to turn green after the first of the winter storms.

Again she shifted. “Keegan, I’m involved in a mess and I’ll get out of it. By myself. Do you understand?”

He heard his mama’s voice in his head. Don’t be pushy, Keegan. Not everyone gallops through life like you do. Why they didn’t, he couldn’t imagine. Speed, excitement, danger was the stuff that made life worth living, and too much slow contemplation could drive a man crazy.

He heaved out a breath. “This isn’t something you should face alone. You saw a murder and it’s possible the murderer is still there.”

She didn’t answer but he knew she was thinking the same as him.

And he knows who you are.