She opened her eyes. It was dark, but above her, she could make out a low, rocky ceiling, uneven and damp in the dim light. Cold. She was cold. The chill from the uneven ground below her seeped through her clothes. Something poked at her back. She looked to one side then the other, taking in the dark rocks that surrounded her. She in...a cave? Why was she lying in a cave?
She lifted her head to sit up but froze as the dull throb at the back of her skull began to pound. Propping herself on one elbow, she reached behind her head with her other hand and touched the spot that the pain radiated from. She winced as her fingers touched something wet and sticky. She squinted at the dark red on her fingertips in the dimness. Blood.
Slowly, she pushed herself to sitting, trying to ignore the throbbing at the back of her head. A wave of nausea passed through her, starting in her stomach and traveling up to her throat. Not a good sign. A few deep breaths and some of the nausea subsided. Good. She needed to get up, to keep going, to protect herself.
Protect. The word ran through her mind, setting off a cascade of uneasiness, an unsettled feeling that something was wrong. Really wrong. She needed to find somewhere where she was safe. Because she wasn’t safe here. The idea turned inside her and she tuned in to that feeling deep down that her life had been fundamentally shaken. She drew in a quick breath as a surge of energy took over, a drive to run, to escape, but when she tried to focus her mind, to grab hold of details, some basis for this fear, there was nothing there—just a hazy, nebulous dread that burned through her.
Standing seemed like a dangerous proposition at this point. Better to stay low to the ground until the nausea ebbed. She faced the dim opening of the cave and began to scoot herself forward. She stretched out her legs then lifted her body forward with her hands. Once. Twice. If she moved slowly, her head didn’t throb as much, so she continued toward the entrance. As she drew closer, she could make out the general view: a sky thick with heavy clouds, more rock, and a light layer of new snow covering sets of footprints. The latter was strange—how many times had she wandered in and out?—but nothing she saw was particularly helpful in jogging her memory. She stopped a few feet from the snow, brushed off her hands and touched the back of her head again at the tender spot. The blood was dark enough to make her suspect that she’d been lying in the cave for a while.
She stared at her hand, at the blood, searching for some inkling of how she’d gotten to this point. How could she not know? She turned her hands over to inspect them. Her nails were a pale beige and the polish looked fresh and unchipped. As she took in the details of her fingers, something caught her eye. There was a faint tan line across the fourth finger of her left hand, lighter than the rest of her skin, as if a wedding ring belonged there. Except there was no ring. A truth appeared in her head, fully formed, certain and unbearably heavy. Her husband was dead. She was a widow.
The idea was a punch to her gut, and she doubled over as pain and fear grew into a tidal wave that crashed over her. Stars appeared as her vision faded into blackness, threatening to sweep her under forever. And then, just as suddenly as the emotions came on, they faded into a haze in her brain, leaving only that unsettled feeling that something was wrong. Deeply wrong. Everything else was gone.
She blinked as new understanding set in. It wasn’t just where she was or how she’d gotten there that was a mystery. She didn’t know who she was either. A new wave of panic rose inside her, enough to make her gasp. What had happened to her?
“It will all come back in a minute,” she whispered aloud. “It has to.”
The sound of her own voice was grounding, familiar. She took a steadying breath. There had to be something else familiar around her, something that would trigger her memories. She looked down, taking in more details about herself. Gray wool slacks, fancy lace-up black boots that weren’t holding up well in the weather, and a darker gray wool coat... Why was she wearing nice clothing in a cave? She patted herself down and shoved her hands in her jacket pockets, searching for personal items. From one pocket she pulled out two snack-size bags of almonds, and from the other, a folded wad of tissues and a car key. The Cadillac logo on the fob was familiar. It was hers, that much she was certain about, but no memories of the specific car—or where she’d left it—came to mind. She stared at the contents of her pockets, bewildered. These items were so practical, and yet she hadn’t brought along the basics like a phone or a driver’s license. Did she have a handbag?
She swung around to search the cave floor and her headache pounded back to life. She squeezed her eyes closed until it receded. Opened them again. This time she took it slower, peering into the shadowy corners. The cave was empty. No handbag in sight.
Her stomach growled. She was hungry and thirsty, in that order. Maybe, after a little food and water, her memories would come back. She tore open one of the bags of almonds and gobbled them up. The turn of her stomach told her that it had been a while since her last meal. She moved to open the second bag then reconsidered. How far was she from more food? It was probably best to save it. Instead, she scooped up a handful of snow that looked clean and put it in her mouth, letting it melt. It chilled her throat enough to make her shiver. Which was the greater danger, dehydration or the cold? She grabbed one more handful, swallowed the icy liquid, and resisted another.
Instead, she tried to focus again. Her name? Her family? Where she lived? All of that was gone, and the more questions she asked herself, the more she realized she didn’t know. Her identity, her memories, her life—all of it was gone.
She swallowed as a new wave of uneasiness ran through her, edged with dread, telling her there was danger outside the cave, too. She tried to search her mind for where this feeling was coming from, but it was as if a fog hovered over her memories, dark, dense and impenetrable. She could stay in the cave until some clue about herself came back, but how long could she do that with no food?
Her breaths were coming in shallow pants, and each beat of her heart signaled a warning, loud and relentless. Run. Stars flickered on the edges of her vision, dark and fuzzy, as her chest tightened...
“Please, Lord, help me.” She whispered the words aloud. Just speaking them was cool relief from the torment of her thoughts. She had God, and the thought comforted her. Her voice itself and the words of prayer were hers, something to hold on to.
She took a long, steadying breath and blew it out. Again. Her heartbeat slowed and the panic ebbed in her chest. She could breathe again. That one thought turned her fear into determination.
She was going to figure this out. Every time she panicked, she was going to focus every ounce of her energy on the thought that God was there for her, even at a time like this. Especially at a time like this.
She looked outside again, this time attempting to study the landscape clinically. Though the boulders obscured her view, she was pretty sure there was a downhill slope. She leaned forward, sticking her head out of the cave, and the tops of tall pine trees came into view. Was she in the mountains? If she ventured out a little farther, maybe she could get a better view, just enough to see if there was some sign of civilization around. She’d turn around before she panicked because the cave, however cold and hard, was at least dry. And whoever she was scared of hadn’t found her. Yet.
She glanced down at her boots again. They were too fancy to wear for a run through a snowy forest. Which meant that running through the forest was the last thing she had thought she would be doing today. At least she wasn’t wearing heels. It was the first positive thought she’d had since she’d awoken, and she held on to it.
Determination mixed with a burst of energy from the food. She took one more handful of snow, letting the icy water cut a trail down her throat, then pushed up to standing slowly. Her head only gave a slight protest. She took a step into the snow, fighting the fear that pumped through her.
“Ignore it,” she whispered and focused on what was in front of her.
Despite the warnings going off in her head, she continued, making tracks in the fresh snow. She stopped just before rounding the boulder, debating what she should be looking for. Somewhere with food, where she could take shelter from the cold. But if she found a place, how would she know it was safe? And therein lay the crux of the problem. Without her memory, she’d need help, but how did she know who was safe?
“One problem at a time,” she muttered to herself. “Worry about that when you actually find shelter.”
She peeked around the boulder. Heavy fog masked the landscape, a misty blur of white and gray. Nothing in sight was jogging her memory. The clouds rolled over the mountain, dark, thick puffs that engulfed the trees. She was lost in the clouds, both literally and metaphorically. The corners of her mouth tugged up at the thought. At least she hadn’t lost her sense of humor, too.
Downhill seemed like her best bet, so she took a step forward. Another. Just as she rounded the thick boulder, she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. But as she whipped around to look, a large black glove clamped over her mouth. She couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. She screamed into the cold leather, then gasped for air and screamed again, but only a muffled cry came out. The person—his deep grunt told her it was a man—tightened his hold.
Who was this man waiting outside a cave for her?
He pulled her against his chest with his other arm. Her heart skittered as she fought against his grasp, trying to get loose. She used her elbows to jab backward but, between her wool coat and the puff of the man’s down jacket, it was impossible to land anything that mattered. Panic was taking over again. She tore at the arm clamped around her waist, but he was bigger and stronger than she was. It wouldn’t budge. She kicked behind her and found the hard bone of his shin with her soggy boot. He grunted out a curse.
She froze as his voice resonated inside her. She knew that voice. I know my attacker. The panic rose like a tidal wave then crashed down on top of her. Stars edged her vision and her body sagged...
God is with me. That truth, strong and clear, echoed in her mind.
The man shifted and she was startled back to consciousness. Escape. The only thing that was important right now.
She dragged her legs under her, stomped on his foot and pushed backward. It worked. He stumbled back until their movement came to a jolting stop as they hit something. The boulder. The man’s arm loosened from her waist, flailing at the edges of her vision. He was losing his balance, falling, and he was taking her with him. He stumbled and tipped, and let out another curse in that same, sickeningly familiar voice. She froze as the panic spiked inside her. Stars came back, closing in again. This time, she fought against it, fought against whatever memory was surfacing as they both hit the ground with a thud. Her head pounded and she gulped in another breath of air. She wriggled and scrambled away and screamed.
“Help! Help me!”
She climbed to her feet, her sopping-wet boots slipping in the packed snow, and behind her she heard the rustling of outerwear. He was right behind her. Her knees buckled. She hit the snow.
No. She would not crumble under this fear.
She stood and ran downhill, into the fog. Everything inside her wanted to turn around, to see the man who had captured her, but she knew she couldn’t. If she turned back, she’d never escape.
The wind swept up the mountain in an icy gust and snow stung her face. She squinted out into the storm as she plowed through the snow, looking for something besides trees and rocks. Her head throbbed and her legs felt like they were disconnected from her body. How long could she run like this? But as she rounded a clump of low trees, she caught a glimpse of something else on the mountainside below. Was that...a shack? A cabin? It disappeared behind the clouds as quickly as it appeared. Had she imagined it? She wasn’t sure, but still she ran toward that spot, willing the clouds to part again.
Finally, they did. It was a cabin, or at least some sort of small shelter with windows, made of weathered gray boards, the same color as the rocks around her. She braced herself for the fear that had crashed into her, that sickening familiarity, but it didn’t come. So she ran for the shelter with everything she had.
“Help! Help me!”
Michael Tang jolted in his saddle as the cry carried down the mountain through the wind.
He had been making his way up the snowy trail, but the moment he’d heard that voice, that cry for help, he’d given Dusty a kick and the horse had picked up her pace. Snow covered the forest, hiding the rocks and shrubs, but both Michael and Dusty could find the trail with their eyes closed. He’d chosen the mare today for that reason, along with the fact that she had both endurance and sense. She was used to the snow, used to making her way through hidden trails. It wasn’t the first time Michael had ridden this trail in the snow, on the lookout for stray cattle or stray backcountry skiers who’d somehow lost their way. But this cry didn’t sound like a wandering tourist’s. It was urgent, frightened. And it had cut him straight to his heart.
Even now, two years after Sunny’s death, Michael still woke up at night thinking of how much his wife had suffered in the end. The house, the stables, the trails—everything was a reminder of the life Sunny had wanted and lost.
But this wasn’t the time to think about the past. Right now, someone needed help, urgently, and the snow was coming down harder. It was easy to get lost in the mountains on a day like this, and the temperature was dropping. His father had heard some sort of argument earlier, which was why Michael had come out to investigate. That cry was still running through Michael’s head in a loop he couldn’t turn off. All of this added up to something he wanted no part of. Still, he wasn’t the kind of man who could ignore it, so he shut down all the emotions welling up inside him and focused on the storm.
Dusty rounded another switchback, turning into the wind, and big wet flakes slapped Michael in the face, finding their way under his Stetson. Two days ago, the sun had been out, melting the winter layers, but now the snow was back. Avalanche weather. The heavy snow was piling onto the soft, unstable layers of late winter thaw and, when it got too heavy, it would all come sliding down the mountain. Michael’s grandfather had chosen the location of their ranch wisely, farther down the slope, at the far side of the valley and out of avalanche territory. Yet the same couldn’t be said for the newer subdivisions a mile or two above their property. He made a point of staying away from the higher trails during this time of the year, but today was looking like the exception.
The line camp appeared in front of them and Dusty’s pace slowed out of habit. The camp was nothing much, just a little cabin next to a stream and an outdoor corral with troughs for the horses to drink while they rested. Next summer, when the ranch was fully converted to a tourist ranch, some new hire would take the visitors here. Michael would be long gone by then. Emotions swirled in him. He tried not to think too hard about leaving when he knew this was best for his parents, the only way he could be a good son for them. Instead, he focused on the cabin emerging through the snow in front of him. It made a perfect location for someone to take shelter in a storm, which made it the most obvious place to start looking.
Michael tugged the reins as they approached the camp, bringing Dusty to a halt. He searched the ground around the cabin door for prints, but as far as he could see, the snow looked untouched.
“Let’s go around,” he told Dusty, tugging her reins to the right and giving her a little kick. The horse responded, starting toward the forest, but as they approached the corner, Michael caught a flash of movement in the forest. He brought Dusty to a stop and squinted through the snow, straining to get a better look. Bright red hair was the first thing he saw, lots of it. A woman appeared through the veil of white, and she was running toward him. She was wearing a gray coat, the fancy kind that wouldn’t do much on a day like this, and her pants looked about the same. Her shoes were buried in the snow, but he was sure they were equally inappropriate for running through the winter forest. And she was running at full speed.
Michael knew the moment the woman spotted him because she came to a stop not far away, just ten yards or so. She stared at him, her gaze filled with fear. The woman was more striking than pretty, he couldn’t help noting, and everything about her suggested money. Lots of it. Her dark eye makeup was smudged at the tops of her pink cheeks, giving her a haunted look. She glanced behind her, as if someone was on her tail, then looked back at Michael again.
“I need to get away from here. On your horse.”
Her voice was low and urgent, and he had to strain to make out her words over the wind. It took a moment for him to process her request.
“You want my horse?” He would have laughed if she hadn’t looked so desperate.
“I need to get away from here,” she repeated, hurrying toward him. “Far away.”
“Do you know how to ride?”
The woman hesitated. “Yes... Yes I do.” She said it almost as if the answer had taken her by surprise.
Was she lying out of desperation or was there some other reason she’d hesitated? The whole situation was odd and made him uneasy. And yet...it touched on something inside that he thought had died along with Sunny. The urge to protect. Michael pushed that thought out of his mind. Focus on the person you can help, not the one you can’t.
“I’ll take you down with me. Get on back,” he said, taking his foot out of the right stirrup.
After one more look over her shoulder, she approached the horse, letting Dusty sniff her, then came around to the side. Up close, he could see constellations of brown freckles that dotted her pink cheeks and forehead. Her eyes were dark gray, and her red hair was covered in a halo of white snow. He couldn’t ignore the lines of deep concern across her forehead. She looked...desperate.
Michael reached out his hand and she took it. She slid her foot into the right stirrup and lifted herself up onto the horse with an ease that confirmed her words: she’d ridden before.
She put her hands on his waist. They were shaking, maybe from the cold or maybe from fear. That same instinct from before echoed inside him. Protect her.
“Let’s go,” she said urgently.
Michael had no idea what he was getting into with her, but he trusted that he was doing the right thing; that feeling that came from deep inside his heart, or what was left of it. He used to call the feeling a trust in God, but after Sunny had died, after the devastation of that loss, he wasn’t sure he trusted God with anything anymore. Still, right now, he knew he was doing what he was supposed to do.
“Hold on,” he said over his shoulder. He gave Dusty a swift kick and they were off.
Downhill was more dangerous than up in these conditions. The path had been trampled flat by decades’ worth of rides, at least for the most part. But the snow hid stray rocks, fallen branches and other hazards. Dusty moved faster now, and the sudden turns of the switchback upped the horse’s chances of slipping. Still, the mare knew her way, and when Michael leaned into the turn, the woman was right there with him. Yes, she definitely knew how to ride.
The storm was getting worse, and as they came to the road that ran through his family’s property, the forest on the other side was a faded green blur, the driveway to the ranch a narrow patch of white. Gusts of wind shot down the open two-lane road, slapping his cheeks. He ducked his head and urged Dusty across. The woman’s grip tightened around his waist and he felt her tense behind him. When they reached the driveway on the other side of the road, she tugged on his coat urgently.
“I hear a car,” she hissed over the wind.
The faint hum of an engine droned, but it sounded like it was farther down the road. “Okay?”
“We have to hurry. Get around the bend.”
He turned to glance at the woman. She was looking over his shoulder, like she was trying to assess their location, and there was fear in her eyes, fear his heart told him to listen to.
He gave a low whistle and nudged Dusty with his heel. The horse gave a snort then picked up speed. Michael navigated them down the driveway, toward where it curved around the stream that ran through the ranch. When they passed the first stand of tall pines, Michael drew back the reins. Dusty slowed to a stop and Michael turned them to face the road. They waited in silence, peering up the driveway. The woman shivered behind him.
“You need to get warm,” he said over his shoulder.
She shook her head, snow fluttering from her fiery hair. “I need to know if someone is coming for me.”
It was a fair point, but her shivering was getting worse.
Michael heard the engine slow before he caught sight of the vehicle hidden in a frosty cloud of snow. It was a large, white truck; the kind contractors favored, with black beams above the flatbed where someone might hang a ladder. The truck lurched to a stop directly in front of the driveway. Michael shifted, searching for something more identifiable on the vehicle, but the details were lost in the blowing snow. The engine quit and the passenger door opened. Someone in a dark jacket and dark hat stepped out, and the person appeared to be studying the ground.
An uneasiness crept up Michael’s spine. The person from the truck was looking for something—or someone—and by the way this woman sat, frozen against him, he suspected it was her. Did the snow and the forest camouflage them? Maybe, though the woman’s bright hair wasn’t doing them any favors. If he could see the truck, the man could surely see them if he looked down the driveway...
The woman shuddered behind him, and Dusty shifted. He patted the horse’s neck.
“Be still,” he whispered to the horse.
A mumble of conversation made its way through the wind.
“We need to go,” said Michael. “Hold on.”
Before the woman could respond, he signaled Dusty to turn toward the ranch. They took off down the snowy driveway, making their way along the river until they came to a patch of boulders far out of sight from the road. Michael brought the horse to a stop again and looked back at the woman. She twisted in the saddle, studying the path behind them.
“Hey,” he said, getting her attention.
She turned to him, her eyes wide.
“Who’s chasing you?”