“Come on, you have to go tomorrow night. It will be good for you to get out among adults,” Abby exclaimed as she poured herself another cup of coffee. “We always plan a hayride and an old-fashioned cookout on Friday nights when we have guests.” She rejoined Colette at the table. “And I’ve already spoken to Maria about staying here with Cody and Brook.”
Colette smiled, as always feeling like a willow in a windstorm around her strong, older sister. “Since you’ve taken care of everything, I guess I’ll go on the hayride,” she agreed.
“Oh, honey, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Abby frowned worriedly. “Sometimes I’m too pushy for my own good. You have to tell me to back off.”
“Did I tell you to back off often in the past?” Colette asked with a grin.
“About once a day,” Abby admitted with a laugh. “When you were ten you called me bossy, when you were twelve I graduated to domineering and by the time you were fifteen I’d reached the pinnacle of big sisterhood and become tyrannical.”
Colette laughed, as always an ache of wistfulness reminding her of her lack of memories. How she wished she remembered those frivolous carefree days of childhood, when her biggest problem apparently was dealing with two bossy older sisters. She picked up her coffee mug and sipped thoughtfully. “Abby, would you tell me what you know about Hank Cooper?” she asked.
Abby’s eyebrows danced upward quizzically. “Why?”
Colette shrugged. “Something about him bothers me…I’m not sure what it is.”
“He hasn’t gotten out of line, has he? I mean, some of the men working on the ranch think we’re all fair game for a quick roll in the hay.”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” Colette replied hurriedly. She frowned and drained the last of her coffee. “I can’t exactly explain…just something about him bothers me and I was wondering what you knew about him.”
“Not much,” Abby admitted. “I do know he’s a natural with the horses. I haven’t seen his kind of talent in years. He showed up here at the ranch looking for a job about a month ago.” Abby smiled ruefully. “I don’t ask for much in the way of references, have never cared about a man’s past. If they do their jobs and keep their noses clean, I’m satisfied.”
Colette nodded, realizing nothing Abby knew could help her where Hank Cooper was concerned. Somehow, some way, she was going to have to figure out for herself why he bothered her, why it was that his eyes haunted her dreams.
“You okay?” Abby asked, her forehead once again wrinkled in concern.
“I’m fine,” Colette assured her, knowing Abby had enough on her mind in running the ranch without Colette adding to her burden. They both jumped as a knock fell on the back door.
Abby got up to answer it. “Junior,” she exclaimed in delight. “You’ve been neglecting us lately. Come in and have a cup of coffee.”
The man who entered hardly looked like a “junior.” Tall and barrel-shaped, he sported a head of bushy gray hair and matching eyebrows. His face was deeply tanned, and crisscrossed with wrinkles that spoke of age and life experiences.
“Hi, darlin’.” He leaned over and kissed Colette on the forehead. “Heard you were back in town. Good to have you back where you belong.” He thanked Abby as she set a cup of coffee in front of him, then he started talking to Abby about the ranch.
Colette listened absently, instantly drawn to the warmth of the older man’s smile, but more drawn to the safety his sheriff’s uniform implied. Maybe he can help, she thought. Help with what? What could she say to him? That she was in danger but didn’t know why? That she was afraid somebody was after her but didn’t know who?
She looked at her watch and realized she needed to go. “Excuse me, but I need to get going. I’m sitting with the kids for a couple of hours so the adults can go trail riding again.”
“We’ll get a chance to visit and catch up later,” Junior said, flashing her another warm, parental kind of smile.
Minutes later Colette left the house, Brook napping in her carrier. As Colette walked toward the community building, she thought over the past couple of days. It was comforting how seamlessly she’d fit back into the routine of the ranch. She spent the days baby-sitting and caring for Brook. In the evenings the whole family ate dinner together, discussing and sharing all the aspects of their day.
Although Colette usually had little to add to the conversation, she enjoyed the camaraderie between herself and her sisters, the bond that, despite her memory lapse, had not been lost.
Only some things always managed to darken her contentment. A feeling of impending doom increased daily along with the awareness of eyes watching her every movement. That, and Hank Cooper troubled her.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Hank appeared at the side of the barn. Had he somehow known she’d be approaching at that very moment and had timed his appearance to coincide with hers?
“Good morning,” he said as he fell into step with her.
“’Morning.” She didn’t look at him. She was torn between the strange need to somehow distance herself from him and the desire to crawl into his head to see if any of her memories resided with him. It was crazy, but somehow she had the feeling that he was a part of her forgotten past, an integral piece to a frightening puzzle.
“Would you like me to carry that for you?” He gestured to the diaper bag slung over the crook of her arm.
“No, thanks, I can manage. Besides, I’m sure you have other, more important chores to attend to.”
He grinned, a sexy, lazy smile that caused a coil of heat to unfurl in the pit of her stomach. “I’m on a break. For the next thirty minutes my time is my own.”
“What do you do in your spare time, Mr. Cooper?” she asked. Do you stand in the darkness and watch me? Is it your gaze I feel on me? Constantly watching?
“Please, call me Hank, and I don’t have much spare time. There’s always something that needs to be done on a spread this size.” For a moment his gaze held hers, intense and probing, it made her feel as if he attempted to violate her mind.
With an effort, she broke away from the gaze, wondering again why she felt such an uneasy familiarity with the man. “Abby tells me she hired you about a month ago. Where’s home for you?” she asked.
“Here and there. I’ve never had much need for a permanent home base. What about you? I heard that before you arrived here you were someplace in California.”
She could still feel the heat of his gaze on her and once again her eyes met his. “If you’ve heard that, then you’ve also probably heard I have amnesia. I don’t remember anything before coming here.”
His smoke-dark eyes lingered a moment longer on her as a muscle jumped in his lower jaw. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.” Again she averted her gaze from his as the heat in her stomach reignited and spread over her entire body. Why did he affect her this way? What was it about him that made her think of long nights of lovemaking, of tangled limbs beneath rumpled sheets?
Had he lied when he’d told her they hadn’t met before? Did her unease have nothing to do with suppressed memories and everything to do with the fact that he was an enormously attractive man who oozed sex appeal?
Relief flooded her as they reached the community building and he tipped his hat in parting. She watched him go, her heart slowly resuming a more normal rhythm as he moved into the distance.
Going inside, she tried to shove thoughts of Hank Cooper out of her mind, but found him as impossible to dismiss as a case of hives. She set Brook’s carrier on the table in the playroom and went to the window, unsurprised to see Hank still in viewing distance. In the past couple of days she’d noticed he always seemed near to where she was, appeared to shadow her movements whenever she left the main house.
Why? Why did Hank Cooper seem to have such interest in her? Was his attention drawn from something in the past, or merely the passing interest of a man for a woman? What man in his right mind would be interested in a woman who had no memory and had just given birth? A fleeting smile curved her lips. Who said Hank Cooper was in his right mind?
The morning passed quickly and lunchtime came and went. Late afternoon the kids left with their parents and Colette busied herself cleaning up the room.
She’d finally put everything away when the outer door flew open and a ranch hand she’d not seen before stood in the doorway.
Thin and wiry, the man brought with him the sour smell of perspiration, stale smoke and strong alcohol as he stepped into the room. Beneath the dusty hat he wore, his brown eyes peered around the room.
“May I help you?” Colette asked, moving closer to the table where Brook rested in the carrier.
“I’m s’possed to put up shelves,” he slurred, a drunken grin lifting the corners of his mouth as he eyed Colette. “You’re a pretty little thing.” He stumbled several steps toward her.
“I think you’d better leave and put the shelves up another time,” Colette said, her voice wavering with uncertainty.
He shook his head. “Can’t. Ms. Abby told me to do it today, and Ms. Abby gets plum crazy when chores don’t get done.” He staggered forward another couple of steps and Colette realized the man was thoroughly, completely drunk.
His grin widened as his gaze focused once again on her. “I’ll bet you smell as pretty as you look.” When he stepped forward again, Colette backed up, disturbed to find herself pinned between the wall and the man.
“I think you’d better go.”
“Ah, come on, don’t get all bossy like your sisters. Why don’t you try being a little nice to me.” He reached up and touched her hair. “I could be very nice to you.”
His touch made her skin crawl, and the glassiness of his eyes made her aware that he might be too drunk to listen to reason. Unreasonable terror swam inside her. He was just a drunken ranch hand, but something about his unwanted closeness brought panic to the surface. “You’re so pretty,” he repeated, his grimy hand stroking the length of her hair, his breath rancid in her face.
She tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed her arm. “Let me go,” she demanded, trying to yank her arm from his viselike grip.
“Ah, come on, don’t be that way,” he protested, bracing his hands on the wall on either side of her, effectively making her his prisoner.
“Sims. Let the lady go.” Hank Cooper’s voice rang with authority. He filled the doorway, his posture tense, his dark eyes radiating undisguised danger.
“Ah, I was just having a little fun,” Sims protested.
“Well, the lady doesn’t appear to be having fun.” Hank stepped into the room and placed a hand on the back of the man’s neck. “Get on out of here. Go back to the bunkhouse and sleep it off.” Colette wasn’t sure whether it was the tone of Hank’s voice or the strength of his hand on Sims’s neck, but Sims nodded and with Hank’s assistance headed out the door.
Colette sagged against the wall, her knees trembling uncontrollably as adrenaline slowly dissipated. She shuddered as she remembered the way his body had pressed close to hers, how his arms had formed a prison to contain her. Something about the incident evoked a murmur of a memory. A memory of another time, another man pressed against her, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered threatening words into her ear.
“You okay?”
She looked to see Hank once again standing in the doorway. She nodded, afraid to move from the wall, afraid her shaking legs wouldn’t hold her. “I’m fine.” To her horror, tears blurred her vision and a sob shook her.
In three long strides, Hank reached her. He pulled her away from the wall and into the strength of his arms. “Billy Sims is just a drunken fool,” he said. “He wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“I know. I don’t know why I’m overreacting, but I can’t help it.” She leaned against Hank, finding comfort in the strong arms surrounding her, the sunshine scent of his cotton shirt and the familiarity of his spice cologne.
His embrace wasn’t threatening in any way. He held her lightly, without intimacy, and yet she fought a crazy impulse to lean into him, press against the hardness of his chest. Threatened and confused by her own thoughts, she broke the embrace and stepped away from him.
“I’m so grateful you appeared when you did,” she said, moving over to the table where Brook still peacefully slept. “I wasn’t sure what he might have been capable of.”
“I’ll make sure Sims stays away from you,” Hank said, the words a promise she knew he’d deliver.
“Thank you again, Hank.”
He nodded, then turned on his heels and left.
It wasn’t until later that Colette thought back over the scene with Billy Sims. She recalled the horrifying fear that had choked her as Billy Sims had leaned against her.
The fear, the horrible sensations, had all been so familiar, something she’d experienced before, but had hidden in her obscure memories. She looked at her baby. Brook. Her sweet baby girl. Why couldn’t she remember conceiving Brook? Why did she have no memory of the man who was Brook’s father?
Was I raped? she wondered. Was it possible the man who’d fathered Brook had done so in a vicious violation? Was that what had stolen her memories?
* * *
“OKAY, EVERYONE, let’s load up,” Abby yelled to the group crowded near the huge hay-laden wagon. The evening sunshine cast golden hues on the guests and ranch workers as they climbed onto the bales of hay, their laughter seeming to hold back the shadows of approaching night.
Colette wished she could get caught up in the high spirits that infused everyone, but she’d spent the past day and a half wondering, worrying about all she couldn’t remember. And she feared she’d made an enemy in Billy Sims. Abby had told her the night before that she’d had a talk with Billy, warned him that the next time he drank or got out of line, he would be fired. Abby had explained that Billy had a family, was paying child support and she was reluctant to fire him and indirectly harm his children. Colette hadn’t told her sister about the frightening scene with Billy, but Hank had.
From the moment Colette had joined the group for the hayride, she’d felt Billy’s gaze on her, dark and resentful. As she climbed into the wagon and took a seat, she was grateful Billy was at the front of the wagon and some distance from her.
Her face warmed as Hank sat on the bale of hay next to her, his thigh pressed against hers. “You look like you’re going to an execution rather than a hayride,” he observed as the scent of his evocative cologne filled her senses.
“I’ve never been on a hayride before,” she admitted, then added, “at least none that I remember.” She looked toward the front of the wagon, where Billy returned her scowl. “I wish you hadn’t gone to Abby about the incident. I think I’ve made an enemy.”
Hank followed her gaze to the front. “Don’t let him get to you. Billy hates everyone, most of all himself. He should be grateful Abby gave him another chance. She could have fired his butt without hesitation. A ranch is no place for a drunk.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that,” Colette replied, wishing he wasn’t sitting so close, wishing the heat of his body didn’t feel so good next to hers, that the scent of his cologne didn’t muddy her mind with crazy thoughts.
Maybe it’s a hormonal anomaly, she comforted herself. Maybe all women after giving birth had bursts of irrational desire toward handsome cowboys who smelled nice.
Within minutes, the wagon began its trip and Abby led the group in singing camp songs. Tension slowly ebbed from Colette as one song followed another, laughter a frequent chorus. It felt good to be out with adults, knowing Brook was safe and sound with Maria at the ranch house.
By the time they got to the place where Roger Eaton and several of the other ranch workers awaited them with a roaring campfire, evening had gasped its last light and night had fully descended.
The full moon’s silvery light accented the rugged terrain surrounding them. The campsite was sheltered on one side by a huge, reddish brown butte, a towering monolith reaching toward the sky. The roaring fire cast dancing shadows on its wall, creating an otherworld setting that invited intimacy.
Laughter once again filled the air as the group descended from the wagon and crowded around the warmth of the fire. The guests, four couples, immediately found seats on the hay bales the men had placed around the fire.
As Abby directed the men to begin unloading a second wagon filled with the workings for a barbecue, Colette sat on one of the bales. Roger waved a friendly hello to her from across the fire and she waved back, his pleasant smile in direct contrast to Billy’s glower.
For the first time Colette saw all the ranch hands together and tried to put faces to names. She recognized Rusty Maxwell, the foreman who Abby said was her right-hand man. Bulldog had become a familiar character in Colette’s time at the ranch. Although as big as a mountain, his mind was that of a child’s, filled with innocence and a bigheartedness that had made him one of Colette’s favorites.
Philip Weiss manned the fire, the flame’s illumination playing on his grizzled features and underscoring his gnarled, arthritic hands. Colette knew Abby had been encouraging Philip to retire, but Philip refused to admit he was getting too old to be effective help on the ranch.
Bob Sanderson was a tall, thin man, his facial features tormented by a livid scar that puckered his skin from the corner of one eye to the side of his mouth. Colette knew he worked directly under Rusty with the care and maintenance of the cattle, and she’d had little contact with him.
Finally, there was Hank. Colette watched as he lifted a cooler from the back of the wagon, his biceps taut beneath the strain of the heavy load.
His gaze met hers across the expanse of the fire. A log popped, sending embers showering. It wasn’t the embers that created a burst of warmth inside her. Her internal heat had nothing to do with the physical flames, but rather grew from the heat of his eyes.
She averted her gaze, wondering why it was he had the power to look at her and make her feel like he stroked the flesh of her inner thigh, breathed a whisper into her ear, knew the intimacies of her body better than she knew them herself.
“You doing okay?” Belinda flopped next to her, drawing her attention from Hank.
“Fine,” Colette answered, flashing her sister a quick smile. “The guests look like they’re having a good time,” she observed.
“Yeah, the Friday night hayrides and barbecues are one of the most popular things we do. Wait until Abby starts telling some of her ghost stories. You’ll realize our big sister missed her calling as an actress.”
Colette laughed. “I can’t wait.”
Belinda stood. “I’d better get the steaks on. Abby appointed me the official steak cook for the night.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Colette asked.
Belinda shook her head. “The best thing you can do is relax and enjoy the fun.”
Within minutes the air filled with the scent of beef cooking over open flames. Ice-cold beverages were passed out from coolers and foil-wrapped potatoes snuggled next to the hot embers at the edge of the fire.
Colette drank her soda, isolated and separate from the rest of the group. She hadn’t realized before how a lack of memory made small talk difficult. She had no past experiences to draw from, no funny little anecdotes to share. She had little else but the here and now and a myriad of confusing, indistinct half memories and emotions.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Hank observed softly as he eased down next to her after they’d eaten, his thigh once again a warm intimacy against hers.
“I haven’t noticed you being Mr. Sociable, either.” She tossed her empty paper cup into the fire.
He shrugged. “Sharing little details of my life with strangers has never been my idea of fun.”
She had a feeling sharing little details of his life with anyone was difficult for him. He struck her as somebody self-contained, a man who wouldn’t need to talk to or share with anyone. “I’ve heard from a lot of people at the ranch that you’re very talented with the horses. Have you always worked with horses?”
“I could ride a horse before I could walk. At least, that’s what my mother used to tell me. She ate, drank and lived horses, so they were a big part of my life when I was growing up.” He fell silent, his gaze directed at the fire. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed this kind of work until I came here and found myself this job.”
“What kind of work were you doing before?” she asked.
He turned and looked at her. For a long moment his gaze held hers and in the depths of his eyes she saw secrets, haunting secrets that again evoked in her a subtle fear…and the mysterious thrill of déjà vu. “This and that,” he finally said, returning his gaze to the flames.
She leaned toward the fire, chilled by the answer that gave away nothing. He’d given the same kind of response when she’d asked where he was from. “Here and there…this and that.” A kind of double-talk that kept his secrets.
Who was Hank Cooper? And why did his mere closeness cause the blood inside her to race, her heart to thud a little faster? What secrets did he hold and why did she have the feeling that somehow his secrets were her own?
She cast him a surreptitious glance, noting the chiseled cut of his jawline, the faint growth of dark whiskers and the taut line of his mouth. He was a man who appeared to invite nothing and nobody into his world, and yet there was something undefinable, an almost primal pull that drew her to him as effectively as the cattle herd drew the coyotes.
His nearness suddenly seemed suffocating. As Abby began gathering trash from the meal, Colette jumped up to help. She needed some distance from Hank Cooper, needed some space from the heady sensations his closeness provoked.
After cleanup, everyone huddled around the fire as Abby began telling ghost stories. Colette stood to the side of the group for a little while, then drifted away, deciding there was enough horror in her own lack of memories to warrant not listening to Abby’s tales of the dark side.
The cool night air embraced her, making her grateful she’d worn a sweater as she leaned against a tree trunk and gazed up to where the stars hung like jewels on the velvety night sky.
The beauty of the stars made her ache inside, an ache of isolation, the pain of loneliness. Had there ever been a man in her life who cared for her? Someplace on earth was Brook’s father wondering what had happened to Colette, worried about their welfare? Or had Brook been the product of a single night of violation, a mistaken conception formed in violence?
It didn’t matter. Nothing changed the love Colette had for her baby girl. No memories of violence could break the bond of love Colette felt for Brook.
“Don’t like ghost stories?” Hank’s voice came from the darkness near where Colette stood. He stepped closer, his features barely visible in the dappled moonlight that shone through the tree leaves.
She shrugged. “I’m just not in the mood for them.”
“You shouldn’t wander too far away from the group. There are dangers out here.” As if on cue a coyote howled its eerie cry. Hank grinned, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. “See?”
“I’m not afraid of the coyotes,” Colette replied. It was the unknown that frightened her, confused her. A lifetime gone in the blink of an eye, all experiences of love, of pain, of joy…gone, leaving behind only an inexplicable fear.
Hank moved closer, stopping just in front of Colette. With the tree at her back and him standing so close, Colette’s heart began a quick rhythm. He leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “What does make you afraid, Colette?”
His warm fingers evoked a heat in her as they trailed from her forehead to the side of her jaw and across the hollow of her throat. Unlike Billy Sims’s closeness and touch, which had caused repugnance and fear, Hank’s touch electrified her with excitement.
“What makes me afraid?” She repeated the question breathlessly, trying to keep her mind from spinning beneath the onslaught of his dark gaze and the hot caress of his fingers that still remained on her neck.
Oh, she was afraid of how he made her feel, was afraid of the secrets in his eyes, scared he wouldn’t kiss her and terrified he might. “I…I…”
Whatever she’d been about to say was stifled as he dipped his head to press his mouth to hers. His lips moved softly, like a warm breeze, against hers. Someplace in the back of her mind, Colette knew she should break away, stop the kiss, but it would be like trying to rein in the wind, capture the light of a star.
As he deepened the kiss, she forgot any impulse to make him stop. Instead she wound her arms around his neck, tangled her fingers in the thick hair at his nape and pressed her body fully against his. As his tongue plummeted the depths of her mouth, dizzying sensations swept through her.
She felt more alive than she’d felt since waking up in the motel room in Las Vegas. His kiss stoked an ember of desire into a roaring inferno and she invited the flames in response.
“Ah, sweet coquette, you do stir a man’s blood,” he murmured in her ear.
She stiffened, something about his words pulling her away from the fire into the arctic cold of fear. What was it? Coquette. Yes, that was it. The word echoed in her head, a familiar endearment in a black fog of lost memories. Where desire had been, confusion stepped in and she pulled away from Hank. She touched her lips, which felt swollen from his kiss. “Why? Why did you kiss me?”
A lazy grin curved his lips. “Why did you kiss me?” he countered.
A blush warmed her face. “I have amnesia, I’m probably nuts and not responsible for my actions. What’s your excuse?” Irritation winged through her as she heard the slight breathlessness in her voice.
He laughed, a deep rumble that again stirred something in the dark recesses of Colette’s memory. “I didn’t know one needed an excuse to kiss an attractive woman in the moonlight.”
“Then I don’t need an excuse to tell you to go away. I’d like to be alone.” Colette knew she sounded petulant, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to be alone, needed time to think about Hank, and his kiss, and why his use of the word coquette sent a shiver racing up her spine. “Please,” she added when he didn’t move.
“Just don’t be gone from the group for long. I was serious about there being dangers out here.” He turned and walked back toward the group huddled around the fire.
Colette breathed a sigh of relief as he moved away. Again she touched her lips, remembering the taste of him, the feel of his lips against hers.
Walking away from the tree, she headed for the far side of the huge butte, grateful for the spill of moonlight that made walking unfamiliar terrain easier. As she walked, she thought again of Hank, wondering why it was her lips seemed to know his, her body had fit into his with a familiar comfort.
Had he lied to her when he’d told her they hadn’t met before? Why would he lie? Did the secrets that darkened his eyes have something to do with her, her past?
She was surprised to discover that on the distant side of the butte was a gentle rise, making it relatively easy to climb to the top. She climbed, glad for the physical activity that kept thoughts of Hank momentarily at bay.
Once at the peak of the butte, she caught her breath at the panoramic view that stretched out before her. The full moon cast luminous light across the valley, making it look like a quaint, impressionistic painting. She took a step forward, careful not to get too close to the edge where a sheer-face cliff seemed to drop into black space.
She raised her face to the moonlight and closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath of the sweet night air overlaid with the scent of wood smoke. From someplace below her, she could hear the distant laughter and murmurs of the people around the campfire.
Whatever made me decide to leave this place? She sank onto her haunches and drew in another cleansing breath. The sweet night wind whispered “home.” The peaceful valley below said the same. The sound of Abby’s and Belinda’s laughter drifting upward caused a warmth to explode in her heart, the warmth of family, of belonging, of love.
Hank. She frowned as his face filled her mind and she thought of the dizzying, tumultuous kiss they’d shared. With the mere meeting of lips, he’d made her body sing with want. She once again looked into the valley, wondering what force pulled her to Hank.
She stood, realizing she should join the others before anyone worried about her. At that moment something hit her in the back with enough force to drive her forward. In horror, she fought for balance, her feet sliding precariously close to the butte’s deadly edge. She didn’t scream until she realized she’d lost the battle and her feet left the butte as she plunged downward.