Goldie, buried in a mound of quilts, had slipped into a light slumber. Earlier, she’d found one of Dani’s flannel nightgowns and a pair of Phoebe’s Snoopy slippers for her icy feet. Luke was uneasy with the question of a concussion still unresolved. The last time he’d checked, her pupils were normal and responsive to light, but she also had three nasty bumps on various sides of her noggin. He’d feel better when she could be checked into the hospital, but for now the storm had settled in over them like a broody hen.

He should phone his mom or she’d pin his ears back for making her worry. He could feel it, even with miles and Mother Nature between them. He felt reluctant to call her or his brothers. He hadn’t planned this. So why didn’t he want to talk about it? He tried the words out in his head, but nothing sounded right. Just thinking about telling his mother made him feel exposed, uncomfortable. Because he was an adult, he pressed himself harder. What was he afraid she would pick up on?

It wasn’t hard to figure out. Against his better instincts, he felt attracted to Goldie. He’d have to be made of rock not to feel his senses stirring under the circumstances. He was a man, alone in the wilds with a beautiful woman. Trouble was, he’d come here to find closure, not to rev his motor over someone who didn’t even know her name. Plus, he didn’t want to get teased about it. His brothers could squeeze more mileage out of random chance than anyone he knew. They’d sense his guilt and, like sharks who smell blood, they'd be after him with about as much mercy. He needed to know more about Goldie before he exposed them both to that. He didn’t like questions without answers.

It was odd, her showing up here on the same day he happened to be coming. The only person who knew he was coming here was Dani. If there was a malignant purpose in Goldie’s presence, it wasn’t directed at him. Had she really lost her memory? When he looked into her eyes, he believed her. Now that her remarkable eyes were closed…he wasn’t so sure. It was time to start thinking like a cop. The only clues he had, except for the lady herself, were her clothes. Or what was left of them.

He picked up her blue jeans. The fabric was soft, comfortable, and well worn. No laundry marks or tags. Nothing in the pockets but some bits of lint. Not surprising, since most women carried a purse. She’d probably lost it when she fell. Her shredded cotton tee shirt was also soft from multiple washings and without pockets. An experienced hiker, she’d spent her money on her jacket and boots, which looked worn but cared for. The boots were scuffed from her tumble but had survived better than the jacket. In addition to the bullet hole in the sleeve, he found more rips than he could count. The pockets yielded a set of keys and an innocuous shopping list.

He studied the handwriting. It was precise and graceful, very legible, and a bit old-fashioned. The list looked like what he’d buy for a high-energy hike. The keys were hanging from a Harry Potter key ring. There was also an anonymous security card key, but no identifying initials, either personal or professional. Two of the keys could have been house or apartment keys. A car key and a computer lock key. The rest were too anonymous to speculate about.

He started to toss her jacket back onto the chair, but stopped when a hard object banged against his leg. He felt the body of the jacket and found it in the lining. An inside seam gave way when pressure was applied. Velcro closed the opening. He pulled it open and found a nifty looking personal digital assistant. It looked a bit like the PDA Dani had bought for Matt. Dani loved technology toys like Harry Potter loved Hogwarts. He flipped open the cover and found a power button. When the screen flickered to life, a password prompt appeared, denying him access to its contents. For the first time in a year, he wished he had Dewey Hyatt close to hand. If anyone could crack this puppy, it was Hyatt.

Interesting that she’d stowed it inside her coat like that. Why hide it—unless she had something to hide? And if she was faking her memory loss, what did she gain?

Time, which the storm gave her anyway, but she hadn’t known that when she woke up.

Freedom from explanations? If she were involved in something illegal, finding herself alone with a cop would be a lot of motivation to play dumb. With those eyes and that face she could convince Clinton to be good. He may be too old for her, but he wasn’t immune. There was no way to think his way to a solution. He had no facts and precious few clues. Unless he quit thinking like a cop and turned into a psychic—which wasn’t likely to happen. All roads led back to Goldie. As if on cue, she whimpered in her sleep. Her head whipping in one direction, then the other. She moaned, her movements becoming more frantic in the short time it took him to reach her side.

He hesitated, then touched her shoulder, afraid to wake her too fast.

“Goldie?”

She gasped once more, then her eyes popped open. “No!”

“You’re safe, Goldie,” he said. “It’s just a nightmare.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him, for a moment not sure who he was or where she was. Luke. Cabin. Mountains. Colorado. Right. She rubbed her face as images from her dreams slipped around in her head, too fast for her to hold onto specifics, leaving behind the sense they’d been menacing. She inched her way upright, her muscles protesting. A faint, minatory voice from out of the mist ordered her to sit up straight with her knees together. She knew that voice, but before she could name it, it retreated back into the mist, satisfied she was behaving like a lady.

“How’s the head?”

“It’s fine, thank you.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.” The feelings from the dream were fading, though she wasn’t eager to risk sleeping again. The firelight flickered, casting shadows on the walls and on Luke’s face. It was peaceful, comforting, and intimate. “Don’t let me keep you. It must be very late.”

“After one and I can’t sleep either.” Luke settled in the chair closest to her. “Want to try your hand at Trivia? Might trigger a memory.”

She nodded, despite a reluctance to trigger more memories. What are you afraid of, Goldie?

She watched Luke unearth the game from a chest in one corner. He switched on the light, sending many of the shadows scampering into the far corners. She didn’t mind. She could see him better. She enjoyed the way he moved and the confident sway of his shoulders. That voice from the mist tried to censure her, but it was faint and easy to ignore. He turned, almost catching her staring. She hurried into distracting speech, “You said something about brothers earlier, didn’t you?”

Luke pulled the coffee table between them and opened the box. “Two. Both younger than me.”

What if she had brothers or sisters? Or parents still living? Would they be looking for her? Worried about her? She felt alone, but that didn’t mean that she was. That there weren’t people who needed her, loved her. What if it was family that was the burden she was escaping from? Goldie chose her piece. It felt odd and unfamiliar in her hand. Did that mean she’d never played the game before? “Tell me about them.”

Tell me about you, was what she wanted to say. She didn’t know this man. He could be the reason she was here. Part of some elaborate plan. Of course, that assumed she was important enough for a plan, elaborate or not. She didn’t feel important. Or dangerous enough to shoot at.

All she had was her instincts, and she didn’t know if she could trust them. Had they let her down in the past? Or steered her right? Did she have common sense? Or was she an airhead who was lucky to get from point A to point B? There was no way to know. She could resist the attraction that pulled her toward Luke. She could, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to feel responsible; she wanted to be free.

Free of what? Or was it who?

Was she married? Her mind rejected that vehemently. A glance at her hand reassured her. No ring and no sign there’d ever been a ring, though some people didn’t wear rings. She didn’t feel married. She felt…new. It felt lovely to be here, to smile at Luke while he talked and rolled the dice. She liked his laugh. It was deep and infectious. She laughed with him. It hurt, but felt good, too. She needed the endorphins.

Endorphins? Maybe she was a doctor.