silently stealing over her, one uneasy moment at a time. Like today.
She twisted her head over her shoulder to study the trail she and Shelby had just traversed. A sense of doom dogged her on the hike, a feeling of being watched and followed. It started with the stranger in the car and picked up with the flowers left on her porch two days ago and then again today. Most women would be thrilled with a secret admirer. She wasn’t most women.
The flowers could’ve come from a neighbor. Julia massaged her temples. And she didn’t own this trail. Locals and tourists alike took the mile hike up to the rock formations known as “The Twirling Ballerinas.” Anyone could’ve been hiking behind them.
Why didn’t they answer when she called out?
Julia cradled the bluebells in her palms and buried her face in their fresh fragrance. Too bad the flowers weren’t forget-me-nots.
Maybe then she could remember who she was, remember Shelby’s father, and remember what shadowy menace stalked her.
Shelby’s hands, smelling of moist dirt, pulled at Julia’s fingers. “Peekaboo.”
Smiling, Julia spread her fingers wide. “Peekaboo to you.”
Whatever happened in her past, it brought Shelby into her life so it couldn’t have been all doom and gloom. Her daughter’s laughter acted like a ray of sunshine capable of piercing the solid block of ice, which was all that remained of Julia’s memory despite Dr. Jim Brody’s best efforts.
Shelby shrieked, “No, peekaboo to you.”
“Can anyone play this game?”
Gasping, Julia dropped her hands and pulled Shelby against her body before the intruder’s voice registered. Shelby squirmed in her arms, and Julia loosened her grip as Clem Stoker came into view, his shaggy gray eyebrows drawn together over his nose.
Shelby scampered toward Clem and threw her arms around his legs. “Uncle Clem.”
Julia swallowed the lump in her throat. Of course Clem wasn’t Shelby’s uncle. Shelby didn’t have an uncle or a family or a father, at least none that Julia could remember, but Clem treated them like family as did many of the residents of Silverhill after Julia’s accident.
“How’s my buttercup?” He lifted her up in the air and swung her around, shifting his gaze to Julia. “Are you okay, Julia? I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. Just when the residents of Silverhill had stopped tiptoeing on eggshells around her, she had to jump at rustling leaves. “Did you just come up the trail behind us?”
“No.” Clem hoisted Shelby on his shoulders. “I’m on my way back from The Twirling Ballerinas. Are you headed that way or do you want to hike back to town with me?”
“We’ll go back with you.” She hated the tremor in her voice. She knew she had a backbone. It came in handy when she recovered from the injuries she sustained from the car wreck and gave birth to Shelby six weeks later amid strangers.
She fingered the gold chain around her neck with Julia written in script, the only clue to her identity and a past she couldn’t reclaim, not even with the help of a hypnotist in Denver, Dr. Jim, her psychologist in Durango, and local media coverage.
She stopped her search when the marriage proposals started pouring in and strange people cropped up to claim her as family.
A sense of dread smothered her each time someone called professing to be her husband, mother, sister or fiancé. She knew in her heart she didn’t want her past to find her. The car accident hadn’t caused her black eye.
“Come on then.” Clem extended his weather-beaten hand to her, and she gripped it. “Good thing I came along. You’re too frail to carry Shelby back, and I think she’s getting tired.”
“I’m not frail,” Julia snapped and then covered her mouth.
“I didn’t mean it like that, honey.” Clem patted her shoulder.
“You’ve got more gumption than most men twice your size, but you don’t have much meat on your bones and this little lady is getting bigger every day.”
He tickled Shelby’s calf, and she plowed her heel into his chest.
“Shelby, be careful. If you want to ride on Clem’s shoulders, sit still.”
Clem laughed. “See what I mean? She’s a rambunctious buttercup.”
Shelby loved the word and repeated “bumptious, bumptious, bumptious,” each time Clem bounced her on his shoulders.
By the time they reached the end of the trail, which spilled onto Silverhill’s main street, they were all singing a made-up song about bumptious buttercups. Julia took deep, cleansing breaths of the mountain air, stuffing her previous panic on the dusty shelf of her former life.
They rounded a corner onto the street, and a tall man in jeans and a white cowboy hat glanced up after smacking the back of another man getting into a car.
Julia’s pulse ticked up a notch. Strangers. She pulled in a breath and rolled her shoulders back. Tourists.
“Lordy, lordy.” Clem stopped beside her, giving Shelby one last bounce on his shoulders. “Look who the cat dragged in. You look like hell, boy.”
If that tall, rangy man with the wide shoulders and tight jeans looked like hell, send her straight to the devil. She grinned at her visceral response to the stranger. It had been a long time since she felt that gut-wrenching lust for a man.
“Sorry, Julia.” Clem covered Shelby’s ears a little too late.
The man took a step forward, his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide. His tanned face blanched and he reached forward with an unsteady hand.
He looked like he was seeing a ghost…and he was staring right at her.
THROUGH THE ROARING in his ears, Ryder McClintock heard Clem’s voice saying his name, but he couldn’t respond. All his muscles seized up and his feet felt rooted to the ground.
A crease formed between Julia’s eyebrows and she tilted her head to the side, long brown hair sliding across her shoulder. She had different hair and different clothes, but unless he was in the middle of a dream, Julia Rousseau stood before him in the flesh.
“Ryder, what’s the matter?” Clem ambled forward and shook his hand, slapping him on the back. Then he reached up to steady the little girl on his shoulders. “You been away so long, the altitude got to you?”
The fog lifted and pinpricks of excitement raced up his spine. She had come to him. Julia had come to him.
“Julia, you’re here.” Ryder twisted away from Clem and reached for her.
Stumbling back, Julia put her hands up. “Who are you?”
Her words punched him in the gut and he nearly doubled over. Was this some kind of game? Did she want to punish him for leaving her? She, more than anyone, knew he had no choice.
“Julia, it’s me, Ryder. Why didn’t you write to me? Why didn’t you answer my letters?”
Clem choked and grabbed his shoulder. “Are you telling me you know Julia?”
Ryder swiveled his head around. Clem regarded him with the same open-mouthed astonishment that Ryder had bestowed on Julia. Didn’t Julia tell the residents of Silverhill that she knew him?
“What the hell is going on?” Ryder shook his head and swept off his hat. His gaze darted between Julia and Clem, and he plowed his fingers through his hair. “Didn’t you tell them?”
The blankness of her face pierced his heart. She didn’t recognize him. Three and a half years, and she didn’t recognize him. Something else in her expression twisted the dagger even deeper—panic. Julia feared him.
“Don’t