time.
Nothing about him was reserved or unsure. He crossed the room with strong, bold steps—each one speaking of confidence and ability. A man on a mission, he knew what he wanted and went after it. This was his realm, his arena and you played by his rules. Mesa Ridge, Nevada, may be a million miles from nowhere, but it was definitely Joe Mountain’s town.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he crossed the room toward her.
“F-fine,” she stammered, feeling heat rise in her cheeks and banking down her nerves. “I’m feeling fine, thank you.”
“I understand you had quite a morning.” It was a statement, not a question or an inquiry and there was nothing empathetic or particularly charitable in his tone. His voice was as devoid of emotion as his expression appeared to be.
“They ran tests, yes,” she told him, brushing off the tedious hours in the lab with a casual wave of her hand. “And I saw the doctor again.”
“I have a few questions, if you’re feeling up to it—about last night. About what you remember.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said with a small shrug, telling herself it was foolish to feel disappointed. This was the shadowy figure from her dreams, the one she’d hoped would come find her, the one she’d hoped would make her feel safe and secure again. Only he had found her and she was feeling anything but safe and secure now. “I just don’t know how much help I’ll be.”
“I talked with Cruz—Dr. Martinez,” he said, setting his hat on the nightstand beside the bed and reaching for a tablet from the pocket of his shirt. “He’s given me a pretty clear picture of your injuries and the memory loss.”
“Yes,” she mumbled, picturing the two men discussing her. The thought made her awkward, self-conscious. What had they said about her? What was it Joe Mountain had asked about her?
Turning away, she suddenly became distracted by the comb in the bed table. A lot of good it would do her now. She didn’t know if she’d always been concerned about her appearance, but she seemed to be concerned about it now—or at least she was since Sheriff Mountain walked in.
“So just to clarify things, is it correct to say you have no memory of anything before waking up in the desert?”
She looked up at him, forgetting about the comb and her vanity. “That’s right.”
“Nothing?”
She thought of the black hole in her memory and slowly shook her head. “Not a thing.”
“So you don’t have any idea why you might have been out in such a remote area, don’t know how you got there?”
“That’s right.”
He flipped through the pages of his tablet. “Let’s talk about the desert, then. Why don’t you tell me the first thing you do remember?”
She closed her eyes, trying not to think about the gnawing fear she remembered. “The rain.”
He looked up from his notes. “The rain?”
She nodded. “Against my face. I was lying there looking up at the clouds and it kept getting in my eyes.”
“So you were on the ground?”
Rain opened her eyes and looked up at him. “I guess I was. I never thought about it really, but I guess you’re right. I was lying on the ground.”
“As though you’d fallen?”
She thought about it a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. At least, I don’t remember falling.” She gave her head another shake and shrugged. “But then I suppose I could have. I don’t really remember.”
“And after that? You were lying looking up at the clouds and it was raining. What happened then?”
She closed her eyes again. “I remember my head hurting and when I got to my feet I felt dizzy.”
“Did you see anything then—around you I mean? Was there anyone with you? Was there a car there? Any people?”
She opened her eyes, knowing she would never forget the cold, desolate feeling she’d had. “No, nothing.”
He thought for a moment, then made a notation in the tablet. “You were near the highway?”
“No,” she said, looking up at him. “I—uh—I remember because I didn’t know which way to go. It was raining so hard and the ground was wet and muddy.” She didn’t like thinking about how lost and alone she had felt or how faint and ineffectual her screams had sounded. “I just started to run.”
Something flashed in his eyes when he looked at her, something she would have sworn was soft and compassionate, but it was so fast and so fleeting, she couldn’t be sure.
“So you pretty much just stumbled upon the highway?”
“Pretty much. I had no idea where I was. It was getting darker and I confess, the thought of being out there alone in the middle of the night…” A clutch of emotion had the words catching in her throat and she put her head back against the pillows.
“Are you all right? Need something?”
She shook her head, taking several deep breaths and feeling her composure restoring. “No, I’m fine, honestly. I just don’t like…it’s a little difficult to think about it. Coming to like that, in the middle of nowhere and not remembering…”
Once again emotion had her strangling on the words and she squeezed her eyes tight against the sting of tears. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, I’m not normally so emotional….” She realized what she’d said and looked up at him, feeling almost as lost and as helpless as she had out in the desert. “At least I don’t think so,” she said with a humorless laugh. “But the truth is, I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
Joe reached for a box of tissues from the nightstand and offered them to her. “We could do this another time, if you like. Maybe when you’re feeling a little stronger.”
“No, I’m fine,” she insisted, pulling tissues from the box. Everything about him spoke of strength and courage, of power and determination. She felt weak crying in front of him and for reasons she didn’t quite understand, she didn’t want him to think of her as weak. “It just bothers me to think about it, to not be able to remember. It’s very…frustrating.”
It was also very terrifying, but she didn’t feel she needed to make that confession.
“That’s understandable.” He walked to the chair beside the bed, gesturing to it. “May I?”
“Oh, please, yes,” she said, blotting her cheeks dry. “Sit down.”
He pulled the chair close and lowered his tall frame into it. “So once you’d come to, you’d started walking.”
“That’s right.” Her nose was stuffy and probably needed a good blowing, but that phantom vanity had her refraining from doing so. It was bad enough that her hair was snarled and her face was completely devoid of makeup.
“Do you have any idea how long you might have walked around out there?”
Rain remembered the bitter cold and her aching muscles. “It seemed like forever. I can’t really say, but it seemed like a long time.”
“Hours do you think?”
“At least.”
“And you were walking that whole time.”
“Except when I ran.”
He looked up from his tablet. “Ran?”
“Like in circles,” she confessed. “Panic, I guess.”
“I suppose that would be understandable, too.”
She watched as he looked down at the