Where the hell had she come from?

Sheriff Joe Mountain glanced at the woman on the seat beside him. She didn’t need to be conscious to tell him something had happened out there. He might not have lived on the reservation in years, but there was enough Navaho left in him to know something was out of harmony.

Wandering around in rainy weather like this, she had to be half-frozen. Joe reached across the seat, running the backs of his fingers along her cheek. Even against his cold hands, her skin felt like ice. Yet frigid skin and drenched hair couldn’t hide her delicate features. She was a beautiful woman.

How had she ended up in a place like this? The fear he’d seen in her eyes before she’d collapsed was something he would never forget.

“What’s got you so frightened, rain lady? What can I do to help you?”

Dear Reader,

Valentine’s Day is here this month, and what better way to celebrate the spirit of romance than with six fabulous novels from Silhouette Intimate Moments? Kathleen Creighton’s The Awakening of Dr. Brown is one of those emotional tours de force that will stay in your mind and your heart long after you’ve turned the last page. With talent like this, it’s no wonder Kathleen has won so many awards for her writing. Join Ethan Brown and Joanna Dunn on their journey into the heart. You’ll be glad you did.

A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY continues with Someone To Watch Over Her, a suspenseful and sensuous Caribbean adventure by Margaret Watson. Award winner Marie Ferrarella adds another installment to her CHILDFINDERS, INC. miniseries with A Hero in Her Eyes, a real page-turner of a romance. Meet the second of bestselling author Ruth Langan’s THE SULLIVAN SISTERS in Loving Lizbeth—and look forward to third sister Celeste’s appearance next month. Reader favorite Rebecca Daniels is finally back with Rain Dance, a gripping amnesia story. And finally, check out Renegade Father by RaeAnne Thayne, the stirring tale of an irresistible Native American hero and a lady rancher.

All six of this month’s books are guaranteed to keep you turning pages long into the night, so don’t miss a single one. And be sure to come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romantic reading around—right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Rain Dance
Rebecca Daniels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

REBECCA DANIELS

will never forget the first time she read a Silhouette novel. “I was at my sister’s house, sitting by the pool and trying without much success to get interested in the book I’d brought from home. Everything seemed to distract me—the dog, the kids, the seagulls. Finally my sister plucked the book from my hands, told me she was going to give me something I wouldn’t be able to put down and handed me my first Silhouette novel. Guess what? She was right! For that lazy afternoon by her pool, I will forever be grateful.” From that day on, Rebecca has been writing romance novels and loving every minute of it.

Born in the Midwest but raised in Southern California, she now resides in the scenic coastal community of Santa Barbara with her two sons. She loves early morning walks along the beach, bicycling, hiking, an occasional round of golf and hearing from her fans. You can write to Rebecca in care of Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd St., New York, NY 10017.

TYVMFE!—and for the morning crew at Goleta Beach:

the doctor, Richard K., Stony, the car salesman,

and the boys on the pier—from the girls.

Anyone for coffee?

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

Mesa County Sheriff Joe Mountain slammed down hard on the brakes, locking all four tires on the sturdy four-wheel-drive Jeep vehicle and causing it to careen across the wet pavement to a violent stop. His heart pounded in his chest, reverberating in his ears to blend with the frantic rhythm of the wipers as they furiously moved back and forth across the windshield.

“What the hell?” he murmured aloud, leaning forward in the seat. The wind howled, catching the rain and sending it sheeting across the glass in giant waves. He squinted, trying to make out the image coming toward him on the pavement, but his vision was too blurred, too distorted despite the wipers’ best efforts to clear it.

A wounded animal, he thought, rubbing at the inside of the window with the sleeve of his jacket. A coyote maybe, or a mountain lion—or maybe several of them, judging from the size. His gaze narrowed farther, straining to see. A healthy animal would have taken shelter in higher ground long ago.

His hand automatically reached for a switch, bringing the patrol lights alive on the roof of the car, then for the leather strap of the shotgun holster mounted on the dash of the Jeep. Approaching a wounded animal would be too dangerous, even if he did just want to help it, but a couple of shots fired into the air might frighten it off the road. On the highway it posed a hazard and could cause an accident—like the deadly accident he’d just finished investigating and had brought him out to this desolate part of the county in the first place.

But the hand on the holster strap suddenly froze as the moving figure began to take shape and form—and the form it took wasn’t that of a coyote. The figure emerging out of the darkness of the storm and into the glow of his headlights was decidedly human, and decidedly female.

A woman.

She couldn’t stop shivering, even though she’d stopped feeling her arms and legs long ago. Rendered numb by the bitter wind and rain, she was only vaguely aware of the cold now, and yet she trembled. The fear was still there, still lurking in the blackness that had existed for her before the rain.

She had no idea how long she’d been walking, but it had been long enough to crush the initial panic—panic that had sent her running aimlessly through the desert and screaming at the top of her lungs. At the moment she was more concerned about finding someplace dry, someplace safe, than trying to figure out what had happened and why.

She wouldn’t call it a nightmare; it was far worse than that. It felt more like something out of a dark, depressing novel, something existential and surreal and completely without cause—only if it was, she couldn’t remember now. All she knew for certain was she was alive—she had to be. If death was a void, this was too terrifying for that.

There was nothing empty, nothing vacant in the place she found herself. It was filled with harsh, brutal feelings and cold, unyielding reality. It was more a displacement of her life than a dissolution. She had opened her eyes to a time and a place she didn’t recognize, to a world she didn’t know.

“Stranger in a strange land,” she muttered aloud, the harsh wind catching her words and sending them flying. She stopped walking, something flickering in her brain. There was something vaguely familiar about the phrase, something almost recognizable—the first recognizable thing she’d found in this terrible place. But it was vague, and there only for a moment. Soon the familiarity was gone, blown from her memory like words on the wind.

She started walking again, and trembling. Where was she? How did she get there, and when could she leave? Why could she remember nothing, and what had been there before the void and the blackness?

Where had she been before she’d been here?

She glanced down at the corduroy blazer and slacks she had on. They were soaked through, and clung to her exhausted body like a second skin. She felt no ownership, no connection to them. They looked alien and unfamiliar to her, just like this barren world around her.

When the lights first appeared over the horizon, her initial instinct had been to run, to hide, but she fought the fear. Darkness was falling fast, and the thought of being alone in a world of blackness was more terrifying than those small, ominous lights moving over the horizon like eyes of the monster seeking her out.

“Stop,” she said, the word taking more energy than she’d expected. Suddenly she was running, running toward the light, her deadened arms waving above her. “Please. Please stop.”

Joe stepped out of the car, one hand carefully hovering over the holstered gun inside his jacket.

“Stop right there, ma’am. Don’t move.”

“Please,” she said, staggering a few steps forward. “Please…please help me.”

“I said stop,” he demanded, raising a hand up. “Don’t come any closer.”

But she did come closer, stumbling and weaving, her footsteps growing more erratic, more uneven the nearer she got.

“Oh, please,” she pleaded again, ignoring his orders. “Help me. Please help—”

She fell forward, lunging toward him with both arms outstretched. Reflex had him diving forward, had him reaching for her. Procedure would have been to let her fall, would have been not to drop his guard until he’d assessed the situation completely—and this whole thing had the earmarks of a setup. She could have lured him to stop, could have a band of cohorts hiding out of sight, ready to swoop down and jump him the moment his back was turned. Only…for some reason, he had been unable to let her fall. For the first time in his professional life, Joe Mountain forgot about procedure, forgot about suspicion and precaution—and he forgot about the gun in his holster. There had been something in her cry for help, something that couldn’t be faked or fabricated and the look on her face had told him all he’d needed to know. This was no setup, no highway crime in progress. She wasn’t lying in wait, she was terrified and he had to help.

Reaching out, he caught her in his arms, carefully lowering her to the pavement and pillowing her head in his arms. Rain and wind pelted them and he shielded her as best he could.

“Ma’am, can you hear?” He felt for a pulse in her neck and at her wrist. “Wake up. Can you hear me?”

She gave no response, but he could feel the soft, steady throb of a pulse beneath her chin.

He glanced up, looking for signs of a disabled vehicle—skid marks, spilled oil, highway debris, a suitcase, a purse—anything that might explain what had happened to her, but there was nothing.

“Ma’am,” he said again, looking back down at her and giving her cheek a tap with the palm of his hand. “Can you hear me?”

Her clothes were drenched, and her long hair streaked down her face. She looked as though she’d been wandering around out there for a while. Running a hand inside her jacket, and around the pockets of her slacks, he felt for evidence of a wallet, of car keys, but her pockets were empty.

“Ma’am, wake up. I’m a police officer, I’m going to get you to a hospital. You’re going to be okay.” He cupped her chin in his palm and gave her head a small shake. “Can you hear me?”

She breathed out a groan, and her head fell to one side. Then suddenly, with no other warning, her eyes popped open and her head sprang up.

“Logan, no,” she screamed, clutching at his jacket. “No, Logan, Loga—”

“L-Logan?” Joe stammered, overwhelmed by the sudden outburst.

But she didn’t answer him. With her head falling back, she slipped into unconsciousness again.

“Ma’am?” Joe said, giving her a small shake. “Ma’am?”

Only, there was no reaction this time. A sudden bolt from the clouds sent a brilliant flash of white light over everything, and a thunderous roar from the sky above.

Gathering her up into his arms, Joe carried her to the passenger side of his vehicle, carefully lowering her into the front seat. Securing the seat belt around her, he closed the door tightly.

Stepping away from the car, he took a moment to scan the area. But with the wind whipping at the rain and sending it stinging into his eyes, it was impossible to see more than a few feet. Turning, he made his way back around the car, and climbed inside.

“Base station, this is mobile one, do you read me?” he said, flipping on the radio and looking at the woman slumped against the back of the seat beside him. “Ryan, come on, answer damn it. Do you read me?”

He waited a few anxious seconds for his deputy to respond, the water dripping from the brim of his hat making a small pool on the seat. The storm had made the radio useless all day, but he had to try, had to make an effort.

“Base station, this is mobile one, do you copy?” he said, his impatience growing. “Work, you stupid thing,” he growled, giving the radio a slam with the flat of his hand. “Work!” But there was only static on the line, making him all the more furious. “Piece of sh—” He slammed the microphone down, flipping the radio off and shifting the car into gear.

The thick tires of the Jeep squealed loudly against the wet blacktop as he put the pedal to the metal and started down the highway. Glancing at the woman beside him, he swore under his breath.

Where the hell had she come from? What was she doing out here in the middle of nowhere? He needed to investigate, to look around and try to figure out what had happened, but that required time and decent weather—neither of which he had at the moment. What he did have was a useless radio, and an unconscious woman who needed immediate medical attention and about sixty miles of highway between them and the hospital.

As the Jeep picked up speed, he flipped on his siren and glanced out the windows at the nearly dark countryside. It had been a cold, miserable day—starting at dawn with the report of a five-car pileup along the Nevada-Utah border.

Given the choice, he would have liked nothing more than to have weathered the miserable storm holed up in his office—warm and dry and comfortable. But this was Mesa County—his county—and that meant he didn’t have a choice. When something happened in this rugged, remote corner of the state, Sheriff Joe Mountain wanted to know all about it.

He glanced back to the woman on the seat beside him. She didn’t need to be conscious to tell him something had definitely happened out here, something pretty unusual. He may not have lived on the reservation in years, but there was enough Navajo left in him to know something was out of harmony, out of balance. In the dim light of the dashboard, her lips looked blue with cold and her skin was an ashen white. No wonder she’d collapsed. Wandering around in weather like this, she had to be half-frozen.

Wedging his knee against the steering wheel, he shrugged out of his jacket. The buckskin leather was soaked, but the white, wooly lining was warm and dry. With one hand, he covered her with the coat, tucking it around her tight.

Looking at her, he felt something tighten in his chest. This whole thing had him feeling restless and unsettled. Things didn’t fit; she didn’t fit. She didn’t belong here, wasn’t dressed for rough weather and rough country. She looked more like she belonged in a trendy coffeehouse somewhere sipping caffe lattes, or shopping in some stylish boutique.

He reached across the seat, running the backs of his fingers along her cheek. Even against his cold hands, her skin felt like ice. Yet frigid skin and drenched hair couldn’t hide her delicate features. He might be a cop investigating a possible accident or potential crime, but he was also a man, and he would have had to be dead not to notice just how lovely she was. She was a beautiful woman—a very beautiful woman. She had an almost perfect face—delicate, refined, feminine—which only added to his uneasiness. How did someone like her end up in a place like this?

Reaching down, he adjusted the heater vents, directing them toward her, and let his foot press down harder on the gas. Looking through the windshield at the road ahead, he shifted uneasily against the seat. He’d been a law enforcement officer for nearly fifteen years, and he’d seen a lot in that time—tragic accidents, grisly crime scenes. But the fear he had seen in her eyes that moment before she’d collapsed was something he would never forget.

“What’s got you so frightened, rain lady? Is it Logan?” he said, reaching across the seat and running a finger down her cheek again. “Is Logan what sent you running into my county?”

“So what do you think, Doc?”

“I don’t know,” Cruz Martinez mumbled, letting the eyelid of the woman on the gurney gently close and flipping the tiny beam of his penlight off.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Joe insisted, stepping to one side to let two paramedics push past him. “You’re a doctor, you should be able to tell something.”

“You’re right, I’m a doctor, not a fortune-teller,” Cruz said, straightening up. He reached for the end of the gurney and pushed it toward the doors of Mesa County General’s ER. “Joe, come on, give me a break. The woman just got here.”

“Okay, all right, okay,” he conceded, grabbing the other side of the gurney and helping him push it through the doors and into the crowded emergency room. “But she’ll be all right, won’t she? You think she’s going to be okay, don’t you—”

“Joe,” Cruz said, cutting him off. He gestured to one of the nurses, who rushed to assist him. “Give me a few minutes, let me see what we’ve got here and then I’ll let you know.”

“Sure, sure, okay,” Joe said, following the gurney past the nurses’ desk and through the swinging doors to the examination rooms. “But—”

“Joe,” Cruz said in a calm voice, stopping him at the entrance of the examination room. “Let me do my job.” He reached up, catching hold of the curtain and giving it a yank. “So then you can do yours.”

“Right,” Joe said with a resigned sigh as Cruz slid the curtain closed between them. “I’ll, uh, just be outside,” he said to no one in particular.

Turning around, he slowly made his way back through the swinging doors and to the long row of chairs in the emergency waiting room. Sitting down, he slipped off his damp cowboy hat and rubbed at his tired, scratchy eyes.

He knew he was being unreasonable, knew he had to be patient and just cool his heels until Cruz had a chance to examine her, he just didn’t feel like waiting. He’d been waiting for the last hour it had taken to drive back to Mesa Ridge—an hour the “rain woman” had spent unconscious.

Rain Woman. That was how he’d come to think of her—woman of the rain. He lived and worked in the world of the white man, but his mind and his soul were still Navajo, still relating everything to the elemental basics in life—sun, moon, earth, sky, wind and rain. She had come into his world with the rain, so to him she was Rain.

“Rain,” he muttered, thinking of the woman who was as puzzling, as enigmatic as the elements themselves. It was time to balance the scales, to put the world back in its place again. He’d waited, now he wanted action. He had questions, now he wanted answers. It was time for balance.

“You look like you could use this.”

Joe looked up, surprised to see Cruz Martinez’s wife, Marcy, standing in front of him with a foam cup of coffee in her hand. “Marcy, hello. What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was hoping to get my husband out of here at a reasonable hour, but…” She stopped and glanced back at the doors leading to the examination rooms. “You pretty much took care of that.”

Joe grimaced apologetically. “Sorry about that.”

“I’m getting used to it,” Marcy confessed with a resigned sigh, turning back to him and offering him the steaming cup of coffee. “I was just hoping we could have a few hours together this evening since I’ll be taking off for the state capital tomorrow.”

“Giving up the bench for the governor’s office?”

Marcy laughed. “Just hearing a change of venue case up there for a few weeks.” She looked down at the cup in her hand. “Here, drink this before it gets cold.”

Joe smiled up at her. He’d barely known Marcy when she’d married Cruz two years ago, but since then he’d come to not only like her, but admire her as well. In addition to being a devoted wife and mother, she was also a Mesa County Superior Court Judge.

“Thanks,” he said, taking several sips of hot brew, savoring its black, bitter taste.

“Better?”

Joe nodded. “Much.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, Sheriff Mountain, you look a little like a drowned rat.”

“I don’t mind, Your Honor,” he admitted. “I happen to feel a little like a drowned rat at the moment.”

She gestured back to the examination rooms with a nod of her head. “Accident victim?”

Joe shook his head slowly, glancing at the closed doors, and shook his head. “Got me.”

Marcy frowned. “You don’t know?”

Joe thought of the woman, thought of Rain and the million scenarios that had raced through his mind when he’d seen her step out of the gloom and into the beam of his headlights. He would have found it less puzzling, less unsettling if she’d done something simple, like pull a gun on him. At least things would have been clear then, cut-and-dried. At least it would have explained what she was doing out there.

“No, I don’t,” he said after a moment, his gaze slowly moving to Marcy’s. “I picked her up out on the highway. She was wandering around out there all by herself.”

“In this storm?” Marcy’s brow furrowed. “Poor thing. Where was this?”

“Out on Route 16,” Joe said, remembering the fear he had seen in her eyes. “About twenty miles south of the Hollister place.”

“The Hollister place!” Marcy gasped, her eyes wide with surprise now. “Way up there? What would she be doing wandering around there?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said with a tired sigh. The fatigue of a too long day with too little sleep had suddenly begun to take hold. “There was no car, no sign of an accident.”

Marcy’s frown deepened. “You suspect foul play?”

Joe shrugged. “At this point I’m looking at everything.” He slowly stood up, tossing the empty cup into the sand of the ashtray beside the chair. He turned and looked at the closed doors of the examination rooms. “She was unconscious when I brought her in, I’m hoping when she wakes up…” He stopped and glanced back to Marcy. “Well, I’d like to question her when she wakes up.”

“Cruz say what he thought was wrong with her?”

Joe thought of that curtain being closed in his face, and scowled. “Cruz didn’t say anything.”

Marcy smiled. “Yes, well, I know how that go— Oh, wait—here he is.”

Joe had to stop himself from running across the corridor to meet the doctor at the door.

“Is she okay, Doc?” he asked, surprised by the sound of alarm in his own voice. “Is she awake?”

“She’s awake,” Cruz said, spotting his wife and steering Joe back into the direction of the waiting area. “But she’s very weak.” He slipped an arm around Marcy’s waist, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Reluctantly, he turned back to Joe, swiping an arm across his forehead. “And she’s exhausted.”

“But can I talk to her?” Joe asked eagerly.

Cruz turned and looked at him. “I don’t think it’s going to do much good.”

Joe felt something go dead in him. “Why, what’s the matter?”

“She doesn’t remember.”

“What do you mean she doesn’t remember?”

“She doesn’t remember,” Cruz said again. “She doesn’t remember anything.” He glanced down at Marcy, then back to Joe. “What we have here is a case of amnesia.”

Chapter 2

“Good morning, Miss Rain.”

The voice came from out of the darkness, sounding bright and sunny and safe. It reached down into the shadows like a hand extending out to her and she felt herself struggling, felt herself reaching. She wanted that hand, wanted up and out of the gloom.

“Rise and shine, it’s not raining this morning. Maybe we should call you Sunshine now.”

Suddenly her head was filled with sound and shafts of light pierced the layers of her eyelids, obliterating the darkness and sending the nightmare to the back of her brain. Thank God, it had been a dream. It all had been just a terrible dream.

“Come on now, sleepyhead, open up those eyes. Breakfast is being served. We’ve got to get you fed and down to the lab for a whole pack of tests the doctor has planned for you. Come on now, wake up. I know you wouldn’t want to miss any of the fun.”

Noise and light assaulted her, making her forget about panic and fear. She welcomed the chaos, welcomed the voice that coaxed her awake. She wanted to open her eyes and have her world made right again.

“What do we have here? Ah yes, oatmeal—nice and lumpy—our kitchen’s specialty. Come on now, Miss Rain. Let me see those eyes open.”

The light was blinding at first, painful and unyielding against eyes accustomed only to darkness. Still, it felt warm and comforting against her skin. There was a moment when it seemed that her eyes had forgotten how to function, when she could make out nothing of what she saw and the world was reduced to indistinguishable, unrecognizable blurred images. However, slowly those blurry, distorted images came into focus and she found herself looking into a face that looked as kind and as friendly as its voice sounded.

“Atta girl. Let’s see those…” The voice drifted off as she leaned in for a closer look. “Looks like there might be some blue in there. Open them up darlin’. Let’s get a good look at those baby blues.”

Her throat felt raw and coarse and she thought of how small and lost her screams had sounded in the desert.

And then she remembered. She may be waking up, but the nightmare wasn’t over—and for a moment, panic put a stranglehold on her throat.

“Wh-where am I?”

“You’re in Mesa County General Hospital. Do you remember talking to the doctor last night?”

Jumbled, confused images of people and faces flashed suddenly into her brain and she remembered waking up to noise and confusion. How frightening it had been to wake up and find herself being poked and prodded by strangers, but at least she’d been out of the desert, at least she hadn’t been alone.

“He asked questions,” she croaked, lifting a hand to her throat. The words hurt. “He gave me a shot.”

“Something to help you rest,” the woman said. “But there’s no time to sleep now. Let’s get some food in you and get you down to the lab or Dr. Martinez is going to have my head on a platter.”

“I—I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember? You mean, talking to the doctor?”

She shook her head, pain radiating as dread rose up from her belly like a wave on the shore. “You—you don’t understand. I don’t remember anything.”

“When you’re ready you will,” the woman said breezily, maneuvering the control switch along the bed frame and raising the back of the bed. “And these tests may help.”

“Tests?” It was only then that she realized the woman was wearing a nurse’s uniform. “They’ll help me remember?”

“Well, not the tests themselves,” the nurse qualified. “But they’ll help the doctor know just what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours.”

“I—I don’t remember how…” she stammered, wincing as her hand brushed the hair along the back of her head. “I don’t know how that bump on my head happened, either.”

“Try not to think about all that too much right now,” the nurse advised. “It’s not going to help if you’re upset.” She propped the pillows. “Now come on, Rain. Eat your breakfast.”

She looked down at the food in front of her, the smell triggering a violent reaction in her stomach. “I—I’m not hungry.”

“Too bad,” the nurse said with a wry sigh, picking up the spoon and shoving it into her hand. “Hunger usually makes this stuff go down a little easier. Come on now, be a good girl. Dig in.”

She looked down at the spoon in her hand and then to the food on the tray. Everything in her system wanted to revolt, wanted to protest the sight and the aroma of the food. It was as if she’d left the nightmare only to awaken into a surreal dream. She was sitting in this strange place looking at food she didn’t want and having no idea how she got there. Slowly, she lowered the spoon to the tray and pushed it away.

“You called me something,” she said, falling back against the pillows. “Rain? Do you know me? Is that my name?”

The nurse shook her head, sliding the tray back into place. “No, sweetheart, I’m afraid I don’t know.” She picked up the spoon and scooped it full of oatmeal. “We’ve been calling you Rain. That’s what Sheriff Mountain called you.”

“Sheriff Mountain?”

The nurse nodded. “He brought you in last night.” She lifted the spoon. “He’s the one who found you wandering around out there.”

“Sheriff Mountain,” she murmured, remembering the headlights of a car, remembering a tall, dark, shadowy figure stepping in front of them and remembering a soft voice and strong arms that felt warm and secure.

“Would you prefer I call you something else?”

She looked up at the nurse. Rain. She liked the name, liked the sound of it. It didn’t make her think of the freezing, pelting rain but rather the strong arms that brought her rescue and warmth.

Her name was Rain. Knowing that made her feel better, made her feel less afraid. With a name, she was a real person. With a name, she had something to hold on to.

She squeezed her eyes tight, feeling the panic rise from the depths again. Who was she really? Where did she come from? What had happened to her and why?

“No,” she mumbled, opening her eyes. “Rain’s fine.”

“Okay then, Rain,” the nurse coaxed with the spoonful of oatmeal. “Just a little.”

Rain looked at the oatmeal and felt her stomach roll. In the long list of things she couldn’t remember, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, either. Gingerly, she opened her mouth.

“Good girl,” the nurse commended as she watched Rain take a bite. “That doesn’t taste too awfully bad, now does it?”

A warm, rich flavor filled her senses and Rain reached for the spoon, shoveling in another mouthful. It was delicious.

“Want me to pour you a glass of milk?” the nurse asked.

Rain nodded, gobbling up another bite. “You said this was Mesa County General Hospital?” The nurse nodded as she poured milk from a small carton and into a glass on the tray. “Where’s that?”

“Mesa Ridge. In Nevada,” the nurse said, walking to the door and pulling a wheelchair in from the corridor. “Sound familiar?”

Rain took several gulps of milk and shook her head. Reaching for a knife, she spread strawberry preserves over a slice of toast. “Not at all. Is it near Las Vegas? Reno?”

The nurse laughed. “Oh, Rain. Mesa Ridge, Nevada, is about as far away from everything as you can get.” Her smile slowly faded. “Which makes me think you’re not from around here.”

Rain finished the milk and reached for a glass of orange juice. “You don’t think so?”

“I don’t,” the nurse said thoughtfully.

“Why do you say that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You just don’t look the type.”

“I don’t?”

A random thought suddenly raced through her brain as she pierced an orange wedge with her fork from the fruit cup on the tray. Did she know what she looked like?

“I don’t know. You just look a little too…sophisticated for these parts. We don’t get a lot of corduroy blazers and penny loafers out this way. Besides, there may be a lot of land out here, a lot of wide-open spaces, but there aren’t that many people so we tend to keep track of one another. Someone from around here turns up missing, you tend to hear about it.”

Rain watched as the nurse fussed about her, adjusting the blankets on the bed, fluffing the already fluffed pillows, but her mind was remembering the shadowy figure that had reached for her in the headlights of the car. She remembered how warm and safe she had felt in his arms and longed for that feeling again.

“No one’s turned up missing around here?” she asked after a moment.

“Not that I’ve heard,” the nurse admitted. “And believe me, there isn’t much that happens in Mesa County that I don’t know about.” She paused for a moment, then pointed down at the tray. “And I’d say for someone who isn’t hungry, you did a pretty good job.”

Rain glanced down at the dishes, shocked to find them empty. “I—I had no idea….”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever known anyone to actually finish a bowl of our oatmeal before,” the nurse conceded, pulling a folded hospital robe from a drawer in the bed stand. “You must have been starvin’, darlin’.”

Rain had to admit she did feel better. The gnawing in her stomach had eased and her headache didn’t feel nearly as bad. “I didn’t even know I was hungry.”

“Maybe not,” the nurse said, handing her the robe. “But your body knew it needed some nutrition.” She pulled the covers on the bed back. “Now put that robe around you and let’s get you going.”

Rain looked down at the faded robe, then back up to the nurse. “Is there a mirror in here?”

The nurse hesitated for a moment, then something softened in her eyes.

“Right here,” she said, flipping back a plastic disk from a panel beside the bed, revealing a small lighted mirror on the other side. “And maybe I can scrounge up a hairbrush, too.”

Rain slowly leaned forward, almost reluctant to see who would look back at her. What if she didn’t recognize that face? She was surrounded by a world of strangers. What if she was a stranger to herself?

“It’s…it’s me,” she whispered, watching the reflection of her own lips move in the mirror. Leaning closer, she brought a hand to her lips, her cheek, and through her hair, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. She wasn’t sure when the last time was that she had seen the face in the mirror, but it was a familiar face to her—gloriously and gratefully familiar. For the first time since she’d awakened in the desert, she was looking at something familiar.

“This isn’t much,” the nurse conceded, pulling a small, plastic-wrapped comb from another drawer in the bed stand. “But it might work until we can get you some decent toiletries. Run it through your hair while I get one of the student nurses to take you down to the lab.” She glanced down at the oversize watch on her wrist. “X rays aren’t scheduled for about an hour but the way those techs in the lab poke around, it’ll take them about that long to draw a couple cc’s of blood from you.”

Rain glanced up, feeling another moment of uneasiness. “You—you won’t be coming with me?”

The nurse smiled. “Oh, don’t you worry—you haven’t seen the last of me yet. We’ve got a bunch of things planned for you.” She helped Rain into the wheelchair and pushed her out of the room and into the corridor where a young woman stood waiting. “This is Terri and she’s going to take you for your tests and then in to see Dr. Martinez.”

“Will he have the results then?” Rain asked, fear creeping into her voice. What if the doctor’s tests reveal that she’d never get better, what if they reveal she never would remember? “When will I know?”

The nurse bent close, covering Rain’s hand with hers. There was such kindness in her weathered face, such compassion, Rain couldn’t help herself from responding. The woman understood what she was feeling, understood just how frightened she was.

“Don’t you worry,” she assured Rain in a quiet voice. “We’re going to take good care of you, you can be sure of that. And don’t forget, there’s Sheriff Mountain…he’ll figure out what happened out there in the desert, he’ll find out where you belong and he’ll get you back there—you’ll see.”

Rain felt a lump of emotion form in her throat and she struggled to swallow. She wanted to believe the nurse, wanted to believe the nightmare could end and that she would find her life again.

“Thank you,” she whispered, feeling the sting of tears burn her eyes and her throat.

“And by the way, I’m Carrie,” the nurse called after her as Rain was wheeled down the hallway. “If anybody gives you any trouble, you just tell them they’ll have me to contend with.”

“Was she raped?”

The words slipped out of his mouth as though he were asking about the weather or the score of a ball game. Being Navajo and being a lawman, Joe Mountain had long ago learned the importance of keeping any emotion out of his voice. It never paid to let anyone know how you really felt. It may have played havoc in his private life, but professionally, it was the only way to survive.

Cruz tossed the chart on to his cluttered desktop and drew in a deep breath. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced up at Joe Mountain and shook his head. “I told you—no evidence of sexual assault. No evidence of drugs or alcohol.”

Joe made a notation in his notebook and tried to ignore the rush of relief that pulsed through his veins. Acknowledging relief would have been admitting that it mattered and it didn’t—it couldn’t. As a lawman it was his job to dig out the facts—cold, hard facts. Not react to them.

“Is there a possibility she could have been struck by lightning?”

Cruz snorted at the suggestion and shook his head again. “Lightning strike would cause severe tissue damage—point of entry, point of exit—that sort of thing and there’s not a mark on her. No burns, no trauma at least. Just a bump on the head.”

Joe made another notation in the tablet. “So that would pretty much leave out an animal attack?”

“Mountain lion, or something like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty much,” Cruz said with a wry smile. “Not many declawed mountain cats out there. Unless, of course, you meet up with one of those club-carrying cats who prefer whacking their victims over the top of the head.” He breathed out a laugh. “You know, caveman style.”

Joe glanced up, shooting Cruz a dark look. “No sign of animal attack,” he said deliberately, writing as he spoke and enunciating each word carefully.

“Safe to say that,” Cruz mumbled, doing his best to look appropriately chastised. They were two men who worked in professions that saw too much human misery and adversity and the dark humor they shared from time to time was a way they helped one another cope. “And just for the record, your lady had no scratch marks on her. No scratches, no scrapes, no bruises—not even a bug bite.”

Joe walked to the chair in front of Cruz’s desk and sat down. “So you can’t come up with any explanation as to what happened to her.”

“Not really,” Cruz admitted. “The woman sustained a blow to the back of the head which rendered her unconscious. For how long, though, I don’t know and whether or not it caused the memory loss she’s experiencing, I can’t say.”

“But you could venture a guess.”

Cruz shrugged. “My guess is no—the trauma just doesn’t appear to me to be that severe.”

“Even though it rendered her unconscious?”

“People get knocked out all the time and they don’t lose their memory,” Cruz pointed out. “Amnesia is very rare.”

Joe tried hard not to let his frustration show in his tone, but it wasn’t easy. He wanted answers—needed them in order to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but they just weren’t there.

“Serious now,” Joe said, himself serious. “What do you think has caused it?”

Cruz’s expression changed, all signs of humor gone now. “It’s really hard to say,” he confessed. “But the fact that the woman has not only forgotten what happened to her, she’s forgotten everything else—her name, where she comes from—makes me think whatever it was that happened was so traumatic to her, she’s blocked everything out.”

“So you think she doesn’t want to remember?”

“Not that she doesn’t want to remember. More like she can’t bring herself to,” he explained. “I think whatever happened—whether it was actually something that happened to her or something she witnessed, something she participated in—it was so distressing, so disturbing her mind simply won’t let her remember it.” Cruz sat up, leaning his elbows on the cluttered desktop. “Now you tell me. What would you think happened to the lady?”

Joe flipped his tablet closed and tossed it down on to the desk atop the medical chart. Joe and Cruz had been friends a long time, long enough that Joe felt comfortable sharing ideas and knowing they would go no further.

“Honestly? It beats the hell out of me.” Slipping his pencil into the pocket of his shirt, he walked to a chair in front of Cruz’s desk and slowly lowered himself into it. “I’m just guessing at this point, trying not to overlook anything—no matter how off the wall it may sound.”

“Sort of going on the theory that if you don’t have anything to go on,” Cruz concluded, “then anything’s possible?”

“Something like that,” Joe admitted. “At this point I don’t know if she’s the victim or the perpetrator, if I should be checking out the missing persons lists or the wanted posters, if a crime has been committed or if an accident has happened. Maybe she just ran out of gasoline, or lost control of her car and something snapped, making her forget everything.” He rolled his shoulders back, easing hard, tense muscles. “Maybe she fell, or slid down a mountain—hell! She could’ve dropped from the sky—from a UFO for all the evidence there is,” he said, stifling a yawn and giving his scratchy eyes a rub. “There isn’t a lot out there to go on to point me in any one direction, so I’m running around in circles. When I was out there this morning—”

“This morning?” Cruz exclaimed, cutting him off. “Geez, man, it isn’t even noon yet. You’ve been out there and back already?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Joe said, not wanting to think of the long hours he’d spent twisting and turning before striking out on the highway just before dawn. “Besides, I wanted to catch first light, but I could have slept in for all the good it did. I drove a five-mile circle from where I found her—I even walked a good mile of it on foot and came up with nothing.” He leaned forward, pointing his finger to emphasize the point. “Zilch, zip, nada! Not a tire track, a skid mark or a footprint. There was no sign of wreckage, no nothing.”

Frustrated, he sank back in the chair, stretching his legs out in front of him and tilting his cowboy hat back on his forehead with the tip of his thumb. “Granted, that was one hell of a rainstorm last night and it’s not like I went out there expecting to find a big sign pointing me in the right direction, but damn, if there’d been an accident or she’d broken down or had a flat tire, there was no sign of it—and no car.”

“Maybe she just had a fight with her boyfriend?” Cruz said, snapping his fingers as the idea came to him. “She got out of the car and he drove off, left her there and by the time he got back, she was gone!”

“Possibly,” Joe nodded, arching a brow. “But it doesn’t explain the head injury.”

Cruz sank back. “Oh, yeah.”

“And it’s not likely she gave herself a club on the head.”

“Not very.”

“Besides, why hasn’t the guy reported her missing then?”

“Good point,” Cruz acquiesced good-naturedly. “What about a robbery then? She could have been accosted, robbed—that would explain her injury, maybe even the memory loss.”

“I thought of that—or a carjacking,” Joe said, yawning again. “At least, that would be my bet at this point. But we’re trying not to overlook anything—grand theft auto, kidnapping, missing persons but as of about thirty minutes ago, there have been no stolen vehicles reported and no one has reported her missing. So until that happens, or we find a car or some other piece of evidence, we wait.”

“Well one thing’s for certain,” Cruz pointed out. “She sure as hell didn’t walk out there—at least not in the shoes she was wearing. They may have been water soaked, but they were practically new.”

“So that means somebody had to have taken her out there and purposely left her,” Joe concluded, folding his arms across his chest. The thought had his frown deepening.

“Left her for dead,” Cruz added quietly.

The sober thought rendered them both quiet for a moment. Joe remembered the terror he had seen in her eyes. It took more than an accident to put that kind of fear in a person’s eyes.

“I guess that means you’re looking at an attempted murder,” Cruz stated.

Joe glanced up. Having someone trying to kill you would have you looking pretty damn scared. “Sorta looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“Signs seem to be there,” Cruz continued. “And it would explain the head injury, the lack of any evidence, any clues.”

“Somebody took her out there,” Joe said in a quiet voice, closing his eyes and seeing her panicked face in the darkness. “Somebody who wanted her dead.”

“Have you been thoroughly poked and prodded?”

Rain looked up at the sound of Carrie’s voice and smiled. The portly nurse had been nowhere in sight when she’d returned to her room earlier after an exhausting series of tests and an examination by the doctor.

“Thoroughly,” she said, pushing away her empty lunch tray. She wasn’t sure about the rest of her, but her appetite certainly appeared to be healthy.

“Good,” Carrie said, pushing her solid frame through the open doorway and floating quietly across the worn linoleum floor. “We don’t feel people are doing their jobs around here unless they make our patients feel like pincushions.”

Rain held out her arm, looking down at the row of bandages left from the various blood samples that had been drawn. “Then I think it’s safe to say you’ve got hardworking people on your staff.”

“And your examination with Dr. Martinez? That went okay?”

Rain thought of the tall, good-looking doctor and his kind, compassionate nature. “Yeah, it went all right. He took a lot of time, explained a lot of the things to me about my head injury and the memory loss. And he talked about possible prognosis and told me not to try to force myself to remember, that if things were going to come back, they’d come back in their own time.”

“That’s true. You can’t push these kinds of things.”

“But he also admitted there was a possibility I’d never recover my memory, or only bits and pieces of it.”

“There’s always that possibility,” Carrie admitted. “But then, every prognosis has a worst-case scenario.”

Rain smiled. “You sound just like the doctor.”

“Oh, Lord, don’t tell me that!” Carrie said with a cackle. Reaching out, she patted Rain on the arm. “You feeling a little better about things now?”

Rain laughed. “I’m not sure if I feel better or if I’m just tired of thinking about it. But the doctor was very kind—you’ve all been.”

“Well, Cruz—he’s the best. We may not have a lot to brag about here in Mesa Ridge, but we can brag about him,” Carrie said, reaching for the lunch tray. “Why don’t you try to take another little nap now. I’ll get this out of the way—” She stopped as she glanced down at the empty tray. “Well, will you look at this—another clean plate. You know, if you aren’t careful, those people in the kitchen are going to start thinking you like the food around here. Then we’ll all have to suffer for it.”

Rain smiled, liking the feeling and liking the sturdily built nurse and her no-nonsense manner. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I can’t seem to get enough.”

“Well, darlin’, there’s nothing the matter. This is exactly what you need,” Carrie said, pulling a thermometer out of the cabinet beside the bed and giving it a violent shake. “Some regular meals and a whole lot of rest.” She popped the thermometer into Rain’s mouth. “I understand you managed to get in a short nap before lunch, too.”

Unable to speak with the thermometer in her mouth, Rain nodded. There had been just enough time after she’d returned to her room after her appointment with the doctor for a catnap before they brought her lunch. It hadn’t been a very long nap, just long enough for her mind and body to rest and her subconscious to dream and conjure up images of a man—tall, dark and mysterious. He had been reaching out to her with strong, powerful arms and she’d felt warm and secure in his embrace.

She had awakened from her nap feeling strangely comforted and calmed by the dream. Did she know the man? Was he someone from the life she’d forgotten, someone who would be looking for her?

“Then I’d say that’s just what the doctor ordered,” Carrie was saying in response to her nod. “A little rest and relaxation and you’ll be as good as new.” She pulled the thermometer from Rain’s mouth and squinted to read it. “How’s your head feeling?”

Rain touched the tender spot on the top of her head and winced. “Oh, it’s still there.”

Carrie’s smile faded as she peered through her bifocals to take a look. “It certainly is.” Shifting her gaze to Rain, her eyes narrowed. “How’s the headache?”

“Still there, too,” she admitted, sinking back against the pillows. “But better.”

“Feel up to a little company?”

Rain sat up straight. Had someone come for her? Was she going to find out who she was and where she belonged?

“C-company? You mean someone—”

“The sheriff, sweetheart,” Carrie added quickly. “Sheriff Mountain.”

“The sheriff,” Rain said in a small voice. Feeling the sting of tears, she quickly looked away. “I thought…”

“I’m sorry, dear, I—” Carrie reached out, giving her hand a squeeze. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” Rain assured her even though a large tear spilled onto her cheek.

Carrie squeezed her hand again. “Why don’t I tell him to come back a little later? Maybe this isn’t the best time….”

“No, that’s okay,” she insisted, swiping at the tear. “Tell the sheriff to come in. I’d like to see him. I’d at least like to thank him.”

Carrie regarded her for a moment. “You sure you’re up to this?”

Rain nodded, giving her a small smile. “Absolutely.”

Carrie looked unconvinced. “Okay, if you’re sure.”

“Carrie,” Rain said, stopping her as she started toward the door. “Sheriff Mountain—he’s the one who gave me my name, isn’t he?”

Carrie nodded. “Yes, he did. You going to give him a hard time about that?”

Rain smiled and shook her head. “No, I like my name.”

Carrie smiled, too, and turned back toward the door. “You talk to the sheriff and I’ll see what I can do about finding you a little something sweet to tide you over until dinner. Okay?”

Rain felt herself smiling again. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

She watched as Carrie sailed out the door and down the corridor, then sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She thought of the dream she’d had, thought of the man who had held her and made her feel wanted and safe. Had the tall stranger come looking for her? Would he hold her and whisper to her and make everything feel better again? Would he give her back her name, her identity, her life?

“Hello.”

Chapter 3

Rain opened her eyes and felt every nerve in her body come to full alert. She didn’t know what she’d expected when Carrie had told her the sheriff was there to see her, wasn’t even sure she had any sort of expectation at all. Somewhere in the back of her brain she’d conjured up images of a badges and uniforms and guns in black holsters, but whatever she’d imagined, a tall Native American with long black hair and dark, haunting eyes wasn’t it.

She realized in that moment the stranger from her dreams, the man to whom she had turned to for comfort, the man who had held her and in whose arms she had felt so secure was a stranger no longer. He wasn’t someone from her past, someone who could tell her who she was and where she belonged. The stranger from her dreams was from the here and the now. He wasn’t someone she’d imagined or made up in her head, he was real—and he had a name and a face.

“Sheriff Mountain.”

He stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders and powerful frame all but swallowing up the space.

“Joe Mountain,” he said by way of introduction.

“And I’m…well, I’m Rain,” she said with a small laugh. She sat up, pushing a hand through her hair and wondering what she’d done with the comb Carrie had given her. “But I guess you already know that since I understand you’re the one who named me.”

If he was embarrassed, or pleased by the acknowledgment, it didn’t show in his expression. In fact, nothing showed on his hard, lean face and Rain felt herself growing tense.

“May I come in?” he asked politely.

Her first reaction had been to refuse, to put him off and turn him away, but that was not only unreasonable, it was irrational. For some thoroughly inexplicable reason, she found herself hesitant, reluctant—almost shy about facing him.

She couldn’t explain it. The whole thing was crazy. The man was only there to help her, was probably her best hope at putting her life back together. She had nothing to fear from him. He’d found her in the desert, had gotten her the help she’d needed. At the very least, she needed to thank him for saving her life. And besides that, she needed to talk to him, she wanted to talk to him. She had questions she’d hoped he could answer, concerns she’d hoped he’d address. So what was her problem? Why was her throat freezing up and the palms of her hands turning moist?

The dream. That stupid, silly little dream she’d had during her nap. He’d been in it, had been the tall dark stranger in her dream, the one who had touched her and held her and made her feel safe and warm. She felt like she knew him, like she meant something special to him and that was ridiculous. She felt embarrassed. The man was a stranger to her and she to him and there was nothing special about that.

“Of course,” she said, doing as best she could to push her apprehension aside. “Please do come in.”

Even though his khaki uniform was contemporary and looked appropriately official, Sheriff Joe Mountain had a rugged, distinctive look. Holding a weathered black cowboy hat in his hands, his dark hair pulled into a ponytail down his back, he looked like he belonged to a wilder, more uncivilized 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 tablet again and started writing. She suspected the acknowledgment was about as close to sympathy she was going to get from him.

“Before you reached the highway, do you remember anything about the surrounding landscape? Were you heading toward the mountains? Did you see any large rocks? Anything like that?”

She thought for a moment. “Not really. It was dark and nasty because of the storm, of course.” She closed her eyes and thought for a moment longer. “Oh, wait,” she said, her eyes popping open. “I do remember seeing mountains in the distance.”

“Okay,” he said, jotting in his notebook. “And when you were walking, were you walking toward the mountains, or away from them?”

“I walked toward them.”

He made another notation in the tablet, his head bent in concentration. “So when you reached the highway, which way did you turn? Right or left?”

Rain thought for a moment. “I think it was right.”

He looked up. “You think?”

“It was right—I’m pretty sure.” She hesitated, watching as he continued to write. “Why? Is it important, Sheriff?”

He lowered his tablet. “I don’t know. Just trying to get a better idea about where you were out there. I know where you were when I found you. Trying to see if I could retrace your steps.”

“I see.”

“So you turned right?” he asked again. “You’re pretty sure.”

She closed her eyes, trying to relive the moment again. “It was right,” she said, opening her eyes. “I remember now because I thought I’d seen a light coming from that direction.”

“A light? You mean like a headlight? A porch light? Streetlight?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It was more like a flash—like the sun hitting something shiny.”

“Except it was raining.”

She shrugged meekly. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You’ve given me something to go on here.”

“I have?” she asked, feeling ridiculously pleased.

“Sure.”

He did something then that had her heart actually leaping in her chest. He smiled. Not a full-out smile, but a small, funny little one that nearly knocked her socks off.

“Oh,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Good.”

He nodded, no trace of the smile showing now, and made another notation in the tablet. “Okay, good.” Looking up, he leaned back in the chair. “What does Logan mean?”

She sat up. “Logan? I don’t know. Why?”

“It doesn’t sound familiar, doesn’t ring any bells?”

Her eyes grew wide. “Is that my name?”

He glanced up from the tablet again. “I don’t know. You kept saying it over and over in the car last night.”

“Logan,” she repeated slowly, trying to tell if the name sounded familiar on her tongue. “Logan.”

“Well?”

She sank back against the pillows. Her head began throbbing again and she remembered what Dr. Martinez had said about forcing the memories.

“No,” she said with a tired sigh. “I don’t know what it means. It doesn’t sound familiar to me.” A sudden thought had her sitting up again. “But it could mean something, couldn’t it? I mean, maybe it’s a…a clue.”

“It’s something to look into,” he admitted, but it was obvious he wasn’t sharing her enthusiasm. With the flip of his wrist, he swung the tablet closed and rose to his feet. “I think that’s it for the time being. I’ll let you get back to your rest.” Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, he pulled out a card. “If you think of anything else—anything, it doesn’t matter how small or unimportant it may seem—my number is right there. Give me call, day or night.”

Rain stared down at the card. Seeing his name printed neatly in bold black letters, she felt something tighten in her chest. “I will, thank you.”

“Did you have any questions for me?”

She thought for a moment, glancing up from the card. “Why Rain?”

For the first time he looked something less than controlled, as though the question had caught him off guard.

“It’s Navajo,” he mumbled, reaching for his hat. “An old legend. Rain Woman, born of the elements.” Holding his hat by the brim, he looked down at her. “You don’t like it?”

“I do like it,” she said, her voice feeling strangely tight in her throat. “I like it very much.”

“Good,” he murmured. There it was again, that small, funny little smile—there only for a moment, before disappearing again. “Anything else?”

She nodded. “What do you think happened out there in the desert? Why do you think I was out there?”

He looked at her for a moment, his black eyes devoid of any emotion, of any expression at all. It was as if she had asked him about the weather.

“At this point, I couldn’t even offer a guess,” he said in a low voice.

She was too disappointed to be angry, too frightened to argue. “I have to find out who I am, Sheriff,” she said, looking up at him and not bothering to hide the tears she felt stinging her eyes now. “I have to.”

“I know,” he said, taking a step closer to the bed. “And you can be damn sure I’m not going to rest until we do.”

His words were softly spoken, but full of intensity and she didn’t doubt for a moment that he meant every word. She knew in that moment that Sheriff Joe Mountain was going to solve the riddle of her past, was going to conquer the darkness and would bring her to the light again.

With a stiff little bow, he turned and headed for the door.

“Sheriff,” she called after him, bringing him to an abrupt halt. “Just one more thing.”

He turned around. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re sure?”

“It’s right there in black and white,” Deputy Ryan Samsung said, pointing to the faxed report he set on the desk. “No matches. There’s been no one with the name of Logan matching the description of your Jane Doe reported missing.”

Joe stared down at the papers on the desk. The report had merely been a formality, confirming what his gut had been telling him from the beginning. This wasn’t a simple missing person’s case and it was going to take more than punching a few things into a computer to figure this out.

He had a sense for these things and his sense was that something more was going on here, something menacing and dark and nothing about it was going to be simple. Whatever had happened in the desert had been dramatic and devastating and it had not only changed Rain’s life, but his life, too.

“And you cross-referenced it with the State Department of Justice as well as the FBI?”

“Came up with nothing,” Ryan assured him. “Just like you said.”

“Well, it might have been nice to have been surprised for a change,” Joe admitted, picking up the faxed report and slipping it inside a large manila folder. “But at least now we can be sure.” He leaned back in his chair, glancing up at Ryan. “Did Gracie e-mail a description out to the newspapers in Sparks and in Reno?”

Ryan shook his head. “Gracie’s not here.”

Joe sat up. “What do you mean she’s not here? Where is she?”

Ryan shrugged as he started for the door. “I don’t know. I think she said something about a doctor’s appointment.”

That triggered a vague recollection in his brain and Joe breathed out a silent curse. Nothing had been the same around there since the young woman he’d hired to help out around the office had discovered she was pregnant. Files had piled up, faxes had gone unsent and the phones were ringing off the hook.

“Again? Didn’t she just have one?”

“Don’t ask me,” Ryan said, raising his hands in surrender. “The woman’s going to have a baby, who knows what goes on with that?”

“Then maybe you could e-mail that out.”

“Oh, no,” he said, reaching for his hat from a hook on the hat stand. “I don’t know anything about that Internet stuff.”

“It’s not Internet, it’s e-mail,” he explained. “It’s like typing a letter.”

“Don’t make no difference to me,” Ryan insisted, shaking his head. “I don’t mess with any of the cyber stuff.” He slipped his hat on over his shaggy black hair and turned back to Joe. “Besides, I’m heading across town. Those drivers from the old mine have been barreling down Wheeler Road again and when school lets out that place is just an accident lookin’ for a place to happen.”

“What if I pull rank on you?”

“You won’t,” Ryan said, his eyes all but disappearing as his smile grew wider. “Because you know I don’t know how to type.”

“You’ve got two fingers, don’t you?” Joe called after him as Ryan disappeared out the door and into the small parking lot outside.

He was annoyed, but not at Ryan. Not even at Gracie. He was angry at himself, angry that he was losing perspective and he couldn’t seem to do anything to stop it.

In all their official documents and queries, she was listed as Jane Doe, but she was Rain to everyone else. She was the woman who had stepped out of the wilds of a storm and took refuge in his arms, the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about, the woman he couldn’t get out of his mind.

He’d been the law in Mesa County for over a decade and he’d seen his share of crime and unrest during that time. He’d investigated cases that upset him, that made him mad. He’d even had cases he’d taken personally, but none of those compared to this. Rain was different. He’d known it the moment she’d looked at him.

She may not remember what had happened to her out there in the desert, but the memory of it had been there in her eyes. They’d had a harrowing, haunted look so clear and so frightening, it had sent a chill rattling through him.

He thought of that moment when she’d walked out of the gloom, when for a moment the clarity of the horror flashed like a beacon on her face. Something had passed between them then, something significant and profound. He’d not only seen the terror in her eyes, he had felt it and it had left him shaken.

He flipped the manila file closed and pushed himself away from the desk. He had to take a break, had to get away from this for a while. He was less than twenty-four hours into this investigation and already he could feel himself becoming lost, feel himself losing focus, losing touch.

Slowly he rose to his feet, heading out of his office toward the small break room just down the hall.

“Damn,” he cursed in a low voice as he rounded the corner and spotted the empty coffee carafe. No filing, no e-mail and now no coffee. He only hoped once Gracie had her baby and got back to work things would finally get back to normal.

Grumbling, he walked to the sink and filled the coffee carafe with water, poured it into the drip coffee-maker and filled the filter with fresh grounds. But he grew restless waiting for the coffee to brew and wandered back out through the hall and to the outer office.

He stopped at Gracie’s desk, looking at the computer. Reaching down, he tapped the mouse, bringing the screen to life, and called up the Internet messaging service. Maybe with a little caffeine running through his veins, he could give those e-mails a try. He was the sheriff and this was his office and like it or not, it was his responsibility to see to it that everything got done, no matter how small or how mundane—even if that meant he had to do it himself.

The truth of the matter was, this was his county, his piece of the planet and he had a stake in everything that went on in the sprawling two hundred miles of territory. When something went wrong or somebody got hurt, he took it personally.

And somebody had hurt Rain. They may not have stabbed her, or raped her or even beaten her up, but the pain on her face had been so great, it had managed to find its way to him, as well. He had felt it, just as sure and if he’d been the one abandoned. He had nothing to go on, no leads to pursue or clues to follow but somehow, someway he was going to find out who had injured her and why.

It may be his job to help her, but it was also the right thing to do, the only decent thing to do. The woman was alone in the world; she had no one to lean on, no one to calm and comfort her. She was the stuff legends were made of, the object of myth and lore. She was Rain Woman, born of the elements and christened by the rain. Like the tales from his ancestors, she had walked out of the desert, a mysterious woman with no past, no people and no one to protect her—and into his arms. It was not only his duty to help her, it was his destiny.

Reluctantly he sat down at the desk and slowly started composing the e-mail he wanted to send, but with his hunt-and-peck style on the keyboard, progress was slow and he soon grew restless. He wanted the information sent to the newspapers and media as soon as possible, but at this rate it was going to take forever.

He pushed away from the desk, stretching the stiffness in his arms and back. He needed something to help him, something to boost his sagging spirits and tense muscles. But just as he rose to go pour himself a fresh cup of coffee, the telephone rang.

“Sheriff Mountain,” he barked into the phone.

“Sheriff? It’s me, Gracie.”

Joe could hear the alarm in her voice. “Gracie, what’s the matter? You sound terrible.”

“Oh, Sheriff Mountain,” she sobbed through the wire. “Sheriff, I’m so scared. It’s my baby. The baby’s in trouble.”

“Trouble? Gracie, what are you talking about?”

He pressed the phone close, straining to hear through the sobs and tears. He made out something about tests and lab results, none of which meant much to him, but the culmination of them all meant complete bed rest for her for the remainder of her pregnancy.

“Jerry’s trying to find someone who can come in with me while he’s at work during the day,” she explained, stopping only long enough to blow her nose loudly. “I have to stay flat for at least the next twelve weeks. I can’t come back to work. What about my job? What about all my work?”

He could hear how overwhelmed she was and looked around at the reams of papers yet to be filed and felt a little overwhelmed himself.

“Don’t worry about your job,” he assured her. “It’ll be here whenever you get back—and we’ll get along just fine. You just concentrate on taking care of yourself and that baby.”

Chapter 4

It wasn’t him, she could tell that now. He was short and stocky and this man was huge, built like a football player with his enormous shoulders and powerful arms. No, she could relax, it wasn’t him. She could walk a little slower, breathe a little easier.

She had to stop this, had to try to keep her wits about her. She couldn’t afford to become paranoid, imagining him around every corner and behind every bush. This wasn’t the time to let her imagination get the best of her. There was too much riding on her, too much depending on her keeping a calm head and not panicking.

Only, if it wasn’t him, why was he still behind her? Why did he have such a harsh look on his face and why was he getting so close? It wasn’t him and he was the only one she had to be afraid of, the only one she had to fear.

So if this man wasn’t him, why was she so afraid? He was a stranger, and yet he had such cold, black eyes when he looked at her.

“Logan,” he said in a voice that turned her blood to ice.

“No,” she groaned.

It wasn’t him—it wasn’t Logan—but when the hand clamped down hard on her shoulder, she’d realized he’d been sent by him.

“No,” she groaned again. “Tell Logan no. Tell him I won’t go.”

Her voice sounded as small and as weak as it had in the desert, lonely and lost like a cry in the night. Fear rose up from her throat, choking her words, stealing her breath. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t get away….

“Logan. Logan.”

Fear. Panic. And then, the darkness.

“Rain?”

The voice cut through the darkness, reaching through the layers of dreams and fragments of nightmares like a hand extended.

“Rain. Wake up, Rain.”

Suddenly she was warm; the warmth obliterated the cold and the darkness. She forgot about the panic, she forgot about the fear. She didn’t need to be afraid any longer. Like strong arms holding her, she knew she was safe.

“Wake up, Rain.”

She blinked, the light stinging her eyes, until she realized she was staring up into his eyes.

“Sheriff Mountain.”

“I heard you from the corridor,” he said, straightening up and slipping his hands from her shoulders. “Bad dream from the sounds of it.”

It was only then that she realized he’d been touching her, one hand on either of her shoulders.

“Yes,” she croaked, suddenly remembering the dark images and the cold eyes of a stranger. “Yes, a dream—a very bad dream.”

“You okay now?”

“Fine,” she said with a nod, pushing herself up against the pillows. Actually, she was out of breath and her heart hammered wildly in her chest and her hospital gown was drenched with sweat. “I—I’m fine.”

He reached for the pitcher of water beside the bed, pouring her a glass. “Here, drink this. You look like you could use it.”

She took a sip, the water feeling cool and soothing along her scratchy throat. “Thanks.” She pushed her hair back away from her face and took another drink. “Did you need to see me for something?”

“Not really,” he said, picking up the pitcher and refilling her water glass. “I was here on some other business. I was just passing by the room when I heard you.”

“I see,” she murmured, taking another sip of water. It was foolish to be disappointed, foolish to think he’d come just to see her.

“You want to talk about it? The dream, I mean.”

She thought of the awful face of the stranger in her dream and shook her head. “Not really.”

“Would you mind?” he pressed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his tablet. “Maybe there was something significant.”

She glared down at his tablet, hating that it was always just business with him. “In a dream?”

“You never know,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe you can dream about what happened even if you can’t remember it.”

He was right, of course, and she couldn’t let her vanity get in the way of solving the mystery of her past.

“There was someone, a man,” she began. “A big man.”

“Did he look familiar to you? Did you know him?”

“No, he was a stranger.”

“You remember what he looked like? Could you describe him?”

She drew in a shaky breath. “Oh, yes.”

“Unfortunately, we don’t have a sketch artist in the county, but I could probably arrange to have one come down from Carson City. It would take a take day or two, though. Think if you jotted down a few notes to yourself you’d be able to remember enough to work with someone?”

That gruff, angry face was one she would have no problem describing. It was etched permanently into her memory—and one thing she actually wouldn’t mind forgetting.

“I think so,” she said, taking another sip of water. “Do you think my dreams could be important?”

“Hard to say,” he hedged. “But, maybe subconsciously you’re able to remember something.” He made a few notations in his tablet. “Do you remember anything else? Anything about what happened in the dream?”

She remembered gasping for air, remembered struggling to get away. “I know I was afraid.”

“Of the man?”

She stared at the glass of water, but she was seeing phantom, elusive images in her mind. “Not at first.” She looked up at him. “I was relieved—at least in the beginning. He wasn’t who I thought he was, wasn’t the man I was afraid of, the man I was running away from, but then…”

“Then?” he prompted her when her words drifted off.

“Oh.” She jumped, her thoughts scrambling. “Then I realized he was after me, too. Chasing me, grabbing me.” She gave her head a shake. “I guess I just dreamed everyone was after me.”

“Have you had this dream before?”

She shook her head, thinking about the dream she’d had of him even before she’d met him. “Not this exact dream.”

“But others like it?”

She nodded. “Several since last night.”

“About being pursued?”

“Yes.”

“Same man?”

“No.”

“Think you could describe any of the others?”

“I don’t know,” she said, thinking of dark images and shadowy features. “I don’t think so.”

She felt stupid and frustrated. Nothing made sense. What seemed so frightening in her dreams seemed almost silly now that she thought about it.

“This man you were afraid of, the man chasing you. Was he Logan?”

She felt a chill run the length of her spine, leaving her feeling unsettled and disturbed.

“No.”

“You called out the name Logan.”

She looked up at him. “I did? Again?”

Joe nodded. “But this man wasn’t Logan?”

Something registered in her brain, something from the dream. “No, he wasn’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he was sent by Logan.” She groaned, pounding a fist into the mattress. “This is crazy. It doesn’t make sense.” She closed her eyes, feeling a dull throb start to radiate from the tender area at the top of her head. “Logan. What’s Logan? Who’s Logan? I don’t even know why I keep saying it. I wish I could remember.” She opened her eyes, sitting up again. “It must mean something if I keep saying it.”

“Maybe,” Joe said.

“Or maybe it’s just the name of a character in a book you once read, or a neighbor, or your third-grade teacher.”

They both stopped and turned toward the door. Cruz reached into the pocket of his white jacket and pulled out a stethoscope as he walked into the room.

“I thought we had agreed you would wait for me at the nurses’ station, Sheriff Mountain,” he said, glowering at Joe.

“And I had every intention of doing that very thing,” Joe insisted, bringing his hands up in surrender. “But your patient was having a nightmare. I heard her calling out from the corridor.” He turned and glanced back at her. “I thought maybe she could use some help.”

“A nightmare,” Cruz said, the annoyance in his voice disappearing in his concern for his patient. Reaching for Rain’s wrist, he felt for her pulse. “Another bad one?”

“About the same as the other,” she confessed.

He looked down at her, running the backs of his fingers across her forehead. “You feel clammy and your heart’s still racing.”

“I dreamed the bogey man was out to get me,” she sighed with a humorless laugh. She was tired of thinking about the dreams, tired of thinking about what was real and what wasn’t, tired of trying to figure out what was important and what was just idle fantasy—and most of all she was tired of not knowing the difference.

“The bogey man, huh?” Cruz repeated dryly. “That doesn’t sound good.” He turned an accusing glance at Joe. “I hope you weren’t badgering her with more questions.”

“She said she dreamed someone was after her,” Joe admitted. “I thought maybe she might have remembered something.”

“Do you think that’s possible, doctor?” she asked hopefully, sitting up again. “Could I remember something in my dreams?”

“What I think,” Cruz said calmly, putting a hand on her shoulder and guiding her back against the pillows, “is that you had a dream.”

“I know, but—”

“A dream,” Cruz said, cutting her off and shooting Joe a dark look before turning back to her again. “And I told you I wanted you to get some rest, not be trying to interpret every little thing that pops out of your subconscious.”

“But it could have been something from my past, couldn’t it?” she insisted.

“It is highly unlikely.”

“But it’s a possibility,” Joe pointed out.

Cruz shot him another dark look. “An unlikely one.” He turned to Rain again. “It was just a dream.” He leaned closer, his voice growing softer. “I know this is scary, and I know you’re anxious to remember but your memory is going to come back when it comes back—no sooner than that.” He straightened back up. “But I do have some good news, though.”

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