A man's voice, fatigued and urgent. “The passenger… male, twenty-four… tension pneumothorax, fractured pelvis, liver lac… he’s circling the drain... tell the OR to stand by, but I’m not liking his odds.”
The words shifted through her like thunder inside a dream, far off, heavy, impossible to answer or understand.
Lonzo.
She tried to lift a hand, managing only a twitch against the sheet. Someone squeezed her fingers once, quick and professional, before disappearing.
Monitors played their steady, indifferent serenade. She sank again, chasing the sound of Lonzo’s name down a long white hallway that had no doors.
Each ceiling tilehad sixty-four little holes. Kip knew that for a fact because she’d counted them twice. Someone had packed her head with wet sand, but at least the room had stopped spinning. And, miracle of miracles, she could now move her toes. Kip didn’t see that as an extraordinary talent, but the doctors and nurses had been ecstatic.
The people standing on the other side of her curtain were upset. Their raw, no, shredded voices penetrated through the plastic curtain surrounding her bed.
“He was wearing his seat belt, wasn’t he? Tell me he was wearing it.” The woman’s voice cracked like thin ice.
“He was,” the doctor said, his words gentle but useless. “Mr. and Mrs. Rios, I’m so sorry. We did everything?—”
“No.” The man’s voice ran over the doctor’s, ragged and furious. “It’s not your fault. That stupid cow driving the car killed him. She should have stopped at the light when she saw the man driving the truck wasn’t going to. She killed my son. And now we find out she isn’t his fiancée. She’s his wife. How convenient is that?”
Kip’s lungs forget how to work. The voices tugged at her memories, almost there but impossible to reach. She should know those voices. Why did they drown her in a sense of guilt and dread? Why were Lonzo’s parents here? And where was Lonzo?
Vague snippets of memories filter through her. Something must have happened to him, or he would be standing beside her. A tear trickled down her cheek. Because without being told, she now knew. Lonzo was the one they were talking about. Lonzo was gone.
“She’s right in there,” Mrs. Rios, hissed. “Sleeping like nothing happened while my son’s?—”
The doctor attempted to regain control of the situation. “Ma’am, she’s not?—”
Mr. Rios wasn’t having any excuses. “Don’t you dare defend her.”
A chair scraped the linoleum tiles. Two sets of footsteps grew louder, one the clap of boots, the other the click of heels, both angry and hard.
The curtain twitched. Kip held her breath, waiting for Lonzo’s parents to rip back the flimsy barrier. The monitor announcedKip’s reaction to the world, speeding to the speed of hummingbird wings. She’d do anything to take away some of their pain.
She’d say, “I’m sorry.”
She’d explain, “I don’t remember truck lights.”
She’d beg, “Please don’t hate me. I loved him too.”
But the words were locked behind the swelling in her brain, behind the darkness pulling her down toward oblivion.
CHAPTER 1
Six years later…
The refrigerator spilled its faint light onto the kitchen floor of The Broken Bridle Saloon, the fridge's open door forgotten. Kip moved to the swinging wooden door leading into the dining room and peeked over the curved frame to see if he was still there.
Just as she’d expected, Trace Daniels sat in the last booth on the left side of the room. It was his usual spot. Relief flooded her like the Wild River during the spring thaw. He sat, sipping coffee, reading a report on whatever, and smiling at the other customers whenever they called his name and stopped to chat. And, God, he was gorgeous!
Working at Wild River Ranch had given that man more muscles than any man should have. Especially when he wore those faded jeans that hugged his firm thighs, that green button-down shirt that drew attention to the width of his shoulders, and that black cowboy hat that warned every woman in town what a badboy he could be. The hat lied, but there was no doubt the man was all male.
And he wanted to be hers. He hadn’t kept that a secret, almost from the day she moved to Wilder. They connected on a level she hadn’t felt in a very long time—six years, to be exact.
The thought of never knowing where that connection would take them shot regret though her. Because now she had to leave. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to stay in Wilder, Wyoming. It had been a foolish choice to come as close to her hometown as she had. But Wilder was perfect. Perfect for her, anyway. So, for the first time in six years, she didn’t want to move on.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, interrupting her thoughts. Kip stared at the phone number on her screen. The same local area code as the last three times, but still a number she didn’t recognize. Had the room grown colder, or was it just her? Her shaking hands made the digits hard to read. And yes, she needed both hands to keep from dropping it. Or throwing it across the room.
The spit in her mouth dried up as dread gripped her throat. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? How long was she supposed to pay for something that wasn’t even her fault? But it was. At least that’s what she kept telling herself. Was this nightmare ever going to end?
