As she walked by the barn, a man stepped out of the dark interior. As the sun hit his face fully, it highlighted bold, almost savage features: a straight nose and high cheekbones and a mouth that looked as if it had never formed a smile. His face was weathered by the sun and chiseled by hard knocks. Unlike many of the working men, he wore no hat and his ebony hair nearly touched his shoulders. His gaze met Colette’s.
Instantly fear formed in the pit of her stomach and rocketed throughout her body. Those eyes. She knew those dark eyes. She suddenly remembered he was the same man she’d seen in those first moments of arriving at the ranch.
With Brook’s birth she’d forgotten all about that moment of inexplicable fear. Now fear rocked through her.Danger! Danger!The word screamed in her head.
The man held her gaze with frightening intensity. Suddenly another emotion shimmied up her spine, weakening her knees. Passion, as strong, as intense as the fear. She knew him…somehow, someway, she knew this man. But how? From where?
Her foot caught in a rut and she felt herself pitch forward. Colette hit the graveled path on her hands and knees.
“Hey, there, are you all right?” An unfamiliar voice and a strong hand helped her up.
Colette smiled in embarrassment at the pleasant-faced man who helped her regain her feet. His cowboyhat hid his hair, but his blond mustache gleamed in the sunshine and his mouth curved upward in a pleasing smile. “Thanks. I can’t believe I’m such a klutz,” she said, brushing the gravel off her jeans.
“No problem. I’m Roger Eaton.” He held out his hand. “I was hired a couple weeks ago to be in charge of the horseback riding for the guests.”
Colette nodded absently, her gaze seeking the man who had caused her to trip and fall. He’d disappeared, leaving behind only a residual boom of anxiety still resounding in Colette’s chest.
“Come on, we’d better get you inside,” Roger said. “You’ve scraped your palms and they need to be cleaned up.”
Colette looked at the palms of her hands, realizing he was right. Blood oozed from several places where the gravel had broken the skin. She looked away, the sight of the blood making her ill. She thanked Roger for his help, then hurried toward the house.
Belinda greeted her, dismayed as she saw Colette’s hands. “I’ll clean you up,” Belinda said as she led Colette into one of the bathrooms. “You’ve never been very good about dealing with blood.”
“I think I just figured that out,” Colette agreed. She turned her head, wincing as Belinda cleaned her palms with antiseptic.
As Belinda worked, Colette replayed in her mind the moment of seeing the dark cowboy. What was it about him that had caused terror to eddy through her? Terror and a strange singing passion? Like the memory of an old song, it was as if she could remember the tune, but was unable to remember the words. Was it possible she knew him? Was he part of the past shecouldn’t remember? What part did he play in her life? Had she dated him, been intimate with him? Or did he just remind her of somebody else?
Confusion muddied her mind, but one thing remained clear. If she knew the man, if he was part of her obscured past, she couldn’t dismiss the potent terror she’d felt when she’d seen him.
Something about him had frightened her and she had the distinct impression of danger whispering against the nape of her neck.
She had to remember. Whoever he was, he scared her and there had to be a reason for that. She had to get her memories back. She had a feeling her life just might depend on it.
* * *
HANK POUREDmore oil on the saddle on the wooden workhorse. With a soft rag he swirled the oil across the worn leather.
“Don’t you ever rest?”
Hank looked up as Roger Eaton entered the barn. “I like to keep busy,” he answered, focusing on his task.
Roger leaned against the door and shook out a cigarette.
“Don’t light that in here.” Hank looked at him in irritation. Any fool who’d spent more than ten minutes working on a ranch would know better than to light a cigarette in a barn full of hay.
“Sorry, wasn’t thinking.” He tucked the pack of cigarettes back into his pocket. “I met the elusive Colette today. Heard she has amnesia. Heard she doesn’t remember anything at all before the day she arrived here.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve been listening to gossip.” Hank poured more oil on the leather.
“Yeah, well I’ll tell you something that’s not gossip. She’s a hell of a looker. I’ll bet she could make a man forget his name, if you know what I mean.”
Hank rubbed the saddle harder.
“Yes, sir, a sexy lady like that could make me forget my name and address.” Roger kicked at a pile of straw. “Wonder what happened to her that put her in such a state? Like something just scared the memories right out of her. Weird, right?”
Hank grunted, irritated to realize he’d been rubbing the same place for the duration of the conversation. He looked at Roger. “Is there a particular reason for this conversation or did you just want to waste my time?”
Roger’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “You’re an unfriendly bastard, Cooper.”
