She nodded, pulling herself together with a concerted effort and smiling up at him. “I just felt a little dizzy for a moment,” she said. “I’d forgotten that I’m supposed to take it easy for a while.” She looked at the incriminating ruins with sick eyes. “This...this must be the barn that burned.”
He moved closer, sunlight glinting off the glasses and making his expression unreadable. “Don’t you remember anything? Anything at all?”
“Not a thing,” she said, resting her chin on her knees, trying to keep the guilt and misery out of her voice. Toby might have missed it, but Beastie was more attuned to her, and he whined softly, pushing his huge muzzle against her face.
Toby dropped down beside her, lying in the damp spring grass. “I’ve never heard of such a thing happening. Such a total absence of memory. Usually there are threads, pieces of the past.”
“And what would you know about it?” She kept the edge out of her voice. “Are you a doctor?”
“No. I was in premed, until illness forced me to drop out. But I remember enough to know that this is a highly unlikely scenario.”
“Whether amnesia happens this way or not, Toby, in my case it has,” she said firmly. “I assume it will all come back eventually, but I’m not going to waste my time worrying about it. You shouldn’t either.” She smiled reassuringly. For some reason Toby seemed to bring out her maternal instincts, which was odd, since he appeared to be several years older than she was, perhaps more than that, if he was Patrick’s contemporary. But added to those strong, maternal feelings was an obscure, cynical part of her that didn’t quite trust his ingenuous charm—something about him didn’t seem quite right. Something in the intensity of his gaze, in the faint edge to his voice.
Her imagination had to be working overtime, she thought in disgust. She didn’t have enough memories to fill her brain, so she was making things up to keep herself busy. Toby Pentick was harmless. Sweet, friendly, and far nicer than her soon to be ex-husband. So why was she looking for trouble where none existed?
“And you’re sure you really remember nothing?” Toby murmured with an intensity that seemed unnatural, and she stared at him in surprise.
“Nothing,” she said smoothly. “Do you?”
He paled suddenly, and she realized she had struck a nerve. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean do you remember anything about that night? Were you here? Did you see anything?”
He shook his head. “I was on the West Coast, visiting some friends. I had no idea anything had happened when I arrived back.”
There was no missing the sorrow or concern in his voice. Her memory might be gone, but her instincts were still strong. Toby cared about her. Perhaps too much.
The next thought was sudden, inevitable, and devastating. Here was another man, a close friend. He might be the father of her child, and not her husband at all. “Toby?” she asked in an urgent voice. “Were we lovers?”
He blushed. It astonished her, the deep, red color mottling his skin as he stared at her. “No,” he said stiffly. “Pat’s my friend. I wouldn’t do that to him.”
Before she had the chance to probe further, he rose. “I’d better get back,” he said in a strained voice. “I promised Pat I’d take a look at one of the mares. See you.”
“All right,” she said in a gentle voice, taking pity on his obvious mortification. She wouldn’t have thought a grown man would be quite so sensitive. “I think I’ll stay here for a while. Could you take Beastie back with you?” she asked. “He’s a little overwhelming for a playmate—I don’t think I’m quite up to managing him yet.”
“Sure.” He relaxed slightly. “Uh...don’t stay out here alone too long, okay?”
She caught the faintest trace of worry in his voice, and she stared at him sharply. “Why not?”
He shook his head. “I just have the feeling that it’s not particularly safe around here.”
Molly stiffened her back, trying to ignore the chill of foreboding she felt at his words. “For me or for everyone?”
“For you,” he said, and calling Beastie, he started down the road.
She rose up on her knees, determined to call after him, demand an explanation, but he was moving so fast there was no way she could catch him, short of sprinting, and she’d used up her energy for the morning. And she wasn’t quite sure if Toby would answer her questions no matter how persistent she was.
Molly sank back in the damp brown grass and shut her eyes, trying to shut out the words of warning and bring back the feelings of peace and hope of a short while ago. But Toby’s warning had done its job, and she sat up and looked around her nervously, wishing she hadn’t banished Beastie. There were too many scorched and blackened trees around the ruins of the old barn, too much dark underbrush that could shield too many dangerous creatures. Dangerous creatures like Patrick, she wondered? She rose and moved closer to the barn, drawn to the blackened foundations and charred timbers, staring down at them. She had the eerie feeling that there were eyes on her, and she whirled suddenly, staring determinedly into the surrounding woods.
Of course there was no one there. She felt like an idiot as she turned back and leaned over the precipice of the barn, trying to peer into the old stone cellar of the building. She thought she saw something bright down there, something metal and flashing. Moving closer still, she suddenly felt herself hurtling face forward into the fire-blackened pit.
She must have bounced off one of the fallen beams, for she felt a sharp pain in her side, and something tore at her arm as she plummeted downward into the murky cellar. She hit bottom after what seemed like an endless fall, and she lay there in the mud, her body aching from the various obstructions she had hit on her way down, the feel of someone’s hands as they pushed her still strong on her back. Without moving she could see her arm, see the long, narrow gash that was welling with dark blood. Blood that was rapidly pooling beneath her.
Her first thought was for the child that might or might not exist. Her entire body ached, but there was no worrisome cramping. The cut in her arm seemed by far the worst of her injuries, and she viewed it with sick fascination.
I’m going to bleed to death, she thought numbly. It won’t matter whether I’m pregnant or not—I’ll be dead and no one will find me for years and years, and in the meantime Patrick will have all my money to spend on that woman.
She squeezed her eyes shut, allowing her a few brief moments of misery and panic. And then she shot them open again. Life would be far too convenient if she just disappeared. She wasn’t going to give them what they wanted again.
