Lost Christmas Memories. Dana Mentink

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       FOUR

      She woke from the nightmare, the strong hands squeezing, throttling, killing. Heart slamming, she fought her way to consciousness, waking up with one thought in her mind...murder. Her vision cleared and she jerked to a sitting position to find herself in a hospital bed, startling the three people gathered there. For one long, terrifying moment, she searched her mind and found it blank. Where? How? Who were they? And who was she? Why was an image of murder circling her brain?

      “It’s okay,” the gorgeous blue-eyed man said. His arm was in a sling, a cowboy hat tucked in the crook of the other elbow. A fringe of dark hair framed his face. “You’re all right, I promise.”

      The dull roar in her head quieted just a fraction. The doctor edged forward and smiled. “You’ve had a little bump on the head. Can you tell me your name?”

      Again terror ballooned until facts began to land clumsily into place like heavy stones dropped into a creek. “Tracy. My name is Tracy Wilson.”

      “Excellent. That matches your driver’s license, so we’re doing great so far.” He asked another round of questions. Slowly she recalled the year, her age, her career as a bloodstock agent. She would have told him of her father if the ache in her heart hadn’t stopped her. All the while, she eyed the familiar cowboy and the police officer standing next to him. Police, hospital—it all added up to something bad but she could not command her thoughts.

      “It’s Friday morning.” The doctor’s words finally penetrated.

      “Friday?” she squeaked. Where had Wednesday and Thursday gone?

      “Do you remember visiting the Mother Lode Equestrian Center on Wednesday night?” the cop asked.

      Did she? Her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket and she blinked hard.

      The cowboy shot a hostile look at the cop. “Can’t you let the doctor finish?” There was something difficult between them, something that had started a long time ago, she guessed. The cowboy was beyond handsome, long and lean, a five o’clock shadow darkening his chin. It took her a moment to realize she knew him.

      “I’ve met you, haven’t I?”

      His face lit with a breathtaking smile. “Yes, ma’am. Keegan Thorn.”

      Fear bubbled in her stomach as she tried to recall where. The unruly fringe of hair, the deep baritone of his voice were all familiar. Her fuzziness subsided a fraction. He’d helped her, this cowboy.

      “I changed your flat tire, but I practically had to arm wrestle you to do it.” He grinned, but she thought the smile didn’t quite reach through the worry nestled in his eyes.

      “Thank you,” she said. “For doing that.”

      He shrugged. “No problem. Happy to help.”

      “But how did I get a head injury? Was I in an accident?”

      Keegan’s smile vanished and he looked away. More alarm bells clanged in her mind.

      The crew-cut officer inched forward. His blue eyes were similar to Keegan’s, though edging more toward slate than sapphire, but he was a few inches shorter, his face narrow and mouth not as full. There was certainly a resemblance, though, along with the unmistakable tension. A snippet of conversation flitted through her consciousness.

       I’m not the chief’s favorite guy... He’s my half brother.

      The cop was staring at her. “I’m John Larraby, chief of the Gold Bar Police Department, Miss Wilson, and yes, you were in a vehicle accident.”

      The doctor checked her pulse and the bandage on her head. “You were in a crash and you sustained a moderate head injury in the wreck. Things may be a bit jumbled. Oftentimes the most recent memories are difficult to recover at first.”

      “So do you remember visiting the Mother Lode Equestrian Center in Copper Creek?” John asked again.

      She rubbed at the ache building between her eyes. “I remember arriving in town. I think I stopped there.” She caught Keegan’s eyes. “When did the wreck happen?”

      Something in Keegan’s expression sent nerves jumping along her spine. “Was someone hurt?” Her body went tense, the action sending the blanket askew. “Did I hit anybody?”

      “No,” Keegan said, pulling the blanket back into place. “You didn’t hurt anyone. I met you at an abandoned train station where you stopped because of your flat tire. We were... I mean...do you remember why we were in such a hurry to leave the train station?”

      Again, the flickering images of violence erupted in her mind. Was it СКАЧАТЬ