She dropped the backpack beside the child, then staggered back to the driver’s door and got in. She pulled the transmission lever into drive, then guided the car toward the lake. The water showed under a light coating of ice, so the car should plunge right through.
The speedometer showed 25 miles per hour. She shoved open the door and sprang from the car. Her shoulder slammed into the ice-slicked knoll. The impact knocked the air out of her.
She lay facedown in mud while the pain thundered in her head and her side. The agony pushed out all other thoughts. The blood running down her side and pooling under her felt warm.
With a groan, she welcomed the darkness that blotted out her pain and terror.
Her dreams were punctuated with screams and the sound of crying. Gradually she became aware the cries were real. She moaned, then sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. The level of pounding in her head had eased off, maybe enough to think. She lurched to her feet.
The car.
Glancing around, she saw the vehicle was gone. How long had she been unconscious? Staggering, she started toward the toddler. “It’s okay, baby,” she crooned, her voice hoarse and sore as if she’d been screaming. Maybe some of the screams in her dreams had been her own.
The little girl held up her arms. “Mama,” she sobbed.
Lifting the toddler into her arms, she cradled the child against her shoulder. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she whispered in the child’s soft blond hair. Had a child’s hair ever smelled so sweet? It felt strange and familiar all at the same time.
“Mama.” The little girl nestled close and popped her thumb in her mouth.
A wave of maternal love rose in her chest. This was her daughter, even if she didn’t know the little girl’s name. “What’s your name, sweetheart? How old are you?”
The little girl took her thumb out of her mouth. “Two,” she said. She held up chubby fingers. “Two.”
“You’re two,” she agreed. “But what’s your name?” The little girl didn’t answer. The wind kicked up, and she realized she needed to put the child’s coat on her. The toddler cooperated by sticking her arms into the sleeves.
Her own coat still lay on the passenger seat. Now that she was shivering, she dimly remembered seeing it. How stupid not to grab it.
The backpack she’d pulled from the car before she disposed of the vehicle lay at her feet. Her purse was in there. Surely she had a driver’s license. Still holding the child, she knelt beside the backpack. She rooted out the purse she’d seen and unzipped it. One by one, she examined the contents by the bright light of the moon.
There was no identification in the purse. It actually seemed to be the child’s play purse. She found cherry ChapStick, a broken green crayon, a tiny doll, and a bib. Where was her own purse? She should have checked the floor and the glove box before sending the car into the lake.
She touched the ring finger on her left hand. A ring had worn a groove there, but her finger was bare. Was she divorced? Was it her husband she was fleeing from?
Struggling to think, she pulled a bulky shape from the dark shadows of her mind and shuddered. He couldn’t find her now. Surely, she’d come far enough. She touched the goose egg on her head. It had started to bleed.
“Mama has to put you down a minute,” she told the little girl. The child didn’t complain when she set her on the frosted grass.
She started to shoulder the backpack, then felt something swing along her chest. Her fingers touched a necklace. Fumbling with the latch, she managed to get the necklace off and held it up to the moonlight. Small ballet slippers swung on a delicate chain. She turned it over and noticed something engraved on the back, but it was too dark to make out the word.
Clutching the necklace in her palm, she shouldered the backpack, then lifted the child into her arms. Holding the toddler on her right hip with her right arm steadying her, she picked up the car seat and went through the trees back to the road.
She set her feet on the deserted road and began to walk in the direction she’d been traveling. An owl hooted from a tree overhead, and other night sounds rustled in the brush. Were there bears here? Wolves? She tried to quicken her pace, but she was weak and unsteady.
Her breath fogged the air, but carrying the little girl warmed her. One bare foot in front of the other. Where were her shoes? There were no lights in the distance to beckon her, but desire to protect the child drove her. Her ears rang, and it was all she could do to hang on to her senses.
She glanced behind and froze. Headlights loomed. They weren’t there the last time she looked. The vehicle was nearly on top of her. She tried to step back into the shelter of the trees, but the vehicle rolled to a stop and a woman’s voice called out.
“Are you okay? Do you need a ride?”
Her knees nearly buckled. It wasn’t a man. The woman sounded worried. And friendly.
The woman exited the car and gasped as she rounded the hood. “You’ve got a child. What are you doing walking out here alone? And barefoot?” She took the car seat and set it by the Jeep. “You don’t have a coat.”
The welcome dome light spilled onto the pavement. A small boy peered from the backseat. Red hair like the woman. Maybe seven years old or so. A dog, a mutt mixture that looked part German shepherd, stuck its head out the window and barked.
A family. Tears welled in her eyes. Thank God. “I’d be grateful for a ride,” she said.
“I’m Bree Matthews.” Bree’s gaze went to the lump on her head. “You’re bleeding. I’d better get you to the hospital.”
“It’s not that bad. I just need to find a hotel or something.” She gulped. “I . . . I don’t have any money though,” she stammered. “I lost my purse.”
“You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Bree said. “What’s your name?” She opened the rear hatch, reached in, and pulled out a blanket.
Would Bree think she was crazy? She had to risk it, since her head hurt too badly to make up something. “I . . . I don’t know. I can’t remember. My head hurts so much.” Her stomach rebelled, but she managed to swallow the bile that burned her throat. She set the little girl down, took the blanket Bree held out, and draped it around herself.
“We need to get you to the doctor.” Bree opened the passenger door. “Here, sit down.”
Panic burned brighter in her chest. “No hospital.” She took her daughter’s hand and began to walk away, then stumbled and went down on one knee.
Bree knelt beside her and put an arm around her, helping her rise. “It’s okay. I’ve got a friend who’s a doctor. He’ll come to my home.”
The young woman wasn’t very big, maybe five-three, but she possessed a reassuring sense of strength. “Where am I?”
“Just outside Rock Harbor. The west side of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.” Bree reached under the blanket, took one strap of the backpack, and began to ease it off her shoulders. “We’ll sort this out in the morning. You and your little girl are about to drop. I’ve got room at my house. Let me help you.”
Tears sprang from her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. Maybe she could find a safe harbor there for a few days. If she could just sleep, maybe her memory would come back.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Copyright
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Acknowledgments
An Excerpt From
Alaska Twilight Page 26