The Missing Colton

by Loreth Anne White

  She got up, peered around the door.

  “Morning.” He smiled, teeth stark-white against his tan, blue eyes sparkling, that dimple showing. He was wearing Dylan’s jeans, slung low on his hips. No shirt. And there was no hint in his easy smile, in his twinkling eyes, of the psychological terrors that had haunted him during the night. But Mia knew they were buried in there, possibly hidden from consciousness by his amnesia.

  She stepped into the living room, unsure what to say, whether to broach last night at all.

  “Coffee?” he said, holding up the pot.

  “God, yes, thank you.” Her eyes flashed to her open bedroom door, her clothes on the chair.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Mia grabbed her pile of clothes and inside the en suite bathroom she rinsed her face, put on jeans and a fresh shirt. She looked into the mirror and decided, for the first time in a long, long while, to leave her hair loose. She didn’t want to think about what that meant.

  She went into the kitchenette, pulled a bar stool up to the counter. He set a mug of steaming, freshly brewed coffee in front of her.

  She spooned sugar in. “You look good this morning,” she said. “I mean—” Damn. “I mean, as in, you look like you’re doing much better.” Her cheeks heated as the memory of their kiss surged through her.

  His sparkling eyes caught hers and he grinned again. Hot damn, that smile did her in. But a darker look had also entered his eyes—a warning, to not mention last night.

  “I like your hair loose,” he said.

  He was sidestepping.

  She reached for coffee mug with both hands, needing to steady herself. She took a deep sip.

  “Cole—about last night—”

  His grin faded and she saw the ghost of whatever haunted him cross his features, resurfacing. He reached for his own mug and the movement flexed the inked wings of the tattoo on his pec.

  “Look, Mia. I—”

  Her pager beeped on her belt.

  “Hang on a sec—it’s my emergency pager.”

  She read the name on the tiny screen. “Gray Stark,” she said. “The ranch foreman. I need to call him.”

  Mia used the suite phone to dial Gray’s cell. He told her there’d been a dust-up between two employees in the stable. One of them needed medical attention.

  Mia smoothed her hand over her hair and glanced at her watch, then at Cole, who was watching her in a way that was so complete it unnerved her.

  “I’ll be right there,” she told Gray.

  She hung up and turned to Cole. “I’m needed in the stables. There’s been a fight between two of the ranch hands. I don’t think it sounds serious, but it’s protocol that I respond so Gray can fill out any paperwork that’s needed.” She made for her room to fetch her things.

  “We should still be able to leave on time for Cheyenne, but I’m going to have to skip that breakfast. I’ll come back and pick you up.”

  He set his mug down. “I’ll come with you. We can leave for Cheyenne from the stables once you’re done.”

  “No really, it’s fine. Finish your breakfast.”

  He laughed, making for his own room. “I already did. That’s yours that you’re going to be missing.”

  She stared at his back, the way his muscles moved under smooth, tanned skin. Mia felt hot. She pressed her hand to her stomach and inhaled deeply. There was so much happening so quickly between them that it didn’t quite seem real.

  He called from his room, “I can’t just sit in here and wait for my memory to return, Mia. I need to move. I need to see my environment. It might help me recall why I came here in the first place.”

  Mia shrugged into her down jacket. It would be cold out this morning. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and grabbed her purse. She left her medical bag—there was a first-aid station in the stables. As she came out of the room, Mia caught her breath.

  Cole stood in the doorway dressed in a crisp, white, Western shirt, dark-blue denim jeans, cowboy boots and a belt with a buckle she recognized as Dylan’s. In his hand he held a down jacket and a cowboy hat.

  “That maid, Misty, left a bunch of clothes in the closet,” he said, holding out his arms. “Do I look the part?”

  Mia cleared her throat. “They fit.”

  She turned around and grabbed the Escalade keys from the counter, shaken by how much she was attracted to the look of this man. A stranger.

  * * *

  They crossed the gravel driveway, making for the stables.

  The morning was beautiful, mist rising from the fields, cattle moving in distant pastures. The clouds had lifted to reveal a white blanket of snow on the distant mountains. Mia walked with long strides, her Western boots crunching on the gravel, her ponytail swinging briskly across her back. Her blue jacket brought out the color of her eyes and the bite of autumn put pink into her cheeks. Jagger thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in a long time.

  Yellow cottonwoods and aspens rustled in the slight breeze, and crisp, dry leaves clattered across the ground in small gusts. As they neared the stables the scent of the horses and manure was strong. But it was earthy, grounding. Real. After his sleep, Jagger felt better about the world than he had in months. He owed it to Mia.

  As humiliating as it might be, having the tactile comfort of this beautiful woman during the night had both aroused and settled something in him. He had an uncomfortable feeling Mia Sanders was going to be like a drug to him. Jagger didn’t want that. He no longer wanted to numb things by drugging himself. But this sensation of reawakening was so fragile, so addictive, it scared him.

  As they passed a stand of cottonwoods he saw a ranch hand working a horse on a longe rope. The man waved at them.

  “That’s Dylan Frick—horse whisperer extraordinaire,” Mia said as she returned the wave. “They’re his clothes that you’ve been wearing. It was his mother who was murdered eight weeks ago.” She paused as she watched him briefly. “He’s not allowing himself to rest,” she said quietly.

  Jagger was, of course, aware of Faye Frick’s murder, but he wanted to know more about her son and their circumstances here.

  “Both he and his mother worked here?”

  “Faye was a single mom. She started working as the ranch governess when Dylan was still a toddler. She always had a way with children.” Mia walked on in silence for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was thick. “It really shook everyone up. All the staff loved Faye. We all care deeply about Dylan.”

  “Was Faye here when Cole was kidnapped thirty years ago?”

  She looked up. The sun caught her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m just trying to picture how things pieced together back then. Maybe it’ll bring something back about why I came here—or how.”

  “I think Faye and Dylan arrived about a year after the kidnapping, just after Dylan’s first birthday.”

  Jagger would have liked to have stayed to watch Dylan work with the gelding. It was poetry in motion—the soft thumping of hooves as the horse went around the ring, tail held high, hot breath misting into white clouds, the wrangler in the middle.

  They rounded the stable building and both Jagger and Mia stalled briefly at sight of a police car.

  “Cops are here,” she said as she moved faster. “Must be serious. Gray must have called them.”

  They entered the stables. This was a high-end business, Jagger thought as he hurried after Mia down the aisle between the stalls. At the end of the row of stalls, near a big barn door, sitting on a tack box outside what appeared to be some kind of office was a tall, dark-haired ranch hand cradling his left arm, his face white with pain. As Jagger neared, he saw the man’s lip had been split and there was blood on his shirt.

  Beside the man stood two cowboys; one had also been rough
ed up. His shirt was ripped and he was holding his jaw. A female cop was taking notes.

  “That’s Jared Hansen sitting on the box,” Mia explained quickly as they neared. “And that’s Trip Colton holding his jaw. The man next to Trip is Gray Stark, ranch foreman. And that’s Officer Karen Locke talking to Gray.”

  From his research, Jagger knew who Trip Colton was. Trip had lived in one wing of the Colton mansion with his mother, Darla, and his sister, Tawny, ever since Jethro had divorced Darla. What Jagger wanted to know was why they continued to live here. Was it wealthy eccentricity? Or was there a deeper reason Jethro kept Darla and her two kids from a previous marriage on?

  “Thank you for coming, Mia,” Gray Stark said as they approached. “You know officer Locke?”

  The brown-haired cop nodded a curt greeting.

  “What happened?” Mia said.

  “These two had a tussle over some property.” Gray did not look amused. “I put the first-aid kit over there next to Hansen. I think he’s broken his arm. We’ll probably have to send him off for X-rays, but if you could give ’em both the once-over for the records.”

  As Mia began to examine Hansen’s arm, the brown-haired cop’s eyes went straight to Jagger. He gave her a nod.

  “You our John Doe?” she said.

  “Apparently.”

  Her brown eyes held his for a few beats.

  “You seen that bag before?” She pointed.

  And Jagger’s heart stalled. Besides the tack box upon which Hansen sat, resting on the stable floor, was his duffel bag. Empty. His gaze shot back to the cop.

  “Gray Stark says these guys were fighting over it,” she said. “It looks like the duffel that people saw you leaving Dead River with the other night.”

  Jagger’s pulse raced as he met first Jared Hansen’s eyes, then Trip Colton’s. Both gazes were cool, hostile. Had one of these men taken his laptop, ID, wallet, phone?

  Had they tried to access his password-protected phone? His computer?

  Had one of them tried to kill him?

  Chapter 7

  “Is that your bag?” Officer Locke prompted.

  Jagger kept his features guarded but his pulse raced as the brown-haired cop continued to watch him intently. If they’d gotten into his phone, they might be able to figure out who he was. He wasn’t that worried about his laptop—he used it merely to access an online database where he kept all his notes and files under secure password protection.

  “I don’t know,” Jagger said carefully.

  “You sure?”

  Mia glanced up sharply.

  “I can’t remember,” he said.

  Karen Locke said, “You were seen leaving the Dead River Diner carrying a kit bag exactly like that one.”

  “I was?” He made a move to reach for it.

  “Whoa! Please, don’t touch,” Officer Locke said, stepping in front of it. “I’m going to have to take that in. No one touches it.”

  “I told you, we weren’t fighting over any damn bag,” Trip growled, holding his jaw.

  “Is that so,” Officer Locke said. She turned to Jared Hansen. “That your story, too?”

  Hansen grunted, then winced sharply as Mia palpated his arm.

  “Feels like you’ve fractured your radius,” Mia said.

  “Like I told you,” Trip grumbled, “Hansen made a move on Lucy Elton at the Joe Bear’s Bar the other night. I just found out—that’s all this was.”

  “And you’re dating Lucy Elton, so she’s off-limits to Hansen?” Officer Locke said.

  “Damn right she’s off-limits.”

  The officer scribbled something in her notes and closed her book. “So where’d the bag come from, then?”

  “Found it in the ravine this morning, while I was out riding,” Trip said. “I was returning my horse to his stall and was going to call it in to the Dead P.D., because it matched the description. Then Hansen shows up and we got into it over Lucy.”

  Silence hung for a moment. A horse whinnied down in the stalls. The scent of hay was warm and sweet in the cool morning air. Hansen stared at the ground, jaw tight against pain as Mia strapped on a makeshift splint.

  “Is that so,” said Officer Locke again. “Because Mr. Stark here said he saw you two fighting over that bag. Hansen was claiming it was his, saying that you stole it from his room.”

  Mia glanced up sharply, a frown crossing her brow as she narrowed her gaze on Trip.

  Jagger caught the odd and sudden look in her eyes.

  Trip shrugged. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. I was going to bring it in to the police, like I said.”

  Hansen’s gaze ticked up to meet Trip’s. Their boss was watching them both. Tension tightened across Jagger’s chest. One of these guys, or all of them, knew something and was lying about his bag.

  Mia stood up, dusted off her pants. “There’s nothing an X-ray and a cast won’t fix,” she said of Hansen. “You might want to try some ice on your way to the clinic. Want me to look at that jaw, Trip?”

  Trip had a dangerous look in his eyes when he met Mia’s gaze. As if he was warning her back. His attention flicked briefly down to the bag, then returned to meet Mia’s again. She swallowed. The exchange was subtle, but there.

  Jagger felt a hot protectiveness rising in his chest. He moved a little closer to Mia.

  “My jaw’s fine.”

  “Put some ice on it,” she said brusquely, then checked her watch. “We need to leave for a medical appointment in Cheyenne. Gray, are you okay to take things over from here?”

  “Go—we’re good. Thank you, Mia.”

  “Officer Locke,” Mia said, nodding toward the cop. But then she hesitated, turned to Jagger. “I just want to go into the office and grab my fishing gear that I left here after I found you.”

  She disappeared into the office.

  All the men turned to watch her. Mia was an attractive woman. Heat rode into Jagger’s chest, and it struck him—he wanted her. He wanted her to be his.

  She came out with an antique-looking wicker creel and a case for fly rods, a fishing vest tucked under her arm. “Okay, let’s go.”

  They moved at a brisk pace through the stalls. Jagger could smell the leather of the saddles hanging alongside bridles on hooks outside the individual stalls. Two grooms were mucking out empty ones.

  “Fishing gear?” he said, matching her stride.

  “I was going fishing when I found you,” she said. “I left my stuff here after bringing my horse, Sunny, back, so I could help Levi attend to you.”

  He looked at the creel and vest. “Fly fishing?”

  She nodded.

  “Alone, on horseback?”

  “Rivers are best enjoyed alone and a horse is an ideal way to access places you can’t by vehicle.”

  Inside he smiled. Hot damn—the more he learned about Mia Sanders the more she appealed.

  “Where’d you learn to fish, Mia?”

  “My dad. Since I was little. He was big into the outdoors.”

  Was. Jagger noted the past tense, but didn’t push. For now. He was more interested in finding out about her silent exchange with Trip Colton.

  “What was that look about, between you and Trip?”

  “I ran into Trip in the employee wing last night when I went to get my things.” She slowed her pace a little, frowning. “I could have sworn he was carrying that same bag.”

  Jagger’s pulse kicked. “And it was empty?”

  She pursed her lips. “I...don’t know. I can’t be sure. The lights had just gone out and he’d spooked me so I was unfocused. I was on the female staff floor and—I thought Trip had come out of one of the maid’s rooms. But he told me he’d come down from the men’s floor.” She glanced up. “Jared Hansen h
as a room there.”

  “So you think what Gray Stark said he heard could’ve been true—that Trip had taken the bag from Hansen’s room?”

  “I suppose. You sure you don’t recognize it, Cole?”

  Jagger glanced away. He had to find a way to let Mia in on what he was doing, but he also didn’t want her to blow his cover just yet. “No,” he said quietly.

  As they passed the next stall a massive black stallion inside reared back its head and snorted. Ice shot instantly through Jagger’s veins and he froze in his tracks. The stallion had a jagged white streak emblazoned across his chest. It pawed the ground, irritated.

  The chill in his veins spread slowly through Jagger’s body.

  “Mia.” His voice came out low, hoarse. “Who does that horse belong to?”

  Surprise crossed her features as she stopped beside him. “Why?”

  “I...I’m not sure.”

  “That’s Midnight,” she said. “He’s Jethro’s horse. A real handful—like bottled rocket fuel and just as skittish. The last time Jethro rode Midnight he wasn’t well and the horse threw him then almost trampled him. Levi saved Jethro that day. It was a turning point in their relationship.”

  “Who rides him now?”

  “Dylan. Midnight is putty in his hands. He’s one of the few who can actually handle the horse. You should see them together, it’s incredible. Like a man riding the wind.”

  Jagger thought of the thudding hooves in the dark, the control of the rider aiming at him with a hunting light on his head.

  “Are you remembering something, Cole?” she said, watching his face keenly

  “I...” He put his hand to the bandage, then swore softly. “I don’t know, Mia. You said you thought the gash on my temple might’ve been caused by a shod hoof, and that there were hoof prints all around me.”

  “What—? You think it was Midnight? Why would you think it was him?”