“I’ve never been on a hayride before,” she admitted, then added, “at least none that I remember.” She looked toward the front of the wagon, where Billy returned her scowl. “I wish you hadn’t gone to Abby about the incident. I think I’ve made an enemy.”
Hank followed her gaze to the front. “Don’t let him get to you. Billy hates everyone, most of all himself. He should be grateful Abby gave him another chance. She could have fired his butt without hesitation. A ranch is no place for a drunk.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that,” Colette replied, wishing he wasn’t sitting so close, wishing the heat of his body didn’t feel so good next to hers, that the scent of his cologne didn’t muddy her mind with crazy thoughts.
Maybe it’s a hormonal anomaly, she comforted herself. Maybe all women after giving birth had bursts of irrational desire toward handsome cowboys who smelled nice.
Within minutes, the wagon began its trip and Abby led the group in singing camp songs. Tension slowly ebbed from Colette as one song followed another, laughter a frequent chorus. It felt good to be out with adults, knowing Brook was safe and sound with Maria at the ranch house.
By the time they got to the place where Roger Eaton and several of the other ranch workers awaited them with a roaring campfire, evening had gasped its last light and night had fully descended.
The full moon’s silvery light accented the rugged terrain surrounding them. The campsite was sheltered on one side by a huge, reddish brown butte, a towering monolith reaching toward the sky. The roaring fire cast dancing shadows on its wall, creating an otherworld setting that invited intimacy.
Laughter once again filled the air as the group descended from the wagon and crowded around the warmth of the fire. The guests, four couples, immediately found seats on the hay bales the men had placed around the fire.
As Abby directed the men to begin unloading a second wagon filled with the workings for a barbecue, Colette sat on one of the bales. Roger waved a friendly hello to her from across the fire and she waved back, his pleasant smile in direct contrast to Billy’s glower.
For the first time Colette saw all the ranch hands together and tried to put faces to names. She recognized Rusty Maxwell, the foreman who Abby said was her right-hand man. Bulldog had become a familiar character in Colette’s time at the ranch. Although as big as a mountain, his mind was that of a child’s, filled with innocence and a bigheartedness that had made him one of Colette’s favorites.
Philip Weiss manned the fire, the flame’s illumination playing on his grizzled features and underscoring his gnarled, arthritic hands. Colette knew Abby had been encouraging Philip to retire, but Philip refused to admit he was getting too old to be effective help on the ranch.
Bob Sanderson was a tall, thin man, his facial features tormented by a livid scar that puckered his skin from the corner of one eye to the side of his mouth. Colette knew he worked directly under Rusty with the care and maintenance of the cattle, and she’d had little contact with him.
Finally, there was Hank. Colette watched as he lifted a cooler from the back of the wagon, his biceps taut beneath the strain of the heavy load.
His gaze met hers across the expanse of the fire. A log popped, sending embers showering. It wasn’t the embers that created a burst of warmth inside her. Her internal heat had nothing to do with the physical flames, but rather grew from the heat of his eyes.
She averted her gaze, wondering why it was he had the power to look at her and make her feel like he stroked the flesh of her inner thigh, breathed a whisper into her ear, knew the intimacies of her body better than she knew them herself.
“You doing okay?” Belinda flopped next to her, drawing her attention from Hank.
“Fine,” Colette answered, flashing her sister a quick smile. “The guests look like they’re having a good time,” she observed.
“Yeah, the Friday night hayrides and barbecues are one of the most popular things we do. Wait until Abby starts telling some of her ghost stories. You’ll realize our big sister missed her calling as an actress.”
Colette laughed. “I can’t wait.”
Belinda stood. “I’d better get the steaks on. Abby appointed me the official steak cook for the night.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Colette asked.
Belinda shook her head. “The best thing you can do is relax and enjoy the fun.”
Within minutes the air filled with the scent of beef cooking over open flames. Ice-cold beverages were passed out from coolers and foil-wrapped potatoes snuggled next to the hot embers at the edge of the fire.
Colette drank her soda, isolated and separate from the rest of the group. She hadn’t realized before how a lack of memory made small talk difficult. She had no past experiences to draw from, no funny little anecdotes to share. She had little else but the here and now and a myriad of confusing, indistinct half memories and emotions.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Hank observed softly as he eased down next to her after they’d eaten, his thigh once again a warm intimacy against hers.
“I haven’t noticed you being Mr. Sociable, either.” She tossed her empty paper cup into the fire.
He shrugged. “Sharing little details of my life with strangers has never been my idea of fun.”
She had a feeling sharing little details of his life with anyone was difficult for him. He struck her as somebody self-contained, a man who wouldn’t need to talk to or share with anyone. “I’ve heard from a lot of people at the ranch that you’re very talented with the horses. Have you always worked with horses?”
“I could ride a horse before I could walk. At least, that’s what my mother used to tell me. She ate, drank and lived horses, so they were a big part of my life when I was growing up.” He fell silent, his gaze directed at the fire. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed this kind of work until I came here and found myself this job.”
“What kind of work were you doing before?” she asked.
He turned and looked at her. For a long moment his gaze held hers and in the depths of his eyes she saw secrets, haunting secrets that again evoked in her a subtle fear…and the mysterious thrill of déjà vu. “This and that,” he finally said, returning his gaze to the flames.
She leaned toward the fire, chilled by the answer that gave away nothing. He’d given the same kind of response when she’d asked where he was from. “Here and there…this and that.” A kind of double-talk that kept his secrets.
Who was Hank Cooper? And why did his mere closeness cause the blood inside her to race, her heart to thud a little faster? What secrets did he hold and why did she have the feeling that somehow his secrets were her own?
She cast him a surreptitious glance, noting the chiseled cut of his jawline, the faint growth of dark whiskers and the taut line of his mouth. He was a man who appeared to invite nothing and nobody into his world, and yet there was something undefinable, an almost primal pull that drew her to him as effectively as the cattle herd drew the coyotes.
His nearness suddenly seemed suffocating. As Abby began gathering trash from the meal, Colette jumped up to help. She needed some distance from Hank Cooper, needed some space from the heady sensations his closeness provoked.
After cleanup, everyone huddled around the fire as Abby began telling ghost stories. Colette stood to the side of the group for a little while, then drifted away, deciding there was enough horror in her own lack of memories to warrant not listening to Abby’s tales of the dark side.
The cool night air embraced her, making her grateful she’d worn a sweater as she leaned against a tree trunk and gazed up to where the stars hung like jewels on the velvety night sky.
The beauty of the stars made her ache inside, an ache of isolation, the pain of loneliness. Had there ever been a man in her life who cared for her? Someplace on earth was Brook’s father wondering what had happened to Colette, worried about their welfare? Or had Brook been the product of a single night of violation, a mistaken conception
formed in violence?
It didn’t matter. Nothing changed the love Colette had for her baby girl. No memories of violence could break the bond of love Colette felt for Brook.
“Don’t like ghost stories?” Hank’s voice came from the darkness near where Colette stood. He stepped closer, his features barely visible in the dappled moonlight that shone through the tree leaves.
She shrugged. “I’m just not in the mood for them.”
“You shouldn’t wander too far away from the group. There are dangers out here.” As if on cue a coyote howled its eerie cry. Hank grinned, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. “See?”
“I’m not afraid of the coyotes,” Colette replied. It was the unknown that frightened her, confused her. A lifetime gone in the blink of an eye, all experiences of love, of pain, of joy…gone, leaving behind only an inexplicable fear.
Hank moved closer, stopping just in front of Colette. With the tree at her back and him standing so close, Colette’s heart began a quick rhythm. He leaned forward and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “What does make you afraid, Colette?”
His warm fingers evoked a heat in her as they trailed from her forehead to the side of her jaw and across the hollow of her throat. Unlike Billy Sims’s closeness and touch, which had caused repugnance and fear, Hank’s touch electrified her with excitement.
“What makes me afraid?” She repeated the question breathlessly, trying to keep her mind from spinning beneath the onslaught of his dark gaze and the hot caress of his fingers that still remained on her neck.
Oh, she was afraid of how he made her feel, was afraid of the secrets in his eyes, scared he wouldn’t kiss her and terrified he might. “I…I…”
Whatever she’d been about to say was stifled as he dipped his head to press his mouth to hers. His lips moved softly, like a warm breeze, against hers. Someplace in the back of her mind, Colette knew she should break away, stop the kiss, but it would be like trying to rein in the wind, capture the light of a star.
As he deepened the kiss, she forgot any impulse to make him stop. Instead she wound her arms around his neck, tangled her fingers in the thick hair at his nape and pressed her body fully against his. As his tongue plummeted the depths of her mouth, dizzying sensations swept through her.
She felt more alive than she’d felt since waking up in the motel room in Las Vegas. His kiss stoked an ember of desire into a roaring inferno and she invited the flames in response.
“Ah, sweet coquette, you do stir a man’s blood,” he murmured in her ear.
She stiffened, something about his words pulling her away from the fire into the arctic cold of fear. What was it? Coquette. Yes, that was it. The word echoed in her head, a familiar endearment in a black fog of lost memories. Where desire had been, confusion stepped in and she pulled away from Hank. She touched her lips, which felt swollen from his kiss. “Why? Why did you kiss me?”
A lazy grin curved his lips. “Why did you kiss me?” he countered.
A blush warmed her face. “I have amnesia, I’m probably nuts and not responsible for my actions. What’s your excuse?” Irritation winged through her as she heard the slight breathlessness in her voice.
He laughed, a deep rumble that again stirred something in the dark recesses of Colette’s memory. “I didn’t know one needed an excuse to kiss an attractive woman in the moonlight.”
“Then I don’t need an excuse to tell you to go away. I’d like to be alone.” Colette knew she sounded petulant, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to be alone, needed time to think about Hank, and his kiss, and why his use of the word coquette sent a shiver racing up her spine. “Please,” she added when he didn’t move.
“Just don’t be gone from the group for long. I was serious about there being dangers out here.” He turned and walked back toward the group huddled around the fire.
Colette breathed a sigh of relief as he moved away. Again she touched her lips, remembering the taste of him, the feel of his lips against hers.
Walking away from the tree, she headed for the far side of the huge butte, grateful for the spill of moonlight that made walking unfamiliar terrain easier. As she walked, she thought again of Hank, wondering why it was her lips seemed to know his, her body had fit into his with a familiar comfort.
Had he lied to her when he’d told her they hadn’t met before? Why would he lie? Did the secrets that darkened his eyes have something to do with her, her past?
She was surprised to discover that on the distant side of the butte was a gentle rise, making it relatively easy to climb to the top. She climbed, glad for the physical activity that kept thoughts of Hank momentarily at bay.
Once at the peak of the butte, she caught her breath at the panoramic view that stretched out before her. The full moon cast luminous light across the valley, making it look like a quaint, impressionistic painting. She took a step forward, careful not to get too close to the edge where a sheer-face cliff seemed to drop into black space.
She raised her face to the moonlight and closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath of the sweet night air overlaid with the scent of wood smoke. From someplace below her, she could hear the distant laughter and murmurs of the people around the campfire.
Whatever made me decide to leave this place? She sank onto her haunches and drew in another cleansing breath. The sweet night wind whispered “home.” The peaceful valley below said the same. The sound of Abby’s and Belinda’s laughter drifting upward caused a warmth to explode in her heart, the warmth of family, of belonging, of love.
Hank. She frowned as his face filled her mind and she thought of the dizzying, tumultuous kiss they’d shared. With the mere meeting of lips, he’d made her body sing with want. She once again looked into the valley, wondering what force pulled her to Hank.
She stood, realizing she should join the others before anyone worried about her. At that moment something hit her in the back with enough force to drive her forward. In horror, she fought for balance, her feet sliding precariously close to the butte’s deadly edge. She didn’t scream until she realized she’d lost the battle and her feet left the butte as she plunged downward.
CHAPTER FIVE
For a brief moment Hank wasn’t sure he’d actually heard a scream. It had been a faint sound swallowed immediately in a burst of laughter from the group around the campfire. Still, his adrenaline soared in response and he left the fireside seeking Colette.
She wasn’t beneath the tree where he had kissed her, nor was she anywhere around the immediate area. He narrowed his eyes, trying to pierce the dark shadows that lingered beneath the trees.
Where had she gone? As he rounded the far side of the butte, he thought he heard another cry for help. Energy pumped through him as he raced up the side of the butte, stopping at the edge that dropped into apparent nothingness.
“Colette?” he yelled, his heart pounding a rhythm of panic.
“Help me, please.” The sobbed request came from beyond the edge, a disembodied cry from the dark. Hank stretched out on his stomach and eased himself forward to peer over the brink.
Just below him, on a narrow jutting shelf, stood Colette, her back pressed against the weathered wall of rock.
“Colette, it’s all right. I’m right here.” He kept his voice soft, hoping to ease some of her panic.
“Help me. I’m going to fall. I’m going to fall.” Her voice rose in hysteria.
“No, you’re not. I’m not going to let you fall.” Hank maneuvered himself closer, close enough that his head and arms dangled over the edge. “Raise your arms, Colette.”
“I can’t. I can’t move.”
Hank could see her hands at her sides, fingers splayed against the side of the butte at her back. There was no way he could reach her without her raising her hands to him. “Colette, honey, you have to raise your hands for me. I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.”
He could hear her breathing, ragged breaths of sheer terror, knew she felt a paraly
zing fear, but he had to break through that fear, get her to cooperate. “Colette, I know you’re afraid, but you’ve got to do what I tell you.” This time his tone was harsh, a no-nonsense command. “Now, raise your arms and reach for mine.”
He heard her draw in a deep breath, watched with his heart pounding as she slowly inched her arms toward his. From the distance he could hear the noise of the people around the campfire, their laughter an ironic sound effect to the life-and-death drama playing out before him.
“Come on, Colette…stretch…” He groaned as her fingertips barely grazed his. Scooting farther over the edge, he exclaimed triumphantly as his hands closed around her wrists.
“Hold me,” she cried. “For God’s sake, hold on.”
“Don’t worry,” Hank said, hoping…praying he could summon the strength to pull her up and over the ledge. He knew if she slipped from his grip, if he accidently let go or his strength didn’t hold, she would plummet to her death.
Digging his feet into the ground, wishing for better leverage, he pulled with all his might. Within seconds his shoulders burned and his muscles shook with the effort. But inch by agonizing inch, Colette approached closer and closer to safety.
With a final burst of exertion, she cleared the edge of the cliff and fell sobbing into Hank’s arms. He rolled them away from the precipice, then held her tight, too exhausted to attempt to verbally console her, but welcoming the physical contact that let him know she was safe and sound.
The burst of adrenaline that had afforded him the strength to lift her had left him and he knew he’d pay hell trying to get out of bed the next morning. Now that the danger was over, questions filled his mind. What in the hell had she done? Walked off the cliff?
It wasn’t until she rolled off him and sat up, her tears momentarily subsided, that he thought she could handle his questions. “What happened?”
She pulled her legs up to her chest, then wrapped her arms around her legs. “I—I’m not sure.” Her gaze went to the edge of the cliff and a violent shiver overtook her. “I think…I think somebody pushed me from behind. I was standing there, looking over the valley, and somebody shoved me.”
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