Virgin without a Memory

by Vickie Taylor

  The creases at the corners of Eric’s eyes deepened as his features tightened. She knew how he felt. She’d experienced the same thing as she rode up to her parents’ cabin. Despite what Eric had said, there were ghosts on this mountain.

  He stopped next to a twisted pine and stared down at his feet. She knew what he was looking for. The rain had wiped out most of the tracks, but the deep ruts dried in the muddiest spots were clearly identifiable as motorcycle tracks.

  Eric paced across the open area, tilting his head this way and that as he studied the grooves. She stood beside him, concerned at the emptiness she saw in his eyes.

  “He was here?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  He nodded, then walked to the edge and back several times.

  Horrified, Mariah realized why. “He did it, didn’t he? He jumped Fannin’s Run.”

  Eric’s head bobbed once. His voice caught when he tried to speak, and he had to start again. He pointed at numerous ruts that stopped about three feet short of the drop-off. “He practiced his approach ten or twelve times, probably on different days, even. He must have been thinking about it, psyching himself up as well as getting his timing worked out.”

  Next Eric traced the path of the single groove that cut the dirt all the way to the edge of the run. “That time, he jumped.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to look at the bottom of the gorge. But that was silly. There wouldn’t be anything there. Mike Randall’s bike had been found on a riverbank in a ravine south of town. His body had been washed away in the river.

  The wind picked up and Mariah swayed. Eric rested his hand lightly on her back as if to pull her back if she were buffeted over the edge.

  “Did he make it?” she asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

  “I don’t know. How do we get to the other side?”

  Even at its shallowest point, crossing the gorge on horseback wasn’t easy, but Eric didn’t complain. In fact, he didn’t speak at all. He moved as if he were on autopilot.

  Standing on the opposite edge of the Run from where they’d started, Mariah spotted the twisted pine on the other ridge. “There.” She pointed out the tree that marked Mike’s takeoff spot for Eric. “That’s where you found the other tracks.”

  He walked along the precipice, dangerously close to the rim, scanning the ground. Looking for the sign that would mark Mike’s landing, she knew. She stood back. This was his quest.

  The frustration showed in his shoulders when he doubled back. He kicked at the ground and a few small stones toppled over the side, clattering off the rocks on their way down.

  “The rain may have washed the tracks away,” she offered.

  He didn’t answer. Instead he crouched down and brushed at the ground. “I found them. He made it across.”

  By the time she reached Eric, he was following a barely visible tire trail away from the ledge. About ten feet in, it disappeared in soft, rain-smoothed dirt.

  Eric walked forward the way Mariah guessed the trail might have led before the rain had washed it away. He stopped near a grove of trees. In front of a stout pine, he fell to his knees.

  Mariah knew from the way he bowed his head that he’d found what he was looking for.

  He leaned against the trunk of the tree, his palm resting on the bark above a smear of bright yellow—the same yellow as the helmet Mike had always worn. There was no mistaking the fact that this accident scene had not been staged. And judging from the dent in the tree and the bits of yellow Fiberglas scattered around the trunk, it had been no small wreck.

  Eric wiped his face with his bare forearm. Knowing he wouldn’t want her to see his tears, she turned her head away.

  “Why would he do it? Why would he try a jump like that?”

  “He talked about jumping it a few times. I—I thought he was kidding.”

  Eric rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands like a sleepy child. “The hell of it is, he made the jump. Nobody should be able to make that jump.”

  “So what happened?”

  Eric kicked at the loose dirt under his feet. “He had to have a lot of speed to clear that distance. I think after he landed he hit this soft dirt and lost control. Those trees...” He shook his head, rubbing his forehead.

  “Could he—could he have survived a crash like that?”

  “Maybe.” He kicked at the dirt, studying the soft ground. “But he sure wouldn’t have walked away.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Eric’s dark eyes swallowed what light the gathering storm clouds let filter through. “You tell me. There are no footprints here. No tracks of any kind. Who cleaned this place up after the wreck? Who moved his bod—him?” He advanced on her with each question, stalking her like a predator cornering his prey.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You were here, though.”

  “I think so.” She swallowed hard and stepped back until she felt the rough bark of a tree trunk between her shoulder blades.

  “Then what happened?” The first growl of thunder rolled down the mountain toward the valley.

  “I don’t remember.”

  Like lightning, his hand flashed out, his palm striking the tree trunk behind her ear. She flinched. “Try, damn it! Try to remember!”

  Mariah ducked under his arm and stood with her back to him, looking out over a valley tinged green with the beginnings of spring. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  His hands on her shoulders were surprisingly gentle, and still she jumped. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her. “No, I’m sorry.”

  She turned around and read the sorrow in his eyes. She’d been prepared for anger not sympathy. His pity cut her to the bone. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her. Poor crazy Mariah, who loses her memory like other people lose their car keys.

  Why had this happened to her, to him, to Mike? Why couldn’t she remember? Why? She wanted to scream her questions to the heavens. But now wasn’t a time for more questions. One look at Eric’s ravaged face told her that. Now was a time for grieving, and maybe for a little bit of healing.

  “Mike must have loved to ride,” she said softly.

  He almost snarled. Not the reaction she had expected. “He loved the speed. He lived for the rush, the kick.”

  “He must have been a free spirit.”

  “Irresponsible is what he was. Reckless. Just look at what his ‘free spirit’ got him. He never worried about the future. Never worried about what might happen, or what something like this would do to Mom. All he cared about was the thrill of it.”

  Then that was something she shared with Mike. The need sometimes to just let go and enjoy. She felt the same way when she ran a strong horse.

  Eric stepped closer to Mariah. His anger had flared up again, but this time it was mixed with something darker. Something deeper and much more dangerous.

  His breath blew on her cheek, so hot she could almost smell the cinders of his charred soul. Part of her wanted to bolt. Part of her wanted him to close the final distance between them.

  Her heart galloped out of control. She felt the same excitement she did just before she kicked Jet into a full-out run, only stronger.

  She flicked her tongue over lips suddenly dried by the heat of his nearness. “Haven’t you ever done anything just because you wanted to, Eric?” she asked. “Just for the thrill of it, even though you knew it was dangerous?”

  Without warning his lips crushed hers. At first he kissed her roughly, the heat of him searing her, but soon it softened into a warm caress, long and languorous.

  She tasted him, felt him inside her, tasting her, and the shock rocked her. His kiss pulled all the blood to the center of her body and left her fingers and toes tingling.

  He grazed the outline of her mouth with his tongue and then raised his head slowly. His dark eyes scalded her.

  “I have now,” he said.

  Chapter 9

  Maybe he was wrung-out from the emotional roller coaster he’d been ri
ding lately. Or maybe the ever-more-difficult-to-deny possibility that he really had lost his brother had left him unusually needy. But Eric Randall had never tasted anything so sweet as her lips. Not candy-coated, but succulent, natural, like a ripe peach.

  A bold streak of lightning rent the sky. Thunder followed the bolt, crashing down so forcibly that the mountain trembled beneath his feet.

  Mariah jumped, as if woken too suddenly from a dream. He reached out to steady her, then swore as fear bloomed in her eyes.

  She backpedaled away from him. The wind whipped her hair wildly around her face. “The storm is going to hit.” Her teeth chattered as if shaken by a sudden cold. “We have to find cover.”

  She turned and jogged toward the horses. Whinnying their distress at the tempest bearing down on them, the animals shuffled and danced as she gathered up their reins.

  “Mariah, wait!”

  “There’s no time. The rain is coming.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “There are shallow cavities and overhangs all through the rock formations around here. I saw one just back up the trail a way. It’s not much, but it might be enough to keep us dry.”

  She hurried away as another dagger of lightning ripped through the sky.

  “Why don’t we ride?” he shouted over the wind screaming through the gorge.

  “The horses are nervous. It’s too risky.”

  He nodded, taking Honey Bear’s reins from her hands. The mare jumped ahead of him, as if urging him to hurry.

  “Be careful,” Mariah yelled. “Don’t let her get away. She’ll run all the way back to the ranch.”

  Leaning into the wind, they raced the storm to the rock shelter. The first drops had already fallen before Mariah stopped in front of a group of stacked boulders.

  “Take the saddle off,” she shouted, pulling at her horse’s girth. She slid her horse’s saddle off and set it under the rocks, out of the weather.

  Eric fumbled with the straps and buckles of his saddle, but the contraption defied him. He was too distracted, watching Mariah and worrying. Something wasn’t right with her, with her fear of him. He suspected he knew what already, and he didn’t like it.

  She secured her horse’s reins to a tree outside the shelter and pushed Eric out of the way. With a yank on the correct strap, the girth fell free. She left him to put the gear under the rocks while she tied Honey next to her mount.

  A few seconds later they stood under the protection of the shallow cave, watching the downpour. The rain beat a staccato tempo on the stones overhead. Between them, the silence crackled.

  He took a deep breath while she busied herself moving the saddles farther into the shelter and spreading out the saddle blankets. Now was as good a time as any to get to the truth. She couldn’t hide from him here in the confines of the cave, and she couldn’t run with the storm raging outside.

  “Who hurt you, Mariah?” he asked.

  She sat on one of the horse blankets and pulled her knees to her chest.

  “Answer me. Who was it? Hightower?”

  She snapped her head up. “No.”

  “Then who?” Suddenly his stomach somersaulted. He tasted bile, and for the second time that day, Eric Randall fell to his knees. “Oh, God, it wasn’t Mike, was it? Please tell me it wasn’t Mike. That isn’t why...?” He closed his eyes, a wrenching pain in his chest.

  “No.” She laid her cool fingers on his forearm, and he felt her tremble. “No, don’t think that.”

  He sucked in a deep breath, at once grateful he’d been wrong and ashamed for thinking his brother could be capable of such a thing. “Then who?”

  “It was a long time ago. Right after my parents died.” She pulled her lip between her teeth a moment before she continued. “I had no other kin. So after I was discharged from the hospital I was...sent away.”

  Eric’s stomach tightened. He’d thought he was prepared to hear this. Now he realized he would never be ready for it. “Foster care?”

  “I lived in three different homes in the first three months. Things started out okay, but as soon as the families found out about my...history, they didn’t want me anymore.” She lifted one shoulder. “I think they were afraid of me. Then the social worker took me to the Carsons. She said they were more open to housing troubled teenagers.”

  Housing. As if traumatized kids with no place else to go were nothing more than excess inventory.

  “I’d been there a week, and it was my sixteenth birthday. The Carsons insisted on throwing a party. They had cake and presents and invited other kids. I tried to act like I was enjoying it, I really did. Because I didn’t want to be sent away again.” Her voice became more strained as she went on. “I made an excuse and left the party as early as I could. Mr. Carson followed me up to my room.” Her voice trailed off to nothing.

  “What did he do, Mariah?” Eric asked as gently as he could, bracing himself.

  “He—I—” She rested her chin on her knees, rocking slightly.

  “Did he rape you?”

  She heaved in a great breath. “I was on the bed, and he pinned me down. I asked him not to hurt me. I begged him. And he laughed. He said, ‘Daddy won’t hurt you.’ But he was touching me. And it did hurt. I could feel him against me. It scared me. And I could smell him, his cigars.”

  “Mariah, did he rape you?” He tried not to let the rage stirring inside him make its way into his voice, but suspected he failed.

  “I tried to push him off, but he was too heavy. I reached for the lamp on the bedside table, and I hit him. I hit him as hard as I could and then I pushed him again, and he fell on the floor.”

  The corners of Eric’s mouth twitched, relieved and proud. “Good for you.”

  “No. You don’t understand. There was so much blood. I thought I had killed him.”

  “Mariah, the man was abusing you. Even if you had killed him, you had every right. It was self-defense.”

  “But I wanted to kill him, Eric. Not in self-defense. But because I wanted to.” She rocked harder, faster. “Until then I didn’t believe it.”

  “Believe what?”

  “Believe that I was capable...” Her breath shuddered in her chest. “Of murder.”

  Shakily, her whole body trembling, she raised her gaze to his. For a moment, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t read the question haunting her eyes.

  When understanding came, it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

  “No,” he said firmly. “You did not kill your parents.”

  “But I was angry.”

  “You were a teenager who wanted to go to a dance.”

  “My fingerprints were on the gun.”

  “You could have picked it up after.”

  Feverish anger rose in Eric’s chest. “You are not a murderer.” He didn’t know how he knew that, exactly, but he knew it as surely as he knew how to spell L.A. He didn’t miss the irony in his words, though, since he’d accused her of that very thing not so long ago.

  Her lips pressed together in a thin line. “You can’t be sure of that, because even I don’t know for sure. And now Mike...”

  The fever in his chest burst into a fireball. “Mike killed himself.” God, it hurt to say the words. Saying it made it true.

  “Nothing you could have said or done could have forced him to jump that gorge if he didn’t want to. Do you hear me? You did not kill Mike.”

  Shaken by the need to make her hear him, he grabbed her wrist. Her pulse leaped beneath his fingertips. He felt her sudden tensing. With an oath meant for every low-life child molester on this earth, he jerked his hand away.

  He’d wondered why she got that frightened look whenever he got too close. Now he wished he didn’t know.

  As if she’d read his thought, she explained. “Ever since Mr. Carson, I’m...not comfortable being touched. Held, especially. Even a friendly hug is difficult for me. Much less anything more...intimate.”

  For a long time, Eric couldn’t speak. He simply absorbed wha
t she’d said. The implications. “You mean you’ve never been with anyone? Not even the sheriff?”

  Staring at her feet, she shook her head. “I told you he’s not my boyfriend.”

  Eric’s chest ached again, but this time it wasn’t because his ribs were sore. He hurt for her.

  “Did he pay, Mariah? Was Carson punished for what he did to you?”

  “It was my word against his. He said I attacked him. The social worker told me I was lucky he didn’t press charges. I was sent to a group facility in SL George. They said I wasn’t ‘a candidate’ for foster care any longer.”

  Eric swore again. “So you were punished for his crime.”

  She curled up on her side, her back to him and her hands tucked beneath her head. “It wasn’t so bad. There were nice people there—caregivers, they called themselves. They treated us okay, even if they didn’t always remember our names.”

  “Oh, Mariah.”

  “That’s where I met Shane.”

  “Hightower was in a youth home?”

  “I’d never talked to him, but I’d seen him around, of course. There weren’t that many kids in the home. I had a little garden in the back of the playground. One day a couple of bullies starting kicking the dirt around and pulling up my plants. Shane chased them off. From that day on, nobody bothered me. He was sort of my self-appointed guardian. Kind of a big brother. At least until he turned eighteen and they let him go.”

  Eric tried to reconcile his image of the sheriff with the one Mariah had detailed. He couldn’t do it. But he was glad the man—boy, at the time—had been there for her. He was glad someone had been there for her.

  “To tell the truth,” she added quietly, “I think that’s why he’s been coming around since he moved here. He knows the truth. There were no secrets in a place like that. I think he feels sorry for me.”

  A new, dangerous possibility occurred to him. “Sorry enough to protect you from someone he saw as a threat to you, even if you didn’t want him to?”

  She raised her head a fraction. “You think Shane could have done this to protect me? From Mike?”

  He shrugged. A hundred questions raced through his mind, but he held them back, for now. They would keep until he could confront the lying sheriff on his own terms. And when he did, God help the man if he lied again.