As they once again approached Ouray, he wanted to suggest they linger awhile, but then changed his mind. Instead, he dwelled on their train trip and the moment when they almost kissed. He remembered the soft, comforting feel of her hand on his shoulder and then on his cheek when she asked him about Carol, the warm compassion in her eyes as they comforted each other. What would it be like to hold her again? Would she remember how that felt? He didn’t want memories; he wanted her back in his arms. She glanced sideways at him, and he wondered if she discerned his musings.
“I think it would be fun to four-wheel drive some of the mountain passes around here,” he said, trying to start a conversation to keep his mind off his daydreaming.
“I think you’d like that.” He pretended to forget the earlier reference to her Jeep trip with Brian and he presumed she was avoiding the topic as well.
How would she know what he’d like? Maybe she did. Maybe she just couldn’t remember that she did. Sometimes, she sounded so much like Carol he couldn’t stand it. He wanted to shake the memories out of her head until they tumbled around on the ground in front of them. Then, he could pick them up, dust them off, rearrange them, and decide which ones she should keep. He knew which ones he wanted her to hang onto, the ones where she loved him, where she wasn’t afraid to be alone with him, where she wanted to spend her life with him.
“I’m sorry. You’re probably not sure how I would know what you like and what you don’t like.”
He laughed. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Read my mind.”
“I can’t. I just…well, I just assumed that’s what you’d think.” She tilted her head and closed her eyes. He thought he saw a single tear squeeze past her eyelids. She turned her head and lifted her hand to her face. Then, he knew. She cried for him. “Sometimes, it seems like I should know you. Sometimes, it’s almost as if I remember some little thing about you. Like when we were on the trail…sometimes, things seem so familiar.”
Sure, somewhere tangled inside her tortured mind she remembered. Was this the memory that would bring her back from mental purgatory? Was he ready to face whatever traumatic memories she suppressed? He backed away from knowing.
“Want to stop and get something to eat?” He swallowed hard to hide the warm gush of feeling her confession of things almost remembered roused in his heart.
“Did I say something wrong?” she asked, the softness of her question stilling the tumult in his chest.
“No.” His answer was as quiet as hers was soft. “No, you’ve said everything right. I just can’t…I can’t…”
“It’s all right. If it hurts, just don’t push it.”
He smiled at her. “Good advice.”
****
As they left Ouray, the Jeep made the thirty-three hundred foot ascent up Red Mountain Pass. The views were breathtaking in their starkness, the dimming light giving them an eerie cast. Darkness crept into the nooks and crannies of the mountain passes. The Jeep swayed one way around a curve and then the other way around the next. The road narrowed and curved through jutting, immovable rock. A driver needed to be alert to navigate its twisting in the daylight, even more so after the light faded into the dark of the night.
Chris retreated into her private mental domain. “Was it at night?” Steve’s abrupt, question made her jump.
“Yeah,” she whispered between chattering teeth. Her jaw trembled as she tried to control the uncontrollable. Did she feel a drop of rain on her cheek? Her insides screamed with fear. It rained the night she crashed. The memory of the wreck bombarded her mind.
What was this? A real memory? Not a flashback. The vision flashed and throbbed like a strobe light. She grabbed the painful recollection to her, gouging it deep into her conscious mind as a child might stab a stick into the mud.
“Are you cold?” he asked her, a hint of protectiveness in his voice.
She nodded. He stopped and put the roof up. Once back inside the Jeep, he restarted the engine and turned on the heat.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded her head once again to reassure him. But she was still trembling. He said nothing else. Instead, he grabbed her hand and massaged her cold fingers.
She closed her eyes, wishing he’d keep both hands on the steering wheel. She wanted to tug her hand away, but couldn’t make herself. She hoped he kept his eyes on the road, but she was afraid to look at him, lest she discover his negligence. Surely, the man knew the danger of inattention. She knew the hazards well. She had the internal and external scars to prove the peril of carelessness on a night like this.
The journey from Ouray to Silverton lasted a lifetime. She couldn’t relax, even with Steve’s hand gripping hers the entire trip. Now, hours later, the bridge over Cascade Creek spanned the gorge just ahead. “Stop here.”
The Jeep barely came to a stop before her foot hit the pavement. She rushed to the cliff, as close to the edge as she could get, and peered down into the gorge. The run off from the light snow and the heavy rains of the past few weeks were once again swelling the creek to flood stage.
She considered the burned-out Jeep far down the gorge. When the climber reached it in the spring after she crashed, the license plate was missing. The manufacturer’s identification number might have given them a lead to the owner, but that thin hope collapsed. Either the climber recorded it incorrectly, or the burn damage obscured the number. Whatever the case, the vehicle revealed no clues to her identity.
Sometimes she considered hiking down to the Jeep just to verify the climber had written down the right number, but she always nixed the idea. As long as the Jeep stayed buried in the rocky forest downstream, her past couldn’t be exhumed either. Maybe it was better that way.
Chapter Seventeen
Perhaps Chris used the day in Telluride to stall the inevitable chore of putting her house back together. Steve surprised her and offered to help clean the mess the intruder left behind. She still wasn’t sure she was ready to go home, at least not alone, so she accepted his offer.
She glanced at him as he took a dustpan and broom in hand to sweep the broken glass. He seemed comfortable with domestic chores, seemed at home. What kind of man was he that he appeared natural no matter what he did?
“We’re almost through at the construction site, and I have no other reason to remain here except… It’s time for me to go back to Virginia.” His voice stilled and he ceased all motion.
The only sound in the quiet room was the ticking of the mantel clock. She thought she could almost hear the riotous beating of her heart. She could easily guess what he had left unsaid. He would not manufacture excuses to stay in Purgatory. If she had reacted, it would have been to beg him not to go. With tremendous effort, she held her raging emotions in check.
“Will you promise me something?”
“What?” She couldn’t promise him anything.
“When your memory returns, and if you remember me, no matter what’s happened in the past, will you call me?”
“If what you suspect is true…” She couldn’t finish her sentence, choking on the unspoken thought. “What future could we possibly have?” There was a searing pain in her heart, a staccato pounding in her head.
What if I am his wife? What if I’m involved in that woman’s death? I can’t face his disappointment. What if I never recover my memory, and we never find out what happened? Can I live with his doubts? I can’t go back to Virginia with him.
“I understand.” But clearly, he didn’t want to understand.
She wanted to rave at how unfair life could be. If they didn’t have this mystery between them, they could have something together. This was good-bye. Sorrow covered her with a remorse so deep it weighed like the heaviness of the world on her shoulders. Whatever she had done to him in a previous life was coming back to her, punishing her by taking away what she really wanted. She wanted a normal life…with Steve.
She crossed the room and entered the kitchen. Leaning on the coun
ter, she bit the fleshy part of her hand to keep from screaming. She pushed down her tears, determined not to let him see her heartache. Suddenly, his hand was on her shoulder, and then his arms wrapped around her. The heat of his breath warmed the top of her head. Leaning into his strength, an incredible sense of belonging overcame her. She wanted to stay in his arms forever.
“I’m sorry things are the way they are,” he whispered into her hair.
“Me, too.”
“If things were different…”
She groaned, her spirit freeing the anguish birthed deep in her soul, releasing the regret and despair, the utter hopelessness she felt. Before she could take another breath, he was tracing the scar on her cheek with his finger. Hot tears moistened her face. Were they hers or his?
“Please don’t cry. I don’t think I can stand it.” His voice, low and husky, pierced her heart, shattering all her resolve into little bits of vulnerability. She knew she was his. She always would be.
Without warning, he lowered his lips to hers. Passion swelled between them, the moment ripe for so much more. The sensation echoed through her heart, so familiar, so right. Had she experienced this feeling before? Something inside her begged to remember. Was it a real memory that pushed at the edge of her psyche? Or was it only the remains of her daydreaming about Steve?
The kiss deepened, his lips teasing hers, experimenting, finding a multitude of ways to explore her mouth, then trailing down her cheek to her jaw and onto her neck. Her skin warmed at his touch. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her back arched, her body caving into his. She wanted to melt into him, to be a part of him. To belong to him. She wanted him to belong to her.
She didn’t want him to leave without her.
She pushed him back to stare into his eyes. “I wish I could remember how it feels to…kiss you.” Her wistful words of longing barely made it past her still tingling lips. The comment revealed so much, admitting the possibility she had once upon a time thrilled at his kiss before her accident.
“Oh, Carol.” The groan was deep and guttural, filled with loss, pain, and regret.
A fire ripped through her, sudden and intense, a different kind of passion. “I’m not Carol.” She pushed away from him. As soon as she was out of his arms, the warmth of the embrace turned cold.
He dropped his arms to his side, defeated. “It’s the only name I knew you by.”
She rammed both hands into her hair and pulled until the hair shafts tugged at the roots, stinging her scalp with sharp pinpricks of pain, a minor reflection of the damage being done to her heart. “I’m Jane Doe, and that’s all I’ll ever be to you or anyone else.” After another hard yank, she shoved her emotions into a deep well inside her. She allowed the blank mask to cover her face once again. “I think you should leave now.”
Chapter Eighteen
The phone rang, interrupting the quiet of the house. Because of the threatening calls, Chris had removed the answering machine. She glanced at the display and recognized Brian’s home number.
“Brian?” Her voice trembled, still emotional from her dismissal of Steve and his desires.
“Are you all right?” Brian had always been able to discern when she was in a meltdown.
“Yes. Of course.”
“No, you’re not. I hear it in your voice. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She winced. She didn’t want to talk to him about Steve and what had just happened in her kitchen. Or about Steve leaving. Or the almost certain pain from never seeing him again.
“Have you gotten another one of those calls?” For some reason, Brian’s question irritated her, probably because he assumed falsely what was distressing her.
“No. At least, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” He smacked her with an incredulous tone.
“I disconnected my answering machine and I haven’t been home today.”
“Oh? Where’ve you been?” Now he sounded overprotective. His attitude annoyed her.
“Out.”
“Out?”
His sharp reply rang in her ears. All the tenseness that had developed between them since Steve arrived hadn’t dispelled a bit.
None of your business bounced on her tongue. Instead, she told him the truth. “I went for a hike.”
“Chris! With everything that’s been going on, don’t you think that was—”
“Don’t lecture me, Brian. I wasn’t in danger.”
“How can you be so sure? The world is full of dangerous people. And you’ve been getting threatening phone calls…and the break-in. You should have stayed around other people. I thought we talked about this.”
She exploded into the phone. “I was with Steve.”
Brian stopped talking. The silence over the phone pummeled her ears.
“Brian? Are you still there?”
“I told him to stay away from you.” His words cut with a precise edge.
“I know. But that isn’t your choice to make, is it?” She sounded defiant and belligerent, but she didn’t care. How was her relationship with another man any of Brian’s business?
“How do you know he isn’t the one—”
“Aw, come on. Steve? The one threatening me? No. He’s not dangerous.” She glanced at the bowl in her hand and wished Brian within throwing distance.
“Anybody can get dangerous if they’re pushed. I can’t believe you went out into the wilderness alone with him.”
“Well, I’m not pushing him. And how is this any of your business?”
“It is my business.” His tone fell flat with a hard impact.
“Oh, because he might be dangerous. Steve didn’t kill his wife, Brian. He thinks I’m his wife. He thinks…” She quit before she said too much.
“He thinks what?”
“He thinks I killed that woman.” The horrible idea dropped from her lips. The idea numbed her. Despite his protestations otherwise, Steve had to question her innocence. That’s why she pushed him away. That’s why she had to make him leave. She couldn’t stand his doubt.
“Don’t be ridiculous. He refuses to even consider the idea.”
“How do you know that? Have you two been talking about it? Have you talked about me so much you know what he thinks?” she sputtered in disbelief. “How can you really know what another person thinks when they’re pushed? What do you think, Brian? Huh? Do you think I killed that woman?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. I just know there’s a dead woman who looks like you. A woman used her identity when she married Steve, a woman who looks a lot like you. I don’t believe in coincidence, Chris.” She heard the hardness in his reply. He believed he was doing his job, not assuming anything. If she murdered Carol, then he wouldn’t tolerate it, overlook it, or cover it up for her. He would hold her accountable for her actions or send her back to Virginia to face the authority of law there.
“Do what you have to do, Brian.”
Just as she slammed the phone onto the hook, the kettle on the stove wailed a mournful tune. Maybe the heat of the lemonade would soothe her scratchy throat. She settled onto the rug in front of the hearth to sip the hot liquid. It was a cold, dark night, the wind sighing outside her shuttered windows. Occasionally, there was a light tip-tap of sleet mixed with winter rain. It was a good night to dwell on what bothered her most.
Steve’s wife was three months pregnant when she disappeared, but the dead woman couldn’t have been pregnant when she died. Chris was nearly five months pregnant when she wrecked the Jeep. These two events happened two months apart. She could do the math. That was plenty of time to get from Virginia to Colorado.
Could she be Steve’s wife? What about the rings? What about sailing on the sloop? What about the snapshot Steve carried in his wallet? She hadn’t been brave enough to ask him if she could see the picture, yet curiosity was consuming her.
Could she really have looked that much like me?
Then, there was that horrible almost memory—the one whe
re someone yelled threats at her. Instinctively, she knew the man was threatening Steve if she didn’t cooperate. Maybe if she kept her distance from him, nothing bad would happen. She couldn’t face him again anyhow. It seemed like any easy decision to make—staying away from him—but it wasn’t.
She retrieved the matched set of rings from their hiding place, examining them one at the time. For better or for worse. For richer or for poorer. In sickness and in health. Did we say those words to each other? The rings always seemed disconnected from her. She slid the wedding ring onto her finger and let it rest there for a moment, lifting her hand to study it in the firelight. To her surprise, it slid around her finger. That’s strange! If these are my rings, shouldn’t they fit better?
For five years, she considered the rings to be the only thing in her possession that was truly hers. She had never been brave enough to try them on. Now staring at the wedding ring on her finger, it didn’t seem right, as if it didn’t belong on her hand. She took the ring off and held it closely—its many facets reflecting the warm glow of the fire.
If they’re not my rings, then whose are they? Did they belong to Carol Stone? Did I take them from her?
She sat in the rocker across from the fireplace for hours contemplating the rings, recalling the disappointed, heartbroken expression on Steve’s face when she showed them to him. She now believed without a single doubt the rings were not hers. That opened up new possibilities.
What if I really am Steve’s wife? Where are my rings if these aren’t mine? Was the dead woman wearing rings? Where are the rings Steve’s wife was wearing?
Her heart longed to run to Steve and never let him go. She allowed herself the luxury of considering what it would be like to leave Colorado and move to Virginia to be near him. She was sure if she gave him the slightest encouragement he would ask her to go with him.
What if I go back to Virginia with him? How would he explain me to his family? His friends? His employees? Would there be any way we could just start over? Can we leave the past behind and pretend it has nothing to do with us?
Purgatory (Colorado series) Page 10