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A Montana Man
Jackie Merritt
MAN of the Month The BENNING Legacy MR. AUGUST The Montana Man: He'd lived for his son and the land - until she came into his life… His Mystery Woman: She was called Sierra. She was beautiful and vulnerable, and he felt an immediate connection to her. All rancher Clint Barrow knew was her name.But from the first he'd needed to stake his claim. He'd brought her home to heal, but as the days stretched into long, hot nights, Clint wanted the woman herself. And just when their denied desire exploded into full-blown passion, Sierra's past began to come clear. Would she soon have to leave her Montana man behind?MAN OF THE MONTH: When he finds a missing Benning sister, can a Montana rancher keep her for his own?


Have I Ever Wanted A Man More? (#ufdfb4400-0ee5-5ab4-93a2-5aab7fb9e4c6)Letter to Reader (#uba9d3d6f-0c00-5909-a7a1-c82ecdef5312)Title Page (#u4275cf08-5a41-5b05-b75c-cc952fdf8247)About the Author (#u84ecfec4-9123-5235-a881-ac8d8768c1a8)Chapter One (#u99d8817c-9839-5159-b57c-18efb3380a84)Chapter Two (#ue6508261-788b-52b3-b42b-9d1c0b2703ce)Chapter Three (#u0ddf4cb1-d408-558b-ac76-588d1a87294f)Chapter Four (#ua8f01ba9-7bd7-543c-83b2-0fe3f3e91f10)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
THE BENNING LEGACY: Three sisters find true
love uncovers the secrets of the past...
and forges bright new tomorrows!
Have I Ever Wanted A Man More?
The question was deadly, reminding Sierra of her amnesia. Reluctantly she broke from Clint’s embrace, instantly missing the warmth and power of his touch.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have touched you, but I couldn’t resist.”
“I know.” Sierra knew he was honorable, but the attraction between them was powerful. She shuddered as the enormity of her situation hit her. Was she falling in love with Clint? What if a husband or lover should suddenly come to light...?
“Good night,” she whispered huskily before going in.
Clint stayed outside, looking over his spread. He wanted Sierra to get well; he could never wish for anything else.
But when she did, everything would change....
Dear Reader,
August predictably brings long steamy days...and hot sensuous nights. And this month Silhouette Desire spotlights the kind of pure passion that can erupt only in that sizzling summer climate.
Get ready to fall head over heels for August’s MAN OF THE MONTH, a sexy rancher who opens his home (and his heart?) to a lost beauty desperately hoping to recover her memory in A Montana Man by Jackie Merntt. Bestselling author Cait London continues her hugely popular minisenes THE TALLCHIEFS with Rafe Palladin: Man of Secrets. Rafe is an irresistible takeover tycoon with a plan to acquire a Tallchief lady. Barbara McMahon brings readers the second story in her IDENTICAL TWINS! duo—in The Older Man an exuberant young woman is swept up by her love and desire for a tremendously gorgeous, much older man.
Plus, talented Susan Crosby unfolds a story of seduction, revenge and scandal in the continuation of THE LONE WOLVES with His Seductive Revenge. And TEXAS BRIDES are back with The Restless Virgin by Peggy Moreland, the story of an innocent Western lady tired of waiting around for mamage—so she lassos herself one unsuspecting cowboy! And you’ve never seen a hero like The Consummate Cowboy, by Sara Orwig. He’s all man, all-around omery and all-out tempted...by his ex-wife’s sister!
I know you’ll enjoy reading all six of this sultry month’s brand-new Silhouette Desire novels by some of the most beloved and sexy authors of romance.
Regards,


Melissa Senate
Senior Editor
Silhouette Books
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Jackie Merritt
A Montana Man



www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
JACKIE MERRITT
and her husband live in the Southwest. An accountant for many years, Jackie has happily traded numbers for words. Next to family, books are her greatest joy. She started writing in 1987, and her efforts paid off in 1988 with the publication of her first novel. When she’s not writing or enjoying a good book, Jackie dabbles in watercolor painting, and she likes playing the piano in her spare time.
One
Wednesday, May 21
Clint Barrow urged the horse he was riding up a rocky knoll. It was early morning. There was enough light to see by even though the sun hadn’t yet risen above the mountain tops, and wispy patches of ground fog drifted within dips of the mountainous country all around him. At the top of the knoll he pulled on the reins and stopped his horse. This was a favorite spot in which to view his ranch, and below his vantage point Barrow land spread almost as far as Clint could see. The buildings appeared as miniatures, and cattle and horses looked toy-like. Clint breathed a sigh of contentment.
He was a big man, tall and rangy, with dark hair and vivid blue eyes. His contentment was genuine. The shock of his one major tragedy in life, the death of his wife, had softened with time. He had a seventeen-year-old son, Tommy, on which to expend his love, and this ranch. He was the first person in the area to help out a friend or a neighbor in trouble, and, all in all, life was good. He felt strongly that no man should ask for more.
As the sun suddenly showed its face on the eastern horizon, Clint turned his horse’s head and rode back down the knoll toward the ranch compound. Tommy would be leaving for school shortly, and Clint liked to be there every morning to say a few words to his son before he left. Today it seemed even more important; today was the start of Tommy’s final exams. High school graduation was just around the corner. Unlike too many of the fathers and sons that Clint knew, he and Tommy were close, and Clint knew that he would do almost anything to protect their special relationship.
He arrived at the compound just as Tommy was coming out of the house and heading for his red pickup truck.
“Morning, Dad,” Tommy called.
“Morning, Tom.” Clint dismounted and let his horse go. He wouldn’t go far, Clint knew, and would, in fact, come back to him with a whistle.
“Looks like we’re in for a nice day,” Tommy said as he opened the door of his truck.
“Sure does.” Clint glanced at his watch. “You’re running a little late.”
“I know. Better get going. I gotta pick up Eric.”
“Are you sure you have time for that?”
“I told him I’d pick him up this morning, Dad.” Tommy grinned and swung himself up into the truck. “Remember, Barrows don’t go back on their word.”
Clint had to smile. He had instilled in his son the value of a man keeping his word. It was his own credo and he believed that honor was the primary difference between men of principle and those hapless individuals who drifted through life without hope, ambition or inspiration.
“Well, drive safely,” he told his son. “See you this evening.”
Tommy started the motor and rolled down the window. “See ya, Dad.”
Clint stood in the yard and watched the red pickup travel the driveway, his pride swelling in his chest. There were moments like this when he became very emotional about his son. Tommy would soon graduate from high school, he was no longer Clint’s “little boy.” He was teetering between manhood and childhood, and would go away to college in the fall. Clint could only hope that Tommy would want to return to the ranch after he completed his education.
When Clint could no longer see the red pickup, he whistled for his horse. It trotted over and Clint climbed into the saddle. It was time for his own day to begin.
Five days earlier.
Sierra’s new minivan was loaded to the roof with clothes, personal mementos and all of her painting supplies—rolled canvases, stretcher boards, tubes of oil paints, boxes of brushes and palette knives, easels, as well as several gallon cans of turpentine, which she used to clean her equipment.
She had packed carefully, and everything was snugly fitted together in the vehicle. The only unfilled space was the very front of the van, and even then her purse, maps and a notebook and pen lay on the passenger seat, where she could easily reach them from the driver’s seat. Her bank account had been converted to five hundred dollars in cash and the rest in traveler’s checks. She carried no credit cards, and her wallet contained only her driver’s license and the cash.
She was dressed for comfort in loose-fitting denim pants and a sweatshirt. Her long dark hair had been confined into one braid, and her face was devoid of makeup. Her skin was deep toned, appearing suntanned year-round; she had never needed cosmetics to enhance her coloring. She was thirty-three years old and looked five years younger.
Her figure was exceptionally good, as firm as it had been during her college years when she had first met Mike. They had dated for a while, she had wondered how deep her feelings really were for Mike Findley, then graduation had separated them. She’d known he was going on to law school, and she had found a job in an art gallery and polished her talent with oil paints and private lessons. Eventually she had moved to San Francisco, recalling only absentmindedly that Mike’s family lived there. She’d thought of him occasionally, but never dreamed they would ever see each other again.
It had happened. She’d been at a party, and had hardly believed her own eyes when Mike walked up to her. “Sierra? Sierra Benning? Is it really you?” he’d said with the grin she had found so irresistible in college.
This time love had bloomed at once, and they had married after three months of romance and laughter, of dining and dancing, of Mike introducing her to his friends and his family, of her being showered with gifts and flowers and sweet little love notes. Their wedding had been...
“No,” she said out loud, denying herself both the pain and the luxury of reliving that special day. The memories would always be there, but she needn’t deliberately drag them out and cause herself more heartache.
She didn’t understand Mike’s infidelity and knew she never would. While he had been showing her how much he loved her in dozens of ways, he had been meeting other women in hotel rooms. She had slept very little last night, wondering what might be ahead of her, thinking of the past and the disintegration of her marriage, knowing she was doing the right thing by breaking all ties but still not completely at ease with her plans.
The uneasiness would pass, she told herself. It had been a long time since she had taken a car trip by herself; concern was only natural, especially since she had no destination in mind.
It was time to leave. There was sunshine this morning, though the temperature was almost cool because of a breeze off the Bay. Sierra stood next to her van and looked at the glistening white mansion that had been her home for so long. During that time span she had gone from delirious happiness to acute misery.
It was over—all of it. Over with and behind her. She could look at her marriage as years of wasted time, or she could view her marriage and divorce as a lesson in life’s harsher realities. It was both, actually, and maybe that was good. Certainly she would have to know a man inside and out before she risked her heart again.
Thinking of the irony of it all delayed her departure for another few minutes. Last week she had been a wealthy woman; today everything she owned fit into one relatively small space—the minivan. Ironic or not, she did not regret negating the divorce settlement. Her own attorney had refused to help her do something so “utterly ridiculous”—his exact words—so she had called Mike’s. He had been most helpful. In fact, he’d drawn up the papers with a haste that had struck Sierra as funny, as though he, like most of her friends, had been wondering if she’d lost her mind, and wanted to get her signature on the documents before she came to her senses.
God, why was she thinking of that now? Clearing her mind with a slight shake of her head, Sierra slid behind the wheel of the van and turned the ignition key. She drove away from the Findley mansion without looking back. Her uppermost thought was that she was going to try very hard not to look back ever again. From this moment forward, she would concentrate on the future. She had one—somewhere. All she had to do was find it.
It seemed that the farther Sierra got from San Francisco, the braver she became about traveling alone. The traveling itself was exciting, and she wanted to just go on and on. She felt absolutely wonderful and completely freed of the Findleys’ influence.
Four days later she found herself in western Montana. She stayed in a motel in a very small settlement in the mountains that night, and went to the only café for dinner. There were a few other people in the place, and the waitress had greeted her with a friendly smile.
“Would you like to order now, or are you waiting for someone to join you?” the woman asked.
Sierra smiled. “If I waited for someone to join me, I’d starve to death.”
“You’re traveling alone?”
“That I am. I’ll have the pot roast and hot tea.”
“Good choice. Pot roast is the cook’s best dish.” The waitress smiled conspiratorially and dropped her voice. “Probably ’cause it’s easy to fix.”
Sierra laughed and laid down her menu. While the waitress went to turn in the order and get the tea, Sierra looked around. It was a quaint little café, with wood-paneled walls and linoleum flooring. The red checked tablecloths matched the curtains, and a cowbell over the door announced everyone leaving or arriving.
The waitress delivered hot water and a teabag. “Where’re you heading, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Nowhere in particular.” Sierra smiled. “Just wandering around. This area is beautiful, and I’d like to see more of it. I grew up in northern Idaho, but if you can believe it, I’ve never been in Montana before.”
“Well, you be careful where you wander in these parts. This is a wilderness area, and it can be mighty dangerous.”
“Oh, I plan to stay on the main roads. I mean, I have no intention of hiking around by myself. Tell me this. Are there people living in these mountains?”
“Oh, sure, but they’re few and far between. Some real nice ranches in the back country.”
“Where do the children attend school?”
“In Hillman. It’s a little town about twenty miles from here.”
Sierra smiled. “Well, if the roads are safe for school buses, they certainly should be safe for my van.”
“The main roads are fine, miss, but the back roads can be treacherous. I advise strangers to stick to the highway. The weather’s a bit deceiving, you know. Spring has sprung and the highway is clear at this elevation, but you could run into some snow and ice at higher altitudes.” The woman looked concerned. “Don’t see many women traveling alone up here. Just be careful.” She walked off to help another customer.
Sierra pondered the warning. Was she being rash? Reckless? But she felt so...adventurous. Never in her life had she taken such an extended road trip, and she had already seen so many places and sights she hadn’t known existed. She couldn’t spend all her money touring the country, of course, but a day or so in this high country was really too appealing to resist.
She made up her mind. She would be careful—it was only sensible—but she was going to do some exploring. After all, she might never pass this way again.
Wednesday, May 21
Sierra dug through her bags and boxes for a warm jacket. The predawn air was cold enough to make her shiver, and the windows of her van were completely frosted over.
She had retired early last night, slept well and was anxious to be on her way, but she forced herself into the café for some breakfast as she had no idea when she would run across another place in which to eat. With that in mind, in addition to a large breakfast, she ordered some sandwiches to go. An older man was waiting tables this morning, and while he was as friendly as last night’s waitress had been, he was too busy for lengthy conversations with any one customer.
Sierra went to the counter to pay her check and noticed a rack of window scrapers for sale. It was one item she didn’t have with her, and she’d been wondering how she was going to clear the van’s windows of such heavy frost.
She walked out of the café with her bag of sandwiches and a sturdy plastic scraper, pleased that she’d thought to buy something for lunch and relieved about the frost problem.
She started the van’s engine and turned on the defroster, then got to work with the scraper. It took a full ten minutes to clear the windows, but finally she was behind the wheel and on the road again. About two miles from the small settlement, the road became ascending. While the forest was mostly heavy on each side, there were some open spaces that permitted Sierra a view of dawn’s first light.
It was going to be a fabulous day, she thought with a zing of exhilaration, and although the ascending road was narrow and quite curvy, there was very little traffic and she felt completely in control. Turning on the radio, she found a station playing country music, and sang along with Garth Brooks. It had been so long since she’d felt like this, unburdened and lighthearted, and she cherished the sensation. Life could be good, she thought with a contented sigh. Leaving San Francisco had been the wisest decision she had ever made.
The road twisted and wound its way upward, full dawn broke and occasionally the trees parted to give Sierra a breathtaking view of the mountains. It was still very early, and only in those clearings did she actually see the sun.
The miles clicked by, and after a while Sierra noticed a sign indicating another road up ahead. When she got to it there was a second sign with an arrow pointing right and an inscription: Cougar Mountain.
She pulled onto the shoulder and consulted her map. But she couldn’t locate that road on it, although she could pretty much tell where she was on the highway. A daring little smile toyed with her lips. Was she adventurous enough to leave the highway and drive a road that wasn’t on the map? It looked safe enough from where she was parked. It was narrow, to be sure, but it was paved and appeared no more dangerous than the highway she was on.
She would do it! Why not? she thought as she got the van moving and made the turn. She could always turn around and head back to the highway if the road proved to be treacherous. Other than a little time, what did she have to lose?
She had just gone over the first hill when she spotted a river running parallel to the road. Moving swiftly in its rocky bed, it was just about the prettiest river Sierra had ever seen. She was driving slowly enough to take her eyes off the road and keep track of the river’s path, and it was a delight to watch.
It was on her right, and after a few miles it seemed to be dropping below the road’s level, while the road itself climbed higher. Another few miles and it was out of sight, probably at the bottom of a chasm that appeared to be getting deeper.
There was only a bit of shoulder between the road and the drop-off, and Sierra found herself hugging the center line. That deep chasm so close to the roadway made her a little nervous, and she wondered if she shouldn’t turn around and go back to the highway.
Only there was no place to turn around. On the left side of the road was a rocky cliff, on the right was that deep ravine, and the road itself was too narrow for a U-turn. She had no choice but to keep going until she came to a wide spot. There must be one somewhere up ahead, she told herself, Just take it easy, drive cautiously and you’ll come to it. The radio was a distraction now, and she switched it off.
The road kept climbing. Sierra spotted patches of old snow on the rocky bluff on her left, and her nervousness became more pronounced. She’d told the waitress last night that she was going to stick to the main highways, and she knew now that she should have done exactly that.
There was a blind curve just ahead, and she bit down on her bottom lip because it looked as though the road was heading directly for the ravine. It wouldn’t, of course; it would wind around that outcropping of rock, and who knew? Maybe just beyond it would be a place wide enough for her to get turned around.
Suddenly a red pickup truck came bulleting around that curve, on her side of the road! Sierra slammed on the brakes and the van went into a skid. The truck also began skidding, and fishtailing, and its back end slapped against the van with tremendous force. Sierra screamed as the van nosed into the ravine. She saw the river at the bottom, and the boulders and rocks rushing up to meet her. The van began somersaulting, and Sierra’s last coherent act was to unfasten her seat belt.
Two young men jumped out of the pickup and ran to the edge of the ravine. Frozen with dread, they stood there and watched the van tumbling down the rocky slope end over end, almost in slow motion, each bounce twisting the van’s metal body into a different configuration.
“Tommy...Tommy...what should we do?” Eric Schulze cried.
They watched in horror as the driver’s door flew open and a woman was thrown out onto the rocks. The next instant the van hit bottom, mere inches from the wildly rushing river.
“We have to go down there and see if she’s okay.” Tommy Barrow was already on his way. Eric followed. It was tough going. One misstep and they could end up like that van—or worse, in the nver.
Breathing hard, they finally reached Sierra. She was lying facedown and not moving. “I think she’s dead,” Eric said, his voice cracking.
Tommy knelt down and felt for a pulse. “She’s alive. Eric, go check the van and make sure she was the only one in it, then go back to the truck, get to the nearest phone and call for help. I’ll stay here.”
“But...”
Tommy raised tear-filled eyes to his friend. “If she dies, it’s my fault. I was driving too fast. I took that curve too wide. Go, Eric. Do it now. I can’t leave her alone.”
Eric started backing away. “Her van is smashed all to hell. Tommy! It’s on fire!”
“What?” He stood up to see. “Oh, God, what if it explodes?” He ran as hard as he could over the rocks to peer inside the van. Hurrying back, he said with some relief, “There’s no one else. Eric, we have to move this lady.”
“You aren’t supposed to move anyone hurt in an accident. What if her back is broken, or something?”
“She has no chance at all if we don’t move her and that van explodes. Come on, help me turn her over.”
The boys got down on their knees and very gently turned Sierra over onto her back. “You take her feet,” Tommy said, moving into position to lift her by her shoulders. He glanced at the van. “The fire’s getting worse. Everything inside is blazing. Hurry, Eric, hurry!”
“Where are we taking her?” Eric anxiously asked. “The canyon’s so steep. We can’t carry her clear up to the road.”
Tommy took a quick look around. “Over there, behind that big boulder. Come on, let’s get moving.”
They had just lowered Sierra to the ground behind the boulder when the van exploded. The boys gaped at the sight.
“Holy cow,” Tommy whispered. “She would have been killed for sure.” He tore his eyes from the conflagration to look at Eric. “Get going and make that call. She’s unconscious and could be hurt bad.”
They both jumped a foot when a second explosion shook the canyon. This one was much worse than the first, and what was left of the van and its contents either fluttered to the rocks in minute pieces or landed in the river.
“It’s gone,” Eric said, as though he couldn’t believe his own eyes. “Totally gone.”
Two
John Mann of the Montana Highway Patrol introduced himself to Clint and Tommy Barrow, who rose from their chairs and shook hands with the officer. They were all tall men, and their eyes were almost on the same level. Officer Mann probably outweighed the Barrows, as Clint and his son were both lean and lanky, very much alike in appearance with dark hair and blue eyes.
Mann moved a chair from another part of the waiting room to sit closer to the Barrows. They were in the intensive care unit of Missoula General Hospital, where Sierra had been brought by a flight-for-life helicopter.
Officer Mann, big and burly as he was, spoke in a surprisingly soft voice. “Any news on the woman’s condition?” he asked.
“Nothing conclusive. We’ve talked to a couple of doctors and several nurses. They’re running tests,” Clint said in a voice choppy from strain. As concerned as he was about the woman in room 217, he was more worried about his son. Tommy’s face was pasty and gray. It could have been Tommy who had crashed at the bottom of that ravine, and Clint couldn’t get that image out of his mind. The thought of losing his son in a car accident had Clint half sick to his stomach.
“Then she’s regained consciousness?” John asked,looking from father to son.
“If she has, we haven’t been told about it.” Clint noticed John’s close scrutiny of Tommy, and shifted in his chair so his shoulder touched his son’s.
Officer Mann registered the protective gesture and cleared his throat. “It was a serious accident and will have to be investigated.”
“Yes, I know,” Clint said. The stern lines of his handsome face became even more rigid. If Tommy hadn’t gone out of his way to pick up Eric for school, would there have been an accident? Clint knew that same question was haunting Tommy. The boys were the best of friends. Clint remembered his and Tommy’s conversation before the boy had driven off in his red pickup that morning.
“You’re running late, Tom.”
“I told Eric I’d pick him up. Remember, Dad, Barrows don’t go back on their word.”
“Figured you did,” Mann said quietly. “Well, let’s get started.” He produced a small note pad and a pen from an inside pocket of his jacket and flipped it open to a specific page. “Thomas Lee Barrow and Eric Roger Schulze,” he read and glanced up. “Names correct?”
Both Clint and Tommy said yes.
“Okay, Tommy—are you called Tommy or Tom?”
“Either one is okay,” Tommy said. He was looking down, and Clint could tell he was scared.
“Tell me what happened, Tom,” Officer Mann.
“I already told Sheriff Logan,” Tommy said. “He’s the one who came when Eric called for help.”
“I know you did, but I wasn’t there and I’d like to hear it for myself.”
Tommy drew a deep, slightly unsteady breath. “We were afraid of being late for school because of finals, and took the shortcut over Cougar Pass.”
“You and Eric.”
“Yes. I was driving. I came around that hairpin curve—you know the one—and there was one of those minivans smack-dab in the middle of the road. I hit the brakes and so did she, and we—we collided.”
“You hit an icy spot.”
“Frost It was only melted where the sun, uh, shone on the road.”
“Did you see that the driver was a woman?”
“Didn’t have time to see anything. I was trying to straighten out my truck.”
“Understandable.”
“The van went off the road.” Tommy swallowed hard. “I got the truck stopped, and Eric and I ran to the edge of the ravine. It was still going down, rolling end over end. We saw the woman fly out through the driver’s door and land on the rocks. The van landed upside down about a foot from the river. We hurried down the grade as fast as we could. Eric thought she was dead, but I found a strong pulse and realized she was just knocked out. I told Eric to get back to the truck and go for help. He was about to leave when he spotted the fire. The woman was too close to the wreck, and I started thinking about, uh, maybe it would explode, you know? Eric didn’t want to move her, but I knew we had to.”
Tommy raised stricken eyes to look at Officer Mann. “We had to move her—she would have died in the explosions if we hadn’t—but what if we hurt her more?”
“Tom, you did the right thing,” Mann said. “She’s alive and she wouldn’t be if you’d left her where she was. Okay, I have a few questions. Did she come to at all and say anything?”
“No.”
“Did you happen to notice the license plate on the van?”
Tommy frowned. “I don’t remember one.”
“Then again, you might have been too occupied with other things to notice.”
“That’s true. It’s just that the van’s back end was toward us, but I can’t remember a plate.”
“It might have been thrown off during the tumble.”
Tommy nodded. “That’s possible, I guess.”
“Where is this leading?” Clint asked.
“Have you seen the wreckage?” Officer Mann inquired.
“No.”
“Well, there isn’t any, other than a widespread ground cover of tiny pieces of fabric and metal and other unidentifiable debris.” Mann sat back in his chair. “We don’t know who she is. If Tommy had seen a license plate, we’d at least know in which state she lives.”
“Lots of stuff fell in the river,” Tommy said.
“Yes, but the river’s running high and wild in that canyon from spring runoff. Everything’s probably miles downstream by now.”
“You’re concerned about her identity,” Clint said. “Won’t that question be cleared up when she comes to?”
Officer Mann put away his notebook and pen. “I’m sure it will.” He got to his feet and looked at Tommy. “That should do it for now. If any other questions come up that I think you might be able to answer, I’ll contact you.”
Tommy nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Clint sensed Tommy’s relief after the officer had gone. Neither Clint nor his son had ever been involved in anything that required police intervention, and Clint knew his son well enough to also know that that aspect of the accident made him nervous.
He put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Relax, son, Officer Mann is merely doing his job.”
Tommy didn’t answer, just kept staring across the room as though his father hadn’t said a word.
Clint drew his hand back. He loved his son more than life itself, and felt his misery in his own soul. Tommy had never given him one moment of justified concern. Yes, Clint had worried some when Tommy began driving those mountain roads, but throughout the boy’s life, Clint had been concerned for his safety, not because he had been misbehaving.
Clint changed the subject, simply to get Tommy thinking about something else. “When I called the principal and explained the situation, he said you could make up the tests you missed today.” He paused, then added, “Guess I already told you that.”
“That’s okay, Dad.”
“At least Eric didn’t miss a full day.” Clint frowned slightly. “How’d he get from the accident site to school?”
“When he called the sheriff, he also called his dad. Mr. Schulze picked him up.” Tommy suddenly leaned forward and put his hands over his eyes. His voice broke. “It was awful, Dad. I’ll never forget it.”
Clint rubbed his son’s back. “Of course you won’t forget it. But you did everything you could to save that woman’s life. I’m very proud of you, son. I hope you know that.” He felt Tommy’s shoulders heave with a sob, and he continued rubbing his back, doing what he could to comfort his boy.
There was no question of leaving the hospital and going home. Whatever they were finally told about the woman’s condition, both he and Tommy had to hear it, firsthand and from a doctor. They had already occupied this little waiting room for five hours; they would remain right here for what was left of the day, and all night, if necessary.
At eight o’clock that evening nurse Nancy Cummings summoned Dr. Melvin Pierce to room 217. “She’s showing signs of consciousness, Doctor.”
Dr. Pierce glanced at the monitor screen that displayed the patient’s heart rate and blood pressure. “Appears so,” he murmured, and turned his attention to the woman in the bed. There were abrasions, cuts and scrapes on her face and hands. The gash on her right temple had required stitches, but X rays and other tests had revealed no broken bones, and even her concussion was not severe. In his opinion, she was extremely fortunate to have survived such a fierce accident with so little bodily damage.
He laid his hand on her upper arm and shook it slightly. “Miss? Miss, can you hear me? Open your eyes. You’re in a hospital and I’m Dr. Pierce. Try to open your eyes.”
As though from a very great distance, Sierra heard a man’s voice. Open your eyes. Try to open your eyes.
Her eyelids felt weighted down by something heavy. Her entire body ached, especially her head. The palms of her hands burned as though on fire, her knees as well. She tried to think and couldn’t.
But she heard the voice, and it seemed to be getting closer. She struggled to obey it, and finally her lids fluttered open. She saw a blurred face, and heard, “Miss, can you speak? Say something. Tell us your name.”
Her brain felt stuffed with cotton. Her eyes closed, and she heard the voice again. “Try to stay awake, miss. Try to speak. What is your name?”
“Sierra,” she mumbled thickly, and fell back into that dark place where her body didn’t hurt and voices could not be heard.
Dr. Pierce straightened up and moved to the foot of the bed for her chart, on which he wrote the time and what had just occurred.
“Watch her closely,” he said to the nurse as he wrote. “I’ll be leaving the hospital in about thirty minutes. Dr. North will be on duty. Call him if she awakens again.”
He swung out of the room and strode directly to the ICU waiting room. Clint Barrow and his son stood up with expectant expressions.
“Go ahead and sit down again,” the doctor said. He sat as well. He looked tired and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Okay, here’s what we know with some degree of certainty. She has a mild concussion and numerous abrasions. There are no broken bones, nor any detectable internal injuries. We do not count her as completely out of danger, but the outlook is favorable. She came to a few minutes ago for about ten seconds, and the fact that she understood what I was saying to her is an excellent sign. I asked her name and she said Sierra.”
Clint and Tommy looked at each other. “Sierra? That was all she said?” Clint asked.
“The only word.” Dr. Pierce got up. “I have other patients to see. My advice to the two of you is to go home and get some rest. The only thing you’re going to accomplish here is to exhaust yourselves. Good evening.” He left.
Tommy looked puzzled. “Isn’t Sierra a peculiar name? Sounds more like a last name than a first. What do you think, Dad?”
“I don’t know what to think about that, Tommy. But the rest of what Dr. Pierce said is very good news.” He got to his feet. “Come on, I’ll walk you out. It’s time you went home. You have those exams to deal with tomorrow.”
Tommy rose. “You’re not going with me? How come?”
“I’m not sure. I just have this feeling that I should stick around.”
“But you won’t have a car.”
“If I need a car, I’ll rent one.”
In the parking lot, Clint saw his son off. “Drive safely, and no shortcut over Cougar Pass.”
Tommy nodded grimly. “Don’t worry about that.”
Clint watched the red pickup until it was out of sight, then walked back into the hospital. In ICU, he went directly to the nurse’s station.
“May I see the woman in room 217?”
Nurse Cummings looked sympathetic. “She’s still unconscious, Mr. Barrow.”
“I know, and I would only stay a minute. But I need to see her, ma’am.”
“Well...guess a little peek wouldn’t hurt. Sure, Mr. Barrow, go ahead. Just don’t touch anything.”
“I won’t. Thank you.”
Clint walked down the corridor, hesitated a moment at the open door, then took a few steps into the room, which was lighted by one wall lamp. There was one bed, one patient, a woman who had said one word when asked her name. He winced at the stitches on her forehead and the mean-looking abrasions on her face and hands. There was a hospital cap on her head, but a bit of dark hair showed around the elastic. Her features were as close to perfect as he’d ever seen on a woman’s face—small nose and chin, high cheekbones, well-defined eyebrows and full, beautifully sculpted lips.
“She’s young,” he muttered under his breath. For some reason he’d been thinking of her as a much older woman.
She looked small in that bed, which touched him, and the fact that she was hooked up to several machines touched him even more. An IV ran into her left arm, dripping a clear liquid into her veins.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he questioned why things like this had to happen. Tommy didn’t deserve what he was going through, and neither did this woman.
A hundred thoughts ran through Clint’s mind, but one stood out: he could not desert her. Until her full name was known and her relatives—there must be some—knew where she was and what had happened to her, he would assume familial responsibility and keep a sharp eye on her.
“Sierra,” he whispered. “Is that really your name, or was your mind merely wandering?”
He looked at her for another few moments, sighed deeply and quietly left the room, returning to the nurse’s station to speak to Nurse Cummings again.
“There’s a little motel just down the block—the Bixby. Would you please call me there if there’s any change in her condition, either good or bad?”
“Yes, Mr. Barrow, I’ll call.”
“Thank you. I’ll probably be back in a few hours.”
With her eyes still shut, Sierra mentally bemoaned the hardness of the bed she was lying in. Why was she in such an uncomfortable bed? She moved in an attempt to get more comfortable, and an onslaught of pain made her gasp. Her eyes flew open.
The room was unfamiliar—small, dimly lighted and austere. The door was wide open. Where was she? Panic seized her, and she tried to sit up, only to cry out in pain and fall back to the bed again. She saw the IV tube attached to her wrist. What was happening to her?
She swallowed, or tried to. Her throat and mouth were dry; her heart was pounding fearfully. Nurse Cummings rushed into the room and to the bedside, followed by another nurse.
“You’re awake. Janie, call Dr. North,” she said to the second nurse, who immediately hurried out. Then she smiled at Sierra. “How are you feeling, dear?”
“Could...could I have some water?” Sierra croaked.
“Certainly. There’s some right here on your stand.” The nurse produced a plastic glass of water with a straw. “Don’t raise your head. I’ll hold the glass for you. And take just a little this first time. Dr. North will be along in a moment.”
Sierra sucked some water through the straw, then lay back weakly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Where am I?”
“You’re in a hospital, dear.”
“Why?”
“Because of your injuries, of course. Oh, here’s Dr. North.” Nurse Cummings moved aside for the doctor, saying for his ears alone, “She seems a bit disoriented.”
“Hello,” Dr. North said, bending over her with an ophthalmoscope. “Look at the far corner of the room, please.”
Sierra recoiled. “What are you doing?”
“This is an instrument that permits me to see the inside of your eyes.”
“Why do you want to see the inside of my eyes?”
“Miss, uh, Sierra, you received a mild concussion in the accident. Examining your eyes is merely—”
“What accident?” Sierra cried, panicking again. “And why are you calling me Sierra?”
“Because you told another doctor that Sierra is your name.” Dr. North’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Suppose you tell me your name.”
Sierra’s eyes darted wildly from doctor to nurse and then around the room. Her name...her name. Her head throbbed as she struggled to locate memories that weren’t there. The void in her mind frightened her so much that she tried to get up again, driven by a need to escape this place, these people.
Dr. North pushed her down again and said to the nurse, “Whatever sedative Dr. Pierce prescribed for this patient, get it now!”
“Yes, Doctor.” Nurse Cummings ran from the room and collided with Clint. “Excuse me, Mr. Barrow,” she said, and rushed away.
“Excuse me, ma’am. What’s going on?” he called after her. She didn’t slow down, nor did she attempt to give him an answer. Frowning, Clint stepped into the room. Dr. North was attempting to stop the woman in the bed from thrashing around. She was emitting a low, keening sound and fighting to elude his restraint.
He strode to the opposite side of the bed. “What’s wrong with her?” he anxiously asked.
The doctor glanced at him. “Who’re you, and what are you doing here at three in the morning?”
“I’m Clint Barrow. My son Tommy was the driver of the other vehicle. Why is she so upset?”
“I think because I asked her her name.”
“It’s Sierra.” Clint reached out and gently took her hand. “Sierra?” he said quietly. “Rest easy, Sierra, no one’s is going to hurt you.”
To Dr. North’s amazement, she stopped fighting him. Her eyes went to Clint in a blank but much calmer stare. Taking a breath, Dr. North released his hold on her shoulders.
“You don’t know me, Sierra,” Clint said in that same even, quiet voice. “But I’m here to help you.”
Sierra tried to focus her blurred vision on the man’s face, but his features really didn’t matter, his voice did. It was so kind and soothing, and she wanted to hear more of it.
Nurse Cummings returned with a syringe. “Here you are, Doctor.”
“We may not need that, after all,” he said in an undertone. He backed away from the bed and beckoned the nurse to a corner of the room. “She’s responding to this man’s voice,” he said in a near whisper. “I want to see where it leads. You may go, I’m going to sit in here for a while.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Clint was aware of Dr. North sitting out of Sierra’s line of vision, but only vaguely, as he was focused on her and what he should say next.
Then instinct told him that she wouldn’t care what he said as long as he kept talking. “I’m staying in the Bixby Motel. It’s down the street a block or so. I awoke about an hour ago and decided I needed to see you again. I stopped in an all-night diner for something to eat, then came on over.”
“Where am I?” she asked in a thin, wispy voice.
“In a hospital in Missoula, Montana. It’s a very good hospital, Sierra. You are receiving the best care possible. Have you been hospitalized before?”
She lay silent and staring, and in the corner of the room Dr. North held his breath awaiting her answer.
It finally came, a very weak, very frightened, “I...don’t know.” Dr. North noiselessly breathed again. He now knew what the patient’s problem was.
Clint, however, was at a loss and could only rely on that instinct to keep talking to her. “I was hospitalized once, Sierra, about ten years ago. A horse threw me and I landed wrong. Broke three ribs and—”
She interrupted. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Clint Barrow. Sierra—”
“Is Sierra my name? What’s my last name? Do I live in Missoula?” It was all said in a whispery, shaky voice.
Clint was finally catching on. He darted a glance at Dr. North, who responded with a nod. Sierra had amnesia. She remembered nothing, not even her name.
Clint’s stomach sank, and he licked his suddenly dry lips. He was in over his head here. How much should he tell her? Should he mention the accident, explain what had happened to her, tell her that her van had been totally destroyed and that no one, not one single person in this hospital, maybe even in Missoula, knew who she was?
He mustered an unsteady smile. “Now, that’s information you’re going to have to tell me. You see, I’m merely a concerned friend.”
“You’re a friend. I see,” she whispered, and Clint knew that her cloudy mind was placing him as an old friend, even though it was an illogical conclusion when he had just told her he had no answer to her questions.
Dr. North rose and approached the bed. “Perhaps we should let Sierra get some rest now, Mr. Barrow.”
Her eyes became wild again and she clung to Clint’s hand. “Don’t leave,” she begged him. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
“May I leave you alone for five minutes?” he asked gently. “I promise I’ll be right back.” He had to speak to the doctor alone.
“I...do you promise?” she whispered.
“You have my word.” Gently he disengaged his hand and strolled from the room, knowing Dr. North would follow. They walked down the corridor and stopped in a quiet nook. Clint’s eyes bored into the doctor’s. “She can’t remember anything, can she?”
“That appears to be the case. Mr. Barrow, her injuries were not sufficient to permanently destroy her memory. I will, naturally, order more extensive testing in the morning, but I honestly do not feel her loss of memory is physically caused. Trauma such as she went through in the accident can result in any number of emotional side effects. I strongly believe her amnesia is temporary.”
“How temporary? Are we talking a few days, a week, a month?”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no way of knowing. I find her response to you quite remarkable. You didn’t know her before this?”
“No, we never met. Let me ask you something. How much should I tell her? I mean, should I talk about the accident?”
Dr. North thought for a moment. “My opinion is to avoid that topic for tonight. Talk in generalities. You were doing very well, and I think I’d keep conversation on that level until a psychologist sees her. I’ll arrange for one to visit her first thing in the morning.”
Clint was not normally a nervous man, but he was nervous about this. Why did Sierra trust him? What if he inadvertently said the wrong thing and sent her into another tizzy?
He took a long breath. “I’d better get back to her. Are you going to be available if something happens I can’t handle?”
“I’ll be here until 6:00 a.m. Call the nurse if you need me, and she will take it from there.”
Clint returned to room 217 and saw that Sierra had a death grip on the safety rail on each side of her bed. Forcing a smile, he walked over to her. “Told you I’d be right back. Let’s lower that rail, and then I’m going to move a chair over here so I can sit next to you.”
Sierra watched his every move. She was so grateful he’d come back that tears stung her eyes. When he was seated and holding her hand again, she released a long, heavy sigh and closed her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and fell asleep.
Clint stayed right where he was, and he was glad he had, because every ten minutes or so she woke up and looked at him briefly, as though subconsciously needing assurance that he was still there. Then she closed her eyes again.
Actually, he was damned glad she was sleeping at all, as he couldn’t help worrying about further conversation with her.
Watching her sleeping and holding her hand was a bonding experience, he realized. She wasn’t just the other half of Tommy’s accident anymore, nor merely the woman in room 217, she was a flesh and blood human being with a troubled mind and the warmest, softest hand he had ever held.
He turned it once, looked at the abrasions on her palm and became choked up. The physical evidence of the accident would heal and vanish. Would the emotional damage heal and vanish, as well? Dr. North believed her amnesia was temporary.
All Clint could do was pray he was right.
Three
The next time Sierra awoke, her mind wasn’t nearly as fuzzy as it had been. She knew she was in a hospital room. She remembered Dr. North and some nurses, and the man, Clint Barrow.
Turning her head slightly, she studied him. He had fallen asleep in a chair next to her bed. She recalled him saying they were friends, but friendship had many degrees. Were they merely speaking acquaintances, or were they much more? Frustration suddenly attacked her, and she brought her hand up to her head—perhaps to smooth her hair, or to nervously run her fingers through it, she really didn’t know. But instead of feeling her abundant, heavy, straight hair, she discovered the cap covering it.
Why was she wearing a cap? Why couldn’t she remember being brought to the hospital? Why couddn’t she remember her own name?
“Oh, my God,” she whispered as understanding developed. Her memory was gone! Her heart fluttered in panic. Who was she? Where did she live? What had happened to cause so many aches in her body?
A nurse rushed in and saw that her patient was wide awake, the reason her heart rate had increased. She smiled and checked the flow of the IV. “Are you feeling all right, dear?”
Clint woke and sat up in the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t intend to doze off. Is anything wrong?”
“Everything appears to be just fine,” the nurse said brightly. “Our patient woke up, that’s all.”
Clint leaned toward the bed. “Are you all right, Sierra?” he asked softly.
She turned teary eyes to him. “I can’t remember anything,” she whispered.
The nurse patted her arm. “Dr. North said it’s only temporary, dear. Try not to worry. You’re doing fine.”
“I have so many cuts and scrapes,” Sierra said in a tear-clogged voice. “What happened? Why am I wearing a cap?”
“You have very long hair, dear,” the nurse said. “The cap is merely a means to restrain it.”
“But...my temple. Am I feeling stitches?” Sierra’s hand was exploring her forehead.
“Don’t touch them. There’s no bandage, and we shouldn’t risk infection.”
Clint could tell that Sierra’s mind was much clearer than it had been. She was going to ask questions—she had already asked questions—and he decided then and there that if the nurse didn’t answer them, he would. Maybe a psychologist should talk to her first, but there wasn’t one in the room, and to his way of thinking, she had every right to know what had happened to her.
Sierra asked nothing of the nurse, however. She accepted a drink of water, and lay still while the nurse checked the monitor connections.
“Well, everything seems to be in good order,” the nurse said briskly. “I’ll be at the station if you need me.” Her soft-soled shoes made very little sound as she left the room.
The second they were alone Sierra turned pleading eyes to Clint. “You said we’re friends. Please tell me everything you know about me. Everything,” she repeated in a choked voice.
He had no intention of refusing, although he wondered how best to explain that their friendship had begun only hours ago. If that information upset her...? It would upset her, Clint realized uneasily. She regarded him as her one connection with her past, perhaps as the key that would unlock the door to her memory.
This was far more of a burden than he’d bargained for, but he couldn’t lie to her. “I am your friend, Sierra,” he said quietly. “But I’m a new friend. We only met...recently.”
“But you do know who I am.”
Was he hearing panic in her voice again, seeing it in her eyes? He reached for her hand, and she let him hold it.
“Sierra, I’m not going to lie to you,” he said. “You wouldn’t want to hear anything but the truth, would you?”
“Is the truth something terrible?”
“It’s limited, but not terrible.”
“Tell me,” she whispered.
He took a breath. “Here’s what I know about you. You were in a car accident on a mountain road. My son was the driver of the other vehicle, a red pickup truck. You were driving a blue minivan. The road still had patches of early morning frost....”
She was staring at him so intently that he began to hope. “Is any of this familiar?”
She sounded discouraged as she answered, “No, but please go on. Was—was your son injured?”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“I’m glad.”
“So am I, Sierra, so am I.” Clint drew a breath before continuing. “There was another young man in the truck with Tommy, his friend Eric. They notified the sheriff and you were brought to Missoula and this hospital by a flight-for-life helicopter.”
She tried to make a little joke. “My first helicopter ride and I can’t remember it.”
How did she know that helicopter ride had been her first? Or was she merely assuming?
Clint smiled for her benefit. “But you will remember it, Sierra—that’s what you’ve got to hang on to. Dr. North told me he’s positive your amnesia is temporary.” Clint paused to mentally go over that conversation. Had Dr. North used the word positive?
Well, Clint couldn’t backtrack now and shatter the little hope he’d just given Sierra.
“And that’s how we met,” she said in a wispy, disappointed voice. “Because of your son. You really don’t know me much better than I know myself.”
“I’m sorry, Sierra. I wish I could lay out your background in great detail, but I can’t.”
“My vehicle should offer some clues to my identity. I must have had a driver’s license with me. Do you know if the police are checking that out?”
It was encouraging that she knew about driver’s licenses, but still Clint swallowed hard. Her question was one he hated answering. In fact, he was afraid of answering it. She would learn soon enough that the van and everything in it had been destroyed.
He hedged, telling no lies, but deliberately avoiding the whole truth. “The highway patrol is working on it.”
“When did the accident happen?” she asked. “I—I’m afraid I’ve lost track of time.”
“Yesterday.”
“Then they could very well know something today.” Sierra felt a surge of relief, certain once she knew her full name and address, things would fall into place in her befuddled brain. In the next heartbeat, however, she became doubtful again. If she’d had a driver’s license with her, why didn’t the hospital staff know her identity?
Her mouth became almost too dry to speak. “How do you know my first name is Sierra?”
“It’s the name you gave a doctor when you came to the first time.”
“I don’t remember doing that,” she murmured with a frown. “But why did anyone have to ask? I mean, if I had a driver’s license—”
Clint hurriedly interrupted, steering the conversation in another direction. “Do you remember my name?”
“Yes, Clint Barrow. Do you live in Missoula?”
“My son and I live on our ranch. It’s about eighty miles from Missoula. My wife passed away five years ago, so it’s just Tommy and me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sighing heavily, Sierra moved her gaze from Clint to the ceiling above her bed. “I feel so...unconnected. Where was I going? Where had I come from?”
“I wish I knew, Sierra. The road you were on led to Cougar Mountain. The accident occurred in a place called Cougar Pass. It’s very isolated country.”
“And I was alone?”
“Yes, alone.”
“I must have had a destination in mind. Your ranch is in that area, so there must be others. Maybe...maybe I was on my way to see someone.”
Clint readily understood her need for information, and the speculation that need was inspiring, but letting her think that road held any answers would be more cruel than helpful.
“Sierra, I’m sorry, but no one lives on that road. It leads to only one thing—Cougar Mountain. It’s a place that draws mountain climbers, hikers, environmentalists and campers seeking isolation.”
To his surprise, her countenance brightened. “Then I must be one of them!” she exclaimed. “The clues to who I am are in my van, I know they are. Even though everyone involved obviously missed finding my driver’s license, this is very encouraging. Would you happen to know where my van is now? I mean, was it towed somewhere?”
Clint was so glad to see Dr. North walking in at that moment he could have kissed him.
“Wide awake, I see,” the doctor said with a big smile. “Mr. Barrow, would you leave us alone for a few minutes? It’s nearly six and I’ll be leaving the hospital soon, but I’d like to examine my favorite patient before I go.”
Clint immediately rose in deference to the doctor’s wishes, but Sierra wouldn’t release his hand. And when he looked into her beautiful dark eyes, he saw a resurgence of panic.
“Don’t leave me,” she begged.
“I’ll wait just outside the door,” Clint promised.
Biting her upper lip, not quite succeeding in maintaining dry eyes, she reluctantly let go of Clint’s hand. He barely breathed until he was in the corridor outside her room. Never had he felt another person’s emotions as strongly as he felt Sierra’s. He was shaken through and through, and more than a little panicked himself.
Hurrying to the waiting room, he purchased coffee from a machine, then returned to the corridor to drink it and wait for Dr. North to complete his examination. The coffee was strong and hot and tasted good. Leaning against a wall, he drank it while pondering Sierra’s trust of him.
Dr. North finally came out. Clint pushed away from the wall. “I need to talk to you.”
Nodding, the doctor walked down the corridor with him. “Physically she seems to be doing very well,” Dr. North began. “But to be a little more certain than we are at this time, I’ve scheduled some additional tests for this morning. Also, Dr. Trugood, a psychologist, will be seeing her around nine.”
“I know you’re doing everything medically possible for her, Doctor, but she’s asking questions that are damned hard to answer.”
“Mr. Barrow, her state of mind is only natural in amnesia patients. I find her emotional dependency on you, a stranger, rather interesting, as I think Dr. Trugood will.”
“Is it unusual?”
“Frankly, I haven’t worked with amnesiacs enough to know. Dr. Trugood should be able to answer that question, however.”
“I guess what I’m getting at is you told me to avoid talking about the accident, which was impossible to do. She might not remember her past, but she’s a very bright woman and she’s digging for answers. Plus she’s positive that the things she had in the van with her—driver’s license, for instance—will reveal her identity. I told her about the accident—I had to—but I haven’t told her about the van and everything in it being destroyed.”
“I see,” Dr. North said thoughtfully. “I hesitate to instruct you not to return to her room, when you promised her you would, but if she’s counting on learning her identity from the contents of her vehicle, and you tell her there’s no way that’s going to happen...” The physician frowned and stopped walking.
“This really must be left to Dr. Trugood,” he said after a few moments. “What I’d like you to do is go back to her room and tell her that work, duty, family responsibility, something—use your own judgment on that—demands that you leave the hospital for a while. Assure her that you will return.” Dr. North cocked an eyebrow. “Assuming that you plan to return, of course.”
Clint’s mind raced. He felt the same mysterious bond with Sierra that she apparently felt with him. He didn’t understand it, but it was a driving force that he knew he couldn’t ignore.
“I’ll be back,” he said with a touch of grimness in his voice. “How about this evening?” he asked, thinking that he could call the ranch and have one of his men drive to Missoula and pick him up. It was a good idea, because he could then drive back in his own vehicle. Also, he wanted to see with his own eyes how Tommy was doing.
“I think this evening would work out perfectly,” Dr. North said. “She’ll be through with the tests and she’ll have talked to Dr. Trugood.”
“Will he tell her about the loss of her possessions?”
“I’ll call him and suggest that he does.”
“Well, someone’s got to do it,” Clint said rather sharply. “If she doesn’t know by tonight, I’ll have to tell her.”
“I understand. I’m sure Dr. Trugood will take care of it.” Dr. North glanced at his watch. “I have to be going. We’ll talk again.”
Clint watched the doctor stroll down the corridor toward the elevators, then he turned and headed back to Sierra’s room. His heart was in his throat. He was a simple man, and the situation was so far from simple it was almost laughable. At the door to Sierra’s room, he took a calming breath and erased the grimness from his face. When he stepped into the room he was wearing a smile. With his own eyes he saw the tension leave Sierra’s body.
“Clint,” she said with unabashed relief, holding her hand out to him.
He moved closer and took it. “You were worried I wouldn’t be back. Sierra, when I tell you something you can bank on it, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“There’s something I have to tell you now. I’m going to have to leave you until this evening.” He felt her hand stiffen in his and saw the fear in her eyes. “There are things I have to take care of,” he said, standing firm although he felt as though his heart was breaking.
“Work?” she said in that whispery, frightened little voice with which he’d become so familiar.
Clint nodded. “Work and other things. You’ll see me again no later than eight tonight.” There were tears in her eyes, and he took a tissue from the box on the stand and gently blotted the escaping moisture, carefully keeping away from her stitches and abrasions.
“You have every right to cry,” he said softly. “I’m not going to tell you to keep a stiff upper lip and a lid on your emotions. Sometimes a good cry is very good medicine.”
“It—it isn’t that I want to cry,” she said brokenly. “I just can’t seem to help it.”
“And it’s fine with me. Never feel that you should hold anything back with me, Sierra.”
She blinked at the tears and attempted a shaky smile. “I feel so different with you than with anyone else. I wish I knew why.” She sighed then. “There’s so much I wish I knew.”
“You will. Try to hold that thought.” On impulse Clint leaned over the bed and gently pressed his lips to the uninjured portion of her forehead. This woman, helpless and bewildered, and known only as Sierra, touched him deeply. She needed him, was relying on him, and he vowed not to let her down. He straightened up and forced himself to smile. “See you this evening, all right?”
“Yes, this evening,” she whispered, and let her hand slip from his as he left the bed and then the room. Alone, she darted her eyes around the room. There were no demons in the early morning shadows, nothing to fear, and yet fear was an enormous part of her when Clint wasn’t holding her hand. She believed what he told her much more readily than she did the doctors and nurses. Did he remind her of someone she knew and couldn’t remember? Someone who was kind and gentle and completely honest?
She lay there and thought about Clint Barrow. He was a handsome man, or at least she saw him as handsome. His looks didn’t matter, however; his kindness, thoughtfulness and consideration did. He was probably a wonderful father to his son, caring, loving and genuinely interested in anything Tommy did or said.
Did she have a father somewhere? A mother? Maybe a...husband? She adjusted her position, tried to ignore the additional discomfort movement caused, and looked closely at her left hand. She wore no jewelry, but there was a faint indentation on her ring finger that indicated she’d worn a ring for some time.
It could be a clue! Anxiously she pushed the nurse’s call button. A young woman came almost at once. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Was I wearing a ring when I was brought in?” Sierra asked.
“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. But I’ll check your admission slip and find out, if you’d like.”
“Please. You see, my finger looks as though I’ve been wearing a ring.” Although the IV was in her left wrist, Sierra lifted that hand from the bed.
The young nurse peered at it. “Yes, you’re right. I’ll go and see what I can find out.”
Sierra felt excitement coursing through her system. A husband could mean children. A family would certainly be looking for her. But if she had a family, why had she been traveling alone?
Her head started aching more than it already had been. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply and fought impatience, doubt, frustration....
Footsteps announced the young nurse’s return. Sierra’s eyes flew open. “Did you learn anything?”
“Your admission slip lists only a watch.”
“No ring?” Intense disappointment gripped Sierra.
“I’m very sorry. You were counting on a ring, weren’t you?”
“I...guess so.”
“Is there anything else, ma’am? Breakfast will be served shortly, and then you’ll be given a bath. A bath always makes a person feel better.”
“Thank you,” Sierra said dully.
Clint was waiting in the yard when Tommy drove in from school. “Dad,” the teenager exclaimed as he jumped out of his truck. “How’d you get home?”
“I had Lyle drive in and pick me up. How are you doing, Tom?”
“Okay, I guess. I think I did all right on the exams today.”
“That’s good.” Clint studied his son’s face and eyes and felt relief; Tommy’s color was back to normal, and he seemed like his usual exuberant self.
Tommy reached into the truck for a book, which he held up with an exaggerated grimace. “Trig test tomorrow. Thought I’d better do a little boning up.”
“Aren’t you going to ask about Sierra?” Clint asked quietly.
“Uh, yeah, sure. Does—does she remember the accident?”
“She doesn’t remember anything, Tom. I spent quite a lot of time with her, and I told her what happened. She seems to trust me.”
“Yeah, well, you’re a trustworthy guy, Dad,” Tommy quipped. “I’m starving. What’s Rosie cooking for supper?”
“I’m not sure. Chicken, maybe.” Clint felt a strange disappointment over Tommy’s lack of interest in Sierra’s progress. He’d thought Tom would be full of questions, and instead he hardly seemed concerned. For a young man who had shed tears over the death of a foal only two weeks ago, unconcern for a human being seemed greatly out of character.
“I’ve gotta get something to eat,” Tommy said. “Are you coming in, Dad?”
“Not right now, Tom. You go ahead.” While Tommy sprinted to the house, Clint walked over to a corral and leaned his forearms on the top rail. There were horses in the enclosure, but he didn’t see them. A sense of something being not quite right gnawed at him, occupying his mind and wrenching his gut.
But never once had he not given Tommy the benefit of the doubt. Tommy was young, still only a boy, really, and maybe he couldn’t dwell on the accident. Even though it had been no more his fault than Sierra’s, it was possible that Tommy was suffering feelings he couldn’t talk about.
Clint pushed away from the corral, thinking that must be it. It would be a first—he and Tommy had always been able to talk about anything—but “anything” before the accident had been topics without such serious ramifications. His best course would be to let Tommy deal with this in his own way and time, Clint decided. Tommy knew he was here for him, and that was really what was most important.
When Clint approached the open door to Sierra’s room that evening, he first saw the empty bed, then her still form sitting in a chair near the window. It was dark outside, but her face was turned to the glass. The cap was gone from her head, and he registered the rich, dark color of her hair, its marvelous length secured at her nape with something red.
He thought of that for only a moment, though, as he was so pleased to find her out of bed. He stepped into the room. “Sierra?”
Her head came around. The forlorn, lost expression on her face tore at his heartstrings. Hastily he crossed the small room and knelt beside her chair. “What’s wrong, Sierra?” he asked gently.
“There is no driver’s license,” she said dully. “There’s nothing. My van was completely destroyed in the accident. A police officer came by to speak to me today, and he told me everything. Did you know?”
“Yes, but the doctors didn’t think it was my place to tell you about it.” Self-recrimination thinned his lips. He should have gone with his own instincts and told her himself. “Would it have been easier to hear, coming from me?”
She lowered her eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Sighing, she looked at him again. “I’m glad to see you. Thank you for coming back.”
“I told you I would.”
“I know, but the day was so...awful, it wouldn’t have surprised me if you hadn’t.” She fashioned a weak smile. “I don’t think the doctors know what to do with me. Every test was normal. A psychologist dropped in twice, once this morning and again this afternoon after the results of the tests came in. He said...to relax. He said my memory would clear up much faster if I relaxed and let it happen.”
“You sound doubtful.”
“I sound tense, Clint, because I am tense. How can I relax? How could anyone in my situation? I can’t help trying to remember. It’s all I think about. I asked the police officer if anyone had turned in a missing person report for someone of my description. No one has, not in this jurisdiction. Clint, I didn’t just suddenly appear from another planet. Someone must be wondering where I am.”
“Maybe it’s too soon for relatives and friends to become alarmed. Have you considered that?”
Sierra was silent a moment. “That’s the first really sensible thing anyone’s said to me all day. You’re right. Maybe I talked to friends and relatives just before the accident. Maybe I told them I would be out of touch for a few days.” Hope again shone in Sierra’s eyes. “I should have thought of that.”
Clint patted her arm and stood up. “At least you’re out of bed. I consider that major progress, Sierra.”
Her face fell again, startling him. “They’re going to move me out of ICU in the morning. Physically, I’m fine. Everything’s healing nicely, no infections, no complications. My doctors apparently went into a huddle after the results of the test came through and decided I could go home after a few more days.” Her voice cracked. “Where is home? Where will I go? I don’t even have any clothes.”
“They’re not going to just throw you out on the street, Sierra.”
“I know. They mentioned... welfare.” With an agonized moan, she covered her face with her hands. “I can’t bear it, I can’t! Maybe my mind is gone, but I know in my heart that I never lived on welfare.”
“Your mind is not gone,” Clint said sharply. “I’ve spent enough time with you to know that you’re an intelligent woman. Sierra, there’s no shame in accepting charity in a situation like yours.” As positive as he sounded in his attempt to bolster her spirit, he knew how she felt. A discomfiting picture formed in his mind—of Sierra living alone in some little apartment, trying desperately to remember, living with hope one minute and despair the next, probably seeing the psychologist once or twice a week but staying pretty much to herself.
He couldn’t let that happen to her. Again he knelt beside her, this time taking her hand in his. “Listen to me. When the hospital releases you, I’m going to take you to my ranch. It’s peaceful there, Sierra, quiet and beautiful. That’s where you’re going to do your healing.”
She was blinking away tears. “But...I would be...a terrible imposition.”
“You most certainly will not be an imposition. The house is huge, with three empty bedrooms. I have a housekeeper and cook, Rosie Slovek, and you won’t have to do one damned thing except rest and relax.”
“It...sounds wonderful.” She smiled faintly. “Why are you so kind to me?”
“Because you don’t deserve what happened to you. Neither does my son. He can’t even bring himself to talk about the accident. Your presence on the ranch will be good therapy for him as well as for you. Say you’ll come.”
“I will, of course I will. Oh, Clint.” She surprised him by putting her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shirt.
He rubbed her back and made consoling noises, but he was very much aware of her breasts against his chest and her warm, womanly scent. Even with bruises and stitches discoloring her face, she was a beautiful woman, and he felt her in that most private and personal part of himself that had been latent since his wife’s death.
It shook him that he could feel so much for a woman he barely knew. He wouldn’t even attempt to give the feeling a name, although he was certain it wasn’t caused by pity.
He cleared his throat and said, “Here now, it’s nothing to cry over.”
Sierra pulled away and took a tissue from the pocket of her hospital robe. Wiping her eyes, she smiled wanly. “How will I ever repay you?”
“By getting well.” There was a peculiar hoarseness in his voice, and he cleared his throat. “Just by getting well, Sierra.”
She nodded once.
Four
Clint awoke before dawn the next morning, which wasn’t that far from normal. But the tight knot squeezing his gut wasn’t at all normal, and he lay in bed and thought of all that had happened, and what part of it might be causing the discomfort he was feeling.
It struck him out of the blue: they were moving Sierra out of ICU this morning! No problem there; in fact it was an extremely good sign. But moving her where? Into a room with other patients? No way, he thought grimly, bounding out of bed and heading for the shower.

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