Snowbound Targets
Too enthralled in watching and listening to the report, Jason didn’t respond. Feeling as if she might throw up, Lucy jumped to her feet and fled. She wasn’t sure where she was going—the cabin was small after all—but she had to get away from the news story.
Jason felt the reporter did a good job, sticking to the facts and avoiding overly opinionated commentary. He thought he might have met the guy once, a few years back, but couldn’t be positive.
Finally, after a good sixty-second segment, which was long for a single story, the focus shifted to the incoming snowstorm. It was barreling through Montana and Wyoming, slated to reached northern Colorado in a matter of hours. The weatherman predicted snow would fall heavily in the entire state, with higher elevations getting the most, as usual. The ski resorts would be overjoyed, especially since they hadn’t had much snow so far.
He glanced back toward Lucy, intending to comment on the weather, but she wasn’t there. He found her in the bathroom with the door open and water running, though she stood motionless in front of the sink with a bowed head.
“Lucy?”
She didn’t respond.
He took a step into the room and lightly touched her shoulder, about to ask her if she was all right.
She cringed, flinching away from him before he could get a single word out. Back up against the wall, she put her arms up in a defensive posture. At first, her gaze seemed wild and unfocused.
“Hey.” He kept his voice quiet and soothing. “Are you OK?”
At first, she didn’t respond. But awareness slowly returned. She blinked and finally lowered her arms. “Jason?” She sounded bewildered, as if she had no idea how he’d gotten there.
“You look really pale,” he said carefully. “Why don’t you sit down before you faint?”
“OK.”
To his relief, she allowed him to lead her down the hall to the kitchen. He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. She sat, though she moved robotically, like she’d mentally checked out.
In the den, he could hear the television playing a commercial. Lucy wiped at her eyes, even though she wasn’t crying.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, giving in to the urge to gently move a strand of her silky hair away from her face. To his relief, she didn’t flinch away from his touch. “Do you feel sick?”
“The news...” She trailed off, clearly unable to articulate. “I’m not sure why. The clip they showed...”
“Of the bombing in Kabul?” He watched her closely, struck by the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her.
“Yes.” She swallowed, hard. “It seemed...familiar. Too familiar.” She shuddered.
“Familiar how? Do you think you’ve ever been there?”
“I don’t know.” Her hands shook as she twined them together. “It’s possible, I guess.”
Somehow, he doubted that, though he kept the thought to himself. He knew all the reporters who covered the Middle East, and Lucy wasn’t one of them. And there was no other reason for an American nonmilitary woman to be in a war zone. Unless she’d been with one of the medical-aid groups. That brought about an entirely new set of possibilities that he would have to consider later. Right now, he needed to focus on her.
“Did you have some sort of memory flash?” He knew he shouldn’t push, but the strength of her reaction to a sixty-second news story made him feel as if pushing was warranted.
“I don’t know,” she said again. And then she started to cry.
Jason Sheffield could deal with being shot at, running from explosions and he always maintained his cool in the midst of chaos. He considered himself tough, well trained and smart. But a crying woman turned him to putty.
Though he’d cautioned himself against touching her again, he knew she needed the healing power of touch more than anything else right now. Still, he’d be careful to make no sudden moves. Slowly, he knelt down beside her and took both her hands in his. “Hey, now. It can’t be that bad.”
She shook her head, attempting a watery smile at him through her tears. “Can’t it?” she asked, sniffling. “I’m guessing you have no idea how terrifying it is to not have the slightest idea who you are, where you came from or what happened to you.”
Grabbing a paper napkin from the holder on the table, she wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know why that news segment bothered me. I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”
“We’ll find out,” he assured her. “I’m a reporter. Getting answers is what I do. Let me start doing some digging. It might take a bit, but I’ll do what I can, I promise.”
This appeared to reassure her. She lifted her chin, still blotting at her streaming eyes. “I’m wondering if maybe I should see a doctor. Do you think it’s possible there might be a medical reason why I can’t remember?”
“It couldn’t hurt.” Squeezing her hand, he released her. “Would you feel comfortable enough to go into town with me?”
She looked down, her silky dark hair falling over her face. “I don’t know.”
“Once you have an appointment, we could go straight there and back.” He thought for a moment, imagining the gossip if he was spotted with a mystery woman in town. “I have a better idea. One of the guys I went to high school with is a family practice doctor in Colorado Springs. It’s a bit of a drive, but at least that way if you’re seen and recognized, no one will know you’re staying here in Cedar.”
“Okay.” At least she’d stopped crying. She even looked a little bit hopeful.
And beautiful, even with her swollen eyes and red nose.
“Would you like something to eat?” He’d learned while working in the Middle East that, when not in immediate danger but even if still in the center of crisis, feeding people always calmed them down. “I make a mean spaghetti with meat sauce.”
“I don’t eat meat,” she replied, her eyes going huge as she realized what she’d said. “I’m a vegetarian.” Voice full of wonder, she repeated the sentences.
He watched her closely. “So that makes three memories, right?”
“Yes. I’m positive about them too, even though they’re not related. I love snow. I don’t eat meat. And I wish I had my iPhone.”
“I do too. Did you remember anything else?”
Her smile faded, replaced by a frown. “I don’t think so. No.” Her stomach growled just then, making them both smile. “And I am hungry. I’d like some of that spaghetti, if I can have mine without meat in the sauce.”
“That I can do. I’ll make meatballs instead, for me. And I have some frozen spinach that I can microwave if you’d like.”
“What can I do to help?” she asked.
Pushing to his feet, he shook his head. “Nothing. Just keep me company while I cook. Do you like wine? I have a nice bottle of Merlot I can open.”
“Wine.” She considered. “Why not?”
After opening the bottle, he poured them both a glass. Carrying his over to the stove, he got busy preparing their meal.
She sipped her wine and watched him, the hunger in her gaze bringing an answering spark to life inside him. He opened his mouth to speak, but then turned around and went back to cooking. He figured she most likely hoped for another flash of memory, nothing more.
The small kitchen filled with the scent of spaghetti sauce as he brought everything to the table. He also brought them plates and silverware. He topped off their wineglasses while she filled her plate with pasta and spinach, avoiding the meatballs.
She ate with a single-minded determination. He watched her, noting her dainty manners, at odds with her complete and utter focus on her food.
Finally, she finished and pushed away her clean plate. “That was wonderful,” she said. “Thank you.”
He’d also eaten his fill. “You’re welcome. Now I wish I’d bought something for dessert.”
“Like tiramisu?” she asked, then gasped. “Another flash of memory. Tiramisu is my favorite dessert.”
“See?” Leaning back in his chair, he took another drink of wine. “It’s coming back, bit by bit. I bet it won’t be long at all before you remember everything.”
“I hope so.” She twined a strand of her shoulder-length hair around her finger. “I just wish I could remember why that news story bothered me so much. You seemed so familiar with it. Tell me, did you only cover Afghanistan?” she asked, her polite and slightly shaky tone telling him she was attempting to work through her fear.
“No.” Instead of listing every war-torn country and city he’d covered, he thought of his return flight home, with a layover in London. “By happenstance, I was in London last week when the terrorists attacked the Tube. I covered that story since I was right there at the time.”
She shuddered. “Even though I don’t remember that, I can’t even imagine so much bloodshed. How do you live with it, having seen so much evil?”
“I don’t know. When I first started, I drank too much. After a while, I just got used to it, I guess.” He glanced over at the desk he had tucked in one corner. “I’ve started trying to compile some of my best photographs into a book. I have enough for more than one.”
“Photographs?” She frowned. “I thought you were a reporter.”
“Photojournalist.”
“Are you any good?” She looked from him to his messy desk covered in books and papers.
“I’ve won several awards,” he told her. “Plus, I sell a lot of my photos to magazines like National Geographic.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.”
“Thanks. I enjoy it. It’s what keeps me sane.” As he spoke, he realized he meant every word. If he didn’t have the ability to create beauty out of chaotic darkness, he would have given up in despair a long time ago.
She eyed his desk again, her expression doubtful. “How do you find anything?”
This made him grin. “Believe it or not, I have a system. I know exactly what’s in each pile.” He got up and walked over to the desk. “This pile here is typed ideas for magazine articles. And this—” He stopped, catching sight of an army-green bag in his desk chair.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, getting to her feet and joining him.
“That?” He pointed, loathe to touch it for some reason. “Is that yours?”
“Mine?” She went closer, eying the bag. “How would I know? I’m assuming it’s not yours, so anything is possible.”
He lifted it up by the handle. “A small duffel,” he commented. “Would you like me to open it and see what’s inside?”
She nodded. “Please.”
He carried the bag over to the kitchen then placed it on the floor. After unzipping it, he waited for her to join him.
“Clothes!” she exclaimed, reaching inside and pulling out a pair of jeans. As she rummaged through the bag’s contents, she found more jeans, some black leggings, sweaters, T-shirts and even a dress. And two coats, a down parka with a hood and a jean jacket. There were several bras, pajamas, socks and panties. “Best of all,” she pointed out. “In the very bottom are shoes. I see a pair of sneakers, some boots and a pair of black high heels.”
Tucked into a zippered pocket she found a cosmetics bag, filled with makeup. “I guess I wear makeup,” she said. “And what’s this?”
She held up a plastic bag, filled with what appeared to be a long blond wig.
“I wonder that this is for?”
“A disguise maybe?” he replied. “Looks like you have everything you could possibly need,” he drawled. “Did you pack that yourself or did someone pack it for you?”
She opened her mouth to answer but closed it. “I don’t know.”
For the first time since he’d discovered her, he found himself wondering if she was telling the truth.
Chapter 3
Focusing on the duffel instead of Jason, Lucy closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. She wasn’t sure what to make of the way he looked at her. As if he truly believed she might be intentionally keeping secrets. Maybe she was, but she had no way of knowing that. She couldn’t even explain. If he didn’t understand that her mind was a blank slate, nothing she could say or do would change that.
Finding this bag was the first thing that had happened since she’d awakened in his cabin with him staring down at her that gave her real hope. The kind that made her catch her breath. Where had it come from? She fingered the rough and sturdy material. Some sort of canvas, most likely. Its existence made her feel a lot less adrift. She couldn’t even begin to express her joy at having something of her own, not just the bag, but her own belongings. Makeup and clothes that she’d worn before. Proof that she actually had a past. Though she knew thinking so had to be foolish, she’d begun to wonder.
Wistfully holding up a pair of well-worn jeans, she couldn’t help but wish whoever had packed the bag had taken the time to write her a note, explaining who she was and what exactly had happened to her. But of course, they hadn’t. For all she knew, she might have packed it herself.
After dropping her clothes back into the duffel, she left the bag on the desk chair since she had no place to store it. She felt inexplicably depressed and crossed back into the kitchen to begin clearing the table.
“What are you doing?” Jason asked, eying her curiously. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Why not?” Aware she needed to keep busy so she didn’t drown in her emotions, she carried the plates over to the sink. “You cooked, so I should clean up. That’s only fair.”
He watched her for a moment and then finally shrugged. “OK. But I’m going to help. I don’t have a dishwasher here, so we have to do them by hand. Would you rather wash or dry?”
“I’ll wash,” she said.
“Let me put up the leftovers first. Day-old spaghetti is always better than the original.”
Since she had no way to know if this was true, she simply nodded. Odd how memory worked. She knew exactly how to hand wash dishes but had no idea if spaghetti tasted better the day after it had been made.
Side by side working together, she allowed herself to relax. The entire routine, washing and rinsing a plate and then handing it to Jason to dry, felt comfortable and comforting. Maybe even familiar. She could actually feel the tension leaving her.
They’d just finished up when a huge gust of wind rattled the cabin, startling her.
Drying off the last plate, Jason swore. “Sounds like the storm got here earlier than they predicted. I need to carry in some more firewood. I keep the stack covered so it will stay dry, but it can be difficult to get to once the snow comes.”
“Let me help,” she said immediately. “Now that I have my own parka and boots, I’ll be able to dress warm enough to go outside.”
“Thanks. I could use your help.” He snagged his jacket off the coatrack and shrugged into it, just as another blast of wind made the cabin walls shudder. “Judging from that, the storm is coming on fast and strong. The sooner we get this done, the better.”
Having pulled her boots and parka from the duffel, she stepped into the boots, pleased at how well they fit. Though why shouldn’t they, since they were hers?
“Do you have gloves and any kind of wool cap?” he asked, even as he put his own on. “Check your pockets.”
She did. To her relief, she had both. Jamming the knit cap on her head, she zipped up her jacket before slipping on the gloves. Once she was ready, she followed him to the door. “I’m good to go.”
He yanked the door open. The second they stepped outside, a blast of icy air hit her like a slap to the face. Snow swirled around them, caught by the gusty wind. Already an inch or two covered the ground. She couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of them due to all the blowing snow.
“This way,” he shouted, leading the way. Doubled over against the force of the wind, she followed him.
Around the side of the cabin, he’d built a three-sided overhang, inside of which he told her he stored his firewood. A heavy tarp, already dusted with snow, covered everything.
“Just a sec,” he cautioned, holding up one gloved hand. “I’ve secured it with bungee cords to keep it from blowing off.”
Once he’d released one side of the tarp, sending it flapping in the wind, he began grabbing pieces of wood. She held out her arms and he placed three there. “Can you carry that?”
“Yes.” Actually, she wanted to ask for more. But with the wind howling around them, she thought she’d play it safe, at least on her first trip back. If she didn’t have trouble, she’d take more logs the second go-around.
She started for the door ahead of him, wondering at the fierceness of the sudden storm. She realized that she only thought of snow as something picturesque and peaceful, not destructive and fierce. Pretty, like a holiday card.
Another memory. Too busy to dwell on it right now, she concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other and moving forward, against the wind. The short stack of firewood felt heavier than it should have, with her having to double over to keep from getting buffeted by stinging snow and ice pellets.
When she finally reached the front of the cabin and opened the door, a gust caught it and ripped it from her hand, sending it slamming into the interior wall. Still, she made it inside, struggling to keep from dropping her load.
Jason came in right behind her, stamping off snow before kicking the door shut. He carried his stack of wood over to a metal bin and dumped it there. “Here.” Taking hers from her, he placed it on top of his.
“Not enough,” he said. “We’ve got to keep that woodstove going 24/7.”
They made two more trips. By the third one, Lucy could no longer feel her hands or feet. The storm had definitely gotten worse. The blowing snow made it impossible to see even her hand held out in front of her. They hugged the external cabin wall to keep them on track.
“Wait,” he shouted. After he gave her the usual three pieces of wood, he took his own from the pile and dropped them on the ground. He struggled to reattach the tarp and motioned to her to go on and get inside. “I’ll be there in a minute. I’m going to go put the plow on the front of my Jeep. I backed it into the garage for that reason. Go get warm.”
Numb with cold, she turned to do exactly that. But she caught her foot on a patch of ice and her leg twisted. She let out a startled cry, which the storm ripped from her lips, and she went crashing down. Her chin hit the top log in her stack, making her see stars.
“Are you OK?” Jason hauled her up and dusted her off.
Though her eyes stung with frozen tears, she managed a nod. Ignoring her throbbing chin, she stepped away, determined to retrieve the wood she’d dropped. Somehow, she managed to pick up her logs and carry them back toward the front door.
Once they were safely back inside the warm cabin, wood stowed, she stripped off her gloves and gingerly tried to feel along her painful chin. Her first touch hurt, so she abandoned the effort for now.
“Are you all right?” he asked again, removing his coat and hanging it up. “You can put your coat up here too and let it dry.”
“Thanks.” She took her coat off and turned to carry it to the coatrack.
Catching sight of her face, he cursed softly. “You’re bleeding.”
“Am I?” She stood still while he gently lifted her chin.
“Just a little.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “We need to get that cleaned up.”
She allowed him to lead her into the bathroom. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she gasped. The impact of hitting the wood had gashed her chin. There was so much blood. And of course, now that she saw exactly how bad the cut was, it began to throb even worse.
Though it was a tight fit due to the small space, he grabbed a washcloth and gently rinsed off the blood. She kept still, willing herself not to react to the pain.
After he got her all cleaned up, he retrieved some antibiotic salve from the medicine cabinet and applied that. The touch of his finger was gentle, and she knew he was trying very hard not to hurt her. Despite this, her eyes filled and her throat ached.
“We probably need to bandage it,” he said. “Though I’m not sure how we’d get a bandage to stay on. Here.” He handed her a piece of tissue. “Keep this pressed against it. I’m going to look for a butterfly bandage.”
“That’s OK,” she managed. “It’ll be fine. I just need to make it stop bleeding.”
He turned and bumped into her. Suddenly, the situation felt way too intimate. She might not know her own name, but she still could recognize a hot man. This one was sexy as hell. Heart in her throat, she stared. He stared back.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Let me go get some ice.”
Bemused, she followed him into the kitchen. He wet a dishcloth, wrung it out and then got ice from the ice maker in the refrigerator door. He then put all of that into a large Ziplock baggie.
“Here you go.” He handed it to her. “Why don’t you sit down and hold this to your chin for a few minutes. I’m going to go put another log in the woodstove.”
“Thanks.” She nodded, taking a seat at the table and holding the ice to her chin. Hopefully, the ice would help numb some of the pain. Feeling slightly foolish, she wondered if she’d always been clumsy or if this mishap had just been a simple accident.
Outside, the wind continued to intensify, though she didn’t see how such a thing could be possible. The small cabin shook as the howling wind battered its sturdy frame. She glanced at Jason, wondering if she should be alarmed. If he wasn’t worried, then she wouldn’t be either.
After attending to the woodstove, Jason flashed her one of those devastating smiles and tried pointing the remote at the flat-screen TV hanging on the wall. “Nothing. Of course, with a storm like this, the satellite would be down. I’m going to hazard a guess that there’s no cell phone reception either. It’s never all that good up here to begin with, so that’s a safe bet.” He crossed to a small table and pulled out some sort of black box. “Which is why I always keep a satellite phone around. Of course, storm equals no satellite, so that’s also probably a no go.”
With the ice still pressed against her chin, musing over how strongly his smile affected her, she managed a nod. The movement made her wince. “Is there someone you need to get in touch with?”
“What?” Again that flash of sexy smile. “Oh, this?” He put down the black box. “No. I just like to keep up with the weather reports. This thing can access the weather radio. I’m really curious what the snowfall prediction might be now. And how long the storm will last. I get cabin fever really bad if I’m trapped in the cabin too long.”
Trapped in the cabin. She froze, her breath catching. The phrase brought a flash of some memory. Explosions and darkness and gunfire. The awful choking, claustrophobic feeling of being trapped... Horrified, she struggled to catch her breath, beginning to hyperventilate.
“Lucy.” Jason’s sharp voice, calling a name. Even though she knew it wasn’t really hers, it was enough to snap her out of her reverie. “Lucy. Are you all right?”
“I...” Realizing she’d dropped her ice pack on the table, she picked it back up. Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t seem to find the right words, any words actually. How could she hope to explain she’d gotten lost in a mysterious scenario because of a chance remark? Even worse, that she had no idea what it meant or where it had happened, or even if it actually had.
Aware of him watching her with his steady gaze, she took a deep breath. And then she tried her best to explain, aware she probably sounded like an irrational person but also knowing she hadn’t chosen this. None of it. Hopefully, he would understand that.
She watched his expression as she talked, relieved to find it unchanged. Still calm, still strong and supportive.
At first, he didn’t react, his gaze remaining steady as he considered her words.
“Then it was something I said?” he teased, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
This made her smile. “Yes. As a matter of fact, it was. Even though you didn’t mean to.” The ice had started to sting, so she lowered it, giving her chin a break.
