Falling for Her Protector

After a stagecoach robbery nearly kills her and the small boy she’s traveling with, Emily Smith can’t remember who she is or where she’s going. Lost and with only wisps of her memory, she must rely on the handsome, dark-eyed sheriff who saved her.

Jesse Hill protects his heart as fiercely as he protects the small Montana town of Bella Creek. How did Emily’s kindness and beauty get past his armor? But Jesse knows well his own tainted past—one that means he could never marry a woman like Emily...even if her love could prove his redemption.

LINDA FORD lives on a ranch in Alberta, Canada, near enough to the Rocky Mountains that she can enjoy them on a daily basis. She and her husband raised fourteen children—four homemade, ten adopted. She currently shares her home and life with her husband, a grown son, a live-in paraplegic client and a continual (and welcome) stream of kids, kids-in-law, grandkids and assorted friends and relatives.

Also By Linda Ford

Big Sky Country

Montana Cowboy Daddy

Montana Cowboy Family

Montana Cowboy’s Baby

Montana Bride by Christmas

Montana Groom of Convenience

Montana Lawman Rescuer

Montana Cowboys

The Cowboy’s Ready-Made Family

The Cowboy’s Baby Bond

The Cowboy’s City Girl

Christmas in Eden Valley

A Daddy for Christmas

A Baby for Christmas

A Home for Christmas

Lone Star Cowboy League: Multiple Blessings

The Rancher’s Surprise Triplets

Journey West

Wagon Train Reunion

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Montana Lawman Rescuer

Linda Ford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08256-3

MONTANA LAWMAN RESCUER

© 2018 Linda Ford

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“Jesse, promise me you will never do that again...”

Jesse cupped Emily’s shoulder. “Do what?”

“Face down three men.”

“Emily, I can’t promise you that. It’s my job.”

“To die protecting others?”

He nodded.

“So you can prove you’re a good man?”

Her words cut him. “I vowed to honor the law and protect my fellow man, and I intend to live up to my vow.”

He heard the hard tone of his voice but couldn’t help it. Seemed she wasn’t all that different than the other young ladies he’d tried to court who either hated his profession or, even more strongly, hated his background. What had made him think she might be? Only his misguided dreams.

Not that he was courting her or had even considered it.

After all, who courted a woman who didn’t know who she was?

Dear Reader,

Jesse has been in every one of the Big Sky Country books previous to this, so it was necessary to give him his own story. I have never before written an amnesia story and found it both a challenge and a pleasure. I hope the lessons both Jesse and Emily learned about dealing with their pasts and their futures will help you find the same assurance of God’s love and care.

You can learn more about my upcoming books and how to contact me at www.lindaford.org. I love to hear from my readers.

Blessings,

Linda Ford

What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.

—Psalms 56:3

For a special young lady, my granddaughter, Jordyn, on her graduation. You have grown more beautiful with every birthday. Your spirit is strong and beautiful, too. May you follow the path God has set before you as you embark on a new chapter of your life. So proud of you. Love you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Bella Creek, Montana, summer 1891

What was she doing sitting on the ground, her head throbbing? She slowly turned to take in her surroundings. The stagecoach lay on its side, one wheel broken in half.

“Ma’am?”

Blinking away the pain behind her eyes, she turned toward the voice. A man with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes faced her from a few feet away. A gray cowboy hat had been pushed back, allowing her to see his strong features clearly. He hunkered down on his haunches, his look gentle and patient, making her feel safe even though he was a stranger and she in an awkward position. Or perhaps it was the silver star on his chest that made her feel safe.

“Do you recall what happened? Who did this?” His voice eased through her thoughts.

“There were three men chasing us. They yelled at the driver to stop and shot at him. Then we went over the edge of the cliff.” Her voice wobbled as she recalled the terror.

“I’m sorry to question you when you’re injured, but if you can tell me anything about the men, it would help.”

She pressed her hands to her face, drew in a deep breath and let her mind fill with the terrifying pictures of the robbery and accident. “Three of them, like I said. With their faces covered.” She squinted. “One man wore a pair of boots with silver tips.”

“Very good. That will be useful in identifying them.”

She screwed up her face. “I wish I could remember more.” She grimaced.

“Take it easy. You and the boy are okay.”

At the man’s words, she shifted her gaze slowly and painfully to her other side.

“Mikey?” Poor little boy looked terrified. As well he should. She shuddered as she recalled the horror of that chase, the gunshots making her wince and the scream that tore from her throat when the stagecoach started to tumble. Her heart went to the child and she held out her hand.

With a muffled cry he scuttled to her side and pressed tight to her.

“Ma’am?”

She lifted her gaze to the man waiting patiently.

“I’m the sheriff, Jesse Hill. I’ll see that you get safely to your destination.”

She squinted as she tried to recall the details of her trip. Obviously she’d been going somewhere to be on the stage, but at the moment, she couldn’t recall her plans.

The sheriff kept his steady gaze on her. “What’s your name?”

“Emily—” There had to be more to it than that. Emily what? But she couldn’t remember.

“Emily?” His voice, deep and kind, prodded her for more information.

“It’s...it’s...” Despite the pain the movement brought, she shook her head. “I can’t remember. I don’t know my last name.” Panic clawed at her throat. She scrambled to her feet and swayed. “Oh, my head.” She pressed her palms to her temples, felt a lump on the right side and moaned.

Sheriff Jesse Hill had also risen and he caught her elbow. “Steady, now. You’re hurt. Why don’t you sit down again until you feel better?”

“I can’t.” She clung to his hand to keep from falling and breathed deeply to still the rolling of her stomach. “I must find my belongings. They’ll have my name on them.”

“Miss Emily, everything is gone.” His words drained the strength from her.

“Gone.” She sank to the ground and stared at Mikey. How did she know the little boy’s name? Who was he?

“Is this your son?” The sheriff squatted down beside her. “The two of you were the only passengers on the stagecoach.”

She looked at the little boy, his blue eyes wide with shock, his blond hair tousled. She shook her head, and then turned back to the sheriff. “I don’t remember.” The words whispered from her as if she couldn’t bear to hear them aloud. Surely she would know if she had a child. If she was married. She looked at her hand. No ring. She squinted. No depression to indicate she’d recently worn one.

The sheriff spoke to Mikey. “What’s your name, son?”

Mikey patted his tummy. “I Mikey.”

“Do you have another name?” The sheriff spoke softly.

Emily could hardly breathe as she waited for the child to reply, hoping the information would enable her to remember something...anything.

“I Mikey.”

She pressed her lips together and blinked back disappointment.

Sheriff Hill chuckled. “Hi, Mikey. Pleased to meet you. How old are you?”

He held up two fingers. “’Most...” He struggled to get a third finger up bringing a chuckle from Emily. The sound ended on a groan as her head protested the sound.

Knowing how any sudden movement increased the pain in her head and brought a twinge of nausea, she slowly turned her gaze back to the sheriff. “Mr. Hill, I can’t remember who I am or where I’m going.” She would not cry but tears stung her eyes. A sob caught in the back of her throat.

Mikey sensed her distress. Or perhaps only felt his own and again pressed to her side. “Mem...mem...mem...” he chanted.

Was he saying his name? Hers? Or did he mean mama?

Mikey stuck a thumb in his mouth. Somehow, Emily found comfort in watching him suck it.

“Calm down, Miss Emily. You’ll be okay in a few minutes.”

His assurance drove back the sense of panic. “Of course. My head hurts. As soon as it’s better, I’ll be better.” Please, Lord Jesus, let it be so. And soon. Not knowing who she was or where she belonged left her fighting to make her lungs work.

The sheriff patted her arm. “You’ll be just fine. At least you are safe and in one piece.”

“Not quite.”

He eyed her carefully. “How’s that? Are you injured elsewhere?”

She smiled though her lips quivered. “I seem to be missing some of my memories.”

He looked sympathetic, or at least, she hoped that was what she saw. “I’m sure they’ll return once the shock has worn off.”

A wagon rumbled down the slope toward the scene of the wreck.

Sheriff Hill pushed to his feet. “I sent for help and here it is. I’ll take you to town and we’ll sort out things.” He offered her a hand up.

She placed her fingers in his strong grip. And then couldn’t let go. He was the only thing between her and an abyss of darkness. She shivered.

Perhaps he understood, for he held her tightly. Or more likely, he was only making sure she didn’t fall.

“Come along, little fella.” He scooped Mikey into his other arm.

Mikey giggled. “’Kay.” He patted the man’s cheek. “Nice.”

“Thanks. Good of you to think so.” The sheriff’s droll response brought a smile to Emily’s lips.

“Not used to being told you’re nice?” It felt good to be able to tease a little, despite the seriousness of the situation.

“Get told it all the time,” he said with a shrug. “But not often by a little boy who has just met me. He must be a good judge of character.” He slid her a look that he no doubt meant to be serious but he couldn’t hide the teasing light in his eyes.

She laughed, ignoring the way the sound brought pain to her head. “Aren’t all children good judges of character? Accepting us for who we truly are?” The question stirred a thought, as if it meant more to her than simply an observation. She stared inward at the teasing memory, willing it to open the door to who she was. But it flitted away.

The sheriff guided her toward the wagon. Two men jumped down, carrying dark blankets.

She turned to follow their journey. They bent over a body, covered it with one of the blankets, hoisted it up and moved it to the wagon, where they put it in the back.

Emily’s legs shook. The sheriff had lifted Mikey up to the seat and turned back to Emily in time to see her fold.

He caught her before she hit the ground and swept her into his arms.

She clung to his firm shoulders. “Those poor men.” The driver and the shotgun rider were both dead. She and the boy were alive, but she didn’t remember her name. Or a destination. It was too much and she wept.

His arms tightened around her. “It’s okay.” He didn’t seem in the least flustered by her emotions. “I’ll take you to see the doctor. He’ll be able to fix you up.”

“I hope so.” Her words were interspersed with sobs. “But what if he can’t?” She couldn’t hold back the wail but she quickly choked it off. “‘What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee. In God I have put my trust; I will not fear.’” The scripture verse had never meant more to her. Not even when...

But she couldn’t remember.

“Psalm Fifty-six,” the sheriff said. “Hang on to those thoughts.”

“Thank you, sheriff. Did anyone tell you that you have an encouraging way about you?”

“Sure, my grandmother says it all the time.” He smiled at her, his face so close to hers she could see the dark shadow of his whiskers, the smile lines about his eyes and something in his gaze that filled her with courage. “And seeing as I have no choice but to use your name, you best use mine and call me Jesse.”

“Thank you, Jesse.” She meant for more than the use of his name.

He lifted her to the wagon seat. “My pleasure.”

She closed her eyes as another body was placed in the wagon box. Then the two men climbed into the back. Jesse sat beside her on the seat and flicked the reins. She pulled Mikey to her knees, finding comfort in the warmth of his small body.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Bella Creek, Montana. Does that name ring a bell?”

She rolled the name—Bella Creek—round and round in her head. “Nothing. Not even the faintest chime.” Montana. That would be why she saw mountains nearby. Why was she here?

He grinned at her. “Maybe someone is waiting for you.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Except she didn’t feel any sense of looking forward to joining anyone. She grabbed Jesse’s arm and hung on like a drowning woman to a life buoy. “But what if there isn’t? Where will I go?”

“Now, don’t you worry. If no one is meeting you, then I will take you to my grandmother. You can stay there until we sort things out.” His smile was gentle, promising to keep her safe. Was it the star on his chest that made her feel that way? Or the fact he had rescued her? Or was it the plain and simple fear that she was alone without any knowledge of who she was?

* * *

Jesse Hill had known something was amiss when the stagecoach was more than an hour late. Hoping he’d find it broken down, he’d gone looking. When he saw the wrecked coach at the bottom of an incline, he had approached with caution. It might well have been a simple accident, but having been a sheriff for four of his twenty-five years and having worked with the sheriff before him since he was twelve, he knew better than to ride mindlessly toward such a scene.

First he’d seen the bodies of two men. He had recognized the driver and his partner.

Nerves twitching at evidence that a crime had been committed, he’d studied the stagecoach, waiting for someone to make a sound should there be anyone hiding. A movement to the right had jerked his gaze in that direction and he’d seen a child sitting on the ground.

And then he’d seen the woman.

She’d clutched at her head and moaned.

He’d hunkered down before her, spoken to her.

Her eyes had jerked toward him and she’d blinked as if trying to bring him into focus. Dark blue eyes. Golden-blond hair matted with dirt. He’d guessed her to be in her twenties, though he was not a good judge of young women. She wore a navy skirt and blue flowered shirtwaist, now streaked with dirt and torn at the elbow.

He had waited for her to sort out her thoughts and then asked her name.

He’d wanted to soothe her when she couldn’t remember. And now she clung to his arm like she was afraid to let go. The little boy snuggled against her as if he knew he was safe in her arms. That alone convinced him she was a good woman.

Was the boy her son? Why else would he be traveling with her? And where was she going with him?

“I will help you figure out who you are.” They approached Bella Creek. “First, I’ll take you to the doctor so he can examine both of you.”

He pulled to a halt before the doctor’s house. “You wait there until I help you.” He had visions of her trying to climb down on her own and getting dizzy. Perhaps incurring another blow to her head. He gave the two men with him instructions to take the bodies to the undertaker. “Then check and see if anyone is waiting for the stagecoach.”

He ran around to take Mikey and set him on the ground, then he reached up to lift Emily down. She was of medium height and weighed hardly a thing. Though he might be feeling just a bit protective of her.

He took Mikey by one hand and Emily by the other and led them into the doctor’s office.

Doc Baker looked up, saw the condition of Emily’s clothes and bounded to his feet. “What do we have here?”

“They were passengers on the stagecoach. It’s been robbed. I found it at the bottom of Knotley’s Hill.”

“The driver and his friend?”

He led Emily to the nearest chair and she sank to it with a groan before he answered the doc. “They’re in the back of the wagon.”

Doc nodded, understanding his meaning. “I’m sorry.”

Jesse drew the doctor a few steps away. “This is Emily and Mikey. Emily can’t remember anything but her first name.”

Doc nodded. “I’ll examine her.” He turned his attention to his patients. “Shall I look at the youngster first?” Doc didn’t expect an answer. “How about you sit up here, young man?” He patted the examining table.

“’Kay.” Mikey scrambled up and sat facing the doctor, his eyes revealing wariness.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Doc ran his hands along the boy’s body as he spoke. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Mikey rattled off an explanation that was mostly unintelligible. Between the odd word Jesse understood and the way Mikey waved his arms, Jesse understood bad guys had chased them. They shot guns and then they flew through the air. “Owie.” He pulled up his trousers to show a scraped knee.

Doc examined it carefully. “I think it needs a cleaning and a dressing. What do you think?”

Mikey nodded. “’Kay.”

Doc poured water into a basin and gently cleaned the wound, then covered it with a wide swath of bandaging. “How’s that?”

Mikey nodded. “Good.”

Jesse watched Emily as she kept her attention on Mikey and the doctor. A tender smile curved her lips. This boy seemed to hold a special place in her heart.

Doc helped Mikey from the table. “Now let’s look at the young lady. Jesse, would you take Mikey into the waiting room? I’ll call you when I’m done.”

Jesse held his hand out to the boy. Mikey hesitated.

“It’s okay,” Emily said. “Go along with the nice man.”

Mikey nodded and obediently took Jesse’s hand.

Jesse paused at the door and looked back at her. She sat on the edge of the table, much as Mikey had, and looked every bit as apprehensive. Jesse wanted to offer her some kind of assurance. But before he could speak, she looked in his direction, correctly read his concern and smiled.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

Ironic that she felt she had to reassure him when he had wanted to reassure her.

He pulled the door shut behind him. Father in heaven, help her remember who she is. This woman deserved to be with those who loved her. Parents. A brother or a sister. An aunt or an uncle. Perhaps even a husband, though she wore no wedding ring.

Did that mean she was unmarried?

Perhaps she’d be able to tell him after the doctor did his examination.

Jesse sat down.

Mikey pulled a children’s book from the nearby table and handed it to Jesse. “Read me.” He waited for Jesse to take him on his knee.

Jesse lifted him up and turned the pages of a brightly colored book. “Ball. Cat. Dog. Apple.” He read the words and pointed out the pictures without paying attention as he tipped his head toward the door, listening to the murmur of voices.

Mikey repeated each word.

The outer door squeaked and young Clarence poked his head in. Clarence often helped Jesse. “Didn’t see anyone waiting for the stagecoach. Asked at the store and at the hotel.”

“Thanks.” Why was no one waiting for her? What had brought her to town?

He jerked toward the inner door as it opened.

“Mikey, can you read the book by yourself while I talk to the sheriff?” the doctor asked.

“’Kay.”

Jesse rose, transferred the boy to the chair, settled him with the book, then followed the doctor into the examining room. “Is she alright?” he asked.

Doc Baker nodded. “A concussion is the only injury I found. It’s responsible for her loss of memory.”

Emily looked ready to cry and Jesse went to her side. He didn’t reach for her hand. He had no right. But she took his and squeezed with a strength that surprised him.

“What if I don’t remember?” Her voice shook with tension.

“Now don’t you worry, miss. You’ve been in an accident. You’ve banged your head. Your memory will return in its own good time. Don’t push it or fret. That only interferes with healing.”

Her grip tightened. Jesse squeezed back.

“What’s going to happen to me? To him?” She nodded toward the room where Mikey waited. “If he’s my son, wouldn’t I remember? But if he’s not, then why do I have him with me?”

Doc patted her hand. “You aren’t wearing a wedding ring so I would think you are unmarried. As to who Mikey is to you...well there could be any number of explanations. Perhaps he’s a nephew or the child of a friend you planned to meet.”

Jesse could have informed the doctor that he didn’t sound at all convincing.

“But what are we to do?” Emily wailed.

“I’ll take you home to my grandmother.” Jesse had already told her that, but perhaps she hadn’t thought he meant it. Or had she forgotten that, too?

“There you go.” Doc stepped back, his job done. “Mrs. Whitley will take good care of you. As will Jesse.” Doc gave Jesse a look that informed him he better do so.

“I sure will.” It was all he could do not to wrap his arm about her shoulders and hold her tight. Her situation made him feel protective. “It’s my job.”

He helped Emily to her feet. In the waiting room, he scooped Mikey into one arm. As they stepped outside, he offered his elbow to Emily and she clung to it. Whether out of fear of her unknown future or out of lingering dizziness, he couldn’t say. In either case, he meant to make sure she was okay before he let her out of his sight.

She shivered and he pulled her tighter to his side. Then he realized she shivered from cold, not concern. Dark, rain-filled clouds scudded across the sky.

If he didn’t get back to the stagecoach before the rain came, any trail the thieves had left would be washed away.

But he couldn’t go until he had Emily and Mikey in his grandmother’s care.

The wind picked up in velocity. The sky darkened. He hurried them toward home. He reached the gate and nudged it open.

Emily held back, studying the house.

He followed the direction of her troubled gaze. “The house is twelve years old. It was built when old Mr. Marshall started Bella Creek so people wouldn’t have to live in the rough mining town of Wolf Hollow if they didn’t want to.” His home was two stories. Four bedrooms upstairs. The main floor had a room used for Grandmother’s seamstress business, as well as a welcoming kitchen and a cozy living room. At least, that’s how he viewed them.

“Come on. I’ll introduce you to my grandmother.” He put Mikey down and held out his hand to invite her to join him.

She held back. “She doesn’t know me.” Her eyes came to him. “I don’t know me. Maybe I’m someone you wouldn’t want to know. Maybe I’ve done something wrong.”

“Have you?” Maybe the direct approach would unlock her memories.

She held his gaze for a moment, then her eyes darkened. “I—I think—” She shook her head.

“Remember what the doctor said. Don’t try too hard.”

She nodded, relief clearing her eyes.

Was it possible she did have a checkered past? Was she running from someone or something?

It was his duty to find out who she was, and if her past involved breaking the law, he would deal with that according to his sworn duty. He would not be fooled by her innocent looks.

Chapter Two

Emily reluctantly allowed Jesse to draw her toward the house. He’d asked if she’d done something wrong. The question had triggered a response in her brain—one that made her stomach clench. She swayed a little with dizziness, grateful that Jesse held her arm so she wouldn’t fall.

She tried not to think of all the things she might be guilty of, but it made her head pound. “Jesse, wait.” She pulled him back.

Jesse faced her, his expression so kind that she couldn’t swallow. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“I don’t know that. Just as I don’t know who I am or what I’ve done. I don’t even know who Mikey is. My son? A friend’s son?” A word hovered in the back of her mind. A word that described Mikey. She almost captured it, but then it slipped away. The wind stung her eyes and made her shudder. Not knowing was the worst feeling in the world.

“Emily, I know you’re frightened. Remember the verse you quoted? ‘What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.’ Do you believe it?”

She didn’t have to think to nod a yes.

“That says to me you are a child of God.”

She nodded again. “I belong to Him. Have since I was a child.” How did she know that and yet couldn’t recall her name or her relationship to Mikey?

“God will not abandon you now. Do you believe that?” His gaze held hers, full of assurance and faith.

“I do.” She sucked in air until her lungs would hold no more. “I’m ready.” She gripped his hand with all her strength as he led the way up the path to the front door of a welcoming-looking house. He opened the door and called, “Gram, I got company for you.”

A dog barked from somewhere inside.

Mikey pressed to Emily’s legs. He vibrated and she squeezed his shoulder. “We’re going to be just fine, Mikey.” The doctor had assured her that her memory would return, though he couldn’t guess as to when. In its own good time, he’d said. Be patient, he’d warned. Not that she saw she had much choice.

They stepped through a tiny entryway with oval-shaped glass in both the outer and inner door. The beveled edges of the glass would refract the light and make rainbow colors on the floors and walls that children would admire.

She gave the room a sweeping glance, hoping something would trigger her mind into remembering. The front room in which they stood was welcoming. A dark green couch had a knitted afghan in variegated greens on one arm, and an overstuffed armchair sat on either side of the couch. A yellow canary sang in a cage close to a window.

Mikey noticed it and pointed. “Bir, bir.”

“Bird. That’s right,” she murmured as she continued her study. One big window overlooked the street, another on the far wall revealed a wide-branched tree with a garden table and two wrought-iron chairs beneath its leafy arches. A fine place to sit and read or sew. A fireplace, a full bookcase and a china cupboard of knickknacks all combined to make the room warm and welcoming.

But nothing triggered a sudden remembrance of who she was.

Three doors led from the room. One revealed a set of stairs, the second gave a glimpse of a kitchen. The third flew open and a small, older woman flew out, a little brown dog that looked to be part Chihuahua barking at her heels.

“Muffin, be quiet,” the woman ordered, and the dog immediately settled down. “Company. What a pleasant surprise. Do come in. I prefer to serve tea in the kitchen.” She hesitated. “But if you prefer the living room, that is fine with me.”

Jesse chuckled. “Gram, I’d like you to meet Emily and Mikey. Emily, Mikey, this is my grandmother, Mrs. Whitley.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Emily offered her hand.

The petite woman had twinkling brown eyes and white hair in a loose bun. Something about the spry lady brought a smile to Emily’s lips.

Mrs. Whitley took Emily’s hand between her own. “It’s my pleasure, for sure.” She touched Mikey on the head and dropped her hand again before Mikey could respond. She shifted her gaze to Jesse. “Bring your guests to the kitchen, then you can tell me what’s going on.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The note of fondness in his voice eased the strain gripping Emily’s heart. She knew that Jesse was the sheriff and this lady was his grandmother. From their short interaction, she knew nothing more except they were genuinely fond of and respected each other. It was enough to know she would be safe here until her memory returned.

They made their way to the kitchen.

She studied this room as carefully as she had the other. A worn, wooden table sat by big windows that gave a view of the backyard with a garden in its full glory, a row of raspberry bushes along the fence and flowers blooming in a riot of reds and pinks and white in wide rows. Vegetable plants were visible beyond the flowers.

Another window over the kitchen sink looked out on the side yard and the same leafy tree as she’d seen from the living room. There were also generous cupboards and a polished stove.

Emily held back a frustrated sigh that, although she knew the name of everything in the room and what its use was, nothing triggered her memory.

Mrs. Whitley bustled about preparing tea. She served milk and cookies to Mikey and waved Emily to a chair. Jesse sat beside her.

In a low voice he explained about the stagecoach robbery and accident.

Emily shuddered.

“I’m sorry. I know this is difficult for you.” He patted her arm.

Mrs. Whitley touched her arm on the other side. “You must feel all out of place, not knowing who you are, but not to worry, my dear. You’ll soon be right as rain in June. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.” She shifted her attention to Mikey and brushed his hair off his forehead. “It will be nice to have a little man around again. It’s been some time since Jesse here was small.” The glance she gave Jesse revealed a wealth of love and affection.

Emily turned from watching them to study Mikey. She felt a fondness for him that soothed her, but shouldn’t she know if he was her son? She couldn’t imagine forgetting a child she’d carried for nine months.

She didn’t realize how long she’d been looking at the boy, nor how worried she’d become, until Jesse touched her shoulder. She jolted as if he’d awakened her from a dream. If only he had.

“Don’t fret. Remember what the doctor said.”

“I know. Don’t push it.”

“Grandma, Emily, I hate to rush out but I must get back to the stagecoach and look for clues before it rains.”

“You go do what you need to,” Mrs. Whitley said. “We’ll be just fine. Won’t we?” She directed her question to Emily as Jesse waited at the kitchen doorway, preparing to leave the house.

Emily murmured, “Of course,” though she felt like nothing in her world was fine at the moment. Except, she amended, that she was sitting at a table with a kindly grandmother. She’d been rescued by a kind, handsome man whom she felt she could trust. After all, he was the sheriff and his grandmother adored him.

Was that enough basis for trust? A dark cloud hovered at the back of her mind making her feel guilty. What had she done? Had she been involved in the planning of the robbery in some way? Surely not. And yet that dark cloud of suspicion lingered just out of reach. Why would she feel this sting of guilt unless she had done something wrong?

“Would you like to see your bedroom?” Mrs. Whitley’s question sent a shudder across Emily’s shoulders.

How long had she been staring into space, searching her mind? She jerked her attention to the woman, pushing back the wave of dizziness the movement gave her. “It’s most generous of you to take in a pair of strangers, especially when you know nothing about us.”

The woman chuckled softly. “I suppose I know as much about you at the moment as you know about yourself, but we aren’t going to worry about that. Your memory will return when it’s time and we’ll be patient because, my dear, these things are in the hands of a loving, caring God.”

Tears sprang to Emily’s eyes. She blinked them back. “I know it’s so. Thank you for reminding me.” She held out a hand to Mikey and they followed Mrs. Whitley out of the room. Her head hurt with the movement but taking her mind to other things was preferable to sitting and fretting.

“You’ve seen the living room. I hope you will make yourself at home. There are books to read if you care to. This is my pet canary, Dickie.” She tapped one of the wires of the cage. “Dickie, say hello to our guests.”

The bird made a clicking sound followed by a chirp.

“Good boy.”

Mrs. Whitley led them up the stairs. “The first room is Jesse’s. He often has to be up at odd hours taking care of things.”

Emily caught a glimpse as they passed the door and saw a room much like her first impression of Jesse—masculine—with a quilt made in dark browns and greens covering the bed, a heavy wardrobe with the door closed and a table beside the bed on which rested a Bible and a lamp. Seeing evidence of the man’s faith increased her courage.

“The room across the hall is mine.” Mrs. Whitley paused before the open door.

It was decorated with a frilly lace bed skirt, lacy curtains, a white crocheted spread, pictures of flowers and a shelf full of dainty china. Emily chuckled. “His room is so masculine. Yours quite the opposite.”

Mrs. Whitley gave her a cheery smile. “You’d wonder how such different people could live together in complete harmony, and yet we do.” She led the way to the end of the hall where two more doors stood across from each other. She opened the one on the left. It was a tidy little room with a double bed covered in a crazy patchwork quilt, a dresser and a table, and on the table was a Bible. The window, Emily knew, would look out on that leafy tree. It would be a pleasant place to spend the night. And then? Hopefully her memory would have returned and she could get on with her plans. Whatever they were.

“You can put your things in here.” Mrs. Whitley pressed her fingers to her mouth. Her eyes widened. “Oh, my dear. I am so sorry. You have no belongings. Now I wonder what use a woman’s and a child’s luggage would be to three robbers.” Jesse had told his grandmother the details of the robbery. Mrs. Whitley patted Emily’s arm. “Never mind. Jesse might find some of your things. If not, we’ll soon have you fixed up. I’d offer you something of mine but I’m afraid it would be too small. The people of Bella Creek are kind and generous, though, especially the Marshalls.” As she talked she opened the fourth door into a room similar to the one she’d shown Emily. “Mikey can sleep in here. Would you like that, young man?”

Mikey stood in the doorway, studied the room a moment then turned to face the women. “Mem, mem, mem, mem.”

“What is he saying?” Mrs. Whitley asked.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he’s asking for his mama.” Emily knelt to face Mikey. “Honey, I don’t know what you mean.”

He nodded and stuck his thumb in his mouth. His wide blue eyes studied her.

She got the feeling she had disappointed him. But she had no idea why. She rose. “We’ll be very comfortable. Thank you.”

Mrs. Whitley nodded. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

Emily knew the woman couldn’t give her what she needed the most—answers about who she was.

“Now, come along and I’ll show you my favorite room of the house.” They followed her back down the stairs and across the living room to the door from which she had burst not long ago.

Emily followed her into a room full of fabric and a large table on which Mrs. Whitley had been cutting out a garment. An open cupboard held various colored threads and several pincushions. In the corner stood a dress form. Emily circled the room, touching several things. “This feels familiar.”

“Good. Feel free to explore. It might help you remember.”

Emily lifted a big pair of cutting shears, balancing them in one hand and then the other. She had handled a pair like this. She could see herself sewing a seam, feel the pride she took in her tiny, even stitches. But nothing more would come and she set the scissors aside with a sigh.

“Anything?” Mrs. Whitley asked.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, not to worry.” She turned to Mikey. “I think I might have a few toys around. Would you like to help me find them?”

Mikey smiled. “’Kay.”

Emily followed them from the room, pausing at the doorway to look back. The sense of familiarity lingered, but nothing more came.

Mrs. Whitley opened a cupboard that revealed a space under the stairs. “Look at that. A whole box of toys.” She pulled the box toward them. “Mikey, have a look and see if there is anything you’d like to play with.”

The boy knelt and took out a ball, a collection of farm animals, several books and a little wagon. He soon played happily.

Emily looked about, at a loss as to what she should do. “Were you making something?” She nodded toward the sewing room.

“I am making several dresses for a Mrs. Abernathy. She’s in the family way and none of her clothes fit. Would you like to see what I’m doing?”

“Yes, please.” Emily moved Mikey and the toys closer to the door where she could watch him. As she straightened, the room tipped sideways. She sank to the floor, clutching her head in her hands.

Mrs. Whitley rushed to her side. “Forgive me. What was I thinking to drag you all over the house? Jesse will be unhappy with me.” She tsked. “Can you make it to the sofa?”

Emily struggled to her feet, clinging to the older woman’s hand. Mrs. Whitley wasn’t a big woman, but she put her arm about Emily’s waist and guided her to the couch with every bit as much strength as Emily had felt in Mrs. Whitley’s grandson.

Emily practically fell to the couch and leaned her head against the back. The room continued to circle and sway.

Mikey followed them and leaned against Emily’s knees.

She wanted to reassure him, but opening her eyes churned her stomach.

“Lie down and rest.” Mrs. Whitley placed a pillow beneath her head and pulled the green afghan over her. “Would a cold cloth to your forehead help?” She rushed away to get such before Emily could answer and placed it on her forehead.

“Thank you.” The coolness soothed her head.

“Just rest. We’ll be quiet. Won’t we, Mikey?”

Emily listened to them slip away to the kitchen. Their voices came from a dark tunnel. Lord Jesus, please make my dizziness go away and bring back my memory.

The canary sang as she lay there. She might have slept if it had been possible to relax, but she lay stiff as a board, fearing the slightest motion. She willed herself to remember her past, but her mind was full of dark tunnels that led nowhere.

* * *

Jesse paused at the door to take off his wet slicker and hang it on the nearby hook. It had stopped raining, but not before he’d gotten a good soaking. The downpour had made it impossible for him to track the criminals. He would go back later and examine every inch of the ground.

He shook water from his hat and hung it next to the slicker. He kicked off his wet boots and left them on the porch, then he stepped into the house. His heart crashed against his ribs at the sight of Emily, motionless on the couch. He hurried forward. Had she...? Was she...?

The blanket over her rose a bit and he gasped a shot of air.

She wasn’t dead. But she didn’t look very well, either. Although her eyes were closed, tension fanned out from the corners of them.

He slipped closer. “Emily?”

Her eyes flew open and she winced.

“Are you okay?”

“My head hurts.” She sat up, closing her eyes for a moment then opening them to study him. “Tell me you found the culprits and have them locked up.”

“The rain made it impossible to track them. However, I found something.” He returned to the door and picked up the damaged and stained satchel. He pulled a stool close and set it there.

“Does this look familiar?” he asked.

“It’s a satchel.”

“Have a closer look at it.”

“Is it mine?” Her voice trembled.

“Look inside.”

She did so and removed a water-damaged Bible and a packet of hairpins. She ran her fingers along the inside. “That’s all? Was there nothing else? My clothes? Something to indicate who I am?” She had a desperate look in her eyes.

He did his best to sound more encouraged than he felt. “This is all I found.” He’d searched the stagecoach and a wide circle around it, but apart from trampled grass and the imprint of an oddly shaped horseshoe, he’d found nothing. If he ever saw a hoofprint with that contour, he’d know what its rider had been up to the first week of July. “I can’t think why they took personal belongings.”

A sharp object—likely a knife—had damaged the satchel. He guessed the robbers did not want any reminder of God in their possession and had tossed aside the Bible and satchel. Nothing else remained of the stagecoach’s contents or the belongings of its two occupants.

“May I?” She asked permission to open the Bible.

“Yes, of course.” He’d hoped for eagerness and recognition, but she showed neither.

She opened the book and read the name inscribed on the flyleaf. “Emily Smith.” She looked at Jesse. “Is this me?”

“I hoped it was and that it would bring back your memory.” He rubbed his neck. “I didn’t find the men responsible for your accident, nor any proof of your identity.” He’d failed and was disappointed with himself.

She slowly turned the pages. “Maybe something in here will tell me who I am.” Many of the pages were stuck together from being wet and she carefully pulled them apart. Two were thick and refused to separate. “It feels as if there is something between these. But I don’t want to tear the paper. I can’t bring myself to purposely damage the Bible.”

He sensed tears and frustration close to the surface and gently took the Bible from her. “Let me try.” Jesse could not get the pages apart. “There’s certainly something there. Maybe steam will work.” He headed for the kitchen.

“I’m coming.” She moved cautiously, swayed a little.

He stopped, caught her arm and guided her into the kitchen where Mikey played with some of his old toys and Gram stirred a pot on the stove.

Gram saw Emily. “Should you be up? You look pale.” She gave Jesse a sorrowful look. “I should have insisted she rest. Instead, I dragged her around the house showing her every room.”

“I’m fine, though I don’t mind sitting.” Emily sank into the nearest chair.

Jesse showed Gram the Bible and explained his plan to separate the pages.

“It’s worth a try.” Gram pulled the kettle forward to the hottest part of the stove and they waited for it to boil.

“Okay, here goes.” He steamed the edges of the pages until they softened then slowly pulled them apart. “It looks like a letter.” He handed it to Emily.

She stared at the folded paper and drew in her lips.

He sat across the corner from her. “Isn’t it better to know?”

“Maybe.” Fear, hope and caution threaded through her voice. “Or maybe I’ll regret what I discover.” She laughed, a mirthless sound. “Of course, we have no idea if this is even mine.”

He squeezed her hands. “There’s one way to find out. Open the letter.”

With trembling fingers she unfolded the page and read it aloud.

Dear Abigail and John.

The bearer of this note is Miss Emily Smith. I have entrusted her with the special task of bringing to you Michael, also known as Mikey. When you asked me regarding adoption I knew he was perfect for you even though he isn’t an infant. He’s affectionate, easygoing and a real joy. Please accept him as your own. It might help him settle if you allowed Miss Emily to stay with you a few days.

I am looking forward to a letter from you expressing your delight at the child I have chosen for you.

My sincerest regards,

Your Aunt Hilda

She stared at the letter. “So, I’m Emily Smith?”

“It would seem so.”

She lifted her face, her blue eyes darkened with despair. “But who is Emily Smith?”

He didn’t have an answer for her.

Chapter Three

Emily looked down at her clothes and grimaced. “What am I going to do?”

He knew she meant more than her missing clothes. Her loss of memory mattered far more, but he couldn’t do anything about that. However, he could do something about the other.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find something. I’ll go ask the preacher’s wife to help.” He ignored her protest as he headed for the door.

His grandmother waved him away. “I’ll keep an eye on her. Little Mikey is content to play with the toys.”

Jesse shifted direction and knelt in front of the boy, recalling how lost he’d felt when his mother left him. Mikey was with strangers and a woman who didn’t remember him. It had to be frightening. He patted Mikey’s head.

Mikey looked at him solemnly.

“You’re a good little boy,” Jesse said.

“’Kay.” Mikey studied him a moment. “Mem, mem, mem.”

Jesse wondered if the boy meant to say Emily or was he asking for his mama.

He nodded. “’Kay.”

His answer seemed to satisfy the boy, who returned to the toys. Jesse left the house and headed toward the church and the manse that stood next door to it. It hadn’t rained as hard in town as it had at the robbery site, which was unfortunate for his search efforts. He said hello to Evan, the preacher’s four-year-old son who played in the yard with his dog, and then knocked on the door.

Annie opened and greeted him. “Hi, Jesse.”

Annie’s maiden name was Marshall. Jesse had been best friends with her brother, Conner, for more years than he cared to count. Annie was like a sister to him. Funny to think that all three of her brothers were now married and she had married the preacher.

“I have a favor to ask.”

“Come on in and tell me what it is.”

He followed her into the kitchen, accepted a cup of coffee and helped himself to the cookies she offered. Hugh came from his adjoining office.

“Good, you’re both here. Saves me having to tell the story twice.” He explained about the stagecoach robbery and finding Emily with no memory and young Mikey who couldn’t tell them anything.

“All their belongings are gone. I hoped—”

“Say no more. I’ll gather up enough for her and the boy. How big is she?”

“She comes to about here.” He indicated his shoulder. “She’s slender. Too big for anything of Gram’s, too small for yours.”

Annie studied Jesse intently a moment.

He couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in her busy mind.

“How old is she?”

“Annie, how would I know? She can’t remember.”

“Give it your best guess. I need to know what sort of clothes she’d like to wear.”

“I’d say she was about your age.” Annie had recently turned twenty. “Give or take a year or two.” He tried to think what else he could tell Annie that might be of help. “She’s wearing a blue top like yours and a dark skirt. Just ordinary clothes.”

Again Annie’s study of him lasted a heartbeat longer than was comfortable. What did she think she saw or understood?

She nodded as if she’d made up her mind about something. “And the boy?”

“Says he’s almost—” He held up three fingers as had Mikey. “Smaller than Evan. It must be an awful feeling not to remember who you are.”

Annie leaned closer, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe this is an answer to my prayers.”

He sat back and stared at her. “You prayed the stagecoach would be robbed?” He shifted his gaze to Hugh. “Did you know this?”

Hugh squeezed Annie’s hand, giving her an adoring look. “I think you better explain things.”

Annie brought her gaze back to Jesse. “Of course I didn’t pray that, silly. I’ve been praying a young woman would come into your life.”

Jesse stared at her. “You can’t mean—she might be married for all we know.” He recalled her worry about having done something wrong. “You haven’t even seen her and yet you—” He shook his head, stunned at her words. “We don’t know who she is and she can’t remember. She might be hiding, for all we know.”

“I think who she is when she can’t remember is who she really is. No masks. Nothing to hide. Just the real Emily. Perhaps more real than the person she is when she can remember all the things that have happened to her.”

He stared at her. Could she be right? “It makes no difference in any case. My job is to apprehend the robbers and take care of Emily and Mikey until we can see them safely to their destination. I have no other interest in them. And I can’t think why you’d suggest otherwise. You know how I feel about women.”

She dismissed his protest with a wave of her hand. “A good woman would change your mind, but I understand you have reason not to trust them.”

He tried not to sputter. The trouble was, she knew too much about him. But her judgment was way off. “Your grandfather is the matchmaker in your family. One is quite enough, don’t you think?”

She laughed. “I’m sure he’ll do his share. But never mind. Perhaps I am being premature.”

“Perhaps?”

“I’ll come and see for myself what kind of woman she is.”

“Now, wait a minute.”

“I need to see both of them to know what size clothing they need.”

“I thought I told you enough.” He didn’t want her coming over. As soon as she saw Emily she would decide she was more than suitable. After all, she was a beautiful woman and, if the way she treated Mikey was any indication, a kind one, too.

But who was she? The question had to be answered before any of them could make a judgment about her.

* * *

Emily tried to tell herself she wasn’t anxious for Jesse to return. But she would be lying. Yes, she hoped he would bring her something to wear besides her soiled shirtwaist and skirt. But even if he brought back nothing, she found his presence steadying. And why shouldn’t she? He was the sheriff. His job meant she was safe with him and he would do everything he could do to help her.

She sat at the table peeling potatoes for the evening meal. At first, Mrs. Whitley had refused her help but Emily insisted. “There’s no point in sitting about trying to remember who I am. Far better to be busy.”

The older woman had agreed, on the condition that Emily sit to work. “Jesse would have my hide if anything happened while he’s gone. That boy takes his responsibilities very seriously.” She looked out the window and waved as someone passed in the alley, then continued. “You might even say he is overly conscientious. Now, I don’t mean just about doing his job, but about life in general. He has impossibly high expectations of others so he is often disappointed.” She gave a sad shake of her head.

Emily didn’t know if she meant the words as a warning, but Emily took them that way. What if she had committed a crime or contributed to one? Why else would she have such a worry? And if she had, Jesse would be...well, not disappointed because he had no reason to trust her or have expectations of her. She’d already wondered aloud in his presence if she might be guilty of something.

But what could she have done? She tried to think of holding a gun and using it for evil, but it didn’t feel as though she knew how to shoot a gun, let alone use it to harm someone.

The outer door clicked. She heard Jesse murmur something as he stepped inside.

Muffin, who had been sitting on the floor watching Mikey play, barked then whined and bounded for the door.

A female voice greeted the dog.

Jesse had a sweetheart? Well, of course he did. Emily just hadn’t considered it.

He stepped into the kitchen with a tall woman at his side. A stunningly beautiful woman with blue eyes to rival a clear sky and hair the color of the sun.

Emily sat very still, feeling mousy in contrast.

“Hello, Gram. How are you?”

“Hello, Annie.”

Jesse turned Annie to face Emily. “Emily, this is my good friend, Annie Arness. She’s the preacher’s wife. She’s promised to find you something to wear, and Mikey, too. Mikey, say hello to Mrs. Arness.”

“’Lo.” Muffin had returned to his side and Mikey clutched at the dog’s back.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Emily said. Annie was married to the preacher?

“Likewise.” Annie turned to Jesse. “You didn’t tell me she was beautiful.”

Jesse gave the woman a look so full of warning it surprised Emily that she didn’t lose her smile. Instead, she chuckled. “I’ll behave myself. Don’t worry.”

“You better.”

Emily recalled his grandmother’s words about him having high expectations of others and wondered if Annie had disappointed him.

Annie turned her attention back to Emily. “I am sorry to hear of your misfortune, and both my husband and I will pray you regain your memory quickly.” She clapped her hands together. “In the meantime, I’ll take care of finding you some fresh clothing. Jesse, where’s my bag?”

Jesse held forth a valise and Annie took it from him.

“I brought a few of Evan’s things that are too small for him.” She pulled out two pairs of overalls, three little shirts, nightwear, socks and other necessities. “I think they’ll fit Mikey okay. Unfortunately, I didn’t have anything handy that would be your size. Jesse said you were taller than Gram, here, and shorter than me.”

Emily’s head began to hurt at the rapid delivery of Annie’s words.

Jesse caught Annie’s arm. “Emily needs to rest.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll return with a few things.” She slipped away.

Emily called her thanks then closed her eyes. She heard the chair next to hers being pulled out. A warm hand touched her elbow.

“Are you okay?”

She opened her eyes and looked into Jesse’s concerned face. She would have nodded but knew the movement would hurt, so she whispered, “I’m as good as can be expected, I suppose.”

He chuckled. “The doc would be proud of your answer.”

She grinned, already feeling better.

Mrs. Whitley moved a pot on the stove. The scraping sound reminded Emily she had offered to help prepare supper.

“I need to finish peeling the potatoes.” Emily picked up the knife to resume her task. She felt Jesse’s study and paused to look at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” He jerked his gaze to the basin of potato peelings.

Mrs. Whitley chuckled. “He’s pretending he hadn’t noticed that you are, indeed, beautiful.”

Heat stole up Emily’s neck and stalled at her cheeks. “I’m a mess, and I know it. My clothes are grubby and no doubt my hair is untidy. I can’t remember who I am.” A sob choked off the last of her words and she clamped her lips together. She would not cry. It made her look weak and needy.

“Everything will be okay.” Jesse sounded so reassuring she allowed herself to believe him. Any minute she would wake up and remember exactly who she was and where she was going.

She pushed aside the swirling darkness her thoughts caused, finished peeling the potatoes and handed the pot to Mrs. Whitley.

The older woman thanked her. “Jesse, why don’t you take Emily and Mikey outside? Sitting in the sun will do them both good. A change of scenery might help her feel better. Take Muffin with you, too. She needs to go out for a bit.”

“Good idea.”

Emily wondered if they’d had the same thought as she...something outside might trigger her memory.

The dog had already rushed to the door at the mention of her name. Jesse reached out a hand to invite Mikey along. He waited at the door for her to join them.

Emily got to her feet, pleased that she felt no dizziness, and went to his side. He took her hand. He might have done so to make sure she didn’t fall. She might have let him for the very same reason or it might be she found courage and strength in the way he held her as he led her to a bench by the side of the house. She hadn’t been able to see it from the windows. Nor had she seen the little shed at the end of the wide stoop.

He sat beside her.

Mikey chased Muffin across the small patch of grass, giggling with joyful abandon.

She took in the flowers against the weathered picket fence, the shade-providing trees, the vegetable garden and the bushes, and relaxed with a sigh. “Everything about this place is serene. Your grandmother has a special touch.”

“My gram is a special person.”

“I can see that. So...you live with your grandmother?”

* * *

Jesse startled at her question. People didn’t often ask him about why he lived with Gram. Those he considered friends knew. But he didn’t mind telling her. In fact, with her eyes closed, he found it easy to talk of his past. “I was told that my pa died when I was two, and that Ma couldn’t deal with it and started to wander. She left me with Gram. That was before we moved to Bella Creek. We saw Ma maybe two or three times a year. And then we didn’t. I was eleven when we learned she had died.” And when he’d learned the truth about his parentage.

“How sad for you. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how I would react to such news.”

He chuckled in a self-mocking way. “I got angry. I wondered why I couldn’t be enough reason for her to stay around. And I don’t refer to her death.”

Emily said nothing, but he sensed her waiting and he continued.

“I always believed she had died in an accident, but one of the bigger boys—a bully—told me she died in a house for soiled doves. At first, I thought that was a place for unhappy women, but that misconception was soon cleared up for me. Turns out she didn’t even know who my father was.” He thought of that troubled time in his past. “I thank God that someone cared enough to set me on the right path.”

“Your grandmother?” She studied him, her eyes shadowed with pain.

“You should be resting, not listening to my personal history.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed. “Who knows what will make my memory return? Besides, your voice eases my headache. Please continue.”

“Very well.” He returned to their conversation. “My grandmother was doing her best with me, but was on a losing track until Grandfather Marshall came to visit. His wife had been Gram’s best friend. He saw how things were going with me and suggested she move to Bella Creek. Said there was need for a good seamstress. But he knew I needed a change of scenery...a chance to direct my energies in a positive direction.”

“It seems to have worked. Right?”

Another mocking laugh. “Not at first. The then-sheriff found me setting a fire behind the hotel. He led me to the jail. I thought he was going to lock me up, but instead he gave me a job cleaning his office and running errands. He spoke slowly and carefully. And I listened.” Jesse lowered his voice to imitate Sheriff Good’s way of speaking. “He said things like, ‘Every decision you make takes you down a road. Make sure you choose a road you want to be on at the end.’ ‘A man is only as good as his word.’ ‘When it comes to right and wrong, there is no compromise.’ ‘Avoid all appearance of evil.’”

He leaned back. Thinking of Sheriff Good always filled him with pleasure. “He was a fine man.”

He had taught Jesse to be proud of himself, and he still was. His smile turned downward. Not all people valued him as he’d like. Four years ago, Agnes Breckenridge had moved to town with her family and she’d made it obvious she liked him. They courted. But when he mentioned marriage, she’d demurred. Said she wanted more than the small town of Bella Creek could offer. He’d said he would go elsewhere if she desired it.

Knowing he must be honest about who he was, and uncertain what she’d heard around town, he had told her the circumstances of his birth. That’s when he learned that she wanted a man with more than he could offer. Not a man who didn’t know his father’s identity. She left town to return to an old beau and abandoned him to nurse his pain. His experience with women after that had been equally unsuccessful.

He knew he wasn’t enough of a man for any woman to love, despite his grandmother’s insistence that he was a fine man. He hadn’t been enough reason for his ma to stick around and he hadn’t been enough for Agnes.

He had no intention of risking his heart again and likely again being rejected. No, sir. He would stick to what he knew he could do well—be a sheriff.

He brought his thoughts back to the present. “Gram has put up with me all these years.” He gave a mocking chuckle. Seems she was the only one willing to do so.

“I’m only guessing, but I think that might have been more a pleasure than a hardship.”

Her response eased some of the strain from him and he grinned at her. “I’ve been trying to make up for the misery I put her through for a few years.”

She looked deep into his eyes, searching for something. He wished he knew what she sought and could provide it.

She sat back with a sigh.

“You remembered something?”

“Only a feeling.”

“Tell me about it. Talking might help.”

“It might.” She remained silent a moment as if collecting her thoughts. “I remember looking into someone’s face, searching for something. I feel like I didn’t find what I looked for. But that’s all there is. No name. No face. Nothing.” Her breathing came too fast. She pressed her hand to her eyes.

Jesse squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t try so hard. Let your memory come back when it’s time. It might take a day or two. You know, until that bump goes away.” He brushed the side of her head.

She filled her lungs slowly and leaned back. “I’ll try to relax.” She glanced about the yard. “The flowers are beautiful.”

“Gram likes to grow enough to take bouquets to the church every Sunday.”

Emily inhaled deeply. “I smell sweet peas.” She closed her eyes. “I see myself with my arms full of the flower. I’m happy and laughing.”

She broke off and he waited, wondering if this was the beginning of her memory returning, but she shook her head.

“I can’t see anything more.”

“Stay here. I’ll get you some raspberries.” He strode toward the bushes. The flowers had triggered a flash of remembrance. Perhaps raspberries would do the same. If not, she could at least enjoy the sweetness of them.

* * *

Emily watched Jesse cross the yard, moving like a man with no worries, no hurries. She knew that couldn’t be true. Especially as a robbery had been committed, two men murdered and he had in his care a woman who couldn’t tell him anything about herself.

He cupped his hand and filled it, then returned to her side and offered the raspberries to her.

“Thanks.” What a kind, generous man. She took one and sniffed it, finding the scent familiar and full of pleasant memories. “My grandmother had a big raspberry patch. She let us kids pick the berries and eat them.” She popped the berries into her mouth one by one and let the taste explode in her mouth.

He sat quietly at her side, perhaps letting her remember and talk.

She finished the fruit. “I don’t recall anything more. Not where she lived nor how many children I shared the experience with.” How could her mind be so stubborn?

“Let it be.” He stretched his legs out before him. “I might wish I could forget a few things, but I’d want to choose which they were.”

“Like what?”

“Being a rebellious young man, as I told you. Knowing what kind of life my mother lived. So sad. It’s hard to forgive her.”

Emily jerked to her feet and took three steps. Her lungs had forgotten how to work.

Jesse hurried to her side. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know but something you said made me feel—” She couldn’t say what she felt. “I’m afraid of who I might be.”

He turned her to face him and kept his hands on her shoulders. “Emily, I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done, but I can’t imagine it’s anything you should be afraid of.”

She shook her head, ignoring the pain the movement brought. “But you don’t know. I don’t know.”

He led her back to the bench and waited for her to sit, then sat beside her and took her hands. “Emily, let me pray for you.”

She turned her palms into his and held on tight. “I’d like that.” She bowed her head.

“Father God, You know the beginning from the end. You know everything there is to know about Emily. Bring those memories back to her and help her to be calm and patient until You do.” A moment of silence surrounded them. Birds sang overhead. Leaves rustled. The scent of flowers filled the air. And sweet, blessed peace filled her soul.

“Amen,” he said.

She slowly brought her gaze to his. “Thank you. I will trust and not fear.”

“Good to hear.” He slipped away and returned with a handful of sweet peas in pink, purple and white. “Enjoy one of the many of God’s gifts to you.”

She took the flowers and buried her nose in them. “Thank you. God’s gifts? I think having you and your grandmother take me in is one of them.” She lowered her gaze lest he think her too bold.

Bold? The word hammered inside her head. Had she been too bold in the past? I will trust and not fear. She dismissed the thought. In God’s time all things would be brought to her memory.

She hoped God’s time would be sooner rather than later.

Chapter Four

Jesse watched Emily inhale the scent of the flowers. Several times she had mentioned concern about a checkered past. He didn’t know if it indicated that she’d had one or if it was simply a fear born of not knowing. Perhaps he would ask Dr. Baker his opinion. But not now. He sat back, content to enjoy Emily’s pleasure in the flowers and Mikey’s play as he and the old dog romped about on the lawn. He wouldn’t have thought Muffin had that much energy left in her.

He used to do the same with Muffin, only he would have been much older. Someone had left Muffin at Marshall’s Mercantile as a pup and Gram had brought her home. The playful dog had provided Jesse with many hours of fun and unconditional affection. Nice that Mikey found the same.

Poor boy. Jesse needed to find the couple who were going to adopt him and see if he could discover who Aunt Hilda was. Hopefully that would give Mikey a home and Emily her past.

He picked up a bit of wood and joined Mikey and Muffin. He tossed the wood. “Fetch.”

Muffin raced after it and brought it back.

Jesse gave the wood to Mikey. “You throw it for her.”

The toss landed three feet in front of the boy and Muffin brought it back to him.

Mikey bounced up and down, squealing in excitement. He threw the wood again. “Go.” He giggled so hard that he fell to the ground.

Emily joined Jesse. “He’s sure having fun.”

Jesse pulled her hand around his elbow, telling himself it was to make sure she didn’t have a dizzy spell. But it was more than that. He wanted to keep her close, protect her.

How foolish could he be? He knew nothing about this woman. Her name but not her past. Not whether she was married, though he’d again studied her ring finger and seen no evidence of any recent wearing of a ring. Unless she was like his mother. She certainly didn’t look the part. Not that it mattered. He was only doing his job as a sheriff.

The door opened and Annie rushed out, bearing a shopping basket full of clothes. “I believe I have everything you’ll need for a day or two.” She set the basket on the stoop and proceeded to pull out three outfits for Emily’s inspection. A brown skirt, a navy one and two shirtwaists—one white, the other pink—and a dress that seemed a little fancier. There were more things, but she didn’t reveal them. Jesse guessed they were of a personal nature.

“Aunt Mary had them tucked away,” Annie said. “She’s put on some weight and couldn’t wear them.” That would explain the slight mothball smell. Annie’s aunt Mary and uncle George ran the Marshall’s Mercantile store.

Emily touched the garments. She looked troubled.

He moved a step closer, waiting for her to explain what bothered her.

“Thank you,” she said to Annie. “I’m grateful for your help. I just wish...” She fluttered a hand. “I feel like such a nuisance.”

“Even if you had your memory, it wouldn’t change that your belongings are missing.” Jesse touched her elbow as he spoke, relieved when her clouded expression cleared.

“It’s strange that they would take everything,” Annie said. “What use would they have for a woman’s or a child’s things? Well, unless one of them was, indeed, married with a child. Or was it sheer meanness?”

“I aim to find out the reason for what they’ve done, and I will find them and bring them to justice.”

Emily grew thoughtful. “I fear I am keeping you from pursuing them. Please don’t let me stand in your way.”

“I won’t.” Except she was. He could have continued his search this afternoon, but when he found the satchel he had brought it back to town hoping it would stimulate her memory. He couldn’t deny he felt overly protective of Emily, given her situation. But then, keeping her safe and connecting her to her friends and family was also part of his job.

Annie folded the items back into the basket. “I need to get back to my family, but don’t hesitate to let me know if I can help in any way.” She patted Emily’s arm. “You can find me in the manse behind the church. Just turn left when you leave this house and go until you reach the church. We live right beside it. Jesse’s office is straight across the street.”

“Thank you again,” Emily murmured.

Annie hesitated, as if wanting to say more. Instead she looked at Jesse. “Take good care of her. And if you need anything, you know where to find me.” She called goodbye to Mikey and left.

Emily twisted her hands together.

He caught them and stilled them. “You’re worrying again. I know it can’t be easy.” He feared she might overtax her brain and get dizzy. “Let’s sit again.”

“I can’t. I need to move.”

So they walked to the back gate. There she stopped.

If he talked, it might help her to quit fretting about her loss of memory. “Annie is like a sister to me. She’s a Marshall. Grandfather Marshall is responsible for the existence of Bella Creek. When the mining town to the northwest of here sprang up, it was...and still is...a rough place. Grandfather decided it wasn’t suitable for decent folk. He has two sons—one is George, who runs the Marshall’s Mercantile store. If you need anything, put it on my bill there. I’ll explain the circumstances to him.”

She turned, a protest forming.

He resisted the urge to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. She hadn’t looked in a mirror or she would have noted the dust marring her face and how untidy her hair was. He was half tempted to pull out his handkerchief and wipe her cheeks but didn’t want to frighten her. “Now don’t fret. Things will work out soon enough. I’m sure of it. I was telling you about the Marshalls. Bud is Grandfather’s other son. He is one of the owners of the Marshall Five Ranch about five miles west of town. He has four children. You’ve met Annie. She has three brothers, all tall, blond and blue-eyed, like she is. Dawson, Conner and Logan. Conner has been my best friend for a long time.”

Seeing that she listened, her own troubles momentarily forgotten, he continued to tell about the Marshall family—how all four of them had married in the past year. “There was a fire in town a year and a half ago. Took out a whole block of buildings. They’ve all been rebuilt.” He told of how the Marshalls had been responsible for bringing in a new teacher and doctor. “You met him. Doc Baker.” He related how the community had worked together in making a fair successful in order to purchase a bell for the church. “It can also be used to alert the citizens to an emergency, like a fire.”

She chuckled. “Sounds to me like this should have been called Marshallville.”

He laughed. “In a way, it was. Bella is Grandmother Marshall’s name.”

“She must be pleased.”

“She passed away years ago.”

Emily grew thoughtful. She looked untroubled so he stayed quiet. After a few minutes, she sighed. “It all sounds so...idyllic, peaceful. As if nothing would ever go wrong here.”

“There’s been a stagecoach robbery and a double murder, so I wouldn’t say it has been trouble-free.”

His arms were crossed and she rested her hand on his forearm. “I’m keeping you from your task of finding those men. Please don’t feel you need to watch over me.” She lowered her head, making it impossible for him to see her eyes. “Though I confess I find a great deal of comfort and encouragement in your presence.”

Her words made him feel as if he mattered. It was nice to be valued by someone for a reason other than the star on his chest.

He clamped his teeth together. Was he forgetting all those lessons of how worthless he was—to his mother, to Agnes, to half a dozen other young women who had wandered in and out of his life? But he sensed her need for reassurance and could not deny it. “Emily, you can count on me to see you through this.”

She tipped her head back. Her gaze held his. He felt her search deep into his soul. She smiled. “I know, and I thank you.”

His breath eased out. How could she have such ready trust in him? She didn’t know who he was, apart from the sheriff.

Be cautious, he warned himself.

Could he trust her? He knew his answer should be no. But like Annie said, Emily without a memory was likely the real Emily, and he found her sweet and pure.

He must do all he could to find out who she was.

“I hate to leave you, but I need to send some letters to inquire where you got on the stage and perhaps learn who Aunt Hilda, Abigail and John are.” It was too late to send messages back along the line today, but he could get letters ready and start asking questions.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll sit and rest while Mikey plays.” She returned to the bench and appeared to be relaxed.

“I’ll be back as soon as I’ve taken care of business.” The best thing he could do for Emily at the moment was help her get Mikey to his adoptive parents. This Abigail and John would be waiting for their child. More than that, they would know who Aunt Hilda was and where Emily had come from. Once he knew that, he would be able to find Emily’s family.

“No need to rush on my account.” She smiled.

He really needed to leave, but he hesitated to do so. It took a great deal of effort to force his steps to the house. “Gram, I have to go. Keep an eye on that pair, would you?”

She chuckled. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Thanks.” He left via the front door.

Jesse strode down Mineral Street, checking on each store. He completed his circuit then went to Marshall’s Mercantile. His jaw muscles hurt and he realized he’d chomped down on his teeth way too hard and forced himself to relax. Someone had threatened his town. Whoever was responsible for the robbery and murder, for bringing harm to a young woman and little boy, would be found and captured. Jesse Hill would see to it.

He entered the store and let his eyes adjust to the interior dimness. He circled the inside of the store as George waited on a customer. The displays were familiar to Jesse, so he took little notice of the goods, though he paused to look at the women’s wear and wondered if something in the array would spark Emily’s memory.

The customer left with his arms full. George turned to Jesse. George Marshall saw almost everyone in the area or passing through because they soon learned his store was well stocked and could supply their needs.

“Howdy, Jesse. Find those robbers yet?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid.” He explained Mikey and Emily at the house and Emily’s loss of memory, though George had by now likely heard a dozen different versions of the details concerning the pair Jesse brought in.

“Could she at least give a description of the men responsible?”

“Pretty sketchy one. They covered their faces, so she is unable to describe what they look like.”

“Didn’t find anything at the site to tell you who they are?”

“One of the horses had an odd-shaped horseshoe that will help identify the robbers. The rain made it impossible to follow their tracks.” He leaned on the counter. “Any strangers around recently? Someone who might have been checking out the stagecoach schedule? Or someone waiting for an arrival?”

“There was a stranger in town today buying supplies. Said he was joining his partner at Wolf Hollow.”

“Sounds innocent enough. Did you happen to notice anything odd about his boots?”

George laughed. “Don’t often have cause to notice a man’s feet. Why?”

“Emily said the one thing she saw was that one of the robbers had silver-tipped boots.”

“Well, I’ll sure be keeping my eye open for that and will let you know.”

“Have you heard of a couple by the name of Abigail and John?”

“What’s their last name?”

“’Fraid I don’t know.” Jesse told about the letter.

George stroked his chin. “There was an Abigail and John Newman who lived north of Wolf Hollow. They came in once or twice. I remember because she would always go to the selection of baby items and look so longingly at them that I wondered if she had lost a baby.”

“I’ll plan on heading out to Wolf Hollow tomorrow and look around.” It was the perfect place for riffraff to hide. He had two things to look for—a horse with an odd-shaped shoe and a man with silver-tipped boots. And a third—a couple by the name of Newman.

George chuckled. “How do you plan to find an Aunt Hilda?”

“Now, that is going to be more difficult, I think. An aunt who sends a boy for adoption.” That fact alone gave him a few clues. “She could work in an orphanage or be a preacher’s wife who helps orphans find homes.”

“Or a lawyer’s wife. Or she could simply be acting as agent for her niece or nephew and their spouse.”

“I simply don’t have enough information to go on. All I can do is send letters down the line to the various sheriffs with the few facts I have and hope someone, somewhere can connect the dots.” He said goodbye to George and stepped into the street.

He went to his office and penned half a dozen letters, all saying the same thing, then took the sealed envelopes to George to send out on the next stagecoach.

There was nothing more he could do until morning.

Nothing more to prevent him from returning to the house to see if Emily had remembered anything.

* * *

Mrs. Whitley called from the back door. “Supper is ready. Come and get it while it’s hot.”

Emily jerked around. What had she been thinking, to waste time sitting on the garden bench when she should be helping? She rushed to the woman, her haste bringing on a bout of dizziness. She paused and sucked in air. “Forgive me for not helping you more.”

Mrs. Whitley chuckled. “It seems to me you need to remember that you have been in a serious accident and need to be resting.”

“But I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness.”

“You need to be gentle with yourself.” The older woman studied her with kindly eyes. “Too often young people like you are hard on themselves. If only I could make every one of you see that you need to slow down and enjoy the present.”

Emily laughed softly. “I think I have no choice but to do so at the moment, seeing as I have no past and no future.”

Jesse came in from the other room. She hadn’t heard him return. He squeezed her shoulder. “Whatever your past, your present and your future, it is safe in God’s hands.”

Mrs. Whitley patted Emily’s arm. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” She whistled for the dog. Mikey laughed as he trotted after the animal.

“Did you find out anything?” Emily asked Jesse.

“George Marshall says there’s a couple by the name of Abigail and John Newman north of Wolf Hollow. I’ll go out tomorrow and see if I can locate them.”

Her heart clung to her ribs. “I’ll come along, if I may. If it’s them, then—” She glanced toward Mikey. He would be joining his new parents.

And what would become of her? Would she stay, as the Hilda who wrote the letter suggested? Or would they prefer she leave them to adjust on their own?

She didn’t know what to expect and tears threatened. She would not cry and she forced her attention to the table covered with a red-and-green checkered tablecloth and set with four places of white china. Emily studied the table. Was there something familiar about it? Or was she only hoping for a reminder of any sort? A clear vase held a bouquet of flowers, among them sweet peas, their aroma subtly filling the air.

Jesse pointed her toward a basin of hot water and she helped Mikey wash up, and then washed and dried her own hands and face. A small mirror above the cupboard revealed how disheveled her hair was. She smoothed it back with her hands. Bits of dirt and grass fell to her shoulders.

“I am truly a mess.” She would like nothing better than a bath. Mikey needed one, also. But she couldn’t ask her hosts to go to the trouble of filling a tub for her. Perhaps she could do it herself. The pain in the side of her head reminded her she wouldn’t be able to. She’d have to be content to be safe in a kind home.

She returned to the table and sat on the chair Mrs. Whitley indicated. Mikey sat at her left. Jesse dropped into the chair across from her, and his grandmother sat at the head of the table to Emily’s right.

“Jesse, would you ask the blessing?” his grandmother said.

Jesse bowed his head. “Dear heavenly Father, we are grateful for so many things. For the lives of Emily and Mikey spared in the accident.” His voice deepened.

Emily stole a glance from under her eyelids, amazed to see the man’s throat work as if his emotions had grown too strong to bear. Did it really matter that much to him? Why would it, other than he was a kind and caring man?

She closed her eyes as he continued. “Help Emily’s memory to return. Help me find the men and bring them to justice. Thank you for the sunshine and the rain, for the good times and the bad times, and for the bounty we are about to enjoy. Amen.”

“Amen,” Mrs. Whitley echoed.

Emily kept her head lowered a moment longer. For good times and bad times? Could she thank God for both? This would surely qualify as a bad time. She wasn’t about to rejoice about losing her memory. But she would trust God to bring it back. For that she would be glad.

She took the bowl of mashed potatoes Mrs. Whitley passed, served herself and helped Mikey. Stewed meat in rich gravy, baby carrots fresh from the garden and sweet lettuce, also from the garden, followed. She enjoyed a taste of each.

“Mrs. Whitley, this is excellent. Thank you.”

“It’s ordinary fare. But thank you and please, would you call me Gram? I think it would be so much easier for you.”

“Thank you, Gram.”

“The young man, as well.” She reached for Mikey’s hand. “Would you like to call me Gram?”

His eyes widened. “My Gram?”

“Yes, I can be your gram if you like.”

“’Kay.” He gave a heartwarming smile then returned to enjoying his meal.

As they ate, both Gram and Jesse told her more about the town and the area. She suspected they hoped something they said would help her remember, but nothing came to her.

As soon as they finished, Gram brought them each a bowl of fresh raspberries with cream so thick they had to spoon it out of the bowl. Again, the raspberries made her remember a time of laughter and joy and an older woman. She closed her eyes and tried to get a clearer picture of the person she knew to be her grandmother. All that came was a merry laugh and a big red apron with generous pockets.

She opened her eyes to find Jesse and Gram watching her. Jesse’s eyes asked a silent question and she shook her head. “I hear laughter, but that is all.”

He held her gaze, his eyes full of encouragement. “It’s nice to know your first memories are of happy times in your life. I hope the rest of your memories are as happy and sweet when they come.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth to hold back a protest. When she could speak without giving away her fear, she said, “Seems too much to think I wouldn’t have my share of good and bad.”

“Every life needs both sunshine and rain. Just like my flowers out there,” Gram said.

“Described that way, I will try and be happy about both.” At the moment, she’d be glad to simply get her memory back.

But despite having said that, a shiver crossed her shoulders. There were times, she knew, that the bad could be so awful it was more like a destructive hailstorm than a nourishing rain.

Jesse must have read her thoughts, because he leaned forward. “Emily.”

She turned to him, immediately finding strength in his steady brown eyes.

“‘I will trust and not fear.’”

She nodded. “I have to keep reminding myself.”

“I’ll remind you as often as I think you need it.”

“Me, too,” Gram said.

“Mem, mem, mem, mem,” Mikey added and the adults all laughed.

When the meal was over, Jesse got to his feet. “I hate to leave you.” He spoke directly to Emily. “But I must make my rounds of the town. People need to know I am doing that part of my job.”

She rose, as well. “Of course. There is no need to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

His smile was gentle. “I’ll be back shortly, unless there is trouble, which I don’t expect.”

She listened to his departing footsteps and the closing of the door then pulled her thoughts back to the kitchen. After all, she didn’t need his presence to feel safe.

Except she did. He had become her lifeline.

She dismissed the idea. At the moment she had no past and no future, but she had the present and she would face it without fear.

“I’ll help with dishes.”

Gram looked ready to refuse then nodded. “I expect it’s easier if you keep busy. You can wash. That way you won’t have to move around too much.”

As Emily scrubbed the dishes, she tried to think how she could manage a bath for Mikey and herself without asking for another favor from these kind people. But the dishes were done, the floor swept and the kitchen clean, and still she could think of no way.

Mikey had been playing with the toys, Muffin at his side. He rubbed his eyes and whined.

“He’s getting tired,” Emily said. “I need to get him ready for bed.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“Would you mind if I heated enough water to give him a little bath?”

The door opened and closed, and Jesse entered in time to hear her request. “You will do no such thing. Sit down and amuse the little guy while I take care of the water.”

She opened her mouth to protest then sat. Fatigue had set in. “I take it the town was quiet.”

“Quiet as church. Good thing, too. Or you would be trying to deal with kettles of hot water.”

Gram snorted. “Do you really think I would have allowed that?”

Jesse seemed to remember his grandmother was in the room and chuckled. “I don’t suppose you would, but now I’m here and I’ll take care of it.” He gave Emily a stern look. “All of it.”

She didn’t know what he meant, but she was too weary to care.

“I’d like to spend a bit more time in my sewing room, so I’ll leave you two to manage.” Gram left the kitchen and soon could be heard singing softly in the other room.

Jesse put water on to heat then went outside and returned with a square washtub. He soon had several inches of warm water in it.

Emily lifted Mikey to her lap, kissed the top of his head and removed his dirty clothes.

With a giggle, he escaped her arms and ran across the room.

Emily was about to chase him when Jesse crossed the room in long strides and scooped the little boy into his arms.

“You little rascal. You come back here.” He tickled Mikey.

Jolly, belly-rolling chuckles indicated the boy’s enjoyment.

Emily laughed too. “He has the best laugh.”

Jesse grinned at her. “Just hearing it makes the world a better place.” He headed for the tub and Emily hurried to join him.

She fully intended to take care of washing Mikey, but Jesse knelt by the tub, too. Their arms brushed.

He looked at her, something warm and sweet in his eyes.

She jerked her gaze to the little boy. She understood what was going on. Lost, without memory, she clung to the man who had saved her. He made her feel safe. But it meant nothing.

Jesse grabbed the bar of soap while Emily sorted out her thoughts. He lathered up the boy and rinsed him off. All the while, Mikey chattered away and splashed.

Emily wiped water from her face and stole a look at Jesse. Liquid dripped from his chin. The front of his shirt was dark with water. He turned his head to wipe his face on his shoulder and looked straight into her eyes. He grinned. “Happy child. Wet adults. Is this the usual mix?”

“I think so.” She held his gaze and caught her breath. Her answer had come swiftly and surely, as if she was speaking from experience. But no memory came. “I’ll wash his hair.” She bent Mikey backward and scrubbed the dirt from his head.

“You certainly know how to handle him.”

She lifted him from the tub and wrapped a towel about him. “I suppose it indicates something. I just wish I knew what.” She stared at the tub of water and remembered laughter and joy. She had bathed a child in a tub like this.

She sat back on her heels. “I remember bathing children.” Her eyes refused to blink as she looked at Jesse. Was it possible Mikey was hers? A sob caught in her throat. How could she forget her own flesh and blood? Not to mention a husband. She looked at her ring finger. Bare. She rubbed it. Could not remember ever wearing a ring. Perhaps she’d never married. That made Mikey...

Pain tore through her insides. Who was she?

Jesse caught her around her shoulders. She leaned into his damp shirtfront.

“You’re tired and overthinking all this. I think a good night’s sleep might be what you need.”

Mikey patted her cheeks. “Mem, mem, mem.”

She realized they were nose to nose, both leaning on Jesse’s chest. At some point, he had taken Mikey from her and she hadn’t even noticed. The realization made the dark hole inside her expand and she shuddered.

Jesse tightened his arm about her and sat her up. “I’ll dress this little man then help you.”

She wasn’t sure what sort of help he meant to offer, but as he put Mikey into a nightshirt, she scrubbed the little boy’s garments in the bath water and rinsed them. She was about to take them outside and hang them on the line when Jesse took them from her. “You take it easy while I do this.”

He led her to a chair, put Mikey on her knee and headed outside with the wet laundry.

She sang a lullaby to Mikey, the tune coming from a distant memory. Was it one her mother had sung to her? And she’d sung to other babies? Like Jesse said, she was trying too hard.

Mikey relaxed against her; his breathing deepened.

Jesse returned, smiled at the little guy asleep on her lap and carried the tub out to dispose of the water.

There went any hope of getting her own bath.

She lifted her chin. Tomorrow she would go with Jesse to turn Mikey over to the Newmans. They would know who she was.

She stiffened inside. What if she didn’t care for what she learned? She sucked in a deep breath. She would face whatever the future held with as much strength as she could muster.

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