A witness with amnesia

Can she trust this Gold Country Cowboy with her life?

Tracy Wilson witnessed a murder—but after a head injury, she can’t remember what she saw. Now someone plans to silence her for good, and only cowboy Keegan Thorn believes her. With a killer after her at Christmas, Tracy is running out of time to remember...and falling dangerously hard for the cowboy who could break her heart.

DANA MENTINK is a national bestselling author. She has been honored to win two Carol Awards, a HOLT Medallion and an RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award. She’s authored more than thirty novels to date for Love Inspired Suspense and Harlequin Heartwarming. Dana loves feedback from her readers. Contact her at danamentink.com.

Also By Dana Mentink

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Lost Christmas Memories

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Dangerous Tidings

Seaside Secrets

Abducted

Dangerous Testimony

Military K-9 Unit

Top Secret Target

Rookie K-9 Unit

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Lost Christmas Memories

Dana Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08650-9

LOST CHRISTMAS MEMORIES

© 2018 Dana Mentink

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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“I’m in this mess because I got shot at, too...”

Keegan cleared his throat. “Where do we go from here?”

“Can you drop me here?” Tracy asked. “I’ll get a ride home some other way.”

“Nope.”

She frowned. “I wasn’t asking your permission.”

“I know, but I’m going to go with you. I’m helping. I’m awesome like that.”

Again, she shifted. “Keegan, I’m involved in a mess and I’ll get out of it. By myself. Do you understand?”

He heard his mama’s voice in his head. Don’t be pushy, Keegan. Not everyone gallops through life like you do. Speed, excitement and danger were the stuff that made life worth living, and too much slow contemplation time could drive a man crazy.

He heaved out a breath. “This isn’t something you should face alone. You saw a murder and it’s possible the murderer is still out there.”

She didn’t answer but he knew she was thinking the same as him.

And he knows who you are.

Dear Reader,

I just love a good cowboy story, don’t you? It has been such fun to write the Thorn brothers’ stories, from oldest, Barrett, to youngest brother, Keegan. Throughout the series, Keegan has struggled to feel a sense of belonging, to find a place where he feels loved and valued. We all search for that kind of place, don’t we? Isn’t it nice to know that God has a room waiting for us where we will be fully loved and completely accepted? I can’t imagine a happier ending than that!

It has been my pleasure to gallop with you through Gold Country in this four-book series. I hope you will come along with me on the next adventure, too! As always, I love to hear from my readers. You can contact me via my website at www.danamentink.com and there’s a place to sign up for my quarterly newsletter. There is also a post office box listed below. Thanks again, dear readers, and God bless you!

Dana Mentink

P.O. Box 3168

San Ramon, CA 94583

Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.

—Galatians 6:2

To Cheryl, a wonderful friend and an excellent mom to her fur babies.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Tracy Wilson jerked to a stop in the decorated lobby of the deserted Mother Lode Equestrian Center as a scream died away. At first, she’d doubted her senses. Perhaps it had been the whinny of a horse she’d mistaken for a cry. Then came the thud.

Had someone fallen? A worker unloading boxes after hours? She ran down the hallway to the one open door. Pushing into the dark space, she stopped dead. A figure, tall and wearing black, leaned over a dark-haired woman, hands on her throat, squeezing. Tousled hair screened the woman’s face and her hands gripped convulsively, clawing at the fingers throttling her. The attacker was in shadows. Was it a man? Woman? She couldn’t tell, but the person looked up at Tracy just as the choked woman went limp, her hands falling away, the life draining out of her. Irises black with hatred locked on Tracy.

The scream of horror died in Tracy’s throat as the attacker let go of the victim and dived for her instead. Panic fueled her. She raced back into the hallway, intending to make for the exit, but her pursuer was right behind. In her frantic flight, she knocked over a Christmas tree, sending it to the floor, where it smashed into a mess of silver fragments and gold beads. It did not slow her pursuer.

Tracy knew at that moment she would never make it back to the parking lot. Who could help her? The center was deserted, the Christmas decor gleaming oddly in the dim light. Surely even after hours someone would be around, tending to the horses, the steers? Was there not a single soul to hear her if she screamed for help?

She threw herself at the first door she came to, an office, which was locked. The second door, a storage room, was her only hope. Pulse thundering, she shoved her way inside. There was only a flimsy lock, but she managed to ram a dusty chair under the doorknob.

What she had just witnessed...brutal, incomprehensible, murderous...rocked her to the core.

A fist slammed at the door and booted feet began to kick at the flimsy wood.

Panic bucked like a rodeo bronc inside her. She reached for the phone in her pocket, realizing with a flood of despair that she’d dropped it somewhere. On her way in? In her flight down the hall?

Her clumsiness had always made her father laugh. Now it might just get her killed.

Nerves firing, she searched for a way out. There was no rear exit inside the room, which was cluttered with new supplies for the first ever Yuletide Silver Spurs Horse Show. She yelped as another kick rattled the door. “Help! Somebody help me!” she screamed, hoping the noise would frighten the attacker off.

There was no response except a renewed onslaught of kicks. A chip of wood detached and fell to the scuffed linoleum as the chair shuddered under the knob.

What could she use as a weapon? There was nothing but an old broom, boxes of file folders, rolls of tinsel, cleaning supplies, a folded stepladder. Another vicious kick to the door sent vibrations through the floor.

This can’t be happening, she thought. She’d arrived in town only hours before, before making the seventy-mile drive to her newly purchased property in the foothills. She’d never even set eyes on the Mother Lode Equestrian Center until now. After making better time than she’d expected, she’d decided to pop in on the off chance Bryce Larraby, the event’s main sponsor, would be there to let her take a peek at the horses she was eyeing for her clients. She’d messaged him that afternoon but he hadn’t replied.

Violent memories of what she’d witnessed made her head spin. The killer’s fingers throttling, eyes gleaming from the shadows, riveted on her.

A pale glimmer made her look upward. Set high in the wall was a small window that looked out onto the newly erected corrals. It would be a tight squeeze, but she could do it—had to do it.

She dragged the stepladder over and hoisted herself up just as the door lock failed and her flimsy chair barricade with it. She didn’t stop to look or scream, legs scrambling up the ladder until a hand reached out and grabbed her ankle. Kicking for all she was worth, she made contact, heard a high-pitched gasp of pain. The effort made Tracy wobble, her cheek hitting the edge of the window frame. Pain seared through her. Flinging the window open, she sucked in a lungful of freezing air and charged through, dropping to the ground, the breath forced out of her.

In a moment she was on her feet again, racing for her Jeep. As she ran she looked for someone, anyone, but there was only the pattering of winter rain and the sound of a horse whinnying. She sprinted, heedless of the crack of thunder and the sizzle of lightning, and finally reached her vehicle. Jamming her key in the lock, she half fell into the front seat. With icy fingers, she shoved her pile of messy blond hair behind her ears and gunned the engine, flooring the Jeep along the road away from the Mother Lode Equestrian Center.

She caught the center’s side door fly open in the rearview mirror. Her stomach screwed into a knot as the dark-clad killer barreled out. He or she would head to their car, chase her down and murder her before she could report what she’d seen.

You’ve got a head start, Tracy told herself. Get on the road, lose yourself, call the police. Just stay alive.

The faint sound of an engine floated above the storm. The killer was not giving up.

Well, neither am I.

She glanced at the glove box, where she’d locked her father’s Smith & Wesson pistol. What prickle of unease had made her decide to take it along on her business trip to the center? Whatever instinct had kicked in, she was grateful beyond measure. All she needed was a moment to unlock her weapon and load it, and she’d be able to even the playing field. It calmed her, if only a fraction.

She took the twists and turns as fast as she dared. The road became narrower, winding past dark hills. Unease ratcheted closer to panic. Where was the freeway entrance? Had she made a wrong turn?

She took the road indicating she was nearing the town of Gold Bar, but it was still some fifteen miles away. There had to be an on-ramp, a main thoroughfare that would get her to the safety of other people. Evening shadows closed in, swallowing up the road in darkness, and she battled back the taste of terror.

The road was hemmed in on both sides by pines. Another time she might have stopped, enjoyed the topography of rippled hills and the distant Sierras still visible in the darkening sky, the scent of wood smoke in her nose. Making friends with some local ranchers always served her well in her career as a bloodstock agent. She evaluated horses and bid on them at auction for her clients, sizing up horseflesh while evaluating the skeletal secrets hidden by the glossy coats.

A cold shiver rippled her spine. Bodies carried all kinds of secrets, she knew, especially human ones.

The sky surrendered to darkness, shrouded by clouds that spit rain on her windshield, but Tracy’s pulse thundered with every passing mile. She’d just decided to drive another few minutes in the hope of finding a gas station with a working phone, when the steering wheel shuddered in her grip. Fear choked her. Had the killer caught up? Shot out the tire? But there was no sign of anyone in the rearview mirror, only the irregular flapping that told her she’d run over something and given herself a flat. Not surprising, since she’d been putting off replacing the tires. Why now, though? She slammed a hand against the wheel, poring over her options in her mind.

The rising moon caught the silhouette of a rabbit on the shoulder of the road, wide-eyed, body tense with fear. She knew that fear, too, the sense that she was prey. In a hollow below was an old building, an abandoned train station that had to be some kind of historic relic. With an effort, she sat straighter and squeezed the steering wheel in a death grip.

The killer might catch up with her if she had not managed to shake him off her trail. She desperately did not want to stop, not here in this isolated place, but she could not continue with a shredded tire.

Pull the car into the cover of the shrubs and hide, she told herself. Wait until you’re sure you’re not being followed and hike to the main road. The old train station huddled like some sort of squatting monster waiting for a victim. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to stay away from the festering ruin.

But the heavily overgrown lot offered a hiding place and surely her pursuer would never imagine her stopping in such an out-of-the-way spot. It was either a savvy move or sheer lunacy. Squaring her shoulders, she edged the Jeep off the road, deep into the blackest shadows.

What exactly is a pomander anyway? Keegan Thorn fought against his natural tendencies and kept his motorcycle to the speed limit as he navigated the wet turns that hugged the tree-lined hills. He’d been dispatched by his mother on an errand to Copper Creek and his saddlebag was stuffed full of ribbon he’d secured for the mysterious pomanders, one of many wedding subjects discussed daily in the Thorn family kitchen of late. The Gold Bar Ranch covered one thousand acres, housed some sixty horses and, at the moment, was filled to the rafters with paraphernalia for a Christmastime double wedding.

His brothers, twins Owen and Jack, were marrying the women of their dreams: Ella, a farrier, and Shannon, an emergency room doctor. Although Jack and Shannon were already officially married, this would be the ceremony they’d both longed for, for years. And then there was his eldest brother, Barrett, and his wife, Shelby, who were expecting their first baby in another few weeks, which required additional piles of infant supplies scattered amid the wedding stuff. He grinned. He enjoyed the hubbub and he liked his future sisters-in-law, strong and spirited women both. Shannon, with Jack’s help, had recently outsmarted a motorcycle gang bent on murder, so the upcoming wedding festivities were doubly welcome.

Three cowboy brothers married and one with a baby on the way. He chuckled to himself. “Better you guys than me,” he said out loud. He approached the turnoff that led to the abandoned train station, grateful that he’d brought his rain gear. He was running late, of course, and his nose was still bleeding a bit after the altercation at the gas station when he’d stopped to refuel.

A shadow from his troubled past had returned. But Keegan wasn’t overly bothered by it. He could deal with trouble. He’d been doing that since he was a toddler.

Something flickered in the gathering darkness. He slowed and flipped up the wet visor of his helmet. There it was again—a weak yellow light, like a flashlight beam, bobbing along the gravel path.

Kids probably, teens sniffing out trouble. He knew. He’d done it himself, looked to unleash some of the wild energy that never seemed to dissipate, even after he’d been formally adopted by Tom and Evie Thorn when he was sixteen. He’d spent many hours combing through that abandoned train station, meeting up with people just as wild as himself, doing things he knew full well he shouldn’t have done. Drinking, smoking, vandalizing.

Fingers gripping the handlebars, he was about to press on toward home when the flashlight beam was turned upward to reveal a woman’s small face, skin luminous in the darkness.

There were two things about the face that kept him there, immobilized. First, her cheekbone was darkened. Though he could not see perfectly, he’d participated in enough brawls to know a shiner when he saw one. Second, her expression, caught in that one spurt of illumination before she vanished into the shadows.

Scared.

Not “I just walked into a spiderweb,” but a full-on look of unadulterated terror.

And that was enough to make him pull his motorcycle off the road and ease it down the gravel path in search of the frightened woman vanishing into the shadows of the abandoned station.

He figured a helmeted guy on a motorcycle would only add to the woman’s unease, so he rolled down the slope and parked the bike in the shelter of the empty water tower that glowed eerily in the gloom. After dismounting, he left his helmet on the seat, finger-combed his overgrown black hair away from his face and took the path in the direction he’d seen the woman headed, down to the busted-up platform. He decided she would probably have scooted into the depot, where at least she’d be sheltered from the storm. Where had she come from? He saw no sign of a vehicle, but the station was miles from the nearest building.

He eased through the open door. “Hello?”

Inside, a blast of chilly air hit his face, carrying the sharp scent of rust. The clouds parted to allow just enough moonlight to probe the broken windows, lending weak illumination. The old benches were still intact in some places, as well as the ticketing counter. Branches collected in moldering piles and the tapping of tiny claws indicated rats had also found the spot to be a suitable sanctuary.

“Hello?” he said again. No reply except for the rattle of pine needles dropping onto the sagging roof. “I saw you come in.”

Still no answer, but his eyes were adjusted now and he saw that the most likely hiding spot was behind the ticketing counter. He had to edge around a place where the floor had fallen out, giving way to a sort of storage cellar some fifteen feet below. One wrong step would lead to a fall that would undoubtedly result in two broken ankles or worse.

This was no place for a lady.

He picked his way carefully around the gaping hole, his cowboy boots protecting him from the protruding nails and bits of broken wood.

He heard the floor creak as the woman moved behind the counter.

He was about to try the friendly conversation approach for the second time when the woman bolted up over the top of the counter and fired a pistol at him.

TWO

The shot went close, closer than Tracy had intended. She never had been very good with guns in spite of her father’s tutelage. The dark-haired guy’s eyes flashed shock and disbelief as he stumbled at the noise, falling into a chasm where the floor ought to be. She scrambled around the ticket counter. Her heart pounded, ears ringing from the shot, sick with the notion of what she’d just done. Had she hit him?

This stranger wasn’t the killer. His eyes gleamed silvery in the gloom and his shoulders were too broad, but sheer panic had made her fire the gun anyway. She’d meant to scare, to buy time. Had she killed instead? Gripping the pistol, she edged to the crevice in the floor. “Who...who are you?”

She was relieved beyond measure when he answered.

“Keegan Thorn. And that was completely uncalled for when I was just trying to be neighborly.”

The man, she saw now as she peered over the broken flooring, was roughly her age, late twenties or early thirties. His black hair was long enough to fall across his brow as he struggled to hold on to the piece of broken flooring that dangled a foot or so down below. He wore a leather jacket and rain pants. His long legs ended in flailing boots. Dark brows framed his eyes, and for a split second she wondered what color they must be in the daylight.

“I...I thought you were someone else. Are you...all right? Um...your nose is bleeding.”

“It was bleeding when I got here, from a fist.”

Who is this guy? “What are you doing here?”

He looked up at her peevishly. “Well, I thought I was helping you out. I live at the Gold Bar, about fifteen miles from here, and I saw you heading into the train station.”

She still gripped the gun, unsure.

“Are you going to shoot at me again or help me out of this hole?”

The question startled her. “Neither. I’m sorry I shot at you, but I have to go. Don’t try to follow me.”

He grimaced, face contorted with effort. “Why would I do that?”

His questions unsettled her but she steeled herself. “You’re a stranger and I’m having a real bad night.”

“My night’s not going so great, either, and I’m not a stranger. I already told you my name, so help me up ’cause this beam’s getting slippery.”

The decision twisted her insides. She’d just witnessed a murder. Every nerve screamed for her to run as fast and as far as she could. But she might have killed the guy and maybe he was just what he seemed, a benevolent stranger.

Strangers are dangerous. She’d known that even before she’d seen a woman’s life snuffed out. She turned to go, until she heard him grappling for a better hold on the beam.

Something deep down made her blow out a breath, tuck the gun into her pocket, lie flat on her stomach and plunge a hand toward the guy. She managed to help all six-foot-plus of him out of the pit.

He crawled away to a solid section of floor where he got to his feet. After brushing the dust from his jacket, he fisted his hands on his narrow hips. “Well?”

“Well what?” Tracy said.

“Aren’t you going to apologize for almost killing me?”

His smile almost teased one from her until she squelched it. “I didn’t. The bullet didn’t go anywhere near you.”

“Good thing for me you’re a terrible shot.” He gestured at her coat with his chin. “What else you got in those pockets? A Winchester? Nunchucks?”

“Can I use your phone? Please?”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.” He stepped between her and the door, and her pulse ricocheted up a notch. Maybe she’d been right in the first place. She fingered the gun in her pocket.

“Don’t come any closer.” She was dismayed that her voice came out more like a squeak than a command.

He held up his palms. “Listen, Pockets. I think you owe me more of an explanation, considering. Let’s start again. I’m Keegan Thorn. I live at the Gold Bar Ranch. You look like you need help.”

Tracy stared. “I have to go.”

He folded his arms now, biceps drawing the leather tight. “Uh-uh. Here’s what you’re supposed to say at this point. ‘Hello, my name is—fill in the blank—and I’m sorry for shooting at you when you were trying to help.’” A smile tweaked his full lips.

Model handsome, she couldn’t help but notice.

Stop noticing, she ordered herself. Get help. Get away. Now. She turned to go around him.

“Who’s after you?”

His question stopped her. “I...” Thinking about the hands choking, throttling the victim, made her dizzy.

“You’re scared. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to see that.”

“Look,” she said, turning. “I...I’m very sorry I shot at you, but I need to get going, Mr. Thorn.”

“Keegan.”

“Keegan,” she allowed. “I apologize for scaring you.”

“I wasn’t scared. Just startled.”

“Well, anyway, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Tell me what’s going on, Pockets.”

“Stop calling me that,” she snapped, nerves twinging. “My name is Tracy.”

“Excellent.” He wiggled his fingers. “Keep it coming.”

Maybe if she could convince him of the urgency, he’d let her use his phone. “All right.” She blew out a breath. “Short story is I...I witnessed a murder and I need to call the police. The killer is after me.” She hated the wobble that crept into her voice just then.

His eyes opened wide as saucers.

“Now can I use your phone?”

“I’d be happy to let you, but there’s no signal here.”

She groaned, fighting the urge to scream in frustration.

“But I’ll give you a ride to the nearest phone on my bike.”

“Your bike?”

“Motorcycle.”

She shook her head. “I just need to change the flat on my Jeep.”

Puzzlement played across his face. “Why won’t you let me help?”

“It’s nothing personal.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mr. Thorn—” She caught his raised eyebrow. “Keegan, I apologize for shooting at you, but I can’t explain anything else right now. I need to get away from here. Fast.”

“All right. Let’s make a deal.”

“What deal?”

“I’ll change your tire for you...”

“I can do it myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but my mama would have my ears for allowing a lady to change her own tire. Anyway, I’ll change the tire and ride in your Jeep to the Gold Bar. We can call the police from there and my brothers will bring me back for my bike. It’s raining too hard for me to ride safely anyway.”

“But...”

“You’re soaking wet and scared. You need somewhere to stay for a couple of hours and I want to be sure you get to a safe place. Deal?”

Take the help of a smooth-talking, gorgeous stranger? Trust him, when her life was on the line?

“No, thanks.” She ran out the door into the driving rain, strode over to her hidden vehicle and retrieved the lug wrench.

He somehow got in front of her and took the wrench from her hands.

She groaned. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Because,” he said, the mischievous smile back in place. “You need my help, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

She stared.

He stared back.

“Is this some kind of cowboy standoff?”

“You got that right, and since I’m the cowboy—” he aimed a long, lazy smile at her “—I figure I win.”

Keegan hatched a plan as he pulled the lug nuts from the tire and wrestled the spare into place. Tracy was too scared and untrusting to tell him more regarding her situation, but she would, in time. Keegan would stick by Tracy’s side all the way back to the Gold Bar, where his mother would promptly feed her—after her call to the police—and offer her a place to sleep. Before she knew what hit her, Tracy would be spilling the details as if she were one of the family. Evie Thorn’s powers of persuasion were legendary.

And then Keegan would fix her problem. Simple. Whoever he was, this criminal would not be terrorizing her again. Keegan would fix it by force if necessary. Part of him relished the thought. Though he’d mostly left his troubled days behind, there was still plenty of untamed energy coursing through his veins. And if there was one thing Keegan could not abide, it was a bully. That sense of intolerance had gotten him beaten up in grade school, but by the time high school rolled around, Keegan had grown to just over six feet of solid muscle and the student body had gotten the message. He would not be pushed around. Period. Nor would anybody he held dear.

Maybe he was born to be a renegade, or maybe it was the adrenaline that came of a birth father who would not acknowledge Keegan or the affair he’d had with Keegan’s mother. Or perhaps it was the constant reminders from his half brother, John Larraby, Gold Bar’s police chief. Keegan’s gut twitched at the thought.

One time late in high school, John had let loose a sucker punch at Keegan’s brother Jack and taken him down. Keegan didn’t remember the moments that followed, but when his head cleared, he was in the principal’s office, nose bleeding, being suspended for roughing up John along with most of the offensive line. No one laid a finger on Jack ever again and that was all that mattered. John hadn’t forgotten the drubbing and neither had Keegan.

Tracy’s hair gleamed in the dim light, shoved behind her ears and glimmering with highlights that indicated she was a blonde. He liked blondes, but moreover, he liked women who stood right up to him and displayed a strong independent streak. Tracy had already proved herself to be that kind of woman, as she’d hurried to the Jeep and checked the pistol in her pocket.

“Where’d you get the gun?”

“It was my father’s. He was...he was teaching me to shoot.”

“You didn’t finish the lessons?”

“No.” He caught the sheen of tears in her eyes, but she swallowed and blinked hard, not about to give him access to her pain. Strong woman, but not strong enough to keep the anguish from peeping through when she’d mentioned her father.

He finished the tire and went to his bike.

“What are you doing?” Tracy called. “Get in. We have to go.”

“Gotta get the ribbon,” he said as he pulled the package from his saddlebags. “For the pomanders.”

She watched him, openmouthed, as he strolled back, package tucked under one arm.

“Pomanders?” she said. “What’s that?”

“I have no idea,” he said, smiling. “But two of my brothers are getting married at Christmas and Mama says this ribbon stuff is required, so I’m carrying out my duties.” He opened the door and tossed the package into her Jeep.

The quirk of a smile twisted her mouth. It was the first time he’d seen her relax even the tiniest amount, and he was happy about it. Anything to keep her mind off whatever nightmare she’d witnessed.

He held out a hand. “How about I drive?”

“Why? You think you’re a better driver than me?”

“Undoubtedly, if you drive as well as you shoot.”

Another whisper of a smile and maybe the hint of a giggle. Score another one for Keegan Thorn.

“I—” she said just as a rifle blast ripped the air.

Keegan had a split second to grab her wrist and pull her down before more bullets exploded through the night.

THREE

Tracy hardly recognized her own scream. The next shot shattered her rear window.

“Shooter’s up behind the water tower,” Keegan said. “We’ve got to—”

He didn’t get to finish before the third shot ricocheted off the side mirror and struck Keegan in the shoulder. He cried out, falling facedown onto the wet ground, writhing in pain.

She grabbed his belt and pulled him closer to the shelter of the Jeep. Frantic, she yanked open the passenger door and backed into the seat, hauling with all her strength to pull Keegan in behind her. Somehow he managed to help until they were both sprawled inside. Reaching over him, she slammed the door.

“I guess I’m driving after all,” she quipped, earning another groan from Keegan.

“Don’t gloat,” he said, and she was beyond relieved at his sassy reply.

Slamming the Jeep into Drive, she floored the gas and gunned it up the parking area away from the train station and onto the main road. It would take the killer a few minutes to make it back to his vehicle, and she intended to take full advantage of that time.

She risked a look at Keegan. He was upright, teeth gritted, eyes open, one hand clutching the door handle. “How bad is your wound?”

“No worse than the average gunshot.”

She reached for an extra jacket she kept in the car. “Press this to your shoulder.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

Her pursuer had made it to the road. He was now approaching at a good clip, closing the gap between the two vehicles.

“Keegan?”

“Yeah?”

“Got your seat belt on?”

“Uh-uh. Why?”

“Don’t talk. Just strap yourself in.”

His eyes found the rearview. “Your killer?”

“Has to be, unless there’s an accomplice.”

“Name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know the killer’s name?”

“I’ve never been to this area before,” she snapped. “The room was dark and whoever it was didn’t exactly make an introduction.”

Keegan managed to fasten his seat belt. “The victim?”

“A woman. I couldn’t see her face well, either.”

She caught his surprise as she pushed the gas pedal hard. The approaching car kept pace.

Tracy’s body was tight with fear, foot rammed onto the gas pedal as the Jeep topped seventy miles an hour. Her fear ramped up along with their speed.

She shot a look at Keegan, who was dialing on his cell phone, but she was too focused on driving to pay much attention to the conversation. After a few minutes he disconnected. “Cops are dispatching someone, but I wouldn’t hold my breath that they’re going to make it a huge priority.”

“Why not?”

“First, I’m not sure they believed me, and second, I’m not the chief’s favorite guy.”

“Why not?”

“He’s my half brother, John Larraby. Long story. John’s not worth the time it would take to tell you about it.”

“Larraby? Is he related to Bryce Larraby?”

“Yeah. Bryce is...” Keegan huffed out a breath. “He’s the guy who fathered me, I guess you could say.”

She heard rivers of bitterness in his words. “You are kidding me.”

“No,” he said, craning his neck to check the progress of their pursuer. “You know him?”

Know him? He’s the guy I was going to meet. “Tell you later, after I shake him off.”

Keegan consulted the side mirror. “Don’t be too cocky. He’s closing in. You should have let me drive.”

She ignored his gibe, shoving down the fear as he repositioned the wadded-up jacket, now thoroughly stained with blood. She had to get help, quickly.

He stabbed a finger toward the darkness on her left. “Slow down. There’s a logging road in fifty yards. Turn there, but we can lose him in the foothills.”

“I can’t drive into the wilderness. That’s just what he’d want. He’s armed, remember?”

“So are we,” Keegan said. “You’ve got a handgun and I know you’re just itching to shoot someone.”

“This isn’t the time for joking.”

“I agree. It’s the time for action. Take the logging road. I just texted my brothers our location. They’ll find us. Help us.”

She floored the accelerator, fighting to keep the wheel steady as her lungs constricted. “We’ve got to get to town. Where people are. He won’t be able to do anything then.”

“Tracy, listen to me,” Keegan said. He let go of the jacket and reached his good hand toward her arm, stopping before he touched her. His long fingers were tensed, the nails square and blunt, knuckles threaded with scars as if he’d gotten on the wrong side of a knife a time or two. “I know you’re scared, but I’ve lived here all my life. I know every inch of this valley. We can lose him. Trust me.”

His face was carved marble in the moonlight, all angles and strong planes. Trust him? A man she’d known for less than an hour?

There were precisely two men she’d trusted, and her father was dead. Now there was only her grandfather and her determination to carry out the project they’d all three dreamed about. Though she was still anguished that her father was gone not long after she’d gotten him back, she believed 100 percent that God would give her the strength to save herself. And this well-meaning, pushy cowboy was in no way a part of her rescue plan.

“Sorry, Keegan,” she said as the car flew past the narrow turnoff. “I have to do this my way.”

“Tracy,” Keegan said, voice urgent now. “Car’s dropping back.”

She felt like crowing in triumph. “Good. We’re going to make it.”

Keegan’s tone was ominous. “I don’t think so. You’d...”

The blast echoed behind them as their pursuer fired the rifle out the window. The Jeep’s rear wheel exploded and the car began to spin.

All Keegan could do was hold on as the Jeep barreled toward the shoulder with a monstrous screech of tires. Tracy fought valiantly for control, but it was useless. The front wobbled and bucked as the tires shredded, turning and spinning until it slammed front fender-first into a drainage ditch. The force of the sudden stop whipped him against the restraining seat belt and then back hard into the seat, igniting fire in his shoulder. With a groan of metal, the rear end of the vehicle tumbled over the front.

In a dizzying whirl, he felt the same sensation he’d experienced when he’d flipped his bike and catapulted himself and his machine over the guardrail as a teen. First the stomach-clenching sensation of dropping, falling. Then the bone-jarring reentry into earth’s orbit. Gravity always wins, he thought ruefully as his senses came back online.

Something dripped from the ceiling, he believed at first, until he realized he was upside down, suspended by the seat belt, and the dripping was warm and sticky, probably his own blood. His shirt was already sodden from his earlier wound.

He jerked his head toward Tracy.

She was also tethered, but her eyes were closed, hands dangling loose as if she were an astronaut, weightless.

“Tracy,” he said, scrambling against his seat belt.

She did not answer, did not stir.

Finally his belt gave way and he dropped to the ceiling, which was now serving as his floor. Tracy’s door had been crumpled in the overturn, so he applied his good shoulder to the passenger door. It didn’t budge. He switched methods. Three desperate kicks and the thing gave way, dumping him out into the night in a squeal of metal. Still dazed, he struggled to his feet. Judging from the damage to Tracy’s side of the car, getting her clear was not going to be easy and he worried about dragging her out the way he’d exited.

The high sides of the ditch in which they’d landed made it impossible to detect anyone bearing down on them. He heard the sound of a car door closing. A smaller vehicle, not a squad car or the heavy ranch trucks his brothers would be driving. Time to move.

Climbing back through the passenger door, he tried to position himself to catch her body when he pushed the button to unfasten her seat belt. She slid into his arms without a sound. Easing her flat, he checked for a pulse with icy fingers. He found one, the steady beat tapping against her smooth throat. He blew out a breath. He should thank God, he knew it, knew his mama would say a prayer, but the urgent desire to take care of things himself dried up the words.

“Tracy,” he said, stroking her cheek. He thought her eyelids might have fluttered, so he bent close, comforted by the warm caress of her breath on his face. “Hey, open your eyes for me, Pockets, okay?”

She stirred, moaning as if in pain.

“Gonna have to slide you out of here, but first I’m going to borrow your gun. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get it back in tip-top condition in case you need to shoot at me again.” What he would have given just then to see her open her eyes and have her fire a snappy comeback at him.

Just as he removed the gun from her jacket, a series of shots ripped into the back of the vehicle. Sparks flew where the bullets struck the metal fender. He shielded Tracy as best he could, peering around the headrest to return fire through the ruptured window.

He waited for the attacker to come again with another volley of shots. The guy either wasn’t much of a shot, or was simply laying down enough fire to keep them in place until he could move in. The next round of shots didn’t materialize, but headlights lit up the night, came close and nearly blinded him. Three sets of cowboy boots pounded the ground.

Jack, Barrett, Owen. The Thorn brothers had arrived.

The twins, Jack and Owen, were the first to get on hands and knees and peer inside.

“Gunman,” he said.

“Yeah. We saw somebody—” Owen handed his rifle to Jack “—heading for their car.” He eyed Tracy. “How bad?”

“Not sure. Ambulance?”

“On the way,” Jack said.

Barrett hustled over and assisted Jack in sliding Tracy loose from the car. He draped a blanket over Tracy while Jack and Owen returned to help Keegan climb free of the wreck. His head swam and his shoulder pulsed with pain.

“You hurt?” Owen asked.

“Yeah, he is,” Jack said. “Shirt’s all bloody.”

Owen didn’t wait for further details. He hauled Keegan away a few yards, forced him into a sitting position and began searching him for the source of the bleeding.

“I’m all right,” he said, trying to push his brother off. Owen, in full-blown Marine Captain mode, ignored him and ripped open a pack of bandages from the first-aid kit he always carried in the truck, then pressed a wad to Keegan’s wound.

Biting back a grunt of pain, Keegan squirmed to get closer to where Tracy lay on the blanket. Owen pinned him at the knees with his body weight. “Stop. She’s breathing. Pulse, Bear?”

His bearded oldest brother nodded. “Strong.”

“Head injury?” Keegan asked.

Owen didn’t answer.

“Why are you getting shot at this time?” Jack said.

“I wasn’t. She was. Witnessed a murder.”

All three brothers stared at him. He wondered what Tracy would think when she woke to a bunch of Thorn cowboys hovering over her.

His heart gave a painful thump at the next thought.

If she woke up.

Owen finally taped a bandage down and released Keegan to go to Tracy’s side. He heard the wail of a siren approaching.

“I’ll go meet them,” Jack said.

Keegan nodded. He recognized the car as belonging to Chief John Larraby, Keegan’s half brother and the man he despised second most out of everyone in his life. Better Jack or any of his brothers than him interacting with John.

Tracy coughed and he leaned close. “Hey there,” he said softly. “That’s it. Open your eyes now for me, okay?”

Slowly, so slowly, her eyes flicked open. She struggled to sit up, but he held her down with a hand on her shoulder while Barrett did the same. “What...what happened?” she whispered.

“It’s okay. We got away from the killer.”

She blinked, frowning, the dazed look in her eyes awakening a twinge of concern deep in his gut.

“What killer?” she said.

FOUR

She woke from the nightmare, the strong hands squeezing, throttling, killing. Heart slamming, she fought her way to consciousness, waking up with one thought in her mind...murder. Her vision cleared and she jerked to a sitting position to find herself in a hospital bed, startling the three people gathered there. For one long, terrifying moment, she searched her mind and found it blank. Where? How? Who were they? And who was she? Why was an image of murder circling her brain?

“It’s okay,” the gorgeous blue-eyed man said. His arm was in a sling, a cowboy hat tucked in the crook of the other elbow. A fringe of dark hair framed his face. “You’re all right, I promise.”

The dull roar in her head quieted just a fraction. The doctor edged forward and smiled. “You’ve had a little bump on the head. Can you tell me your name?”

Again terror ballooned until facts began to land clumsily into place like heavy stones dropped into a creek. “Tracy. My name is Tracy Wilson.”

“Excellent. That matches your driver’s license, so we’re doing great so far.” He asked another round of questions. Slowly she recalled the year, her age, her career as a bloodstock agent. She would have told him of her father if the ache in her heart hadn’t stopped her. All the while, she eyed the familiar cowboy and the police officer standing next to him. Police, hospital—it all added up to something bad but she could not command her thoughts.

“It’s Friday morning.” The doctor’s words finally penetrated.

“Friday?” she squeaked. Where had Wednesday and Thursday gone?

“Do you remember visiting the Mother Lode Equestrian Center on Wednesday night?” the cop asked.

Did she? Her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket and she blinked hard.

The cowboy shot a hostile look at the cop. “Can’t you let the doctor finish?” There was something difficult between them, something that had started a long time ago, she guessed. The cowboy was beyond handsome, long and lean, a five o’clock shadow darkening his chin. It took her a moment to realize she knew him.

“I’ve met you, haven’t I?”

His face lit with a breathtaking smile. “Yes, ma’am. Keegan Thorn.”

Fear bubbled in her stomach as she tried to recall where. The unruly fringe of hair, the deep baritone of his voice were all familiar. Her fuzziness subsided a fraction. He’d helped her, this cowboy.

“I changed your flat tire, but I practically had to arm wrestle you to do it.” He grinned, but she thought the smile didn’t quite reach through the worry nestled in his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said. “For doing that.”

He shrugged. “No problem. Happy to help.”

“But how did I get a head injury? Was I in an accident?”

Keegan’s smile vanished and he looked away. More alarm bells clanged in her mind.

The crew-cut officer inched forward. His blue eyes were similar to Keegan’s, though edging more toward slate than sapphire, but he was a few inches shorter, his face narrow and mouth not as full. There was certainly a resemblance, though, along with the unmistakable tension. A snippet of conversation flitted through her consciousness.

I’m not the chief’s favorite guy... He’s my half brother.

The cop was staring at her. “I’m John Larraby, chief of the Gold Bar Police Department, Miss Wilson, and yes, you were in a vehicle accident.”

The doctor checked her pulse and the bandage on her head. “You were in a crash and you sustained a moderate head injury in the wreck. Things may be a bit jumbled. Oftentimes the most recent memories are difficult to recover at first.”

“So do you remember visiting the Mother Lode Equestrian Center in Copper Creek?” John asked again.

She rubbed at the ache building between her eyes. “I remember arriving in town. I think I stopped there.” She caught Keegan’s eyes. “When did the wreck happen?”

Something in Keegan’s expression sent nerves jumping along her spine. “Was someone hurt?” Her body went tense, the action sending the blanket askew. “Did I hit anybody?”

“No,” Keegan said, pulling the blanket back into place. “You didn’t hurt anyone. I met you at an abandoned train station where you stopped because of your flat tire. We were... I mean...do you remember why we were in such a hurry to leave the train station?”

Again, the flickering images of violence erupted in her mind. Was it bits of a leftover nightmare? “I’m not sure.”

The officer tucked his thumbs into his gun belt. “You told Keegan here that you’d been at the center to meet Bryce Larraby.” He paused. “You also told him you’d witnessed a murder, but you did not identify the killer or the victim.”

Tracy would have leaped from the bed if the doctor hadn’t restrained her. The nightmare wasn’t a dream. “I did. I thought it was a dream when I first woke up, but it must have really happened. I can remember seeing a man strangling a woman. It must have happened there at the center.”

“What man?” John said. “What woman?”

“I...I don’t know.” She fought against another rising tide of panic. “Did you go there to investigate? To the Mother Lode, I mean? Was there...?” She swallowed.

“We did and found nothing. You never met my father, Bryce Larraby. He said you’d emailed him to set up a meeting, but you two hadn’t confirmed a time. My officers finished combing the place. There’s no sign of foul play, nothing out of the ordinary.”

Tracy stared, mind whirling. Why couldn’t she remember where she’d been? Whom she’d seen? Her mind was a mess, but her gut kept screaming that what she did remember was real. It was clear from the chief’s tone that he didn’t believe her. Her chin went up. She’d learned long ago not to care what people thought of her. “Quietly plow ahead” was her motto. Alone preferably. With others when absolutely necessary.

“Chief Larraby, I’m not a liar. If I said I saw a murder then I did.”

“I’m sure that’s what you thought you saw. People can make themselves believe almost anything.” He paused. “We found medication in your bag. Topiramate.”

She sucked in a breath.

“Wait a minute,” Keegan said, mouth tight. “What are you implying? She’s just been through a head injury, John.”

“I’m well aware.”

Tracy let out a long, slow breath. “Those pills are for seizures, Chief Larraby, and I haven’t taken any lately.”

“How do you define lately?”

“I haven’t had a seizure in more than six months, which is why I can drive.” Her tone was cold and she hoped he got the full impact of her distaste for his questions. “I’ve been tapered off the meds under a doctor’s care. I carry them because my property is in a remote area and I haven’t found a local doctor yet. I’m not an addict, and whatever I witnessed wasn’t a product of drugs. That much I can tell you for certain.”

“Confusion, short-term memory loss.” John ticked the items off on his fingers. “All symptoms of overuse. And the medication, Topiramate—it’s used to treat alcohol addiction, isn’t it?”

“Knock it off.” Keegan’s tone was savage. “We got shot at both at the train station and the road just before we crashed. That’s fact, and you can’t gloss over it.”

Tracy gasped. Shot at?

“We’ve examined the scenes and the car,” John said coldly, “but we’ve got nothing on the shooter except some tire tracks. Doc, can you run a blood test to check for drugs in her system?”

“That’s—” Keegan started angrily.

“That’s perfectly fine,” Tracy said, cutting him off. “Go ahead.”

“I can run them, of course,” said the doctor. “But most will only stay in the system for two to three days, so you may not find anything anyway.”

“Run the tests,” John repeated. “We have to check out her story.”

“It’s not a story,” Keegan snarled. “Stop treating her like a criminal.”

“I’m doing my job and you need to back off.”

Keegan’s eyes flashed blue fire. “No, you’re not. You’re punishing her because I helped her. Or maybe you’re trying to cover up for one of dear old Dad’s employees. Is that it? Does Bryce have some skeletons over at the center he’s pressuring you to bury?”

John whirled to face him, hands fisted. “Keegan...”

“Gentlemen,” the doctor said. “She needs rest. Your visit is over.”

“I have more questions,” John said.

“They’ll wait. Out.” He ushered them to the door.

John followed the doctor into the hallway and Tracy could hear him begin a conversation on his cell phone.

Keegan stopped and turned before he cleared the door.

“I’ll be waiting out in the hall in case you need anything.” He lowered his voice. “I think they’ve refilled the free cookies at the nurses’ station by now since I ate the last six. Not homemade, but they’ll do. I’ll sneak some in for you.” He turned to go.

“But...” She didn’t know where to begin. Her memory was as ragged as an old coat—they’d apparently been shot at. “Someone tried to kill me? And you got shot because of it? I don’t understand all this. Why can’t I remember the murderer’s face? The victim’s? What is happening to me?” To her dismay, tears flooded down her cheeks and she bit her lip to keep from outright sobbing.

He was at her side in a moment, tender and soft. “Hey there, Pockets. Don’t worry. Soon as you get some rest, we’ll figure it out, okay?”

Pockets? His hands were strong as he brushed at the trickle of tears.

“We’re...friends?” she found herself whispering. Friends were not something she sought out. Too much disappointment down that road after she’d seen her closest friends abandon her when the truth came out about her father. His shame had cloaked her like a stain, it seemed, friendships abruptly evaporating when he’d been sent to jail.

Focus on Grandpa. Get out of here.

Still, there was something so warm in Keegan’s touch. She allowed herself to feel comfort in it, the solace of knowing he wanted to protect her. It was a new feeling, both delicious and unsettling.

He grinned widely. “Yes, ma’am, we’re friends. I mean, you tried to shoot me and all, but once we got that out of the way, we bonded like two horses in a snowstorm.”

“I...shot at you?” She gazed in horror at his arm. “Did I do that?”

“No, ma’am. No offense, but you’re not that good a shot.”

“I’m not?” she said weakly.

“Nope. You probably couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn, as my brother Owen would say.”

Her small giggle surprised her. “That’s exactly what my grandpa Stew would say, too. He’s an old cowboy from way back. When he had to sell his land, it nearly killed him.” She chewed her lip. “He’s arriving tomorrow, Saturday. I have to get out of here to meet him.” She looked around. “My cell phone. Have you seen it? I have to call him. I think I lost it somewhere.”

He leaned down and caught her eyes with his. “You didn’t have one at the train station, but I’ll ask the doctor anyway. Don’t worry. I know you’re scared, but it’s gonna be all right.” He winked at her. “I promise, and I always keep my promises.”

How could she believe that? She didn’t even know the man, not really, but she found herself clinging to the idea that Keegan Thorn might be what he said he was: her friend. It wouldn’t hurt to have a friend right about now when she seemed to have garnered an enemy in John Larraby.

The doctor stuck his head in, voice stern. “Mr. Thorn, when I said it was time to leave, I meant it.”

“Sure thing, Doc,” Keegan said, giving a lock of her hair a playful tug. “I’ll be right outside, Pockets.”

“Why did you call me that?”

He grinned. “Oh, that’s a story for another day. And trust me, you’re gonna love it.”

Despite his playful words, fatigue and worry pressed down on her as the door closed softly behind him.

Tracy was released late that afternoon and Keegan was ready. She could not drive for three days due to her head injury, so Keegan took one of the ranch trucks, having discarded the sling as soon as he was out the hospital doors.

“I really think you should come and stay at the Gold Bar,” he said as he opened the passenger door for her. “There’s room. My brother Barrett and his wife, Shelby, are living in her uncle’s house and tending his ranch while he’s in Europe since their own place isn’t done yet. Something about grout and shutters.”

She climbed in gingerly, wincing, and he realized for the first time how petite she was, the top of her head coming only to his collarbone. “I can’t remember much more, but I did recall something to do with celebratory pomanders.”

He chuckled. “Double wedding. Pomanders are for that. Baby coming, too, for Barrett and Shelby.”

“That’s enough without squeezing in an addled stranger.”

He climbed into the driver’s seat. “You’re not addled. The doctor says you’re likely going to get your memory back in time.”

She bit her lip, a look of fear flickering through her hazel eyes. Her blond hair was tucked behind her ears, revealing scratches and a bruise along her jawline. Her profile was so delicate, he marveled at it.

Aww, knock it off, Keegan. She just needs someone to keep her safe and get John off her back until she regains her memory—a friend, nothing more.

Keegan had never been short of friends, especially female ones who loved his reckless pursuit of fun and his “barn burner” attitude, as his adopted mother would put it. And that was all he required of his relationships: companionship, shared interests and a zest for adventure. He was too restless to look for anything deeper.

He realized she was looking at him.

“Oh, sorry, did you say something?” he asked.

“No. I’m the quiet type, but I...I mean...” Her fingers twisted together on her lap. “I’m very sorry for shooting at you. I can’t imagine why I did that.”

“Plenty of people would line up to take a shot,” he joked.

Her eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Well, maybe a punch rather than a shot, but you get the drift. I got one particular gang member who would love to lay me flat. Sonny B, he goes by.”

She nodded, more out of politeness than understanding, it seemed. He’d probably scared her.

“I lived a wild youth. I’d like to say I’m reformed, but the jury’s out still.” Exiting the parking lot, he headed for the main road. He’d figured she’d be too well mannered to ask, and he was right.

The winter sun was low in the sky, glaring through the windshield as they drove west, so she pulled down the visor. Three plastic-wrapped sticks of beef jerky fell into her lap.

“Good catch.” He laughed. “Snacks. I’m always hungry. Want one?”

She laughed. “Maybe later. I’d really appreciate a ride to my property, if it’s not too much trouble. It’s up in the foothills.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Give me directions.”

“About seventy miles east. I just bought it two months ago.”

Though he asked a few questions, she kept her answers vague. Didn’t trust him, and maybe she was right not to. Strange guy, strange town, bullets flying and a murder she couldn’t remember.

She toyed with the zipper on her jacket. “Keegan, you’ve been good to me. I don’t want you to think... I mean...what John said about the pills... I was thrown from a horse and I had a series of seizures for a period of time. I didn’t...”

He put his hand on her forearm, surprised at the delicacy of the bones there. He could circle her entire wrist with two fingers, yet she’d fired a gun at him, so the size of her spirit outstripped everything else. “I know you aren’t abusing.”

She looked at him full on. “But how can you know that when you don’t know me, not really?”

Secrets flickered deep down in her eyes and he suddenly realized that her past might just be nearly as complicated as his own. Complications were things he usually avoided, but he felt an urge to dive right in to her messy situation and help.

She didn’t ask, Keegan. Cool your jets.

“Maybe I don’t know you well, but John is a jerk and he’d happily discredit you in order to preserve dear old Dad from embarrassment.”

“He’s a cop, surely...”

“He’s a jerk, trust me.” The words snapped out harsher than he’d meant, so he gave it a beat before he continued. “You were beyond scared when I met you at the train station—terrified because you’d witnessed a murder. And that wasn’t due to alcohol or pills.”

She shot him a nervous glance. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, I do.”

Again the shadows flittered across the hazel irises and she looked away, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was cold. He flipped on the heater.

“But how could there be no sign of it at the center?”

“Because someone is trying to cover it up, and I’m going to find out who that is.”

Tracy straightened. “I appreciate it, I really do, but you’ve done enough. This isn’t your fight.”

“Yes, it is.”

Her jaw went tight. “Please don’t dive into my problems because it’s a way to even the score with your brother.”

Her tone was soft but the words cut right to his core. Was that what he was doing? Why he’d stayed in the hospital after his wounds had been treated?

No, this wasn’t about revenge; it was justice he was after. Justice for both of them.

It was an effort to keep his voice calm. “I’m in this mess because I got shot at, too.” But if my father is covering up with the help of my brother, he’s not going to get away with it.

He cleared his throat. “Where do we go from here?”

Her gaze drifted to the turnoff that led to the Mother Lode Equestrian Center. A frown creased her forehead. “Can you drop me here instead? I’ll get a ride from here some other way.”

“Nope.”

Her frown deepened. “I wasn’t asking your permission.”

“I know, but I’m going to go with you. I’m helping. I’m awesome like that.” He made the turn, the truck rolling by acres of grass just starting to turn green after the first of the winter storms.

Again she shifted. “Keegan, I’m involved in a mess and I’ll get out of it. By myself. Do you understand?”

He heard his mama’s voice in his head. Don’t be pushy, Keegan. Not everyone gallops through life like you do. Why they didn’t, he couldn’t imagine. Speed, excitement, danger was the stuff that made life worth living, and too much slow contemplation could drive a man crazy.

He heaved out a breath. “This isn’t something you should face alone. You saw a murder and it’s possible the murderer is still there.”

She didn’t answer but he knew she was thinking the same as him.

And he knows who you are.

FIVE

Tracy hopped out of the truck before Keegan could come around to open the door for her. Her brain screamed that she was crazy to go back into the Mother Lode Equestrian Center. Her father’s favorite saying rang in her ears. There’s no way around the trouble but through it.

Chin up, she pushed through the door into the lobby, both anticipating and dreading what her memory would dredge up. She wiped sweaty palms on her jeans as two men walked up to greet her. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair, his handsomeness undimmed by his sixty-some years, looked up from his conversation. He wore khakis and a long-sleeved sweater, which evidently meant he wasn’t too hands-on with the horses. He glanced from her to Keegan and his smile flickered for a moment.

Keegan said, “This is Tracy Wilson.”

The older man’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in surprise. She caught it then, the resemblance between the two in the unguarded expression. Father and son? “I...well, I’m not sure what to say other than I’m glad you are all right, Miss Wilson.”

Tracy’s pulse pounded as she searched her brain for any flash of recognition. “Thank you,” she said faintly. “We exchanged emails. I was... I...I intended to come and see Flight of Fancy, the horse my client is interested in.” How could she possibly remember that fact and forget so many other details? She hoped the exasperation didn’t show.

The other man with Bryce Larraby stepped closer. He had dark, neatly trimmed hair and a close-cut beard, and wore jeans and a long-sleeved work shirt in a soft material. “Mitch Arnold,” he said, extending his hand. He gripped her fingers, one palm covering their joined hands. “Pleased to meet you.”

Bryce recovered. “He’s the bull breeder, supplying the animals for our rodeo event.”

“Best bucking bulls in the country,” Mitch said with a grin.

After another moment he released his grip as a young woman entered from the back room. A mop of curly brown hair framed her full cheeks, gold drop-pearl earrings glinting in the nest of curls. She stopped short when she saw Tracy. “Oh...hi.”

“This is Regina Parker,” Mitch said. “My fiancée. She works in the stables. Regina, this is Tracy Wilson. She’s evaluating Flight of Fancy.”

Regina raised an eyebrow. “Oh, the bloodstock agent.”

“Yes.” Tracy detected something disapproving in Regina’s tone. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

“No. It’s just...well, my brother got ripped off by a bloodstock agent before. Got him a horse with ligament damage and earned a fat fee from it. Disappeared after, of course.”

Tracy kept her smile even. “I’m not that kind of agent. You can check my references if you like. I’m here to see Flight of Fancy.”

Bryce took a step forward. “Of course she’s a quality bloodstock agent, Regina. I love Flight of Fancy. He’s got such personality.” Bryce nodded at Regina. “Bring him to the arena for Miss Wilson now, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Regina said and exited the same way she’d entered.

“This is awkward.” Bryce offered an apologetic smile. “I would rather not bring it up but...” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “The police have been here since Wednesday night and, well, I’m afraid there’s just no sign of any violence.”

Tracy’s face went hot as she caught the look from both men, a look that said she was some sort of nutcase. “I know I saw a murder.” Even if I can’t remember the killer’s face.

“And someone shot at both of us,” Keegan added. “Kinda lends credibility to her report.”

Mitch quirked an eyebrow. “Problem is, we got no body. So who was murdered, exactly?”

With all eyes locked on her, Tracy wished she could sink into the floor. It brought back her miserable high school year when her father had been released from jail, where he’d served time for assaulting his former business partner. The whispers, the looks, the comments like “her dad’s a criminal,” all came rushing back in a wave of shame that made her legs go wobbly.

But she’d forgiven her father, even if her mother couldn’t, and he’d accepted his forgiveness from the Lord. That was the past.

She steeled her spine. “I saw a woman murdered. I can’t remember her face or the killer’s, but I will, and when I do, someone is going to jail.”

Bryce jerked as his phone buzzed. “That’s Regina. The horse is ready for you to look at.” He glanced at Keegan. “I know you’d be pleased as punch if something shady happened here, anything that would tarnish my reputation and the Mother Lode’s, but nothing did. A lot of folks are counting on this horse show for their livelihoods, for the excitement of it and what it brings to our town.”

Keegan shook his head. “Spoken like a true politician with plenty of skin in this game, Mr. Mayor.”

Bryce frowned. “And you, Keegan? Entered into the cutting competition, I noticed.”

“That a problem?”

“No.”

Mitch chuckled. “Family drama. Better than television.”

Keegan stared at him and Mitch held his gaze.

“Just joking, man,” Mitch said. “Don’t take it personally. I got a chip on my shoulder about my old man, too. Comes a point you gotta let it go.”

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“I’m only concerned about what impacts my paycheck. Just don’t go looking for trouble where there isn’t any, and we’ll all get along fine.”

Bryce and Mitch left together.

Trouble where there wasn’t any? Tracy took in the angry pinch to Keegan’s mouth as he stared after his father and Mitch.

Oh, there’s plenty of trouble here already, she thought—trouble she wanted nothing to do with.

Tracy strode away a few paces to gather her emotions, Keegan figured. He needed a moment to collect his, as well. Even just being near his father brought it all back: his abandonment of Keegan’s mother, his flat-out accusations that she was a liar until the paternity test proved him to be the father. Keegan had been ten at the time she’d forced the test, the beginning of his mother’s battle against breast cancer. She’d gotten a pittance of child support out of Bryce Larraby by the time she’d lost her life to cancer when Keegan was sixteen. Father Dearest hadn’t even had the decency to attend Keegan’s mother’s funeral.

He forced his fisted hands to relax and went after Tracy.

Standing next to a decorated Christmas tree, she looked even smaller. As he came up next to her, she gasped, arms rigid as if she’d received an electric shock. He wondered for a moment if she was about to have a seizure, so he reached out for her, but she grabbed him first, hands clutching his forearms, face stark white.

“I remember this tree. Keegan, I remember it.”

He could feel the cold from her fingers seeping through his shirtsleeve. “What exactly? Tell me.”

“I remember running by it. I was scared. Terrified.” Her mouth was tight with the memory. “He was after me—the killer. I brushed by this tree and an ornament fell off and broke. It was a silver ball with gold beads glued onto it. It shattered on the floor.”

“Can you remember his face? The guy who was after you?”

She closed her eyes, breathing hard. After several seconds she opened them, deflated. “No,” she said. “I can’t.”

He let her breathe a few times to expel some of the fear before he gently pushed her aside and started hunting around the bottom of the tree. “Maybe there are shards. It won’t be proof enough for the cops, but let me see if I can find a piece to corroborate your details.”

Underneath the tree was a flannel tree skirt in a bright holiday plaid, which concealed a water reservoir. Other than a pile of needles and an ornament hook, he found nothing, no sign that anything had broken.

She studied the branches. The ornaments were laid out at precise intervals, all silver orbs with gold beading, except for one. It was a subtle difference, but the one nearest the bottom was a plain silver ball.

“Someone replaced it,” Tracy said.

Keegan grabbed a tissue from the box on the reception counter and reached for the ornament. “I’ll put it in a bag and have it checked for prints. I have a friend who can do it.”

“No, you won’t.”

They whirled to find John Larraby glowering down at them. “That’s my job. I’ll do it, if you give me a reasonable explanation of why I should bother.”

“I broke it as I ran, and someone hung a new one in its place,” Tracy told the chief.

“You remember that detail now?”

She nodded.

Regina called to them from the doorway. “Are you coming, Miss Wilson? The horse is ready.”

Keegan put an arm around Tracy’s trembling shoulders. “You don’t have to do this.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m okay.” Gently she detached herself from his grasp. “I’m ready,” she called to Regina, following her out the front doors.

John grabbed another tissue and retrieved the ornament from the tree.

“Be sure it doesn’t get lost,” Keegan said.

John’s expression hardened to cement. “Don’t mess with me, Keegan.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, brother, not unless you give me reason to.”

Keegan thumbed back his hat and walked away.

Tracy tried hard not to show that her knees were still wobbly as she followed Regina to the arena. She took a stab at being friendly. “Have you worked here long?”

“Since they broke ground. I tend to my stable duties and Bryce put me in charge of the front office part-time.” Pride crept into her tone. “I love it, love my work. Even met my fiancé here, plan to stay forever, if they’ll have me.”

“Congratulations on your engagement. Do you have a date picked out?”

“Not yet. Things keep getting in the way.” Her tone was dark. “Why do you care anyway?”

“Just being friendly.”

The woman rounded on her. “Let’s cut through the garbage, shall we? You’re an outsider. You have no reason to be friendly to some stable hand you just met. So what are you after, exactly?”

“After?”

“With this murder story. What are you angling for? Money? From Bryce Larraby?”

“I’m not after anybody’s money. I’m telling the truth.”

Regina hooked her thumbs in her belt loops. She was tall, arms wiry and muscled, dark eyes brimming with anger. “Just so you know, Bryce Larraby is a great man. He’s done awesome things for this town and me personally. Busted my wrist in the summer doing some rock climbing, and he kept me on and even paid me while I was on leave. Every single person who works here would do anything to protect him, especially me.”

Anything? Including lying about a murder? She stood straighter. “I want nothing from Bryce Larraby.”

“Yeah? Coming here with a story that could tarnish our event? With Keegan, who’s got a massive chip on his shoulder?”

“Like I said, I told the truth and I have no ulterior motive.”

“Well, Keegan does—he’d love to destroy Bryce, so keep that in mind. Mitch told me all about how his mother tried to weasel money out of him after she seduced him while he was married to John’s mother. He’ll use you and anyone else to get back at his dad.”

Use you. She looked at Regina full on. “Thank you for your advice. Now I’d like to get to work, if that’s okay with you.”

Regina shook her head, which sent her earrings flashing gold against her curls. “I have some chores to do. See your own way out when you’re done.”

Tracy tried to get her rapid breathing under control. How had she earned herself another enemy already? That had to be some kind of a record.

She knew part of Regina’s comments were true. Keegan did have an enormous chip on his shoulder. He’ll use you...to get back at his dad. If that was true, it was a top-notch reason to get her business done at the Mother Lode and get out.

The arena was clean and well lit, the electric lights on the vaulted ceiling overhead illuminating the soft dirt floor, which was newly raked, from the looks of it. On one side of the arena was a towering stack of baled hay that lent a fresh smell to the space. She breathed in deeply to calm herself. She was in her element here with the horses and hay. She approached the beautiful stallion standing next to the bales, craning his neck over the fence in search of a snack. Flight of Fancy was as gorgeous as the photos she’d seen when she’d researched his bloodline. His conformation at first glance was excellent, as well. Flight had already fathered two offspring that had proved themselves worthy dressage horses.

“Hey there, pretty boy.” She gave the horse a moment to get used to her proximity before she reached out to stroke his neck.

Keegan joined her and she was pleased that her fingers did not shake as she caressed the animal. Keegan was close, very close, and her pulse would not behave for some reason. He’s probably using you, remember? But his smile was so genuine, his presence so comforting. A few stable hands milled about, but the arena was empty except for the two of them and the horse.

“He’s a looker,” Keegan said.

“Yes, he is. My client is interested in a stallion to breed with her mare. She wants a dressage horse. It’s her passion.” She caught his snort. “Dressage not your cup of tea?”

“No, ma’am. I’m a cutting-horse man. Horses were meant to help on ranches, not jump over little white fences.”

She laughed. “That’s very snooty, Mr. Thorn. Dressage dates back to classic Greece when they trained horses to do evasive maneuvers for battle. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“I’ll pass. I’d look pretty silly in those tight white pants and the shiny boots.”

She looked down at his well-worn cowboy boots and long legs covered by faded denim and decided he was probably right. Keegan Thorn was a horse of a different color for sure. Turning her attention back to Flight of Fancy, she took his lead rope. “Let’s see about your gait, boy. Are you as good as you look on your YouTube videos?”

“Let me,” Keegan said. He took the rope from her and led the horse away.

The horse’s natural walk was perfect, and so, she noticed, was Keegan’s. He had a brisk, easy way next to the horse that was somehow masculine and graceful at the same time. A natural athlete, she supposed. She leaned back on the fence and admired the power in both of them. Something trembled against her back. For a moment, she thought it must be an earthquake.

Keegan’s mouth dropped open. “Look out!” he shouted.

Still uncertain what was happening, she glanced up in time to see the tower of half-ton bales begin to topple.

Her scream froze in her throat as the bundles hurtled down toward her.

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