little later in the morning, having to rise over the ridge to the east before spilling light over the valley.
She remembered. She remembered everything now, the last clouds breaking in her mind to reveal her hidden past. She remembered who Shannon Dugan was, the hardscrabble life she’d lived. The cons, the scrapes with the law. She remembered who Sarah Holbrook was, too. Not Clint’s wife-he’d never have sullied his family name by bringing her into it-but he’d treated her as his woman, taken her out of Reno and made her his lover, his pupil and, eventually, his partner in crime.
She’d been eighteen and foolishly in love. Too foolish to realize that the designer dresses, the etiquette lessons and the free access to his library weren’t a reward for being his woman, but a means to an end. She’d become his shill in the political power plays that had given him more power than even his father’s billions could do. He’d told her it was part of his job, that she was helping him do good deeds, but she’d grown up on the streets of Reno. She should have known better.
She just wanted to believe that kind of life was over.
She heard Joe stir behind her and turned, looking at him in the dying glow of the fire. He rolled to her side of the bed, throwing his arm over her pillow, and settled back to sleep, his face soft and boyish in slumber.
She had been so happy last night, lying in Joe’s arms, listening to the sound of his heartbeat under her ear. She had thought there was nothing that could separate them again. Not Clint, not the still-missing pieces of her past. But that was before she’d remembered the rest of it.
She crossed quietly to the bed and crouched beside him, tears burning her eyes. There was so much he didn’t know about her because she hadn’t wanted him to know what a fool she’d been.
It had cost them everything. And now that she knew the truth, she wasn’t sure if they’d ever be able to get back any of what they’d lost.
But if it was possible, she now knew where to start.
She found her clothes and dressed quickly, taking care not to wake Joe. Shrugging on her fleece-lined jacket, she started out the cabin door, pausing a moment in the open doorway to look back at Joe. He hadn’t stirred.
Dashing away her tears, she slipped out of the cabin and headed for the horse shed.
THE SUN was high when Joe finally woke. He wiped his gritty eyes and turned over, automatically reaching for Jane. But she wasn’t there.
He pushed himself into a sitting position, looking at his watch. It was after nine.
“Jane?” he called, looking toward the tiny bathroom off the main room. But there was no answer.
He found his jeans on the floor and pulled them on. “Jane?”
A quick look around the cabin assured him she wasn’t there. He finished dressing and went outside.
“Jane, are you out here?” Joe descended the cabin’s wooden steps and landed on the damp grass. From the horse shed around the side of the cabin, Jazz’s soft nicker answered him. Had Jane gone to see about the horses when he overslept?
He entered the horse shed and stopped, staring at the empty stall next to Jazz’s. Bella’s saddle and reins were also missing.
SHE WAS lost.
She’d thought the return of her memories would make it easy to find her way back to town, but last night’s rain had washed out some of the path, and she was now certain she had been traveling in circles since daylight.
Jane wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand and checked her watch. Almost ten o’clock. She’d been out here for over three hours and was no closer to finding the horse trail than she had been when she left the cabin.
Blinking back hot tears of frustration, she pulled her horse to a stop and dismounted, stretching her aching legs. What the hell was she doing? Why had she run away, yet again, from the one man she’d ever known who seemed to care about her for who she was, not for what she could do for him? Why couldn’t she just trust him as he’d asked her to do so many times?
He’d been out of town when she’d arrived in Canyon Creek a couple of weeks after she’d escaped Clint the last time. Weak, brokenhearted and desperate for a friendly face, she’d let herself into his house, hoping to find some clue to where he’d gone.
What she’d found was his shrine to his brother’s murder and the woman he believed responsible.
What happened next was mostly a blur. She remembered a knock on the door. A quick glimpse out the window and the nightmare of seeing Clint Holbrook standing on Joe’s front porch. The frantic scramble to hide the one piece of evidence that would prove her innocence, though too late to salvage her fragile relationship with Joe. Then she’d fled out the back door, never looking back.
It was the last thing she remembered before Idaho.
She patted the side of her horse. The mare snuffled softly in response, nuzzling Jane’s jacket pocket, where she’d stashed a small bag of feed in case she needed it. She wished she’d brought a bottle of water as well, but she hadn’t wanted to go back to the cabin and risk waking Joe. Stupid mistake. She should have taken a chance on him. Trusted him enough to tell him what she remembered.
Maybe it would be easier finding her way back to the cabin than trying to find the trail off the mountain.
She heard the soft snort of a horse moving up the rise toward her, carrying through the cool morning air. Joe, she thought, her pulse quickening.
She grabbed Bella’s reins and tugged her forward, so relieved to hear the sound of another living being that it never occurred to her, until the rider and horse rounded the bend, that her rescuer might not be Joe Garrison.
Chapter Seventeen
The muzzle of the sleek black pistol twitched toward Jane. “Let go of the horse.”
Jane stared up at Clint Holbrook, fear and anger battling for control. Anger won, but she knew she’d have to play scared awhile longer. Let him think he’d won.
She released Bella’s reins. The mare looked at her as if waiting for direction.
Clint drew his mount up beside the mare and slapped the chestnut on the rump with his reins. Bella jerked and cantered a few steps away, then stopped to gaze back at them, clearly confused.
Clint ignored the mare and gestured for Jane to give him her hand. He reached his left hand toward her, the pistol still aimed right at her forehead, forcing her to give him her hand and allow him to haul her up on the horse in front of him.
The saddle horn made for a tight fit, forcing Jane to settle snugly between Clint’s thighs. She gritted her teeth against a wave of nausea, reminding herself that she could bear anything for the chance to make Clint pay for what he’d done to her and the people she loved.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, even though she knew the answer. But she thought it might be safe for Clint to believe she still had amnesia. “Who am I to you that you’ve chased me across three states and killed an innocent woman and two deputies just to get your hands on me?”
Clint laughed. “You’re a fugitive, darling. Don’t you remember? Wanted for extortion in Maryland.”
A lie, of course. He’d held that charge over her head for years, threatening to let the feds know how she’d stolen personal items from several influential congressmen and used them to extort information from the politicians. Information Clint had used to position himself to call in favors that had not only enriched his already massive bank account but given him the means to make further inroads into the personal lives of other powerful lawmakers.
