Montana Lawman Rescuer. Linda Ford

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