A Trace Of Memory. Valerie Hansen

pointed. “Make yourself at home in this bathroom. Take as long as you need. I’ll leave the clean clothes on the bed right outside this other door and you’ll have all the privacy you want.”

      “I don’t know how to thank you.”

      “All you need to think about now is taking care of yourself, honey. Don’t worry about later. If my nephew gets too nosy, I’ll put him in his place.”

      “I wish I...”

      Cleo laid a gentle hand on Emma’s arm through the sleeve of the gray sweatshirt. “Hush. Leave your dirty clothes outside in the hall and I’ll see that they’re washed and dried in a jiffy.”

      Touched, Emma brushed her bangs off her forehead with a shaky hand. “Thank you.”

      “No thanks needed. Just doin’ my Christian duty. I’m glad you’re a believer, too. It’ll help you get better.”

      Was she? Emma wondered. She supposed she wouldn’t have thought to pray before if she didn’t believe in God, but she couldn’t recall having been in a church for a long, long time.

      That probably didn’t matter to Him, she reasoned, calling to mind scraps of scripture promising faithfulness toward confessed believers. She could even picture herself, at a very young age, standing before her peers and reciting the week’s memory verses.

      Emma was smiling slightly as she turned and looked at her reflection in the mirror over the sink.

      Her jaw dropped. Who was that weary, bruised waif looking back at her? There were dark circles and puffy half-moons beneath her reddened eyes. Her skin was unnaturally pale—except where a bruise as big as a fist colored one cheek. And her hair!

      “Cleo was right,” Emma muttered, embarrassed and averting her gaze. “I’m bound to feel better after I shower and put on clean clothes.”

      And then what? What was she going to say when she finally emerged and rejoined the little family that had taken her in? How could she explain anything when her thoughts were as jumbled as the letter tiles in a spelling game, as tempest-tossed as dry leaves in an Arkansas tornado?

      Fear of the unknown coursed through her. Not remembering being hurt might have given her temporary respite but now it was detrimental. As long as the face of her abuser remained lost in the labyrinth of her mind she was in continuing danger.

      He—she was certain it had been a man—could walk up to her and she wouldn’t recognize him. Or would she? There was no way to tell unless the meeting actually took place, and given the damage he’d already inflicted upon her, being face-to-face was the last thing she wanted.

      Perhaps her reaction would be as instinctive as it had been when she’d seen Travis again. In the case of her nameless nemesis, she hoped and prayed she’d be aware enough to either flee or defend herself.

      That thought reminded her of her race through the forest and the coarse shouts she’d heard behind her right before the shooting started.

      That event was crystal clear. So why was she having so much trouble with the hours and days immediately preceding it?

      Time will tell, Emma insisted. It had better.

      * * *

      Travis whistled his dogs out of the woods adjoining his main pasture and back to heel. They were panting, wagging their tails and obviously pleased with themselves.

      “Too bad you guys can’t talk,” he told them. “I’d sure like to know what you were chasing out there.”

      Patting his thigh to bring them along, he’d just turned and started back toward the house when he heard the rumbling echo of a motor. It didn’t sound like a tractor or an ATV, more like a pickup truck, perhaps one with a diesel engine.

      He and the dogs all froze. They looked west so he did, too. It was difficult to see far into the forest, even this early in the spring before the oak, sycamore and hickory trees leafed out.

      Travis squinted against the rays of the setting sun. Something glinted in the distance before rising dust obliterated it.

      Okay, so there was a vehicle out there where it didn’t belong. That might be nothing more than a hunter training a dog or one of the neighbors chasing a loose cow. Many of the outlying areas weren’t fenced. Anybody could have wandered onto his property without realizing they were trespassing.

      If it hadn’t been for Emma’s paranoia he would have dismissed the incident.

      Because of her, however, he jogged back to the house, penned the dogs to keep them safe, fired up his ATV and returned to where he’d glimpsed the reflection.

      Dismounting, he bent over to examine the rutted dirt track, hardly more than a wide path through the forest. There were fresh tracks, all right. Looked like the tires of a heavy pickup with dual wheels in the rear. They led to a narrowing of the spaces between the trees where they stopped and reversed, thereby obliterating any crisp imprints.

      Travis followed the trail for a short distance on foot. Sunset was near. His ability to spot the truck or anything else would soon be gone. But somebody had been there, just as his dogs had indicated.

      And whoever it was had not been a local or he would have known that the trail he was on was impassible in a full-size vehicle. Therefore, the interloper had to have been a stranger. Could he have been after Emma, as she’d feared?

      Only one thing was certain. While Emma was under his personal protection, he was going to make sure nobody got another chance to hurt her the way she had been before.

      He set his jaw. After he sorted out all the details involved in keeping Emma safe from outsiders, he was going to have to face the roots of his own motives. Considering the way he instinctively reacted every time he saw her, he was afraid his protective urges were not as innocent as he’d been telling himself they were.

      Pondering that emotional uncertainty, Travis returned to the ATV, fired it up and revved the engine. Its loud, rattling roar echoed through the otherwise silent forest.

      Astride, he dropped the small vehicle in gear and took off for home. Before he had gone fifteen feet he sensed an imbalance and stopped to get off and check.

      One of the two rear tires had gone flat. “Terrific. Just what I needed—a long walk home.”

      He crouched, expecting to spot what he’d carelessly run over in his haste to get back to the house.

      The nearby trail was clean. No sharp rocks, no broken stubs or branches, nothing.

      Before Travis could straighten again he heard the pop of a small-caliber rifle, followed by the singing whine of a bullet.

      He ducked. Heard the shot impact the ATV. The flat tire was no accident! And now somebody was trying to flatten him!

      Staying low, he duck-walked into the brush, then turned and headed cross-country instead of sticking to the normal trails. In the fall it might be possible for a foolish hunter to make the mistake of shooting at another human being because of the thick cover, but not this early in the year. Whoever had been taking potshots at him had meant to do harm.

      If he could have been certain that he wasn’t outnumbered and outgunned, he might have stood his ground.

      In this instance, however, there was only one thing on his mind. Getting back to Emma. Before it was too late.

THREE

      Emma dressed in the comfortable lavender outfit Cleo had loaned her, then went back to the upstairs window while towel drying her hair. Shadows had lengthened, giving the farmyard a more somber aura. There sat Travis’s truck and the stock trailer, just as he’d left them.

      She unlocked the window and raised the sash to let in fresh air, inhaling deeply and sighing. No matter what was wrong with her, this was the best place to be. She didn’t know how