Unforgettable. Cassie Miles

folks from around here—even someone like Heather, whom she considered a friend—didn’t push for explanations. They had a genuine respect for privacy.

      Caitlyn held up her skull-and-crossbones mug. “Would you like some coffee?”

      “Don’t mind if I do.”

      The heels of Heather’s cowboy boots clunked on the planks of the porch as they entered the cabin through the screen door.

      When Caitlyn arrived here a month ago, it had taken a week to get the cabin clean enough to suit her. She’d scrubbed and dusted and repainted the walls of the front room a soothing sage green. Then she’d hired horses for company. Both were beauties—one palomino and the other roan. Every day since, she’d made a point of riding one in the morning and the other in the afternoon. Though she certainly didn’t need two horses, she hadn’t wanted to separate one from the others at the Circle L. No need for a horse to be as lonely as she was.

      Sunshine through the kitchen windows shone on the clean-but-battered countertops and appliances. If she decided to stay here on a more permanent basis, she would resurface the counters with Turkish tile.

      “Looks nice and homey in here,” Heather said.

      “It had been neglected.” When she and her brother were living at home, the family spent every Christmas vacation and at least a month in the summer at the cabin. “After Mom and Dad moved to Arizona, they stopped coming here as often.”

      “How are they doing?”

      “Good. They’re both retired but busy.” Caitlyn poured coffee into a plain blue mug. “Cream or sugar?”

      “I take it plain and strong.” Heather grinned. “Like my men.”

      “I seem to remember a summer a long time ago when you were in love with Brad Pitt.”

      “So were you.”

      “That sneaky Angelina stole him away from us.”

      Heather raised her coffee mug. “To Brad.”

      “And all the other good men who got away.”

      They were both single and in their early thirties. Caitlyn’s unmarried status was a strategic career decision. She couldn’t ask a husband to wait while she pursued her work as a reporter embedded with troops in war zones around the globe.

      “That crush on the gorgeous Mr. Pitt must have been fifteen years ago,” Heather said. “A simpler time.”

      Fifteen years ago, September eleventh was just another day. Nobody had heard of Osama bin Laden or the Taliban. “Before the Gulf War. Before Afghanistan.”

      “You’ve been to those places.”

      “And it doesn’t look like I’ll be going back any time soon.” A knot tightened in her throat. Though Caitlyn wasn’t ready to spill her guts, it wouldn’t hurt to tell her old friend about some of the issues that had been bothering her. “The field office where I was working in the Middle East was closed down due to budget cuts.”

      “Sorry to hear it. What does that mean for you?”

      “I’ve got a serious case of unemployment.” And a lot of traumatic memories. Innumerable horrors she wanted to forget. “I’m not sure I want to continue as a journalist. That was one of the reasons I came here. I’m taking a break from news. No newspaper. No TV. And I haven’t turned on my laptop in days.”

      “Hard to believe. You were always a news junkie, even when we were teenagers.”

      “Your brother used to call me Little Miss Know-It-All.” Her brother was four years older and as cute as Brad Pitt. “I had such a huge crush on him.”

      “You and everybody else.” Heather shook her head. “When Danny finally got married, you could hear hearts breaking all across the county.”

      Danny was still handsome, especially in his uniform. “Hard to believe he’s a deputy sheriff.”

      “Not really. Remember how he always played cops and robbers?”

      “Playing cowboy on a ranch is kind of redundant.”

      After days of solitude, Caitlyn enjoyed their small talk. At the same time, she felt an edge of anxiety. If she got too comfortable, she might let her guard down, might start welling up with tears, might turn angry. There was so much she had to hold back.

      She looked through her kitchen window. “Do you know a guy named Jack Dalton?”

      “I don’t think so. Why?”

      “He answered my ad for a handyman. And he was supposed to be here over an hour ago.”

      “Caitlyn, if you need help, I’d be happy to send over one of the hands from the ranch.”

      She wanted to remain independent. “This guy sounded like he’d be perfect. On the phone, he said he had experience as a carpenter, and he’s a Gulf War veteran. I’d like to hire a vet.”

      “You spent a lot of time with the troops.”

      “And I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t mean to be rude, but I just can’t.” Suddenly flustered, she set down her mug on the countertop. “Let’s go take a look at the horse that showed up on my doorstep.”

      After years of being glib and turning in daily reports of horrendous atrocities, she hated to find herself tongue-tied. Somehow, she had to get her life back.

      WEAVING THROUGH THE BOTTOM of the canyon was a rushing creek. He sank to his knees beside it and lowered his head to drink. Ice-cold water splashed against his lips and into his mouth. It tasted good.

      No doubt there were all kinds of harmful bacteria in this unfiltered water, but he didn’t care. The need for hydration overwhelmed other concerns. He splattered the cold liquid into his face. Took off his flannel shirt and washed his hands and arms. His white T-shirt had only a few spots of dried blood.

      As far as he could figure, he’d been sleeping in his boxers and undershirt. He’d been startled awake, grabbed his flannel shirt and jeans, jammed his feet into his boots and then …

      His scenario was based on logic instead of memory. The remembering part of his brain must have been damaged by the head wound. His mind was like a blackboard that had been partially erased. Faint chalk scribbles taunted him. The more he concentrated, the more they faded. All he knew for sure was that somebody was trying to kill him.

      This wasn’t the first time he’d been on the run, but he didn’t know why. Was he an innocent victim or an escaped felon? He suspected the latter. If he’d ever rated a guardian angel, that heavenly creature was off duty.

      His first need was for transportation. Once he’d gotten away from this place, he could figure out what to do and where to go.

      He tied the arms of his flannel shirt around his hips, tucked the SIG into the waistband of his jeans and started hiking on a path beside the creek. Though it would have been easier to walk along the nearby two-lane gravel road, his instincts warned him to avoid contact.

      The canyon widened into an uncultivated open field of weeds, wildflowers and sagebrush. This landscape had to be the Rocky Mountains. He’d come to the Rockies as a kid, remembered hiking with a compass that pointed due north. It was a happier time.

      A black truck hauling a horse trailer rumbled along the road. He ducked behind a shrub and watched as the truck passed. The logo on the driver’s side door read: Circle L Ranch, Pinedale, Colorado.

      Good. He had a location. Pinedale. Wherever that was.

      He trudged at the edge of the field near the trees. His head still throbbed but he disregarded the pain. No time for self-pity. He only had four days until …

      He approached a three-rail corral fence in need of repair. Some of the wood rails had fallen. Two horses stood near a small barn which was also kind of dilapidated. The log