Colton On The Run. Anna J. Stewart

stare.

      “All right...you can tell me later,” he murmured. “I’m Leo. Leo Slattery. You’re on my ranch.” He considered offering his hand, but didn’t want to pressure her. She wasn’t in any condition to be on her own, and one wrong move on his part would have her scurrying away. “Would you like to come inside? You can get cleaned up and something to eat. Something to drink. Coffee? Water?” Maybe once she was over the shock of whatever had happened to her, she’d be ready for him to call for help.

      Leo glanced around for a bag, a cell phone, anything she might have that would help tell him who she was without him having to push for her to trust him. He didn’t see anything.

      “W-water,” she choked out. “Water would be nice.”

      Polite. Polished. Beautiful. Leo shook the last thought loose before it could grab hold. “Water I can do.” He inclined his head toward the door. “House is close by. Would you like me to show you?” Now he did reach out his hand. She stared at his hand for a long moment before slowly taking hold. He rose to his feet. She glanced down at the dog before rising. “Ollie can come, too. And you can bring those. If you want.”

      She looked down at the shears still clutched in her other hand. An odd sound erupted from the back of her throat as she dropped them, covered her mouth and stared as if she didn’t understand why she had them.

      It was all Leo could do not to sweep her into his arms, carry her inside and tend to her wounds. But he’d have to be blind not to see the physical signs of trauma were nothing compared to what was going on inside her head. What she needed most right now was to feel safe, to feel comfortable. To feel in control. Only then would he be able to help her.

      He expected her to move away from him once they were outside, perhaps even race off and disappear into the sunrise. Instead, she curled her hand tighter around his and walked—or rather limped—beside him back to the house.

      * * *

      “I need to go get my horse back in his stall,” Leo told her as she sat at the kitchen table. In his grandmother’s chair. The thought brought a smile to his lips even as he wished Essie was here to help him. Help her. He poured the woman a glass of water and set it on the table. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes, all right? Ollie, stay.” He didn’t often command the dog, but Ollie moved in closer to the woman and bumped his nose against her leg.

      The ghost of a smile played across her full lips as she returned to petting the dog.

      “Okay. Just a few minutes.” Leo hurried back to the barn, found Duke exactly where he expected and led the now cranky horse back to his stall. “Gonna be a bit of a delay, I’m afraid.” Not to mention he’d have to head out later than he wanted to fix that downed fence on the eastern pasture. But he wasn’t about to leave the woman alone for long. At least not until he knew more about her. He certainly wasn’t going to just abandon her. His grandmother would have had a fit. “We’ll get you out and running later, Duke. Promise.”

      The horse neighed.

      Leo returned to the house and found his visitor sitting where he’d left her, her hand gently stroking Ollie’s back, her brown-eyed stare vacant and confused. But she’d drunk the water. That was good. “Okay, then.” He glanced at the phone on the wall. “I think maybe I should call the sheriff—”

      “No!” She all but catapulted off the chair, stumbling forward to stop him from lifting the receiver. “No, please. No police. No hospital. I don’t want to see anyone. I’ll go. I’ll leave if you want. But I...” She pushed her hair away from her face and exposed the determination hovering behind the fear in her eyes. “Please. I don’t want anyone to know where I am.”

      “All right.” Leo hadn’t been sure in the barn, but now he was. He recognized that barely restrained panic, that fright and flight response he’d grown up with. His father’s bouts of PTSD after returning home from Iraq had taught Leo early on that the mind was something that shouldn’t be played with. At least not before a modicum of trust had been established. “But I want you to tell me something. And I need you to tell me the truth. Can you do that?”

      She nodded.

      “Have you been raped?”

      She blinked. “No.” She winced, inclined her head as if giving the question more thought. “No. Nothing hurts or feels odd there.”

      “Okay, that’s good.” A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding released. “If that’s the case, we’ll hold off on calling the authorities. For now. But how about your name?” He couldn’t stop himself. He reached out and caught her hair between his fingers, tucked it behind her ear so he could get a better look at the gash on her head. It had stopped bleeding at least. But it needed tending to. “Can you tell me who you are?”

      “No.” There was that whisper again. Not quite as desperate, however. This time, tinged with a bit of anger. “I’ve been trying and trying, but I don’t know. I’m sorry.” She winced, then pressed a hand against the bridge of her nose. “All I have is this headache that won’t go away. There’s nothing else. Not in here.” She poked a not so gentle finger against her temple. “Why can’t I remember?”

      “Okay, let’s not add to the damage.” He caught her hand and pressed it gently back to her side. “We’ll come back to that later. Sit back down. Let’s get you some more water.” He poured another glass and watched as she finished it. Ollie followed him to the sink and back, as if verifying what he was doing was for the best. Leo pulled a chair over so they were knee to knee. “Do you remember my name?”

      “Leo. Your name is Leo. That’s Ollie.” She pointed to the dog.

      “Nice that you didn’t get us confused.”

      She smiled a little. “How can I not know who I am? It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know...anything.”

      Shock. Trauma. And that bang on the head couldn’t have done much to help. “You will. You’ve had a shock. Something you aren’t able to process right now.” He held his hands out palm up, and after a moment she dropped hers into them. “How about for now I call you Jane?”

      “Like Jane Doe?” She let out the most unladylike snort he’d ever heard. A sound that lightened his heart more than anything had in a long time. “That’s original.”

      “My grandmother was the writer, not me.” Essie’s letters had been a continuous gift while he’d been working in Alaska. He still had them all bundled, no longer in his duffel, but on his dresser. “I didn’t get one ounce of her creativity. Is Jane okay?”

      She shrugged. “It’s better than nothing.”

      “A rave review indeed,” Leo joked. “Are you hungry? I’ve got some eggs I can cook. And, um, some steaks. I bet you don’t eat steak much.” Given her slight figure, he’d bet she didn’t eat much of anything. A good summer breeze would probably blow her off the property.

      “Eggs sound good. I can help.”

      Leo glanced down at her ragged and broken nails, but given the high shine on that coral polish, he’d bet she’d had her share of manicures. “I’d prefer you didn’t. Not until we know what’s going on with that knock on your head. How about I run upstairs and see about finding you some clothes? Then you can take a shower and we’ll tend to that gash on your head. And your wrists.” He turned her hands over and tried not to wince at the angry welts, scrapes and cuts marring her skin. “I’m betting those feet of yours hurt a bit, too.”

      “Not really.” She scrunched her toes into the wood floor. “They’re numb.”

      He was afraid of that, but toward the end of summer she was less likely to end up with frostbite, something he’d become more than acquainted with up north. “All the more reason to get you into the shower. Sound okay?”

      She chewed on her bottom lip and nodded. “Yes. Okay. Thank you, Leo.”

      He