Unforgettable

“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 cabin appeared to be in good shape, though.

He focused on the dark green SUV parked between the cabin and the horse barn. That would be his way out.

A woman with blond hair in a high ponytail came out of the barn. Around her waist, she wore a tool belt that looked too heavy for her slender frame. At the porch, she paused to take a drink from a water bottle. Her head tilted back. The slender column of her throat was pure feminine loveliness. That image dissolved when she wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her denim shirt.

He didn’t want to steal her SUV. But he needed transportation.

Coming around the far end of the corral, he approached.

When she spotted him, she waved and called out, “Hi there. You must be Jack Dalton.”

It was as good a name as any. “I must be.”

Chapter Two

Caitlyn watched her new handyman as he came closer. Tall, lean, probably in his midthirties. He wasn’t limping, but his legs dragged as though he was wading through deep water. Rough around the edges, he hadn’t shaved or combed his thick, black hair. His white T-shirt was dirty, and he had a plaid shirt tied around the waistband of his jeans.

When he leaned against the corral fence, he seemed to need the rail for support. Was he drunk? Before ten o’clock in the morning? She hadn’t asked for references. All she knew about Jack Dalton was that he was a veteran who needed a job.

“On the phone,” she said, “you mentioned that you were in the army.”

“Tenth Mountain Division out of Fort Drum, New York.”