Falcon's Lair

They set down and Ben jumped out, swinging her into his arms and striding to the house. Within minutes, Ben had Jennifer seated with her foot elevated and ice packs around it, he had placed a call to Zeb and built fires. He needed a shave and shower and he was hungry again, but he was paying for every second he had the chopper and he couldn’t afford to wait. He rummaged in a closet and found crutches for her. As he pulled his coat on again, he faced her.

“Unless we run into trouble, I’ll be back by midafternoon. You may get a call from my father, but I don’t think anyone can pick you up unless he sends a chopper.” His gaze ran over her ripped slacks and the green sweater. “I can’t get to a store to get you other clothes, but you’re welcome to my shirts or sweaters. They’re in the bottom dresser drawer.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, using one crutch to follow him to the door. He paused as he looked down at her, thinking it seemed natural to have her in his house. He brushed a quick kiss on her forehead and strode outside.

Jennifer stood in the doorway, feeling the cold and watching the husky bound after the tall man. She felt as if Ben Falcon were her world, her family. Aware of a dull ache, she rubbed her hand across her head, gingerly touching the knot that was going down now.

Two men and a horse-drawn wagon had loaded square bales of hay into the chopper. Ben swung up into the chopper followed by another man, while the third one climbed into the wagon and turned toward the barn. In seconds the helicopter lifted and swooped out of sight.

She closed the door and then stood in the rustic kitchen, gazing at pine cabinets, fishing poles in the corner, the fire dancing on the hearth. The house was masculine and comfortable.

She hobbled into the living area, crossing to look at shelves with worn books— fiction and nonfiction, technical books on oil. She rubbed her head again, wishing memory would return, unable to believe that she could work for the monster Ben described. She moved closer to the shelves and a book caught her attention. The jacket was torn on a copy of Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With The Wind, and Jennifer could remember lying on a rumpled fold-out bed and reading the novel. She remembered a crowded room with the Hide-A-Bed, the small house. Elation raced through her and she rubbed her head, straining to remember more, but nothing came. She replaced the book on the shelf, lightly touching it, wondering about the book’s owner who seemed tough and so much an outdoorsman, yet who must like to read, as well.

Jennifer hobbled around the room to a table at one end of the sofa. She picked up a picture of a dark-skinned, dark-eyed young boy with black hair. His features didn’t resemble Ben’s and she wondered who he was.

Her gaze shifted to the phone and she almost dreaded hearing from Texas until she could remember everything. Right now she had to accept whatever people told her. She heard scratching at the door and limped across the room to open it. The husky trotted inside, leaving tiny puddles where his wet paws tracked as he passed her, going to his dog dish in the kitchen.

“Fella, you could at least wipe your paws before you come in.”

* * *

By noon the sun was behind clouds and a howling wind was blowing over the mountain. Ben swung the hatchet and broke ice on the wide metal tank so the horses could drink. When he finished his task he climbed inside the Jeep. At the barn Zeb came striding into sight, waving his arm and Ben waited.

“Boss, I got a call from Derek. Their electricity is out and their generator is acting up.”

“I’m on my way. Call and tell him, will you?”

“You’re going to get caught in the storm.”

“I’ll call if I need help.”

“What about the woman?” Zeb asked, glancing toward the house.

“She’ll be all right. Zeb, I think Weston sent her.”

The short, wiry man frowned, rubbing his thin red nose with a gloved hand. “She doesn’t remember anything?”

“Not yet, but she told me she had to find Ben Falcon. There’s only one reason she would be on that errand. I called Weston, so when the storm lets up, he’ll probably send someone for her.”

“We letting them on the place?”

“Sure, as long as all they do is get her and go.”

“Want me to check on her?”

Ben glanced at the house and shook his head. “You don’t need to. She’s not that injured. I’ll be back before long, I hope.” He shifted and drove away, passing the house and heading down the mountain to the highway to drive to the boys’ ranch.

As he passed beneath the iron arch that read Bar-B Ranch, he thought about the boys he had met at the ranch, some teens, some tiny little kids. The ranch provided a good home for them and Ben tried to support and help any way he could. Since all the money he made had to be plowed back into the ranch, he gave his time and any expertise he might have. Each spring he gave the ranch a new foal and four calves, and this year he hoped he could do more.

When he slowed behind the rambling structure that was home for the director, his assistant and the cook, as well as a dorm for the boys, Derek Hansen came out. He strode to the Jeep with Renzi trudging at his heels.