wasn’t the time to let her imagination get the best of her. There was too much riding on her, too much depending on her keeping a calm head and not panicking.
Only, if it wasn’t him, why was he still behind her? Why did he have such a harsh look on his face and why was he getting so close? It wasn’t him and he was the only one she had to be afraid of, the only one she had to fear.
So if this man wasn’t him, why was she so afraid? He was a stranger, and yet he had such cold, black eyes when he looked at her.
“Logan,” he said in a voice that turned her blood to ice.
“No,” she groaned.
It wasn’t him—it wasn’t Logan—but when the hand clamped down hard on her shoulder, she’d realized he’d been sent by him.
“No,” she groaned again. “Tell Logan no. Tell him I won’t go.”
Her voice sounded as small and as weak as it had in the desert, lonely and lost like a cry in the night. Fear rose up from her throat, choking her words, stealing her breath. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t get away….
“Logan. Logan.”
Fear. Panic. And then, the darkness.
“Rain?”
The voice cut through the darkness, reaching through the layers of dreams and fragments of nightmares like a hand extended.
“Rain. Wake up, Rain.”
Suddenly she was warm; the warmth obliterated the cold and the darkness. She forgot about the panic, she forgot about the fear. She didn’t need to be afraid any longer. Like strong arms holding her, she knew she was safe.
“Wake up, Rain.”
She blinked, the light stinging her eyes, until she realized she was staring up into his eyes.
“Sheriff Mountain.”
“I heard you from the corridor,” he said, straightening up and slipping his hands from her shoulders. “Bad dream from the sounds of it.”
It was only then that she realized he’d been touching her, one hand on either of her shoulders.
“Yes,” she croaked, suddenly remembering the dark images and the cold eyes of a stranger. “Yes, a dream—a very bad dream.”
“You okay now?”
“Fine,” she said with a nod, pushing herself up against the pillows. Actually, she was out of breath and her heart hammered wildly in her chest and her hospital gown was drenched with sweat. “I—I’m fine.”
He reached for the pitcher of water beside the bed, pouring her a glass. “Here, drink this. You look like you could use it.”
She took a sip, the water feeling cool and soothing along her scratchy throat. “Thanks.” She pushed her hair back away from her face and took another drink. “Did you need to see me for something?”
“Not really,” he said, picking up the pitcher and refilling her water glass. “I was here on some other business. I was just passing by the room when I heard you.”
“I see,” she murmured, taking another sip of water. It was foolish to be disappointed, foolish to think he’d come just to see her.
“You want to talk about it? The dream, I mean.”
She thought of the awful face of the stranger in her dream and shook her head. “Not really.”
“Would you mind?” he pressed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his tablet. “Maybe there was something significant.”
She glared down at his tablet, hating that it was always just business with him. “In a dream?”
“You never know,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe you can dream about what happened even if you can’t remember it.”
He was right, of course, and she couldn’t let her vanity get in the way of solving the mystery of her past.
“There was someone, a man,” she began. “A big man.”
“Did he look familiar to you? Did you know him?”
“No, he was a stranger.”
“You remember what he looked like? Could you describe him?”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Oh, yes.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have a sketch artist in the county, but I could probably arrange to have one come down from Carson City. It would take a take day or two, though. Think if you jotted down a few notes to yourself you’d be able to remember enough to work with someone?”
That gruff, angry face was one she would have no problem describing. It was etched permanently into her memory—and one thing she actually wouldn’t mind forgetting.
“I think so,” she said, taking another sip of water. “Do you think my dreams could be important?”
“Hard to say,” he hedged. “But, maybe subconsciously you’re able to remember something.” He made a few notations in his tablet. “Do you remember anything else? Anything about what happened in the dream?”
She remembered gasping for air, remembered struggling to get away. “I know I was afraid.”
“Of the man?”
She stared at the glass of water, but she was seeing phantom, elusive images in her mind. “Not at first.” She looked up at him. “I was relieved—at least in the beginning. He wasn’t who I thought he was, wasn’t the man I was afraid of, the man I was running away from, but then…”
“Then?” he prompted her when her words drifted off.
“Oh.” She jumped, her thoughts scrambling. “Then I realized he was after me, too. Chasing me, grabbing me.” She gave her head a shake. “I guess I just dreamed everyone was after me.”
“Have you had this dream before?”
She shook her head, thinking about the dream she’d had of him even before she’d met him. “Not this exact dream.”
“But others like it?”
She nodded. “Several since last night.”
“About being pursued?”
“Yes.”
“Same man?”
“No.”
“Think you could describe any of the others?”
“I don’t know,” she said, thinking of dark images and shadowy features. “I don’t think so.”
She felt stupid and frustrated. Nothing made sense. What seemed so frightening
