“Feel up to a little company?”
Rain sat up straight. Had someone come for her? Was she going to find out who she was and where she belonged?
“C-company? You mean someone—”
“The sheriff, sweetheart,” Carrie added quickly. “Sheriff Mountain.”
“The sheriff,” Rain said in a small voice. Feeling the sting of tears, she quickly looked away. “I thought…”
“I’m sorry, dear, I—” Carrie reached out, giving her hand a squeeze. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s okay,” Rain assured her even though a large tear spilled onto her cheek.
Carrie squeezed her hand again. “Why don’t I tell him to come back a little later? Maybe this isn’t the best time….”
“No, that’s okay,” she insisted, swiping at the tear. “Tell the sheriff to come in. I’d like to see him. I’d at least like to thank him.”
Carrie regarded her for a moment. “You sure you’re up to this?”
Rain nodded, giving her a small smile. “Absolutely.”
Carrie looked unconvinced. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
“Carrie,” Rain said, stopping her as she started toward the door. “Sheriff Mountain—he’s the one who gave me my name, isn’t he?”
Carrie nodded. “Yes, he did. You going to give him a hard time about that?”
Rain smiled and shook her head. “No, I like my name.”
Carrie smiled, too, and turned back toward the door. “You talk to the sheriff and I’ll see what I can do about finding you a little something sweet to tide you over until dinner. Okay?”
Rain felt herself smiling again. “You’ll get no argument from me.”
She watched as Carrie sailed out the door and down the corridor, then sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She thought of the dream she’d had, thought of the man who had held her and made her feel wanted and safe. Had the tall stranger come looking for her? Would he hold her and whisper to her and make everything feel better again? Would he give her back her name, her identity, her life?
“Hello.”
Chapter 3
Rain opened her eyes and felt every nerve in her body come to full alert. She didn’t know what she’d expected when Carrie had told her the sheriff was there to see her, wasn’t even sure she had any sort of expectation at all. Somewhere in the back of her brain she’d conjured up images of a badges and uniforms and guns in black holsters, but whatever she’d imagined, a tall Native American with long black hair and dark, haunting eyes wasn’t it.
She realized in that moment the stranger from her dreams, the man to whom she had turned to for comfort, the man who had held her and in whose arms she had felt so secure was a stranger no longer. He wasn’t someone from her past, someone who could tell her who she was and where she belonged. The stranger from her dreams was from the here and the now. He wasn’t someone she’d imagined or made up in her head, he was real—and he had a name and a face.
“Sheriff Mountain.”
He stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders and powerful frame all but swallowing up the space.
“Joe Mountain,” he said by way of introduction.
“And I’m…well, I’m Rain,” she said with a small laugh. She sat up, pushing a hand through her hair and wondering what she’d done with the comb Carrie had given her. “But I guess you already know that since I understand you’re the one who named me.”
If he was embarrassed, or pleased by the acknowledgment, it didn’t show in his expression. In fact, nothing showed on his hard, lean face and Rain felt herself growing tense.
“May I come in?” he asked politely.
Her first reaction had been to refuse, to put him off and turn him away, but that was not only unreasonable, it was irrational. For some thoroughly inexplicable reason, she found herself hesitant, reluctant—almost shy about facing him.
She couldn’t explain it. The whole thing was crazy. The man was only there to help her, was probably her best hope at putting her life back together. She had nothing to fear from him. He’d found her in the desert, had gotten her the help she’d needed. At the very least, she needed to thank him for saving her life. And besides that, she needed to talk to him, she wanted to talk to him. She had questions she’d hoped he could answer, concerns she’d hoped he’d address. So what was her problem? Why was her throat freezing up and the palms of her hands turning moist?
The dream. That stupid, silly little dream she’d had during her nap. He’d been in it, had been the tall dark stranger in her dream, the one who had touched her and held her and made her feel safe and warm. She felt like she knew him, like she meant something special to him and that was ridiculous. She felt embarrassed. The man was a stranger to her and she to him and there was nothing special about that.
“Of course,” she said, doing as best she could to push her apprehension aside. “Please do come in.”
Even though his khaki uniform was contemporary and looked appropriately official, Sheriff Joe Mountain had a rugged, distinctive look. Holding a weathered black cowboy hat in his hands, his dark hair pulled into a ponytail down his back, he looked like he belonged to a wilder, more uncivilized time.
Nothing about him was reserved or unsure. He crossed the room with strong, bold steps—each one speaking of confidence and ability. A man on a mission, he knew what he wanted and went after it. This was his realm, his arena and you played by his rules. Mesa Ridge, Nevada, may be a million miles from nowhere, but it was definitely Joe Mountain’s town.
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he crossed the room toward her.
“F-fine,” she stammered, feeling heat rise in her cheeks and banking down her nerves. “I’m feeling fine, thank you.”
“I understand you had quite a morning.” It was a statement, not a question or an inquiry and there was nothing empathetic or particularly charitable in his tone. His voice was as devoid of emotion as his expression appeared to be.
“They ran tests, yes,” she told him, brushing off the tedious hours in the lab with a casual wave of her hand. “And I saw the doctor again.”
“I have a few questions, if you’re feeling up to it—about last night. About what you remember.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said with a small shrug, telling herself it was foolish to feel disappointed. This was the shadowy figure from her dreams, the one she’d hoped would come find her, the one she’d hoped would make her feel safe and secure again. Only he had found her and she was feeling anything but safe and secure now. “I just don’t know how much help I’ll be.”
“I talked with Cruz—Dr. Martinez,” he said, setting his hat on the nightstand beside the bed and reaching
