throat. She scrambled to her feet and swayed. “Oh, my head.” She pressed her palms to her temples, felt a lump on the right side and moaned.
Sheriff Jesse Hill had also risen and he caught her elbow. “Steady, now. You’re hurt. Why don’t you sit down again until you feel better?”
“I can’t.” She clung to his hand to keep from falling and breathed deeply to still the rolling of her stomach. “I must find my belongings. They’ll have my name on them.”
“Miss Emily, everything is gone.” His words drained the strength from her.
“Gone.” She sank to the ground and stared at Mikey. How did she know the little boy’s name? Who was he?
“Is this your son?” The sheriff squatted down beside her. “The two of you were the only passengers on the stagecoach.”
She looked at the little boy, his blue eyes wide with shock, his blond hair tousled. She shook her head, and then turned back to the sheriff. “I don’t remember.” The words whispered from her as if she couldn’t bear to hear them aloud. Surely she would know if she had a child. If she was married. She looked at her hand. No ring. She squinted. No depression to indicate she’d recently worn one.
The sheriff spoke to Mikey. “What’s your name, son?”
Mikey patted his tummy. “I Mikey.”
“Do you have another name?” The sheriff spoke softly.
Emily could hardly breathe as she waited for the child to reply, hoping the information would enable her to remember something...anything.
“I Mikey.”
She pressed her lips together and blinked back disappointment.
Sheriff Hill chuckled. “Hi, Mikey. Pleased to meet you. How old are you?”
He held up two fingers. “’Most...” He struggled to get a third finger up bringing a chuckle from Emily. The sound ended on a groan as her head protested the sound.
Knowing how any sudden movement increased the pain in her head and brought a twinge of nausea, she slowly turned her gaze back to the sheriff. “Mr. Hill, I can’t remember who I am or where I’m going.” She would not cry but tears stung her eyes. A sob caught in the back of her throat.
Mikey sensed her distress. Or perhaps only felt his own and again pressed to her side. “Mem...mem...mem...” he chanted.
Was he saying his name? Hers? Or did he mean mama?
Mikey stuck a thumb in his mouth. Somehow, Emily found comfort in watching him suck it.
“Calm down, Miss Emily. You’ll be okay in a few minutes.”
His assurance drove back the sense of panic. “Of course. My head hurts. As soon as it’s better, I’ll be better.” Please, Lord Jesus, let it be so. And soon. Not knowing who she was or where she belonged left her fighting to make her lungs work.
The sheriff patted her arm. “You’ll be just fine. At least you are safe and in one piece.”
“Not quite.”
He eyed her carefully. “How’s that? Are you injured elsewhere?”
She smiled though her lips quivered. “I seem to be missing some of my memories.”
He looked sympathetic, or at least, she hoped that was what she saw. “I’m sure they’ll return once the shock has worn off.”
A wagon rumbled down the slope toward the scene of the wreck.
Sheriff Hill pushed to his feet. “I sent for help and here it is. I’ll take you to town and we’ll sort out things.” He offered her a hand up.
She placed her fingers in his strong grip. And then couldn’t let go. He was the only thing between her and an abyss of darkness. She shivered.
Perhaps he understood, for he held her tightly. Or more likely, he was only making sure she didn’t fall.
“Come along, little fella.” He scooped Mikey into his other arm.
Mikey giggled. “’Kay.” He patted the man’s cheek. “Nice.”
“Thanks. Good of you to think so.” The sheriff’s droll response brought a smile to Emily’s lips.
“Not used to being told you’re nice?” It felt good to be able to tease a little, despite the seriousness of the situation.
“Get told it all the time,” he said with a shrug. “But not often by a little boy who has just met me. He must be a good judge of character.” He slid her a look that he no doubt meant to be serious but he couldn’t hide the teasing light in his eyes.
She laughed, ignoring the way the sound brought pain to her head. “Aren’t all children good judges of character? Accepting us for who we truly are?” The question stirred a thought, as if it meant more to her than simply an observation. She stared inward at the teasing memory, willing it to open the door to who she was. But it flitted away.
The sheriff guided her toward the wagon. Two men jumped down, carrying dark blankets.
She turned to follow their journey. They bent over a body, covered it with one of the blankets, hoisted it up and moved it to the wagon, where they put it in the back.
Emily’s legs shook. The sheriff had lifted Mikey up to the seat and turned back to Emily in time to see her fold.
He caught her before she hit the ground and swept her into his arms.
She clung to his firm shoulders. “Those poor men.” The driver and the shotgun rider were both dead. She and the boy were alive, but she didn’t remember her name. Or a destination. It was too much and she wept.
His arms tightened around her. “It’s okay.” He didn’t seem in the least flustered by her emotions. “I’ll take you to see the doctor. He’ll be able to fix you up.”
“I hope so.” Her words were interspersed with sobs. “But what if he can’t?” She couldn’t hold back the wail but she quickly choked it off. “‘What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee. In God I have put my trust; I will not fear.’” The scripture verse had never meant more to her. Not even when...
But she couldn’t remember.
“Psalm Fifty-six,” the sheriff said. “Hang on to those thoughts.”
“Thank you, sheriff. Did anyone tell you that you have an encouraging way about you?”
“Sure, my grandmother says it all the time.” He smiled at her, his face so close to hers she could see the dark shadow of his whiskers, the smile lines about his eyes and something in his gaze that filled her with courage. “And seeing as I have no choice but to use your name, you best use mine and call me Jesse.”
“Thank you, Jesse.” She meant for more than the use of his name.
He lifted her to the wagon seat. “My
