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.”
Colorado natives, like Caitlyn, took pride in the 10th Mountain Division. Founded during World War II, the original division was made up of elite skiers and mountain climbers who trained near Aspen. “Where were you stationed?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
After the time she’d spent embedded with the troops, she had a great deal of empathy for what they had experienced. To be completely honest, she had self-diagnosed her own low-grade case of post-traumatic stress disorder. But if Jack Dalton had come home from war an alcoholic, she had no desire to be his therapist. “Have you been drinking, Jack?”
“Not a drop, ma’am.”
In spite of his sloppy clothes and posture, his gaze was sharp. He was wary, intense. Maybe dangerous.
She was glad to be wearing her tool belt. Hammers and screwdrivers were handy weapons. Just in case. She looked behind him toward the driveway leading up to her house. “Where’s your car?”
“I had an accident. Walked the rest of the way.”
“Are you hurt?”
“A bit.”
“Oh my God, I’m a jerk!” She’d been treating him with suspicion, thinking he was a drunk when the poor guy was struggling to stay on his feet after a car accident. “Let’s get you inside. Make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, ma’am.”
“Please, call me Caitlyn. I feel terrible for not realizing—”
“It’s all right.” He pushed away from the fence, obviously unsteady on his feet. “I was hoping you could loan me your car and your cell phone so I could go back to my truck and—”
“You’re not driving in your condition.” She went to him, grabbed his arm and slung it over her shoulder. “Come on, lean on me.”
“I’m fine.”
He tried to pull away, but she held on, adjusting his position so none of her tools poked into his side. Jack was a good seven or eight inches taller than she was, and he outweighed her by sixty or seventy pounds. But she could support him; she’d done this before.
As they moved toward the back door to her cabin, she flashed on a memory. So real, it felt like it was happening again, happening now.
The second vehicle in their convoy hit a roadside bomb. The thunder of the explosion rang in her ears. Still, she heard a cry for help. A soldier, wounded. Reporters weren’t supposed to get involved, but she couldn’t ignore his plea, couldn’t stand by impartially and watch him suffer. She helped him to his feet, dragged him and his fifty pounds of gear to safety before the second bomb went off.
Her heart beat faster as adrenaline pulsed through her veins. If she closed her eyes, she could see the fiery burst of that explosion. Her nostrils twitched with the remembered stench of smoke, sweat and blood.
At the two stairs leading to the door, Jack separated from her. “I can walk on my own.”
With a shudder, she forced her mind back to the present. Her memories were too vivid, too deeply carved into her consciousness. She’d give anything to be able to forget. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
His shoulders straightened as he gestured toward the door. “After you.”
The back door opened into a smallish kitchen with serviceable but elderly appliances and a beat-up linoleum floor of gray and pink blobs that she would certainly replace if she decided to stay at the cabin through the winter. Mentally, she started listing other projects she’d undertake. Repair roof on the horse barn. Replacing the railing on the porch. Staying busy kept the memories at bay.
She led Jack to the adjoining dining room and pointed to a chair at the oblong oak table. “Sit right there, and I’ll bring you some water.”
“Something’s
