or idiot.
He didn’t know which word most aptly described him. It didn’t matter. He was on the road, and he had to deal with the situation as best he could.
At least he had his radio and could keep abreast of the worsening weather, he assured himself. Reaching for the knob, he turned up the volume, only to jump when a mass of static blared back at him. He cursed again, just as the sound came through the speakers clearly.
He listened to the newscaster’s deep voice warn that if this heavy rain continued, a new rainfall record would be set.
“Really…” he muttered, dodging as lightning came at him from every side, convinced it could reach through the glass and wreak a personal vengeance on him.
Frustration gnawed at him as he was forced to slow his car even more. Hell, he was already crawling at a snail’s pace. Surely the rain had to let up. Fate cut him no slack—lightning continued to crackle nearby, followed by the loudest booms of thunder he’d ever heard.
Suddenly, he flinched again in awe of such a horrific twist of nature. But that awe didn’t last long. It turned once more into impatient anger as the rain slashed against his windshield along with the wipers.
Pull over, he told himself savagely. But he didn’t. Inching down the highway, he didn’t know how long he held this pattern, his mind consumed with keeping the car on the road. Then miraculously the rain slackened, and, though he had to squint, he could see a short distance ahead.
Taking advantage of the reprieve, he increased his speed to make up for lost time. His mind raced. What could Olivia want? he asked himself, recalling the desperation coloring her voice. It wasn’t as if…
He never got any further. An odd but unidentifiable sound chopped off his thoughts. Jerking his head to his right, he saw mud barreling down the hillside straight toward him.
“Oh, God, no!” he cried, only his plea for mercy was too late.
Before he could so much as turn the wheel, mud slammed into the side of his vehicle, sending it careering into the guardrail.
He braced himself for the final impact. His head jerked like a flower on a broken stem, and his temple banged against the side of the window. The last thing he remembered was the sickening blackness that swallowed him.
* * *
An ongoing sickening feeling brought him slowly to the surface of wakefulness. His head pounded as if he’d been beaten to a pulp. Glancing around at the car interior and the view through the windshield, he was struck by the fact nothing seemed familiar. He couldn’t remember a damn thing.
Where was he? Who was he?
Stumbling out of the car into the blinding deluge, the man stood for the longest time, hoping that the cold, stinging rain pelting his face would revive his memory. But only a blank hole remained where his memory should have been.
With no idea what to do next, he started walking.
Chapter One
What a horrible night for a wedding. But then, as far as Noah Howell was concerned, there were no good nights for such an event.
He cut his blue eyes toward a window and watched as the rain slapped against the pane, followed by bolts of lightning and mean cracks of thunder. What the hell was going on? Like most cities, Grand Springs had its share of springtime rains, but this was a bit much.
Weather of such a magnitude bred only one thing: trouble. In fact, during storms, people tended to go a little crazy. He ought to know. As a surgeon, he’d spent countless hours patching maimed bodies from accidents of all kinds. Why the hell didn’t folks use common sense and stay home under these conditions?
Noah smiled but with no humor. Who was he to criticize? Hell, he wasn’t home. He was at Squaw Creek Lodge, nestled high in the mountains, ready to walk his sister, Randi, down the aisle. What blew his mind even more was that the ballroom, which had been turned into a makeshift chapel, was filled with people.
Frowning, Noah focused his attention on the guests, who were smiling and chattering with one another as though Mother Nature wasn’t raising hell. He hoped everyone who planned to attend was already there because the weather was worsening. Besides, the zero hour was only minutes away.
Though the lodge was famous for its rustic atmosphere, the wedding area had been spectacularly transformed by the flowers and candles arranged in a simple but classy style.
But no wonder, considering that his mother, Melissa, had great expectations for Randi, who was marrying “up,” as Melissa was fond of bragging. Hal Stuart, the groom, was a city councilman and his mother was the mayor.
No big deal, Noah thought, as far as he was concerned, anyway. City official or not, Hal put his pants on one leg at a time like any other man. Noah smiled, again with no warmth. Too bad his mother didn’t see Hal as an ordinary man. Hell, when he came around, she thought the waters should part.
Noah winced inwardly as another clap of thunder seemed to shake the entire building. If the intensity of the storm continued, the lodge would lose its power. He had best not even think like that—fearing he might jinx the place and the evening.
He frowned at his cell phone. Why hadn’t Vanderbilt Memorial called him? After all, he was the surgeon on call. But he was glad, he quickly assured himself without enthusiasm, only then to berate himself for his sour attitude. Just because weddings weren’t his thing—having been there, done that—didn’t mean he wanted to throw a kink in his sister’s big night.
Thinking of Randi deepened the frown on Noah’s face. He peered at his watch. Hell, where was she? In five minutes they would parade down that carpeted walkway, making a spectacle of themselves. But again, his mother would be basking in her glory.
Maybe his sister had decided not to go through with the ceremony, he thought, first as a joke. Suddenly he paused to give the notion serious consideration.
Just last week, he had been summoned to Melissa’s house to take care of an insignificant problem that certainly could have waited. But he’d gone, anyway, feeling responsible, that feeling having burgeoned since his father’s death a year ago.
Randi happened to have been there, as well. While their mother was on the phone talking to a friend, he had bluntly commented on the pinched look on his sister’s face.
“You sick or something?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on, you know what I mean. More than sick, you look like a whipped pup.”
Her body stiffened. “That’s not nice to say.”
“Whoever said I was nice?” Noah quipped with a careless shrug.
“Me.”
“Thanks,” he said, “but you’re prejudiced.”
“Probably, but you’ve been here for us.” She paused. “When Dad passed away—” Her voice cracked as she seemed to struggle for control. Seconds later, she continued, “You took charge.”
He
