“The worst time is when I dream,” Emma said. “I see a small, dark room and imagine being back there again. It makes me afraid to go to sleep.” She displayed her chafed wrist. “I was handcuffed. A chain kept me from going any farther than the bathroom.”

  Samantha took her hand and examined the injury. “This is recent. You must not have been on the run for very long. Cleo told me you remembered hitching a ride from Tennessee. Is that right?”

  “Yes. A trucker picked me up at a rest stop outside Memphis. I remember running through a forest before that. Somebody shot at me but I got away.”

  “Is it possible you were drugged, too?” Samantha asked. “If so, there’s a chance that repeating that kind of medication, under controlled conditions, will trigger more memories.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “No one knows.” The nurse leaned back and rested her hands on the edge of the table, apparently choosing her words carefully. “There’s a kind of amnesia that can occur as a protective function of the brain during intense stress or trauma and repress that experience from conscious awareness.”

  Travis recognized the description from one of his recent internet searches. “Dissociative amnesia?”

  “Yes. It’s similar to PTSD. There’s a lot of controversy in the medical community about its cause and effect. Some say it’s all psychological while others claim it should be studied from a biological and neurological standpoint. Those doctors insist that extreme stress, and perhaps ongoing pressure, result in widespread alterations in neurotransmission.”

  Emma’s eyes were wide with interest. “Do you think that’s what’s wrong with me?”

  “Maybe. I’m no psychiatrist. I do know that in many cases the problem corrects itself, particularly when the patient stops being afraid.”

  “That’s going to be hard to do,” Travis interjected, “since the criminals responsible are still harassing Emma.”

  “The dogs,” she said, sounding excited to have thought of something. “Travis’s dogs were drugged. That may have been what they did to me to keep me quiet, too.”

  “It might be,” Samantha said. “I can write you a prescription for something mild to help you relax and sleep if you want. Then, when you think you’re ready, you can try taking one tablet before bedtime and have Cleo stand by to wake you in case your memories return too vividly.”

  “Do you really think they will?”

  Travis could tell Emma was both enthused about the chance to remember and scared of doing so. That made perfect sense.

  “I don’t know,” Samantha said flatly. “I wish I did. Medicine is not an exact science. We give it our best guess and hope for a cure.” She pointed to the ceiling. “A lot of healing is thanks to The Man Upstairs, if you know what I mean. I can’t count the number of times a patient has surprised me and gotten well after doctors have given up.”

  “Amen to that,” Cleo said. “Who’s ready for dessert?”

  Travis saw Emma lean closer to Samantha to say, “There’s one more thing I need to mention. I keep picturing a little girl. She’s looks to be about five years old and blonde with blue eyes, like me.”

  “Could you be picturing yourself as a child?” the nurse asked.

  Although that possibility had never occurred to Travis, Samantha’s next question made his blood run cold.

  While Emma sat there, looking confused, Samantha asked, “Or could the little girl be your daughter?”

  * * *

  For Emma, the rest of the evening was a blur. She had remained polite and had tried to answer other questions while, in the back of her mind, there remained intense bewilderment regarding the child.

  Could she actually be a mother? Would anybody be able to forget something that important? She would have asked the nurse that very thing if she hadn’t been afraid to hear the answer. Try as she might, she could not remember a smidgen more.

  Even after they had bade Samantha goodbye, cleaned up the kitchen together and retired to their separate bedrooms, Emma remained keyed up.

  She closed the door behind her, kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot to the window without turning on any lights. A full moon illuminated the countryside. Lighted windows glowed in a few distant neighbors’ homes. Beyond that lay the only high ground for miles around and the flashing red beacons on the pair of radio and telephone relay towers at its crest.

  “I remember those!” she realized with delight. “I do. And the field trips my classes used to take up there.”

  She almost jumped for joy and clapped her hands. Although the urge to awaken Cleo and Travis to tell them was strong, she resisted in favor of just letting her mind wander as it had been.

  The reward was instant. She was back in her teens, giggling and teasing Travis while he chased her with a handful of leaves he insisted were poison ivy.

  Emma’s grin widened. She could picture herself laughing and pointing to the leaves in his hand.

  You’re crazy! she had shouted.

  I know what I’m doing, he’d replied. This stuff never bothers me. Give me a kiss and I won’t rub it on you.

  No way!

  She had outrun him long enough for their FFA leader to intervene and stop the game. By the time the man had lectured Travis and had convinced him that the plant really was poison ivy rather than a look-alike, it was too late. Poor Travis had itched for weeks.

  Nostalgia for the old days washed over Emma and she leaned a shoulder against the window frame. Those were good times. Happy times. And yet, she had been convinced that a better life awaited her in Music City. How could she have been so wrong?

  Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself. Bits and pieces of high-school life and her initial attempts at professional singing darted in and out of her mind. Being raised in rural Arkansas among so many bluegrass and country musicians, she had never considered any other kind of music. Well, except gospel. Going to church was so much a part of country life it rarely required mention.

  She began to hum a familiar hymn, seeing herself stepping forward and raising a microphone while the rest of the choir sang backup. The image of the congregation was clear. And there sat Travis, in his usual spot in the third pew with other young adults, smiling and silently cheering her on. Dear, sweet Travis.

  He’d joined her after that service to escort her home, as usual. The pickup he’d been driving then was barely holding together, but he’d been proud of it just the same. If she had only known...

  She recalled the rush of gladness she’d felt when he’d started talking about the future, because she could already see herself performing onstage in Nashville. And then he had pulled over and done the unthinkable.

  Tears spilled over Emma’s lashes and slid down her cheeks as she envisioned that moment.

  His earnest expression had reached into her heart and made it ache. He’d taken her hand.

  Emma, I was going to wait to ask you this until I’d saved up enough to buy a little place of my own, but I don’t want to lose you.

  You’ll never... she had started to say before he had silenced her with a gentle touch of his finger on her lips.

  Hush. Let me get this out before I lose my nerve.

  Nodding, she had begun to sense the portent of the moment and to guess what he was going to say. Despite all her insistence that they could be together later, after she was famous, he was going to pop the question. And there was no way she could stop him.

  Travis had taken a blue-velvet-covered box from his jacket pocket and held it out to her. I bought you a ring and everything. Marry me, Emma?

  The silence between them had seemed endless. Finally, through her unshed tears, she had done what she felt she must. She had turned him down.

  “I do love you,” she remembered whispering, as she repeated herself in the present.

  But it wasn’t enough. Not then. And sadly, not now. The stronger her love for Travis Wright grew, the more she realized he deserved better. Somehow, she had taken the wrong path and was floundering in the mire of her mistakes.

  Whatever she had done, whoever she may have hurt in the past, there was nothing she regretted as much as seeing that look of hopelessness on Travis’s face.

  If she had not been afraid she’d awaken the others, she would have given in and thrown herself across her bed to sob away her sorrows until she was exhausted.

  Instead, she splashed cold water on her face, patted it dry and opened the bedroom door, intending to raid the kitchen for a glass of milk or something else soothing.

  Had it not been for the moonlight streaming through her window, she might have tripped over the sleeping gray-and-black bluetick hound curled up just outside her door.

  Bo raised his head when she bent to stroke him.

  “What are you doing here, old boy?” Emma whispered tenderly. “Huh? Did you know I needed a friend?”

  As if answering via his actions, the dog got stiffly to his feet, stretched, walked past her and proceeded to curl up again beside her bed.

  Touched, and knowing the old dog might fall off and hurt himself if she invited him to join her atop the mattress, Emma pulled a pillow and blanket onto the floor and made herself comfortable next to Bo.

  “We’ll just share down here,” she whispered, laying an arm across his warm side and breathing a sigh of contentment.

  It had already occurred to her that being made welcome at the Wright ranch could definitely be a gift from God. As she grew drowsy, she wondered if the Lord might have sent her this furry companion, as well.

  Right or wrong, the notion gave her added peace.

  In minutes she had drifted off to sleep.

  A rumbling noise roused Emma. Clouds had drifted across the moon so there was less ambient light.

  It took her a few seconds to get her bearings and remember why she was still clothed and lying on the floor.

  The vibration she had sensed upon waking was coming from Bo. He was growling and staring at the closed door.

  She slipped an arm around his neck and pulled him close. “Hush. Quiet.”

  Quivering as if getting ready to lunge, the hound never took his deep brown eyes off the door.

  Now she could hear it, too. Somebody was walking in the hallway. If not for the dog, she would have assumed she was hearing Cleo or Travis. She might not know the difference in their footsteps but the wise old dog did.

  Defenseless, she cast around for a makeshift weapon. Unless she planned to hit the intruder over the head with a hairbrush, she was unarmed. And so was the dog, considering his advanced age. One swift kick in his brittle ribs could be the end of the poor thing.

  Emma froze, listening, staring. Was the knob turning? It looked as if it was, although in the dim light it was impossible to be certain.

  Bo reacted with another growl.

  She held his muzzle and hissed, “Shh.”

  The misplaced pillow and blanket would be sure signs that the room was occupied if someone peeked in. Therefore, she gathered them up and crawled to the opposite side of the bed, wedging herself between the frame and the wall.

  To her relief, Bo followed.

  She gripped his collar with one hand, the other ready to stop him from making more noise.

  Hinges squeaked. Peering beneath the bed, Emma saw a pair of worn hiking boots. She couldn’t tell who was wearing them but they were definitely big. And dirty.

  A muttered curse echoed through the silent house.

  Bo gave a lunge and broke free.

  With a howl that would have done his wild ancestors proud he attacked the intruder while Emma screamed, “No!” at the top of her lungs.

  NINE

  Travis had slept in his jeans for another night. He’d hit the floor and was moving before he even realized why he was awake.

  The howling was coming from Bo. The human screams, from Emma. Why they were both raising the roof didn’t matter. The woman might be having mental problems, but the well-seasoned dog was as reliable as any animal he’d ever owned. If Bo thought something was wrong, it was.

  Straight-arming his way into her room through the half-open door, he saw her peeking over the top of the mattress from the far side. Before he could ask what was wrong she popped up and pointed with her whole arm. “That way! Quick. Bo’s after a prowler.”

  “Stay there.”

  Travis pounded down the stairs two at a time. By the time he reached the ground floor, Bo was in the kitchen, whining and pawing the back door, while the other dogs barked from their temporary quarters in the laundry room.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the intruder had escaped. And, unlike a couple of harebrained women he could mention, Travis was not about to go exploring in the dark and make himself a target. Again.

  He’d managed to quiet all the dogs with a few calm words and slow his own pounding heart by the time Emma and Cleo joined him. Cleo was still in her robe but Emma was dressed. Come to think of it, she’d been wearing those same clothes when she’d shown herself upstairs.

  If those new jeans fit her any better it would be against the law, Travis thought, taking care to keep his appreciation to himself. Emma might have lost some weight, but she was still the prettiest girl he’d ever known.

  No. Not a girl. Not anymore, he admitted with a sigh. She was not only a woman, she might be a mother. Every time he allowed himself to picture her with another man’s offspring it cut him to the quick. This was not the first time he had wondered if he’d be able to love Emma’s daughter as much as he loved her. Perhaps, with God’s help he would. On his own, he wasn’t at all sure.

  She pulled the oversize gray sweatshirt on over her T-shirt and clasped it closed by folding her arms. “Did the guy get away?”

  “That’s what Bo tells me and I have no reason to doubt him.”

  “He saved me,” Emma said, kneeling to give the bluetick a hug and receiving a kiss on her cheek from its wide, pink tongue. “I’d have slept through the whole thing if he hadn’t woken me in time to hide.”

  “You were still dressed. Were you expecting trouble?” Travis asked, scowling at her.

  “No. Bo showed up at my bedroom door right when I needed his companionship and I thought the least I could do was move to the floor to keep him company.”

  Eyebrows arching, Travis remarked, “You were sleeping on the floor?” The corners of his mouth started to twitch. “With my dog?”

  “As a matter of fact, I was,” Emma said, standing to face him and sticking out her chin the way she used to whenever they would argue as teens.

  The lopsided grin broadened into a full smile as Travis looked at her. If her memory recovery was half as fast as the return of her feistiness, she’d be back to her old self in no time. This was the Emma he had known and loved, not the unfortunate waif he’d found hiding in his truck mere days before.

  “I’m sure Bo appreciated it,” Travis drawled, “and you’ll be glad to hear he’s had all his shots and a recent flea-and-tick treatment, too.”

  “Good to know,” Emma shot back. “I’d hate to have to take a bath in sheep dip.”

  Cleo cackled gaily and clapped her hands. “Hallelujah! You two are finally starting to sound like your old selves.”

  Emma sobered and the look she gave him made Travis follow suit. His eyes narrowed. “What is it? Have you remembered something else?”

  “Boots,” she said softly as she massaged her temples with her fingertips and closed her eyes. “The man who showed up at my bedroom door was wearing lace-up boots, like for hiking.”

  “Is that good?” Cleo asked.

  “Yes, and no.” Emma pressed her lips into a thin line before she explained. “Blake would never have been caught dead in anything but pricey cowboy boots. Our visitor must have been the guy who came after me in Ash Flat.”

  “Or a third man,” Travis said flatly. He flipped open his cell phone. “Harlan is going to get really sick of hearing from me, but maybe this will convince him to insist on getting those in-store camera images ASAP.”

  “It’s nearly five in the morning,” Cleo said, “and I seem to be the only one who’s not dressed, so I’ll just run upstairs and get some clothes on. You two might as well get the coffee started. Make a full pot. If I don’t miss my guess, we’ll soon have plenty of company willing to help us drink it.”

  Travis glanced at Emma while he waited for the sheriff’s office to answer his call. She had already begun to busy herself at the sink, following Cleo’s orders without question. So why did she seem to have so much trouble listening to him when he made perfectly sensible suggestions?

  It must be me, he reasoned, not pleased with that conclusion. He and Emma used to be so in tune it was almost as if they could each tell what the other was thinking.

  That brought added color to Travis’s face and he turned away to hide his reaction. Truth to tell, it was probably for the best that Emma could no longer read his mind because there were times when his thoughts were far from innocent and he didn’t want her to withdraw again. When all this was over and she was her former, sensible self, then perhaps he’d tell her more about his feelings.

  And if she never recovered? he asked himself.

  That question was so unacceptable he refused to even consider an answer. All he had to do was continue to keep her safe and bide his time. Surely, that would be enough.

  Watching Emma return to hug Bo again, he almost laughed when he realized he was envying the dog!

  * * *

  Coffee drunk, breakfast shared and explanations completed, Emma escorted Adelaide Crowe to the door. “I’ll just walk her out and give Bo and the other dogs some exercise at the same time,” she told Cleo and Travis. Before they had time to object she was outside with the dogs and the deputy.