Chapter Three
Xander
The frail woman I found on the path below my cabin woke up to be an alley cat. Her fire red hair frizzed from its braid, her full lips tightened, and her green eyes were filled with fear. Even though she was obviously scared, she impressed me with her bold and feisty demeanor.
I hadn’t been aware of her leg injury until I watched her struggle to stand. The pain she was suffering from didn’t stop her spunk. “How’s that leg?” I asked, avoiding making any movement towards her.
The bruise on her cheek covered what looked to be a cluster of freckles. Cute. The bandage I’d placed on her forehead was starting to loosen, and the blood from her wound was showing through. She reached down, rubbing her left leg, and moaned as her hand pressed against her thigh. “I don’t know. It hurts,” she grumbled. “My hip feels broken too,” she added, struggling to situate comfortably on the couch.
“Can I take a look?” I asked, glancing down at her jeans, not spotting any blood. She’d taken a good fall. If her hip was in fact broken, or her leg, I could tend to it well enough with my SEAL training, but I knew I’d have to figure out a way to get her off this mountain and to a hospital quick.
“How did I get here?” she asked, ignoring my concern about her injuries.
“I found you about a half mile or so down the mountain. You fell. Just lucky I was outside when you were still able to cry out for help,” I explained, even though she didn’t actually call out for help. Her moans were enough to send me on the hunt, but they were nearly shrugged off as wild creatures. I hadn’t been here long enough to know everything that lived on this mountain.
“How long have I been here?” she asked, her head falling into her hands.
“About eight hours,” I replied.
She lifted her head, staring into me with the greenest eyes I’d ever saw. I couldn’t tell if she was about to cry or curse me out again. I was hoping for the latter. I wasn’t good with crying women. Too gruff, or so I’d been told.
“I bandaged your head and tried waking you, but you were out cold. I didn’t think I could make it to the bottom of the mountain before the storm took hold, so I brought you here,” I filled her in on some of the details. I was still curious about the other details, like who she was, and why on earth she was on that path alone with no phone, no identification, and no regard for the grey skies that lurked above her as she ascended the path.
“What was I doing there?” she asked, a strange confusion filling in her eyes. That was my question.
“Hiking, I assume. Although, I wasn’t sure why in this weather, and alone without any phone,” I shrugged.
“There wasn’t anyone with me?” she questioned, as if she thought there should be.
“I didn’t see anyone. Was someone with you?” I asked, now worried that I’d left someone on the path and under this ten inches of snow.
She shrugged her shoulders and let out a sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I did check both sides of the path, and I didn’t see anyone,” I offered as some relief. She didn’t seem relieved. Her eyebrows pushed down on her face, and her bottom lip slid under her top teeth. She looked confused about something, but I wasn’t sure what. “I didn’t mean to intrude by looking in your bag. I just wanted to find out who you were, find a phone so I could call someone, to let them know you were safe,” I proclaimed.
Her head shook slightly, and her eyes started to fill with tears. Shit, here comes the waterworks. “Is there someone I can call?” I asked.
Large tears flopped from her eyes as her head continued to shake. “I don’t know,” she sobbed, pushing her head into her hands.
Panic set into my bones like arthritis as I struggled with what to do, what to say. My hand slid to her back to offer some comfort, but she quickly jerked away, rejecting my attempt to console her.
“There has to be someone,” I offered, returning to my own space on the couch beside her.
“That’s just it. If there is someone, I can’t remember who that is,” she sobbed, her eyes wide and red as they locked onto mine.
“You can’t remember?” I questioned curiously.
Her head shook as more tears found their way down her rosy cheeks. She really was a beautiful woman, even filled with grief. “You hit your head pretty good, so maybe a bit more rest, and you’ll remember,” I assured her.
Her lips curled into a half-smile, and her eyes brightened with what appeared to be a gleam of hope. “Let’s start with the easy stuff. What’s your name?” I asked, figuring that would be a no-brainer.
Her stare was distant, as if she were in deep thought of a long past memory. A few seconds went by, and no more tears rolled from her eyes, but she looked more frustrated than before. Her lips parted, a soft sigh escaped her mouth, and then she leaned back onto the couch. “I don’t know,” she whispered, still staring out into space.
“Okay. No need to panic. It’s probably just the trauma,” I smiled, standing from the couch and heading quickly into the bathroom. “I’ll get you some medicine to reduce swelling,” I called to her as I rummaged through my medicine chest for the steroids the doctor had given me for my knee. I wasn’t a doctor, but in the military, we learned to improvise. I knew how to improvise with almost anything, but a woman found on the path below my cabin with no memory? That was a new one.
I found the small white pills with just the light of the candle above the toilet and grabbed a bottle of water on my way back to the couch. “What’s this?” she questioned.
“Prednisone,” I explained. “They’ll help with inflammation, and hopefully help with your memory loss,” I smiled, pushing the pills and the water towards her.
She appeared reluctant, but took the pills anyway. She swallowed three of them and took a large swig of water to wash them down. I couldn’t imagine what was going on inside of her head, if anything. How could she not remember anything, not even her name?
“I have to call you something,” I sighed. “I’m Xander,” I formally introduced myself to the woman who’d slept in my bed for the last eight hours.
“Thank you for everything,” she said so softly I could barely hear. “I don’t know what you could call me,” she almost giggled, but then swallowed hard as tears formed in her eyes once again.
It was obvious, whoever she was, she had spunk and a sense of humor, two things I’d always admired in women. “I’ll spout off some names, you tell me if any of them sound right,” I suggested and then immediately began rambling names. Jessica, Mary, Cindy, Lana, Pauline, and Teresa were all a quick head shake, and at times, a wrinkled nose to go along with it. “Bailey.” I continued. This time she didn’t shake her head, but instead paused on my eyes with a new expression. Her head nodded, and a slight smile appeared on her lips. “Nice to meet you, Bailey,” I smiled, extending my hand to hers.
It was a relief to have a name for her, even if it may not be correct. It was one that she liked, connected to, or at least found familiar. Bailey it is.
“Why don’t we get you back to bed, and I’ll make you some dinner,” I offered, standing from the couch and extending my hand to her yet again. I was slightly surprised at how quickly she accepted my help, especially since she’d been so stubborn earlier.
“I really should get to the hospital. What if someone’s looking for me?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.
“I’m afraid if anyone’s looking for you, they aren’t doing it up here. The storm’s gotten worse, and there’s no way to get up or down this mountain,” I explained. I could get down from this mountain if I wanted to, but with Bailey to keep safe, it wasn’t worth the risk. She’d be just fine resting here, and after the storm, we’d find out who she really was and if someone was looking for her.
No ring on her finger told me she wasn’t married, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t attached. She was old enough to be out of college and away from home, but still may have lived with parents. Nothing about her gave me clues as to her profession, her lifestyle, or her life. I knew she liked to hike, didn’t watch the weather, and was stubborn, spunky, and beautiful.
Bailey reluctantly agreed to allow me to help her back into the bed. She could barely walk, and it was clear her ankle was starting to swell as she hobbled along. I wanted to scoop her up in my arms, to carry her the rest of the way, but I feared she may find that a little too intrusive, so I let her walk.
She thanked me again as I tucked her into bed. I left her bottle of water on the nightstand and retreated into the kitchen to heat up the fish I’d made for dinner earlier that day.
I hoped she’d remember more in the morning, not only for her sake, but mine as well. I hated mystery. I liked knowing what was going on at all times. Ever since I left the SEALs, I wasn’t a fan of surprises.