Chapter Two
Major Colt McCloud felt the big bird shake as he brought the helicopter low over the bleak landscape. He was back in Afghanistan behind the controls of a UH-60 Black Hawk. The throb of the rotating blades was drowned out by the sound of mortar fire. It grew louder and louder, taking on a consistent pounding that warned him something was very wrong.
He dragged himself awake, but the dream followed him. Blinking in the darkness, he didn’t know where he was for a moment. Everything looked alien and surreal. As the dream began to fade, he recognized his bedroom at the ranch.
He’d left behind the sound of the chopper and the mortar fire, but the pounding had intensified. With a start, he realized what he was hearing.
Someone was at the door.
He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. It was after three in the morning. Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, he grabbed his jeans, pulling them on as he fought to put the dream behind him and hurry to the door.
A half dozen possibilities flashed in his mind as he moved quickly through the house. It still felt strange to be back here after years of traveling the world as an Army helicopter pilot. After his fiancée dumped him, he’d planned to make a career out of the military, but then his father had died, leaving him a working ranch that either had to be run or sold.
He’d taken a hundred-and-twenty-day leave in between assignments so he could come home to take care of the ranch. His father had been the one who’d loved ranching, not Colt. That’s why there was a for-sale sign out on the road into the ranch.
Colt reached the front door and, frowning at the incessant knocking at this hour of the morning, threw it open.
He blinked at the disheveled woman standing there before she turned to motion to the driver of the car idling nearby. The engine roared and a car full of what appeared to be partying teenagers took off in a cloud of dust.
Colt flipped on the porch light as the woman turned back to him and he got his first good look at her and her scratched, blood-streaked face. For a moment he didn’t recognize her, and then it all came back in a rush. Standing there was a woman he’d never thought he’d see again.
“Lola?” He couldn’t even be sure that was her real name. But somehow it fit her, so maybe at least that part of her story had been true. “What happened to you?”
“I had nowhere else to go.” Her words came out in a rush. “I was so worried that you wouldn’t be here.” She burst into tears and slumped as if physically exhausted.
He caught her, swung her up into his arms and carried her into the house, kicking the door closed behind him. His mind raced as he tried to imagine what could have happened to bring her to his door in Gilt Edge, Montana, in the middle of the night and in this condition.
“Sit here,” he said as he carried her in and set her down in a kitchen chair before going for the first-aid kit. When he returned, he was momentarily taken aback by the memory of this woman the first time he’d met her. She wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense. But she was striking, from her wide violet eyes fringed with pale lashes to the silk of her long blond hair. She had looked like an angel, especially in the long white dress she’d been wearing that night.
That was over a year ago and he hadn’t seen her since. Nor had he expected to since they’d met initially several hundred miles from the ranch. But whatever had struck him about her hadn’t faded. There was something flawless about her—even as scraped up and bruised as she was. It made him furious at whoever was responsible for this.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked as he began to clean the cuts.
“I... I...” Her throat seemed to close on a sob.
“It’s okay, don’t try to talk.” He felt her trembling and could see that she was fighting tears. “This cut under your eye is deep.”
She said nothing, looking as if it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. He took in her torn and filthy dress. It was long, like the white one he’d first seen her in, but faded. It reminded him of something his grandmother might have worn to do housework in. She was also thinner than he remembered.
As he gently cleaned her wounds, he could see dark circles under her eyes, and her long braided hair was in disarray with bits of twigs and leaves stuck in it.
The night he’d met her, her plaited hair had been pinned up at the nape of her neck—until he’d released it, the blond silk dropping to the center of her back.
He finished his doctoring, put away the first-aid kit, and wondered how far she’d come to find him and what she had been through to get here. When he returned to the kitchen, he found her standing at the back window, staring out. As she turned, he saw the fear in her eyes—and the exhaustion.
Colt desperately wanted to know what had happened to her and how she’d ended up on his doorstep. He hadn’t even thought that she’d known his name. “Have you had anything to eat?”
“Not in the past forty-eight hours or so,” she said, squinting at the clock on the wall as if not sure what day it was. “And not all that much before that.”
He’d been meaning to get into Gilt Edge and buy some groceries. “Sit and I’ll see what I can scare up,” he said as he opened the refrigerator. Seeing only one egg left, he said, “How do you feel about pancakes? I have chokecherry syrup.”
She nodded and attempted a smile. She looked skittish as a newborn calf. Worse, he sensed that she was having second thoughts about coming here.
She licked her cracked lips. “I have to tell you. I have to explain—”
“It’s okay. You’re safe here.” But safe from what, he wondered? “There’s no hurry. Let’s get you taken care of first.” He’d feed her and get her settled down.
He motioned her into a chair at the kitchen table. He could tell that she must hurt all over by the way she moved. As much as he wanted to know what had happened, he thought she needed food more than anything else at this moment.
“While I make the pancakes, would you like a hot shower? The guest room is down the hall to the left. I can find you some clothes. They’ll be too large for you, but maybe they will be more comfortable.”
Tears welled in her eyes. He saw her swallow before she nodded. As she started to get to her feet, he noticed her grimace in pain.
“Wait.”
She froze.
“I don’t know how to say this delicately, but if someone assaulted you—”
“I wasn’t raped.”
He nodded, hoping that was true, because a shower would destroy important evidence. “Okay, so the injuries were...”
“From running for my life.” With that she limped out of the kitchen.
He had the pancake batter made and the griddle heating when he heard the shower come on. He stopped to listen to the running water, remembering this woman in a hotel shower with him months ago.
That night he’d bumped into her coming out of the hotel bar. He’d seen that she was upset. She’d told him that she needed his help, that there was someone after her. She’d given him the impression she was running from an old boyfriend. He’d been happy to help. Now he wondered if that was still the case. She said she was running for her life—just as she had the first time they’d met.
But that had been in Billings. This was Gilt Edge, Montana, hundreds of miles away. Didn’t seem likely she would still be running from the same boyfriend. But whoever was chasing her, she’d come to him for help.
He couldn’t turn her away any more than he’d been able to in that hotel hallway in Billings last year.
* * *
LOLA PULLED OUT her braid, discarding the debris stuck in it, then climbed into the steaming shower. She stood under the hot spray, leaned against the smooth, cool tile wall of the shower and closed her eyes. She felt weak from hunger, lack of sleep and constant fear. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept through the night.
Exhaustion pulled at her. It took all of her energy to wash herself. Her body felt alien to her, her skin chafed from the rough fabric of the long dresses she’d been wearing for months. Stumbling from the shower, she wrapped her hair in one of the guest towels. It felt good to free her hair from the braid that had been wound at the nape of her neck.
As she pulled down another clean towel from the bathroom rack, she put it to her face and sniffed its freshness. Tears burned her eyes. It had been so long since she’d had even the smallest creature comforts like good soap, shampoo and clean towels that smelled like this, let alone unlimited hot water.
When she opened the bathroom door, she saw that Colt had left her a sweatshirt and sweatpants on the guest-room bed. She dried and tugged them on, pulling the drawstring tight around her waist. He was right, the clothes were too big, but they felt heavenly.
She took the towels back to the bathroom to hang them and considered her dirty clothing on the floor. The hem of the worn ankle-length coarse cotton dress was torn and filthy with dirt and grime. The long sleeves were just as bad except they were soiled with her blood. The black utilitarian shoes were scuffed, the heels worn unevenly since she’d inherited them well used.
She wadded up the dress and shoved it into the bathroom wastebasket before putting the shoes on top of it, all the time feeling as if she was committing a sin. Then again, she’d already done that, hadn’t she.
Downstairs, she stepped into the kitchen to see Colt slip three more pancakes onto the stack he already had on the plate.
He turned as if sensing her in the doorway and she was reminded of the first time she’d seen him. All she’d noticed that night was his Army uniform—before he’d turned and she’d seen his face.
That he was handsome hadn’t even registered. What she’d seen was a kind face. She’d been desperate and Colt McCloud had suddenly appeared as if it had been meant to be. Just as he’d been here tonight, she thought.
“Last time I saw you, you were on leave and talking about staying in the military,” she said as he pulled out a kitchen chair for her and she sat down. “I was afraid that you had and that—” her voice broke as she met his gaze “—you wouldn’t be here.”
“I’m on leave now. My father died.”
“I’m sorry.”
He set down the plate of pancakes. “Dig in.”
Always the gentleman, she thought as he joined her at the table. “I made a bunch. There’s fresh sweet butter. If you don’t like chokecherry syrup—”
“I love it.” She slid several of the lightly browned cakes onto her plate. The aroma that rose from them made her stomach growl loudly. She slathered them with butter and covered them with syrup. The first bite was so delicious that she actually moaned, making him smile.
“I was going to ask how they are,” he said with a laugh, “but I guess I don’t have to.”
She devoured the pancakes before helping herself to more. They ate in a companionable silence that didn’t surprise her any more than Colt making her pancakes in the middle of the night or opening his door to her, no questions asked. It was as if it was something he did all the time. Maybe it was, she thought, remembering the first night they’d met.
He hadn’t hesitated when she’d told him she needed his help. She’d looked into his blue eyes and known she could trust him. He’d been so sweet and caring that she’d almost told him the truth. But she’d stopped herself. Because she didn’t think he would believe her? Or because she didn’t want to involve him? Or because, at that point, she thought she could still handle things on her own?
Unfortunately, she no longer had the option of keeping the truth from him.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” she said, after swallowing her last bite of pancake and wiping her mouth with her napkin. The food had helped, but her body ached all over and fatigue had weakened her. “You had to be surprised to see me again, especially with me showing up at your door in the middle of the night looking like I do.”
“I didn’t even know you knew my last name.”
“After that night in Billings... Before I left your hotel room, while you were still sleeping, I looked in your wallet.”
“You planned to take my money?” He’d had over four hundred dollars in there. He’d been headed home to his fiancée, he’d told her. But the fiancée, who was supposed to pick him up at the airport, had called instead with crushing news. Not only was she not picking him up, she was in love with one of his best friends, someone he’d known since grade school.
He’d been thinking he just might rent a car and drive home to confront the two of them, he’d told Lola later. But, ultimately, he’d booked a flight for the next morning to where he was stationed and, with time to kill, had taken a taxi to a hotel, paid for a room and headed for the hotel bar. Two drinks later, he’d run into Lola as he’d headed from the bar to the men’s room. Lola had saved him from getting stinking drunk that night. Also from driving to Gilt Edge to confront his ex-fiancée and his ex-friend.
“I hate to admit that I thought about taking your money,” she said. “I could have used it.”
“You should have taken it then.”
She smiled at him and shook her head. “You were so kind to me, so tender...” Her cheeks heated as she held his gaze and remembered being naked in his arms. “I’m sure I gave you the wrong impression of me that night. It wasn’t like me to...with a complete stranger.” She bit her lower lip and felt tears well in her eyes again.
“There is nothing wrong with the impression you left with me. As a matter of fact, I’ve thought of you often.” He smiled. It was a great smile. “Every time I heard one of those songs that we’d danced to in my hotel room that night—” his gaze warmed to a Caribbean blue “—I thought of you.”
She looked away to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat before she could speak again. “It wasn’t an old boyfriend I was running from that night. I let you believe that because I doubted you’d have believed the truth. I did need your help, though, because right before I collided with you in that hallway, I’d seen one of them in the hotel. I knew it was just a matter of time before they found me and took me back.”
“Took you back?”
“I wasn’t a fugitive from the law or some mental institution,” she said quickly. “It’s worse than that.”
He narrowed his gaze with concern. “What could be worse than that?”
“The Society of Lasting Serenity.”
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COWBOY’S REDEMPTION by B.J. Daniels,
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Copyright © 2018 by Barbara Heinlein