Forget Me Not by Elizabeth Lowell
It didn’t help. Her eyes were still too dark, too wide, almost feverish in their intensity. She looked brittle and more than a little wild, as though she would fly apart at a word or a touch.
Abruptly Alana decided that she would find Rafe. She would find him and then she would demand that he tell her what he knew.
“To hell with what Dr. Gene said about what would or would not help me remember,” Alana whispered savagely. “To hell with what everyone else thinks is good for me. I have to know.”
No matter how horrible the truth, it could be no worse than what Alana was enduring now . . . Rafe turning away from her, sliding into night, nothing answering her cry, not even an echo.
Alana heard someone in the kitchen. She went down the stairs quickly, determination in every line of her body. She would confront Rafe now. She was through running, hiding, feeling screams and memories clawing at her throat.
But Rafe wasn’t in the kitchen.
“Morning, sis,” Bob said as she walked in.
His back was to her as he finished filling the coffeepot with water, but he had recognized her step.
“You’re late, but so are the rest of us,” Bob said. “Poker game didn’t break up until after three.”
Still talking, he turned toward her as he set the coffeepot on the hot stove.
“Janice is the luckiest—my God, Alana! What’s wrong?”
“Nothing that coffee won’t cure,” she said, controlling her voice carefully.
Bob crossed the room in two long strides. He reached for Alana before he remembered Rafe’s very explicit instructions about touching her.
“I’m going to see if you’re running a fever,” said Bob, slowly raising his hand to her forehead.
“I’m not.”
Alana didn’t step away from her brother’s touch. Nor did she flinch. Finally she could see him clearly, no nightmare to cloud her eyes.
Bob’s big palm pressed against Alana’s forehead with surprising gentleness.
“You’re cold,” he said, startled by the coolness of her skin.
“Right. Not a bit of fever.” Alana’s voice was as clipped as the smile she gave her brother. “Have you seen Rafe?”
Bob’s dark eyes narrowed. “He left.”
“Left?”
“He told me he’d gotten a holler on the radio from the ranch. Something needed his attention right away. Said he’d radio us as soon as he got home.”
“How long?”
“It’s a long ride to his ranch house, even on that spotted mountain horse of his. Tonight, probably.”
“When did he leave?”
“About an hour ago. Why?”
“No reason,” Alana said, her voice as dry and tight as her throat. “Just curious.”
“Did something happen between you two? Rafe looked as rocky as you do.”
Alana laughed strangely.
“Did you know that Rafe was on the mountain four weeks ago?” she asked.
Bob gave her an odd look.
“Rafe was on Broken Mountain when Jack died,” Alana said fiercely.
“Of course he was. How did you think you got off the mountain after you were hurt?”
“What?” whispered Alana.
“C’mon, sis.” Bob smiled despite his worry. “Even you can’t walk down three miles of icy mountain switchbacks on a badly wrenched ankle. The storm spooked all the horses, so Rafe carried you out on his back. If he hadn’t, you’d have died up there, same as Jack did.”
“I don’t remember,” Alana said.
“Of course not. You were out of your head with shock. Hell, I’ll bet you don’t even remember Sheriff Mitchell landing on the lake and flying you out of here in the middle of a storm. Mitch told me it was the fanciest piece of flying he’d ever done, too.”
“I don’t remember!”
Bob smiled and patted Alana’s shoulder gently.
“Don’t fret about it, sis. Nobody expects you to remember anything about the rescue. When I got to the hospital, you didn’t even recognize me.”
“I—don’t—”
“Remember,” Bob finished dryly. “Hypothermia does that to you. Turns your brain to suet every time. Remember when we went after that crazy rock climber way up on the mountain? By the time we found him, he had less sense than a chicken. He did fine after we thawed him out, though.”
Alana looked at Bob’s very dark eyes, eyes like the night, only brighter, warmer.
Eyes like her own before she had forgotten.
But Bob remembered and she didn’t. Even when he told her, she could hardly believe what she was hearing. It was like reading about something in the newspaper. Distant. Not quite real.
Rafe had carried her down Broken Mountain.
She didn’t remember.
No wonder Rafe hadn’t told her what had happened. Telling her would do no good. Being told wasn’t the same as remembering, as knowing.
Rafe had saved Alana’s life, and she didn’t even know it. He had carried her down a treacherous trail, ice and darkness all around, risked his own life for her.
And to her it was as though it had never happened.
“Rafe waited for you to remember after you ran out of the hospital” Bob said.
“I didn’t. Remember.”
She hadn’t remembered, hadn’t called Rafe, hadn’t even known that he was waiting back on Broken Mountain.
Waiting for her.
“Yeah,” Bob said. “Rafe figured that out for himself. So he gnawed on me to get you back here.”
Numbly Alana nodded. She had come home, and Rafe had treated her with gentleness and understanding, asking nothing of her, giving everything. When being in the mountains frightened her, he apologized as though he were responsible.
Rafe had shared her pain to a degree that she hardly believed even now. He had given her all the reassurance he could. And never once had he shown how much she was hurting him.
He had loved her, cherished her, done everything possible for her, except remember. No one could remember for her.
That she must do for herself.
“Sis?” asked Bob, his voice worried. “You better sit down. You look like death warmed over.”
“Thanks a lot, baby brother.”
Alana’s voice was as thin as the smile she gave Bob. She forced her throat to relax, using the discipline she had learned as a singer.
It was important that Bob not worry about her.
It was important that he not hover or watch over her, preventing her from doing what must be done.
It was important that she act as though there was nothing wrong with her that breakfast and a day lazing around the lake wouldn’t cure.
Nothing wrong.
Absolutely normal.
“Check the wood box in the kitchen, okay? I don’t want to run out of fire halfway through the eggs.”
Alana’s voice sounded calm, if a little flat. The smile she gave Bob echoed her voice precisely.
“Why don’t you let me do breakfast?” asked Bob, a worried frown creasing his forehead. “You go sit and—”
“I’ll sit later,” she interrupted, “while you and the dudes are out fishing. I have a place all picked out. Grass and sunshine and a perfect view of aspen leaves.”
Alana’s throat constricted as she remembered counting aspen leaves with Rafe while he lay quietly with his hands locked behind his head, smiling and aching as she touched him.
Rafe.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to take a breath.
“Get cracking on the wood box, baby brother. I don’t want to spend all day in the kitchen.”
Bob hesitated, then went out the back door of the cabin. A few minutes later the clear, sharp sound of a ten-pound maul splitting cured wood rang through the dawn.
Carefully thinking of nothing at all, Alana moved through the kitchen, letting the routine of cooking and setting the table focus her mind. Whenever her thoughts veered to Rafe, she dragged them back ruthle
First she had to get through breakfast. When everyone was safely caught up in fishing, when she was alone with only her erratic memory, then she would think of Rafe.
Thinking of him would give her the courage to do what had to be done.
A moment of panic rippled through Alana. A piece of silverware slipped from her hands and landed with a clatter on the table. With fingers that trembled, she retrieved the fork and put it in its proper place. She finished setting the table just as Janice came in.
“Good morning,” Janice said cheerfully.
“Morning. Coffee’s ready.”
“Sounds like heaven. Is Rafe up yet?”
“Yes. I’ll get you some coffee.”
Quickly Alana turned away, avoiding the scrutiny of the other woman’s eyes. The former psychiatrist was entirely too perceptive for Alana’s comfort right now.
“Is that Rafe chopping wood?” asked Janice, falling into step beside Alana.
In an instant of memory that almost destroyed her control, Alana’s mind gave her a picture of Rafe working by the woodpile four years ago. His long legs had been braced, his shirt off, the powerful muscles of his back coiling and relaxing rhythmically as he worked with the ax beneath the July sun, chopping stove wood. She could see him so clearly, the heat and life of him so vivid, she could almost touch him.
Yearning went through Alana like lightning, hunger and love and loss turning in her, cutting her until she could feel her life bleeding away.
“No,” whispered Alana.
Desperately she pushed away the memory. If she thought of Rafe right now, she would go crazy.
Or crazier.
Before Janice could ask any more, Alana said, “Bob drew the short straw this morning.”
Despite Alana’s efforts to keep her voice normal, Janice looked at her sharply.
“You look a bit feverish,” Janice said. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Fine. Just fine.”
Alana poured coffee. Her hand shook, but not enough to spill the coffee.
“Tired, that’s all,” Alana said. “Altitude, you know. I’m not used to it. That and the cold nights. God, but the nights are cold on Broken Mountain.”
And I’m babbling, added Alana silently, reining in her thoughts. And her tongue.
She handed Janice her coffee.
“Breakfast will be ready in about twenty minutes,” Alana said.
Janice took the cup and sipped thoughtfully, watching Alana’s too-quick, almost erratic movements around the kitchen.
“I thought I heard a horse ride by earlier this morning,” Janice said. “Before dawn.”
“That must have been Rafe,” said Alana very casually.
She concentrated on laying thick strips of bacon across the old stove’s huge griddle. Fat hissed as it met the searing iron surface.
“Rafe left?” asked Janice, startled.
“He has to check on something at the ranch. He’ll be back later.”
And pigs will fly, thought Alana, remembering Rafe’s pain and anger. He won’t come back until I’m gone. I’ve used up my chances with him. Rafael, I never meant to hurt you. Never . . .
Alana’s hand shook, brushing against the griddle. She took a steadying breath and thought only about getting through breakfast.
One thing at a time. Now, this moment, that meant frying bacon without blistering herself through sheer stupidity.
Later she would think about Rafe leaving her, about his pain, about what she must do, about remembering.
Later. Not now.
“I hope everyone likes scrambled eggs,” Alana said.
She went to the refrigerator and opened the door. No light came on. Rafe had forgotten to start up the generator. She pulled out a bowl of fresh eggs, then went to the back door and called to Bob.
“Do you know how to start up the generator?”
“Sure thing.” Bob gestured toward a pile of split wood with the maul he was holding. “How much do you need?”
Alana remembered the night before, when she had found the living room wood box all but empty.
“Enough for the fireplace, too,” she said. “You’ll want a nice fire tonight.”
“What about you?” asked Bob dryly, looking over his shoulder at Alana. “Don’t you want a nice fire tonight, too?”
I won’t be here tonight.
But the words were silent, existing only in Alana’s mind.
“Does that mean I have to chop it myself?” she retorted, her voice sounding rough.
“Just teasing, sis,” answered Bob. “You never could split wood worth a damn.”
He swung the maul again, burying its edge deep in the wood, splitting it easily into two smaller pieces.
Alana turned back to the stove. She was relieved to see that Janice had gone. The woman’s eyes were just too intent, too knowing.
Breakfast was an ordeal Alana hoped never to have to repeat. The toast was impossible to chew, much less swallow. She forced herself to eat anyway. If she didn’t, Bob would stick to her like a mother hen for the rest of the day, worrying over her.
Alana couldn’t allow that to happen. So she ate grimly, washing down eggs and bacon with coffee, eating as little as she thought she could get away with.
As soon as Bob finished, he looked at Alana, then at Stan and Janice.
“I’m going to stay behind and help Alana with the dishes,” Bob said. “Rafe thought you should try the water on the north side of the lake, where that little creek comes in. Some real big trout hang around there, feeding on whatever washes down.”
“Sounds good to me,” Stan said.
“Rafe suggested using dark flies,” Bob added, “or the grasshopper imitation he tied for each of you. Me, I’m going to use the Lively Lady.”
Alana got up, her plate and silverware in her hands.
“I’ll take care of the dishes,” she said, grateful that her voice sounded casual rather than desperate, the way she felt. “If you’re doing dishes while Stan is fishing, he’ll get the prize for the biggest fish.”
“What prize?” asked Bob.
“Apple pie,” Alana said succinctly. “Winner takes all.”
A friendly argument began over big fish and winner taking all of the pie. In the end, everyone stayed and helped Alana with the dishes. When the last lunch had been packed and the last dish was draining on the counter, she turned and smiled rather fiercely at everyone.
“Thank you and good-bye,” she said. “The trout are rising. The best fishing time of the day is slipping away. Have fun. I’ll see you for dinner.”
Stan and Janice exchanged glances, then left the kitchen. Alana looked expectantly at Bob.
“I’ll leave in a while,” Bob said, smiling genially and reaching for an apron. “Stan needs a handicap in the trout sweepstakes. I’ll help you with the pie.”
Alana looked at Bob in disbelief. Determination showed in every line of his face. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he plainly wasn’t going to leave until he did.
“You’ll have a long wait,” she said finally. “I’m going to take a bath. A very long, very hot bath. And no, baby brother, I don’t need you to scrub my back.”
Bob had the grace to laugh. But the laugh faded quickly into concern.
“You sure?” he asked softly.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” Alana’s eyes held her brother’s. “It’s all right, Bob. Go fishing. Please.”
Bob expelled a harsh breath and ran his hand through his black hair.
“I’m worried,” he said bluntly. “Rafe looked like hell. You look worse. I feel like the guy who grabbed for the brass ring and came up with a handful of garbage. I want to help you, but I’m damned if I know what to do.”
“Go fishing,” Alana said.
Her voice was soft and very certain.
“Hell,” Bob muttered. Then, “I’ll be at the north side of the lake if you need me. Why don’t you come over for lunch?”
“I’ll probably be asleep.”
“Most sensible thing you’ve said today,” retorted Bob.
He looked pointedly at the dark circles beneath his sister’s eyes. Then he threw up his hands and walked out of the kitchen.
“We’ll be back for dinner about five,” he called over his shoulder.
“Good luck,” said Alana.
A grunt was Bob’s only reply.
She held her breath until she heard the front door of the cabin close. Then she ran to the window and looked out. Bob had picked up his rod, net, and fishing vest. He was stalking over the lake trail with long, powerful strides.
“Take care,” whispered Alana. “Don’t be too mad at me. You did everything you could. Like Rafe. It’s not your fault that it wasn’t enough. It’s mine.”
Alana pulled off her apron with shaking hands and hung it on a nail by the back door. Then she raced upstairs and began stuffing warm clothes into the backpack she had found in her closet.
Broken Mountain could be cold, brutally cold. She of all people knew that.
Alana went back down the stairs, listening to her racing heart and the harsh thump of her hiking boots on the wooden stairs. She ran to the kitchen and began throwing food into the backpack. Cheese, raisins, granola, chocolate. She closed the flap and secured it tightly.
For a moment Alana stood and looked around the kitchen, wondering what she had forgotten.
“A note,” she said. “I have to leave a note.”
Alana scrambled through kitchen drawers, looking for paper and a pencil. But when she found them, she couldn’t think of anything to say.
“How can I explain in words something that I barely understand myself?” Alana asked, staring helplessly at the paper.
Yet she had to write something.
She owed Bob that much. If he came back early and found her gone, he would be frantic.
Alana bent over and wrote quickly:
If Rafe calls, tell him I’ve gone to find the lark.
This time it will sing for me.
18
A LANA WALKED ALONG the trail, grateful for the trees screening her from the lake. Through the breaks in the forest, she could see three people spaced out along the north side of the water. Bob looked no bigger than her palm. Bits of sound floated across the lake to her, fragments without meaning.