Colton On The Run. Anna J. StewartЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter 2

      If only the water could wash away the fear.

      Jane—she didn’t feel like a Jane—scooped warm water into her hands and pushed it over her tangled hair. She turned one side of her face into the spray of the shower, then the other, grimacing as the gash on her head protested. Looking down, she saw the water turn dark, tinged with blood as it cascaded off her body, swirling into the drain as if taking what had happened to her with it.

      But something had happened. Something she couldn’t remember. She tucked her arms tight around her waist. Whatever did happen had robbed her of her memory, and now she had no inkling of who or what she was.

      It crossed her mind to bang her skull against the white tile wall in the hopes of jarring something loose, but she didn’t want to alarm Leo or Ollie.

       Leo.

      Jane moved deeper into the spray and let the water pound over her ears. Finding the barn last night had seemed like heaven on earth. A solitary floodlight had blinked on as she’d approached from the cover of the trees and she’d stopped, frozen as if caught in a spotlight. But the flash of light had given her enough to see by so she could squeeze through the open door. The night hadn’t cooled off much, but she couldn’t stop shivering as she’d made her way into the back corner, digging and pushing her way through the hay until she’d collapsed.

      Jane had lost track of the miles she’d walked. And had no clue of the direction she’d come from. If anyone were to ask her where she’d been held, she’d never be able to tell them, other than that it was near a road that led...somewhere.

      When she fell asleep, she’d fallen hard and deep, and hadn’t awakened until she’d heard Ollie’s bark cutting through the peaceful silence.

      “Jane.” A gentle knock sounded on the bathroom door. She jumped and nearly slipped. “I’ve left some clothes for you to wear on the bed, okay?”

      “Yes.” She gripped her fingers against the tiles. Leo. It was just Leo. Leo Slattery, who, for whatever reason, didn’t evoke that sense of unrestrained fear she’d been harboring since she awoke in that shed.

      Leo with the kind, dark, soulful eyes. The slightly unkempt, slightly curly hair that tempted her to reach out and brush her fingers through it. He was a beautiful man, probably more beautiful that he’d ever be comfortable with her thinking. But it was that gentle, understanding smile he’d offered upon seeing her that had soothed the bruises around her heart. That and the way he’d held her hand.

      As if he’d protect her from whatever was out there. Whatever was to come.

      And something was out there. Something was coming. She could...feel it.

      Dark. Dangerous. Almost as if she were prey in a hunter’s sights. She shuddered. A hunter with an agenda she couldn’t begin to fathom. Why her? Why had this happened to her?

      And what was she going to do about it? She couldn’t explain the abject terror that struck at the thought of calling the police, and going to the hospital would only result in the same. She didn’t know much at the moment, but she knew enough to trust her instincts and right now her instinct told her the only person she was safe with was Leo.

      Beneath the warmth of the water, she shivered and focused on ridding herself of the last of the mud, dirt and blood. The soap and shampoo smelled of wildflowers and honeysuckle. For an instant, she flashed on the image of a luxurious spa reminiscent of... Jane frowned. France? Why on earth would she be reminded of France out here in the middle of—

      She hadn’t even asked Leo where she was. Other than the obvious—that she was on a ranch in the rural countryside—she had no notion of her actual whereabouts. She turned her hands over, watched the water cascade over broken nails and scraped skin. Leo had looked at her hands. Had he seen what she saw? She chipped at the polish that remained before dragging her fingers through her hair.

      A few minutes later, she stood in front of the small mirror above the sink, wrapped in a buttercup-yellow towel and dragging a fine-tooth comb through the knots and snarls in her hair. Staring at herself, tears blurred her eyes. The face was unknown. It was her, but not. She traced gentle fingers over the welt on her face. The ghostly image of a handprint marring her cheek had broken through; the raw scrape might very well scar. Taking a shuddering breath, she popped open the door a bit to let some air in to defog the mirror and found herself smiling when Ollie poked his nose inside.

      “Are you watching out for me, boy?” The very sight of the canine made her feel better. As did the comforting cooking sounds emanating from the kitchen.

      Ollie plopped his butt on the floor, wagged his tail and inclined his head.

      “You and your master have the same intent, I see.” She peeked out into the bedroom and noticed the door was closed. “A gentleman, too.”

      She’d washed her underwear and bra in the sink, left them to dry over the shower door. She wadded up what was left of her clothes to throw away in the trash. The soles of her feet felt more tender now that feeling had returned, and she found herself walking on the sides of her feet as the pain began to set in.

      The sweatpants and button-down shirt would do for now. The garments were large and comfortable. She rolled up the cuffs on both the legs and sleeves before braiding her hair down her back. She held the tail of her hair in one hand and carried her ruined clothes and the clean socks back into the kitchen, where she found Leo standing in front of the stove stirring a mound of eggs.

      “Two would have been enough,” Jane told him, and earned a sheepish smile tossed over one strong, firm shoulder.

      “I thought I’d join you. I’ll get the toast going in a minute. Here.” He pulled the cast-iron pan off the stove and put a plate on top of it to keep the eggs warm. “Let’s get those cuts of yours tended to.”

      “Do you have somewhere I can throw these?” She held out the silk top and linen pants. Regret she couldn’t quite relate to swept over her. “They must have been expensive.”

      “They’re designer,” Leo said as he took them and glanced at the labels. “Which is why we’re going to keep them. When you’re ready to remember who you are, the labels might come in handy.”

      When she was ready? “You make it sound like it’s my choice.” She watched him put the clothes in a paper bag and place it on a shelf on the back porch above the washing machine. A stack of rubber bands nearly obscured the