“We need to go,” said Michael. “Hold on.”
Before the woman could respond, he signaled Dusty to turn toward the ranch. They took off down the snowy driveway, making their way along the river until they came to a patch of boulders far out of sight from the road. Michael brought the horse to a stop again and looked back at the woman. She twisted in the saddle, studying the path behind them.
“Hey,” he said, getting her attention.
She turned to him, her eyes wide.
“Who’s chasing you?”
TWO
The man’s voice was gruff but gentle, and she could see from his expression that she had his full attention. He was wearing a cowboy hat, a thick brown coat, and boots that looked much warmer than hers. His eyes were as dark as midnight, his cheekbones were high, and his clean-shaven jaw was set in hardened determination. The man’s demeanor was reserved, but there was compassion in his eyes that broke through his stoicism. Quiet and yet devastating.
She didn’t know this man, and she had no idea where they were. Still, somehow she felt safer as she sat there behind him. Somehow, riding with him made the panicked thumping of her heart slow. Could she trust him when she couldn’t be sure of anything? Right now, all she had was her trust and her faith.
But his question set her heart racing again and she had no idea how to answer it. Why had she been so afraid of the sound of the truck? She searched her mind for something, but it was as if thick, ominous clouds had descended over her memories. How in the world could she explain this fear that pumped through her, the headache that slammed back each time she tried to follow that fear toward something more specific? She had nothing to go on except instinct, and instincts were bombarding her as the vision of the truck and the man who’d stepped out of it played through her mind. Amorphous fears were a paralyzing cacophony clambering for her attention. The one that sounded loudest was the danger that called from every movement in the snowy landscape.
“Who are you running from?” he asked, and this time his voice had an urgency to it.
Whoever was chasing her could catch up. She needed to work with this man, give him something that would convince him to keep moving.
“I don’t know.” Her voice came out steadier than she felt.
The man raised his eyebrows and she couldn’t tell whether or not he believed her. If he didn’t, if he gave up on her, then she was on her own again. And she was trying so hard not to lean on him—not yet. What if her instincts were wrong? What if this was dangerous, too?
You know self-defense, she reminded herself. Trust yourself. Trust God.
Self-defense? Where had that thought come from? A snippet of a memory came to her—the room covered with dark mats, the scent of sweat, the strain of her muscles as she took down her opponent—and then it was gone. The nausea from the cave returned with a vengeance, that sickening feeling that something terrible lingered just beyond the hazy cloud over her mind. She swallowed, trying to stave off the panic. The little bag of almonds—that had helped last time.
“I’m sorry, but I’m quite hungry,” she said, shoving her hand in her pocket. She took out the second bag of almonds and tried to rip it open with her teeth, but her hand shook too much to get the right grip.
“I’ll get that for you,” said the man, taking it out of her hand.
He ripped the package open and laid it back in her palm. She poured half of it into her mouth, chewed hungrily, then ate the other half.
He was still watching her when she looked up again.
“I should have offered you some,” she said sheepishly.
The man waved off her comment. “Let’s get you indoors.”
She let out a shaky breath and nodded. It meant they were heading forward, away from where that man had attacked her, away from where that white truck had stopped.
“I’m Michael,” he added.
She opened her mouth to make something up, but a name popped into her head. Her own name—she was sure of it. “Ellie. My name is Ellie.”
Her voice was filled with too much surprise for such mundane information, but he didn’t comment on it.
“Those are about the worst winter shoes I’ve ever seen, Ellie. Your feet have to be frozen.”
They both looked down Dusty’s flank at the sorry state of Ellie’s boots sagging around her ankles. He was right. She wasn’t going to make it far in those. Her teeth chattered. All the running and panic had helped to drive away thoughts of the cold, but it was settling in again, deep inside.
“I can’t be around other people,” she blurted out. She knew she was acting strange, but anyone could be dangerous.
He gave her another look, like he was assessing what she was saying. Like he was taking her concern seriously. The tight grip that fear had on her insides eased a little. “There’s a greenhouse in the back of the house that no one uses this time of year. It has a heater, and you can wait there while I get you some dry boots and a better coat. I’ll get some food from Isabel, our chef, but other than that, no one needs to know you’re there.”
Warm, dry boots—a tantalizing thought that once again called attention to the fact she could barely move her toes. Michael turned back to her, watching her with those serious eyes. Do I trust this man? Her heart was telling her yes.
“Okay,” she said before she could change her mind. “Thank you.”
The horse made its way along the snow-covered driveway next to the stream, lined with snowbanks from previous storms. Ellie peered through the trees, starting at each unexpected movement as icy gusts of wind found their way under the layers of her coat. It felt like they were being watched. Was someone truly lurking out of sight, or was she just jumpy? The blanks in her memory so easily turned into fear.
The snow was falling steadily in fat wet flakes that melted on her coat. She patted the springy curls that were alarmingly visible in the periphery of her vision—her hair must be sticking out at both sides.
Ellie searched for a way to probe him for information without...well, sounding like she was probing. And confused.
“Has the ranch been in your family for a long time?”
“Depends on how you define long,” he said, adjusting his Stetson. “We’ve owned it since Chinese Americans were allowed to own land in California. That was 1952. My family was here for a lot longer than that, and my grandparents were determined to buy close to where our family had settled, so they did.”
“I see,” she said, surprise leaking into her voice. The statement was a revelation. First, Chinese Americans weren’t allowed to own land until the 1950s? That was terrible—and shockingly recent. Second, he’d revealed they were in California. She lived in California—that much she knew. Did she live here, in the mountains? No...her home was somewhere farther away. That realization sent a tremor through her system, a warning that took her breath away. No more questions for now.
Despite Michael’s warmth, the wind was chilling. Trust him. Trust your path. But it was getting harder to keep her frozen fingers locked onto Michael’s coat. “Are we far?”
“Not far.” His voice was frank, but there was concern, too. “After I put Dusty in the stable, we’ll go straight into the greenhouse. If someone’s been around there, we’ll see their tracks.”
Ellie closed her eyes and let out a sigh, trying to hold only the tiny kernel of hope that his reassurances lit, one that her fears could so easily snuff out. A tiny blessing.
