Page 6 of Keeper of Talon Mountain
"I did what anyone would do." She sets the mug on the nightstand—tea from the smell of it, something herbal and soothing. "How are you feeling? Dr. Sage looked you over this morning, but she'll want to know you're conscious and coherent."
"Like I've been hit by a truck." I try for humor, but it comes out flat. "I can't... I don't remember much. Anything, really."
Her expression softens with sympathy that doesn't feel pitying. There's understanding there, as if she knows what it's like to have pieces of yourself go missing. "Dr. Sage said that might happen. You took quite a knock to the head, and sometimes trauma can affect memory. She hopes it's temporary. And the dog tags help—at least we know your name now."
Temporary. I hold onto that word like a lifeline, something solid in the sea of uncertainty. Gabriel Andrews. Gabe. I try the name again silently, hoping it will feel more familiar. It doesn't, but maybe that will come with time.
"How long was I out?"
"About eighteen hours. It's Monday afternoon now—I found you Sunday night during the storm." Mara settles into the chair near my bed, moving with an economy of motion that suggests someone comfortable in her own space. Her clothes are clean and dry, her hair slightly damp like she's recently showered. "Can you tell me what you do remember?"
I close my eyes, searching the blankness behind them. It's like trying to see through fog—shapes that might be memories hover just out of reach, dissolving when I try to focus on them. "I don't know." The admission comes out rough, defeated. I hold up the dog tags. "These say Gabriel Andrews. Gabe, I guess. But I don't remember... anything."
"That's something, at least." Mara's voice is encouraging without being condescending. "Dr. Sage said memories often come back gradually, sometimes triggered by familiar sights or sounds or smells. Don't push too hard."
But I want to push. The emptiness in my head feels wrong, dangerous. How can I protect myself—or her—if I don't know what I'm protecting against? The thought surprises me with its intensity. Why do I care about protecting a woman I just met?
Except she doesn't feel like a stranger. There's something about her presence that calms the restless anxiety I've felt since waking up, like she's a fixed point in a world that's suddenly become uncertain.
"You said you found me in the snow. What was I doing out there?"
Mara hesitates, and I catch something guarded in her expression. She's choosing her words carefully, trying to decide how much to tell me. "I don't know. You were unconscious near Grotto Falls, about half a mile from here. No vehicle anywhere nearby, no tracks except yours and they were almost covered by the snow. It looked like you'd been walking for a while."
Walking. In a snowstorm. Why would anyone do that unless they were running from something? Or toward something? The questions multiply without answers, each one adding weight to the growing unease in my chest. "Was anyone else around? Any signs of other people?"
"Not that I could see, but the storm was intense. Visibility was maybe ten feet at most." She leans forward slightly, her green eyes serious. "Gabe, you had injuries that weren't from the cold or from falling. Older bruises, some cuts that looked... deliberate."
The word hangs between us, heavy with implication. I know what she's really asking: am I dangerous? Am I running from the law, from enemies, from consequences of my own making? The blank space where my recent memories should be could be hiding anything.
"I don't remember being hurt." I touch my ribs gingerly, feeling the tender spots she must have seen when she undressed me. The thought of her hands on my body brings an unexpected flush of heat that I try to ignore. "But you're right. Something happened."
Mara nods slowly. "Dr. Sage documented everything, took photos for the record. She said some of the injuries were consistent with a beating—multiple attackers. And Sheriff MacAllister will want to talk to you when you're feeling stronger, but there's no rush. Right now, you need to rest and heal."
Sheriff. Police involvement. My body tenses automatically, adrenaline flooding my system in response to a threat I can't identify. The reaction is so strong it makes me dizzy, and I have to grip the edge of the mattress to keep from swaying. Why does the idea of talking to law enforcement bother me so much?
"Am I in trouble?" The question comes out rougher than I intended.
"Not that we know of." Mara's voice is carefully neutral. "Zeke ran your name through the system—no warrants, no reports of anyone missing matching your description. As far as anyone knows, you're just someone who had a bad night in a storm."
But that's not true, and we both know it. Men don't end up unconscious in snowstorms with systematic injuries by accident. Still, Mara's tone suggests she's willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, at least for now. The trust implied in that gesture makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
I try to sit up more fully, gritting my teeth against the pain in my ribs. "I should go. I've imposed enough, and if I'm bringing trouble...”
"Where?" Mara's question stops me cold. "Where would you go, Gabe? You can barely sit up, you don't remember anything beyond your name, and there's three feet of fresh snow outside with more coming tonight."
She's right, but the helplessness chafes against something fundamental in my nature. I'm not used to being dependent. Every instinct I have screams that I should be capable of taking care of myself, that relying on others is dangerous. "I don't want to put you in danger."
"You're not." Her tone is firm, brooking no argument. "I run a bed and breakfast, but I've always had a soft spot for people who need sanctuary. You're welcome here as long as you need to stay."
There's something in the way she says it that makes me look at her more closely. Mara Bennett has the air of someone who's made hard choices and lived with the consequences. Her hands are callused from real work, and there's a watchfulness in her eyes that suggests she's not naive about the world's dangers. She knows exactly what she's offering, and she's chosen to offer it anyway.
"Why?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "You don't know me. For all you know, I could be...”
"Dangerous?" She meets my eyes directly, and I see no fear there, only a calm assessment. "Maybe. But you're also hurt and alone, and I've never been good at walking away from that combination."
The simple honesty in her voice does something to the tight knot of anxiety in my chest. I don't understand why this woman's opinion matters so much to me, but it does. Her approval feels important in a way that goes beyond gratitude for shelter. "Thank you."
Mara's smile is soft, transforming her face from pretty to beautiful. "You're welcome. Now drink your tea before it gets cold. Dr. Sage said you need fluids, and I make a mean chamomile blend."
