Suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion, she closed her eyes and tried to remember even the smallest glimmer from her past.
But her memories were like a blackboard that had been swiped with a felt eraser. Faint white marks were still evident, but none of them were clear enough to make sense.
The only distinct image she possessed was that of Detective Vincent Parcell. Even in her clouded confusion, she’d noticed his thick brown hair and strong, tanned features. His warm brown eyes had studied her in a way that had made her want to pull the sheet all the way up beneath her chin. He’d not said much, but when he had spoken to her, his voice had been a low, rich baritone that had rumbled through her like a familiar melody.
The detective with him had been an attractive man, and nice to boot. But meeting him hadn’t affected her in the same way as Vincent Parcell. Somehow, someway, she felt certain their paths had crossed before tonight.
But that was a ridiculous notion, she thought. He was merely a man who was trying to help her get out of this strange wonderland she’d fallen into. And no matter how he’d looked or sounded, she was going to have to trust him to lead her back to the real world.
* * *
Men of the West: Whether ranchers or lawmen, these heartbreakers can ride, shoot—and drive a woman crazy …
His Badge, Her Baby…Their Family?
Stella Bagwell
Having written over eighty titles for Mills & Boon, USA TODAY bestselling author STELLA BAGWELL writes about families, the West, strong, silent men of honor and the women who love them. She appreciates her loyal readers and hopes her stories have brightened their lives in some small way. A cowgirl through and through, she recently learned how to rope a steer. Her days begin and end helping her husband on their south Texas ranch. In between she works on her next tale of love. Contact her at [email protected].
In loving memory of my late mother-in-law, Dortha Bagwell. Alzheimer’s took you and your memory, but you will forever live on in mine.
Contents
Detective Vincent Parcell eyed the smoldering heap lying at the bottom of the shallow ravine. Less than an hour ago the ash and debris had been a small car driven by a woman. Now the only thing resembling a vehicle was a crumpled black frame.
“It’s a miracle anyone survived that inferno,” Vince remarked to his partner, Evan Calhoun. “Are you sure the EMT reported her conscious when they left the scene?”
The two men stood together on the edge of the asphalt. Behind them, a fire truck and lighted barricades blocked all traffic from the eastbound side of the two-lane highway. A few feet down the incline from where they stood, a pair of firemen continued to douse a steady stream of water over the charred object. Yet even with the flames dead, puffs of smoke spiraled upward into the dark, desert sky and the stench of burning rubber lingered on the night air.
“That’s what the NHP officer reported,” Evan answered.
Vince shook his head. “Let’s hope she remains that way.”
Fifteen minutes ago, the two detectives had been working a downtown robbery in Carson City when their captain had ordered them to wrap up and drive out here to the edge of the city to investigate a flaming car crash.
Vince was still irked by the interruption. The Nevada Highway Patrol had already investigated the accident. He didn’t see much need for him and Evan to follow up. This wasn’t a case of vehicular homicide. It was a simple case of identifying the injured driver. As far as he was concerned, the sheriff’s office didn’t need to get involved. But it was Vince’s job to follow orders, not question them.
Vince said, “I’m trying to visualize how this scene played out. The first responding officer reported that when he arrived on the scene, the door on the driver’s side of the car was open. So the woman must have been thrown clear of the car when it hit the ravine. Or she miraculously managed to open the door and crawl out on her own.”
Evan pointed to a spot on the side of the highway, about ten feet from where the two of them were standing. “Supposedly she was discovered lying there. Between those clumps of sage and creosote bushes.”
Images of how the first initial seconds of the crash might have occurred and the sequences that followed flashed through Vince’s mind as he walked over to the area where the woman had been found. From the beam of his flashlight, he could see where her weight had flattened the dead vegetation. Blood from some type of wound was smeared at the base of a clump of buffalo grass, while a few drops had already dried to brown circles on the ground. Nearby a couple of fist-sized stones had been dislodged