TWO

      Ashley scrabbled to find the handle inside the door as Logan jerked the steering wheel to the left. The Jeep swerved, its tires slipping on the loose dirt. Behind them, the truck eased off the gas long enough to follow them into the center of the road.

      Could it be whoever had attacked her at the river coming back to finish the job? She shivered, clutching the door handle hard enough her fingers hurt.

      The truck shot forward again, bumping the rear of the Jeep as Logan accelerated. Not hard enough to release the air bags, but enough to whip her forward and lock her seat belt. She grimaced as her head smacked back into the seat.

      Logan’s jaw clenched as he cranked the steering wheel to the left, trying to move the Jeep out of the way. He yanked a handheld radio out from its holder and tossed it onto her lap. “Call the dispatcher.”

      She fumbled for the call button, holding the radio to her mouth, but it slipped out of her fingers as the Jeep jostled and bounced over the rough edge of the road.

      “Hold on,” Logan said again as he slammed down the gas pedal.

      Headlights filled the cabin as the truck pummeled into their bumper again. Logan grunted as he struggled to keep control of the steering wheel and Ashley clung to her seat as the Jeep careened toward cactuses and brush growing on the side of the road.

      They rolled to a stop in a sea of prickly pears and spiky grasses. She let out a little sigh of relief as the truck swerved past them.

      Until it stopped fifty feet ahead. Both doors opened. Whoever was getting out wasn’t coming to lend them a hand.

      Logan gestured at the Jeep’s floorboard as he drew his gun. “Get down.”

      She swallowed, sliding a hand toward her seat belt to unbuckle it, but at that moment more headlights appeared in the distance. This time, from the opposite direction.

      Ahead of them, the truck’s doors slammed shut and its engine roared back to life. A second later it barreled away toward Terlingua in a cloud of dirt stained red by its taillights.

      Logan flipped on the interior cab light. “You okay?” His brows pulled together in concern.

      She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow her pounding heart, and nodded. “But I didn’t get the plates.” She retrieved the radio from her feet and handed it to him.

      “It’s okay,” he said after calling in the incident. “Still a few miles to Terlingua. Maybe local police can get there in time.”

      He coaxed the Jeep out of the loose sand and back onto the packed road. When they passed the oncoming car a few minutes later, Logan flagged down the driver, but the man, a Terlingua resident, hadn’t caught the truck’s plates, either.

      The vast Texas sky was full of stars by the time they reached the medical clinic. Ashley’s head was swimming. A memory had come back as they’d jostled along on the road—the bumps had reminded her of tractor rides and apple-picking with her parents and brother. More childhood memories had seeped in after that one, filling her with relief.

      Then that truck had showed up to ram them.

      After what had just happened, it was a good thing Logan wanted to take her back to park headquarters. Plus, she hadn’t found anything in her car other than a suit jacket and her purse. Big Bend National Park was remote—it seemed unlikely she would travel all the way out here without any luggage. But where was she staying?

      And, more pressing, who was after her?

      After a nurse took her to a private room, she rummaged through her handbag to see what else it contained besides the wallet. There wasn’t much. A tube of lipstick. Hand sanitizer. A couple of pens. She pulled out the wallet and stared at the driver’s license.

      Washington, DC. Was that where she lived? The city name felt right. Comfortable.

      But the license hadn’t been issued to Ashley Thompson... Why? Were all her hunches and instincts wrong? She shivered, tucking the license back into its slot and pulling out the piece of paper sticking out of the next one.

      A photograph.

      She stared for several long minutes at the picture. It was a man, maybe college-aged, with short, dark hair and hazel eyes. A relative? Maybe her brother? The photo was well worn around the edges, as if she had handled it and carried it with her for some time.

      Why did looking at him make her stomach clench into a tight knot?

      Logan was pacing back and forth in the lobby when the clinic’s only doctor escorted her back out. The ranger’s dark green eyes locked onto her as she stepped into the room, and Ashley’s breath unaccountably hitched. She hadn’t seen him clearly before, what with the setting sun and her throbbing head, but in this lighting, it was obvious the man was in his element as a park ranger. Clean-shaven, tanned, sandy-brown hair. Just over six feet tall, she guessed, and at peak fitness. Every movement came with easy confidence.

      She turned away from his speculative gaze. Maybe he didn’t believe her about the memory loss. Maybe he thought she was trying to cover something up.

      Thankfully he turned to the doctor, giving Ashley the chance to get her thoughts back under better regulation before she had to speak.

      “How is she?” Logan asked.

      “Her skull’s intact and the wound itself should heal up nicely. Based on the symptoms she’s described, I’d say she’s sustained a level two, possibly level three, concussion. The good news is the CT scan is clean—no internal hemorrhaging. She needs to take it easy for several days until her symptoms are gone, and more specifically, she’ll need to be monitored closely for the next twenty-four hours.”

      Several days? Ashley resisted the urge to frown. She had no idea why she was in Texas—how, exactly, was she supposed to lie around and relax?

      Logan nodded, eyeing her thoughtfully. “And her memory loss?”

      “Retrograde amnesia—limited to events prior to the injury. But given her lucidity now and her other test results, I’d say the prognosis for a full recovery is good. I expect she’ll start getting her memories back anytime now, the older ones first. Childhood through adolescence typically come back first, followed by more recent events. You may be able to help the recovery with exposure to memory triggers. But,” he said to Ashley, “whatever happened right before the trauma might not come back at all if your brain lost it from short-term memory.”

      She nodded. “Well, hopefully that won’t be the case. I’d like to know what happened to me.”

      “Of course. At least you’ve found yourself in good hands with Ranger Everett.”

      Ashley thanked him and followed Logan outside, hoping he hadn’t noticed the heat creeping into her cheeks at the doctor’s comment. Especially since he couldn’t be the only attractive man she’d ever been around in her life.

      “How are you feeling?” he asked.

      She