would have fallen if a strong grip had not steadied her. Normally, she would have yanked free and insisted she was fine. But even drunk and half-frozen, she realized her ship was sinking in a sea of ice and snow, and if she did not get help, she would perish.
Relaxing into the steady hands, she put one snowbound foot in front of the other. Her legs felt like lead, and her fingers—well, she did not feel them anymore. The hands tightened and pulled her close to a body that was dry and teased her with a warmth she desperately craved.
Blinking, and feeling a sense that she might get out of this alive, she refocused. She looked up and saw the front steps of her house. Her gratitude was palpable.
Gingerly, she raised her weighted feet one after the other until she’d summited the four steps.
“Keys.”
“What?” she asked.
“Keys to the door.”
“Oh, right.” She fumbled wet, gloved fingers into her pocket and produced a key ring attached to a worn purple macramé fob that had been her lucky charm since middle school.
The hands took the keys and opened the front door. A rush of heat greeted her, sending a shiver of pleasure through her body. She stumbled inside, vowing not to leave the house until spring.
The hands stripped off her coat and snatched off her hat. The items were hung by the door in a careful row on horseshoe hangers.
“You better get out of those clothes.”
She peeled off her gloves and dropped them on the floor as she toed off her shoes. Her fingers were beet red and trembled slightly as she moved toward a radiator and held them close.
“Thanks,” she said.
“That was stupid.”
“I know.” She turned to face her savior and looked up into the familiar gray eyes of Elijah Weston.
His cheeks were rosy from the cold and his overcoat covered in snow. “Where did you come from?”
A brow arched, amused. “Funny, I was thinking the same question.”
She shrugged, staggered a step.
He looked around the entryway, seemed to absorb every detail, and then moved toward the door. “See you in class on Monday.”
That distant memory had been lost to Joan for years, and it was funny she recalled it now. Elijah had saved her on that night. But where had he come from? He did not live in the neighborhood, and the campus was several blocks away.
Her drunken, addled mind had not had the desire to seek the answer then. But now she realized Elijah must have been watching her.
Human memories were a tricky thing. Trauma, alcohol, and time had a way of altering the story and imposing impressions gathered from other life events that happened days, months, or years later. She had witnessed this on her job and always took eyewitness testimony with a healthy grain of salt. If Joan were to have interviewed herself about this, she might have called bullshit on it all. You were drunk. It was dark and snowing heavily.
She started the car’s engine, chasing away a chill worming its way into her bones. Given her experience, she knew she should not trust the memory. “It was Elijah. Right?”
By eight thirty in the evening, Gideon had learned from Becca that Lana Long had an arrest record in Denver. Most of her offenses were minor, including two drug-possession charges and one arrest for vandalism. She had been charged with setting fire to a trash can, and the fire had done several thousand dollars’ worth of damage to the adjoining structure. The property owner had dropped the charges.
As he pulled up to the ranch, he saw the rental car parked in Ann’s driveway. He half hoped to see Joan, but there was no sign of her when Ann answered the door and called to Kyle.
“Are you doing all right?” Gideon asked.
“I’m fine.”
“What’s your take on Joan?” he asked.
“She’s the same in many ways, and yet different. She’s just as guarded as she used to be. Did she tell you her family home caught fire when she was in middle school?”
“She skimmed over it.”
“I’ll bet money the College Fire dredged up a lot of old memories. If she were my patient, I’d be treating her for PTSD.”
He had been convinced he and Joan could have solved their problems, until the fire. Now he understood that her running away wasn’t all because of him. “Where is she now?” Gideon asked gruffly.
“Sleeping. Time change, nerves, the case back east, and travel all caught up.”
“Sleep was the one time she ever seemed to