Snowbound Targets

Stranded in the wilderness,

one of them could be a target

Returning to his remote mountain cabin, Jason Sheffield finds a beautiful woman with total amnesia…and wicked martial arts skills. A blizzard soon deepens their enforced closeness. Though hardened by his time in war zones, photojournalist Jason finds himself opening up to “Lucy.” But before he can help Lucy figure out her identity, a would-be assassin strikes. Is he after Lucy? Or has Jason’s latest assignment marked him for death?

KAREN WHIDDON started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at the age of eleven. Amid the gorgeous Catskill Mountains, then the majestic Rocky Mountains, she fueled her imagination with the natural beauty surrounding her. Karen now lives in north Texas, writes full-time and volunteers for a boxer dog rescue. She shares her life with her hero of a husband and four to five dogs, depending on if she is fostering. You can email Karen at [e-mail]. Fans can also check out her website, karenwhiddon.com.

Also By Karen Whiddon

The CEO’s Secret Baby

The Cop’s Missing Child

The Millionaire Cowboy’s Secret

Texas Secrets, Lovers’ Lies

The Rancher’s Return

The Texan’s Return

Wyoming Undercover

The Texas Soldier’s Son

Texas Ranch Justice

Snowbound Targets

The Coltons of Roaring Springs

Colton’s Rescue Mission

The Coltons of Red Ridge

Colton’s Christmas Cop

The Coltons of Texas

Runaway Colton

The Coltons of Oklahoma

The Temptation of Dr. Colton

The Coltons: Return to Wyoming

A Secret Colton Baby

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Snowbound Targets

Karen Whiddon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90517-0

SNOWBOUND TARGETS

© 2020 Karen Whiddon

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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“That was crazy as hell,” Jason said. “That guy could have killed us.”

Oddly enough, now that they were safely inside, Lucy felt calmer. “I know. Thank you for not letting that happen.”

Her comment made him laugh. “Yeah. I guess I’ll be making another report to Sheriff Jeffords.” He dumped the contents of his bag onto the kitchen table and shook his head. “There sure is a lot of stuff here. Mostly junk mail.”

“I see that,” she replied, unable to take her gaze from the manila envelope. “Aren’t you curious to find out why you were served?”

He met her gaze. “I am. But I’m also dreading opening it. I mean, how much weirdness can happen in one day? I can’t help but wonder what the hell I did to piss someone off. First the break-in, and now someone tries to kill us. None of it makes sense. This is as crazy as when I’m working the war zone over in Kabul.”

Again, she had the unshakable suspicion that all of this was because of her.

Dear Reader,

Snowbound Targets was a fun book to write. I haven’t written anyone with amnesia in a long, long time and learning the reason for Lucy’s memory loss fascinated me. And Jason Sheffield is my favorite kind of hero, a man’s man with a world-weary air. He’s seen too much darkness and is ready for some light.

Add in Colorado (one of my favorites of all the places I’ve lived) and snow (yes, I love winter) and, of course, the ever-present element of danger, and you’ve got a story. Oh, what a story! Because to me, there is nothing like love and light triumphing over darkness.

I hope you love Lucy and Jason and the fictional town of Cedar, Colorado, as much as I did.

Happy reading!

Karen Whiddon

To my family, many of whom are not related by blood. You know who you are and I love and appreciate you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Any other time, the sight of the snow-capped craggy Colorado mountain peaks would have filled Jason Sheffield with joy. Tonight, with the stains of war coloring the edges of his vision with blood, he gave a grim nod toward their majesty and continued on up the twisting road. A few miles ahead, he’d reach his sanctuary. Only then would he allow himself to let down his guard, an instinctive, protective reaction the result of spending far too long in the volatile war zones of Afghanistan and Syria.

Home now, he reminded himself, turning off the two-lane blacktop onto the narrow gravel tract that climbed through evergreens and aspens. Finally, he caught a glimpse of the red metal roof of his cabin, perched on the side of the hill looking out over the valley below and the mountain range stretching into the distance.

This was where he came when he wasn’t working, traveling around the hot spots of the globe and reporting right in the middle of the action. When he’d been younger, the danger had filled him with adrenaline. These days, he just felt weary.

After parking his four-wheel drive Jeep, he grabbed his heavy duffel bag, hefted it over his shoulder and started up the path toward his front door. His refuge. Since he hadn’t been back here in six months, one week and three days, he anticipated there’d be quite a bit of dust to deal with. At least he’d stopped in Walsenburg and picked up food along with a bag of ice and a large ice chest in which to stash the perishables. Since he didn’t plan to go anywhere for at least a week, he’d brought plenty. And with the ever-present possibility of snow, he’d made sure to grab enough to last two weeks minimum.

About to insert his key in the front door, he frowned. The door was already unlocked. Odd. He checked the fake rock on the side of the path where he always kept a spare. The key was missing.

Damn. He froze. He felt as if he’d somehow stepped back into a house in a back alley in Kabul. Dropping his duffel bag on the front porch bench, he drew his pistol. Heart pounding in his ears, he shoved open the front door and sidestepped inside, gun raised. At first, as his eyes adjusted to the interior lighting, he saw nothing that appeared amiss. Except a lamp was on. He swiveled left and right, his weapon following his movement.

There. A lump of various-colored ragged blankets on his couch. They weren’t his. And judging from the shape, someone or something hid underneath.

“Show yourself,” he barked. “Hands up. Now.”

The lump didn’t move. At all.

Mouth dry, he gave the order again. This time, the pile of blankets stirred. A sleepy pair of long-lashed, ice blue eyes peered out at him. He noted the silky shoulder-length dark hair, the heart-shaped face and swallowed. His intruder was female. A stunningly beautiful female. With a huge purple bruise on the left side of her face.

That didn’t make her any less dangerous. He’d learned that early on in the Middle East. Of course, this woman wasn’t wearing a burka. And they were in Cedar, Colorado, not war-torn Afghanistan. Still, he kept his gun trained on her as a precaution. Years of living on the edge of danger had taught him that.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my cabin?” he demanded.

Instead of answering, she simply stared at him, unblinking and solemn. Again, he noted her beauty, but discarded the thought instantly.

“Do you speak English?”

Sitting up and stretching, a graceful movement that drew his unwilling attention to the swell of her breasts under her baggy gray sweatshirt, she slowly nodded. “I think... Yes. I do.

“Why are you pointing a gun at me?” A slight frown creased her forehead as she eyed him. “And who are you?”

“I might ask you the same question,” he drawled, lowering his pistol to his side, but keeping it out just in case.

But she looked beyond him, her gaze taking in the polished oak paneling, the rustic furniture, even the high ceiling with the deer antler chandelier that hung over the dining table. “Where am I?”

Had he imagined the faint touch of horror in her silky voice?

“In my cabin,” he told her. “Which leads to another question I have for you. How’d you get in here? I assume you found the hidden key, but how’d you get up here? I didn’t see a vehicle, and I find it hard to believe you were out hiking and stumbled across my place.”

If anything, her frown deepened. “I...don’t know.” Confusion turned to fear as she pushed to her feet, shoving her hair away from her face. She turned in a circle, swallowing hard, taking in her surroundings with barely concealed panic before facing him. “I’m sorry. I have absolutely no idea who I am.”

Stunned, Jason stared at her. Whether he was being played or not, she clearly believed every word she said. He sighed and holstered his gun. “Did you hit your head?”

Her hand went up, an almost involuntary motion, sweeping under her hair. “I don’t think so. At least, it doesn’t hurt.” Again, she swallowed, drawing his gaze to the graceful lines of her throat. “I don’t understand. How is this even possible? How can I be in a place I don’t recognize, with a man I don’t know and have no idea of my own name?” Her voice rose slightly with each word and he saw how her hand shook.

“I have no idea,” he answered, fighting back his own exhaustion, which was winner over his skepticism. “But I’ve been traveling for a long time and I need to get some rest.”

“Friend or foe?” she asked, her expression serious as she caught and held his gaze.

Caught off guard, he wasn’t sure how to respond. “That depends,” he finally answered. “On which you turn out to be.” Then he pointed toward his bedroom. “I’m going to get some sleep. I will be locking my door. If you’re still here when I wake up, we’ll talk some more and try to figure this out.”

When she finally nodded, he managed a tired smile. On his way past her, he went to squeeze her shoulder, intending to offer her some sort of reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

Before he could, she yelped, as if his touch had hurt her. And then, as he gaped at her through a haze of exhaustion, she yanked him, put her shoulder under his armpit, and somehow flipped him past the couch, past her and onto the floor. Hard onto his back.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Stunned, he managed to scramble back to his feet, first checking to make sure she hadn’t managed to grab his pistol. Nope, still in the holster.

Silent, they faced off. This time, he knew to be on guard.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Want?” Eyes huge, she stared back at him. Her mouth trembled. “I don’t know what just happened.”

“You attacked me,” he pointed out.

“No.” Slowly, she shook her head. “I defended myself. You touched me.” Her voice shook.

Fear. More than that, absolute terror. Like some of the rape victims he’d met in Kabul.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he said, speaking slowly, his voice calm. “That was meant to be reassuring.”

“OK.” Her too-vigorous nod attested to her continuing agitation. “Just don’t touch me again, all right?”

“All right,” he agreed. “I’m going to walk past you and go to bed.”

With all of his movements deliberate, he sidled around her, taking care to keep his holster side away. She stood frozen watching him, her haunted expression achingly familiar. What the hell had happened to her that she’d ended up here alone and shaken, with absolutely no memory?

And mad self-defense skills.

He kept his gaze on her while walking backward all the way to his room. While there was nothing he enjoyed more than solving a good mystery, right now his entire body screamed for sleep. He felt hollowed out, almost as if he were sleepwalking. He needed rest. Then he’d be much better equipped to face his mystery guest.

As soon as the door closed, she heard the quiet click of the lock. Letting out a breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding, she allowed herself to sink back down into the soft warmth of the blankets on the comfortable couch.

Inhale. Exhale. Attempt to calm her racing heart. Try to contain her panic, to center herself. Even so, it took a moment or two for her entire body to stop shaking. Another for her to clear her mind enough to even attempt rational thought.

What had she gotten herself into? How had she ended up here? The big man who claimed to own this cabin, whoever he was, had seemed serious. And he’d had a gun. Did that mean her life might be in danger? Had he been hinting as to what he might do to her when he’d said if she was still here when he got up? Her face throbbed. She reached a hand up to touch it, wincing at the pain. She had no idea how she’d injured herself, but judging from how tender her cheek was, it had been recent.

If she’d been afraid before, the idea of leaving brought on a different sort of terror. Still, she forced herself to pad over to the door and open it, taking a look outside.

A blast of chilly air made her shiver. Despite her lack of a jacket, she stood in the doorway and took in the surroundings. Craggy mountains with snow-capped peaks. Lots of trees, mostly aspen, though some pine and spruce, interspersed with the occasional Poplar. How could she know this, what the trees were called, and not know her own name?

Briefly, she considered. If she left this place, this small cabin that appeared to be pretty isolated, where would she go? And how would she get there? Did she have any money, or any personal items? Would she even recognize them if she saw them? If she truly was in some sort of danger, would she even recognize her enemies if she saw them?

The answer unfortunately came back a resounding no.

Closing the door and locking it, she knew she had no choice but to stay put. The big man might be a bit intimidating, but she’d pick the devil she knew over the unknown. At least right now. For all she knew, he could be her enemy or her captor. She might not know her name, but she knew enough to watch her back. She’d be careful and keep her guard up. Hopefully soon, some of her memory would return.

Still, she looked around, hoping to see maybe a purse or something personal of hers. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, especially if she found a wallet with identifying information?

But there wasn’t anything. Apparently, she had nothing but the clothes on her back. Super soft black leggings and an oversize sweatshirt. And while she wore a pair of socks, she didn’t see any shoes. Her head ached. How was that even possible? Then again, she supposed anything might be possible since she had no idea of her own identity or how she’d gotten to this remote rustic cabin.

Memory loss. How? Why? What could have caused that? Again, she felt her skull, using her fingers to probe for any bumps or lumps. She found a few, none of them too big. A little tenderness rather than pain. Not enough to explain this.

Had she been ill? Like with a brain tumor or something? The thought didn’t ring a bell, but then what did?

Instead of taking stock of what she didn’t know, she decided to list what she did. Precious little, actually. She’d been awakened by a man she didn’t know, apparently for trespassing in his cabin in the mountains. As for what state, she knew there were several that had mountains like those. She found it odd that she could list all the mountainous states but not her own name or where she’d come from. Or what had happened to get her here.

Once more she fought a rising tide of panic. A blank slate could mean anything. She didn’t even know what kind of person she might be—good or bad. She had no idea if she was married or single or divorced. If she had any children or siblings or parents who might be worried at not hearing from her in too long.

This was not helping. Then what would? She needed to think. As tempting as crawling back under the blankets and hiding from the world might be, doing so wouldn’t solve anything.

Instead, she paced, hoping the simple act of moving would bring a glimmer of...something. After a few minutes of stalking the interior perimeter of the cabin, she realized this wasn’t helping either. Apparently, one couldn’t simply will their memory to return. Not even in bits and pieces.

Trying not to feel utterly defeated, she sat back down on the couch. She glanced at the smoldering woodstove, wondering if she should add a few logs. As dusk settled in over the mountains, she knew the temperatures would continue to drop. How she knew this, she couldn’t say.

In the end, she settled for burrowing back under the blankets.

She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew warm sunlight streamed in, warming her face. Stretching, she yawned and tentatively searched the void of her memory to see if anything had returned. No such luck.

Her long-sleeved sweatshirt fit loosely. She pushed up the sleeves, startled to see her arms were covered in bruises of various shapes and sizes. The colors ranged from plum to a deep purple, almost black. Gingerly, she touched her arm, which made her wince. She had no idea what had happened to cause these.

Glancing around her at the now brightly lit room, she noticed the bedroom door remained closed. The big man must still be asleep. Which suited her fine, since she didn’t trust him.

She padded down the hall, looking for a bathroom. Once there, she eyed the shower longingly before deciding she might as well. But first, she locked the door. Only then did she strip off her clothes and glance in the mirror.

As she’d feared, in addition to the massive one on her face, more bruises decorated her legs and hips. She even had a huge one covering part of her stomach and back. Though she hadn’t been aware of them before, now that she was, they hurt. Especially if she pressed her fingers into them. Which she immediately stopped doing.

Instead, she grabbed a couple of towels, located a new bar of soap under the sink, and stepped into the shower.

The small room had filled with steam by the time she’d finished. Clearly, she liked her showers hot. As she toweled herself dry, she realized she felt better already. Clean, at least. If only she had a change of clothes. Maybe the man would know where she might obtain these.

Thinking of the man must have made him manifest. Because when she walked back to the kitchen combing her fingers through her still-damp hair, she nearly ran into him. Only a quick jump back kept them from colliding.

As she gazed up at him, her heart rate once again going double time, she realized he appeared larger than he had last night. And more muscular. In fact, judging by the hard stare, he seemed much more intimidating.

She refused to let him see her quaking. Instead, she dipped her chin in a cool nod. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you drink coffee?”

Did she? Considering the question for a moment, she settled on a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out.”

He turned and led the way to the kitchen. She followed, feeling slightly calmer. She needed to remind herself that, as of yet, he’d given her no reason to be afraid of him. No sense looking for trouble before it started, as her grandmother always said.

My grandmother. Eager to capture a memory, she froze, waiting for her mind to supply images of a face and a name. But nothing else came and she finally sighed in defeat.

The man waited at the counter. He’d gotten down two large mugs. “Would you like to try it black or with cream and sugar?”

How she wished she could answer him.

“Just pick one,” he said, noting her hesitation. “Let’s go with cream and sugar.”

“Okay,” she allowed, watching as he put some kind of pod into the machine, placed a mug under it and pressed a button.

She realized she didn’t even know his name. Which should be okay, since she didn’t know hers, but she was getting tired of thinking of him as the man.

“I’m Jason Sheffield,” he told her, startling her. “And since we don’t know who you are, I’m thinking we’ll call you Lucy. Would that be okay?”

Lucy. Considering, she tried out the name inside her head. “I guess that’ll be as good as any,” she replied. “At least until my memory comes back.”

“Great.” He flashed a smile and handed over the mug. “Here you go, Lucy. Careful, it’s hot.”

Grateful, she accepted it and carried it over to the kitchen table, where she took a seat. Taking a tentative sip, she smiled as the rich flavors filled her mouth. “This is good. I think this is how I like it.”