Page 14 of Solid as Steele
Owen stood to help.
She raised a hand. “Sit. You’re still my guest.”
He dropped back down but moved his place setting to the end of the table and stacked it on top of hers. Ryan got out his phone and focused on the screen, but Owen watched Mackenzie’s fluid movements as she moved into the kitchen. She had delicate feet, and she glided as if she’d been a dancer at some point. He had a hard time placing her in a state trooper uniform and stopping a car on the roadside. But she’d done the job for five years and been promoted to detective, so she had to be good at it.
What about tomorrow? What might they find at the end of his trail? Something illegal and she would then turn around and arrest him? She couldn’t make a legal arrest, but she could arrange to have law enforcement waiting for him when he returned. In that case, would he go along peacefully or would he try to evade the arrest?
It seemed wrong to leave her hanging when she’d been kind to him—beyond kind—but he had to think of himself first. Right?
Not if you went by the Mackenzie Steele philosophy of life. If you did that, then you not only didn’t think of yourself first, but at times, you didn’t think of yourself at all. That drew him to her even more than her good looks and likable personality.
4
The shrill alarm clock reverberated through Owen’s bedroom, and he could barely roll over to turn it off. His arm and leg muscles, everywhere actually, screamed at him to remain still. The bruises felt like fire and laying on a bed of nails at the same time.
He dug deep for strength and rolled the final distance. A sharp bruising pain made him gasp as he slapped the alarm button. He’d set his alarm for two hours before their scheduled departure time, allowing him to take a hot shower and additional acetaminophen. He tossed back a few Ibuprofen tablets too and eased his feet to the floor. Each step toward the bathroom was like climbing a mountain of pain.
But he made it to the large shower and let nearly scalding water sluice over his battered body. He stayed in the stream of water until it turned cold.
Better. He felt a bit better. Good enough to be able to dress and gather his belongings for the trip.
Then he poured a cup of strong black coffee from the pot he’d set the timer on to brew at the same time as his alarm and sat before the television to catch the local morning news. He sipped and waited for a story showing his face connected to some crime. Thirty minutes later, the broadcast ended, and his face hadn’t been splashed across the screen. Nor his name even mentioned.
Did no one notice he was missing? Care? Or was there no one in his life? Was he truly the loner he seemed to think he was?
At least he didn’t learn anything bad about himself. “Now you better hope we don’t find anything bad on the other end of today’s journey.”
Hopeandpray. Which he did. With uncertainty as he didn’t remember what being a believer entailed. It just felt natural. The doctor said Owen could remember things like making coffee or how to set an alarm, but not remember other things. Muscle memory, he’d called it.
“Speaking of muscles.” He stretched his arms overhead to test the level of pain. “Good. Drugs are working.”
He got up and went through a stretching routine. Seemed like he knew what to do to ease the pain and had done it before. Maybe every day. Who knows. Not him. And he wanted to—desperately. For himself sure, but also so he could interact with Mackenzie on a legitimate level. Would he be romantically interested in her if he had his memory? Did he have a wife? Girlfriend?
He held out his left hand. As Mackenzie had said, no indication of wearing a ring for any length of time, but not all people wore wedding rings. And guys didn’t wear engagement rings.
A knock sounded on his door, and he whirled to face it.
“Jumpy much?” He shook his head and went to open it.
Hoping for Mackenzie, he stifled a frown when he found Ryan standing there. He carried a handgun and a box of ammo. “Mac’s making breakfast, and we have enough time and light to do a little shooting. You ready.”
“Let me grab my bag.” Owen turned off the coffee pot and picked up the store bag sitting on the counter. “Lead the way.”
“I’ve set up an improvised firing range at the base of a butte. Hopefully, you at least won’t miss the butte.” Ryan chuckled.
Owen didn’t laugh. Nothing funny here for him. He felt totally incompetent around this man. Owen had no idea what he was capable of or what he did for a living and couldn’t counteract the power that Ryan exuded. They, whoevertheyare, often said that a guy gained his worth and identity from his occupation. Owen could surely believe that now.
The sun was barely peeking above the horizon, the sky filled with soft layers of reds and oranges, and a burning ball of fire sat in the middle. The colorful hills he’d seen yesterday, a black silhouette in the foreground.
Ryan glanced over his shoulder. “Nice view, huh?”
“Fantastic.”
“I never get tired of it. Especially when the Painted Hills come to life under the sun. They change colors as the sun moves through the day.”
“How long have you been a professional guide?” Owen asked.
“Been doing it unofficially since high school when my dad would take me along on his tours.”
