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He hoped this was the beginning of more memories returning to her mind. “Like Savior’s Journey?”
“No, I am certain he’s a descendant of Renegade. That’s another famous racehorse, just one that is not as well-known as Secretariat.”
“Anything else about the horses come to mind?” He hated to push, but they needed information, and it seemed as if her nap had helped. “Do you think Savior’s Journey has a chance of beating Fiona’s Folly?”
“Any horse can win any race.” She rubbed the back of her neck as if her nap had put a crick in her muscles. “There are so many different factors: the weather, the condition of the track, the jockey, the horse itself.”
He tried to think of more questions that may spur memories of whatever had happened to Calvin Jacobson. “Who owns Savior’s Journey?”
“Howard Lock.” She looked surprised as the name tumbled forth. “I, uh, don’t know how I remembered that.”
“Did Howard Lock get along with your father?”
She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know.”
He tried not to show his frustration. “Seems as if your father and Howard would at least know each other.”
“That makes sense.” Her brow furrowed. “But if you’re asking me if I remember seeing Howard and my father together, I don’t.”
“Most of your memory loss seems to be centered around your father.” He slowed the car to turn onto the street that would take them to the rental house. When she didn’t say anything, he went on. “You didn’t know your own name or your father’s when you showed up at my cabin. Even after I recognized you and showed you a picture, you didn’t remember anything about yourself. Now suddenly you know the name of the guy who owns Savior’s Journey.”
She bit her lip and looked away. “I’m not faking.”
“I didn’t say you were. I find it curious though.” He softened his tone. “I’m hoping this is the start of more memories returning.”
“Me too.” She rubbed her temple again, and he wondered if her headache was getting worse. “Trust me, Doc, I want to know the truth as much as you do.”
He nodded, even though he personally had his doubts about that. Especially if it turned out that her father had something to do with Calvin Jacobson’s murder.
The rental property sat on a full acre of land with trees covering much of the land to the west. As he pulled into the driveway, a small plane took off overhead. The noise wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated, and he decided the irate guest had overexaggerated the impact of the nearby airfield.
“I’ll grab the supplies. You can head inside.” He provided the code, pausing to grasp the grocery bags along with their clothing.
Fiona walked up to the house and punched in the code. Then she held the door open for him, before crossing into the living room to drop onto the sofa. As she had in the car, she sat with her eyes closed and head back on the sofa cushion.
After quickly unpacking their things, he checked the bedrooms. One was clearly the main room with a small en suite bathroom. He set Fiona’s bag of clothing on the bed, then dumped his items in the second room and grimaced at seeing the twin bunk beds.
Whatever. He’d slept in worse places. And he didn’t anticipate getting much sleep anyway.
Fiona was still resting on the sofa, so he walked back outside to familiarize himself with the property. The woods were thick, and overhead dark clouds had gathered indicating an impending storm. Rain that would likely impact the outcome of the race the following evening.
After a full twenty minutes of walking the property, he felt better about their surroundings. At least he knew the best path to take to the road if for some reason they had to head off on foot.
The clouds overhead made it appear darker than it was. When he entered the house, he noticed Fiona hadn’t moved from her earlier position. Not even to turn on a light.
Had her head injury gotten worse? Concerned, he crossed the room to put his hand on her shoulder.
Heat radiated from her skin. She was burning up with fever!
When had this started? He reached over to turn the closest lamp on. Fiona stirred, turning her face away from the light.
“Fiona? Open your eyes for me.” As he spoke, he reached up to remove the gauze bandage he’d placed over her wound earlier that morning. A malodorous green drainage staining the dressing sent his pulse skyrocketing.
Despite his efforts to clean the river water from her incision, the wound had gotten infected. Fiona needed antibiotics right away, before the infection spiraled into a life-threatening septic shock.
7
Fiona winced when Doc turned the bright light directly on her face. “Please turn it off. I want to sleep.”
