"Mister, that head wound needs tending. You've lost a bunch of blood-"

"No." He started to shake his head in emphasis, but at the first movement, the world started spinning.

The pickup's speed slowed perceptibly. "Don't tell me you're wanted by the law?" The cowboy turned a sharp, speculating glance on him.

Was he? For the second time, he came up against a wall of blankness. It was another answer he didn't know, so he avoided the question.

"He's bound to know I was hit, so he'll expect me to get medical attention. The nearest hospital will be the first place he would check."

"You're probably right about that," the cowboy agreed. "So where do you want to go?"

Where? Where? Where? The question hammered at him. But it was impossible to answer because he didn't know what the hell town they were in. That discovery brought a wave of panic, one that intensified when he realized he didn't know his own name.

He clamped down tightly on the panic and said, "I don't know yet. Let me think."

He closed his eyes and strained to dredge up some scrap of a memory. But he was empty of any. Who was he? What was he? Where was he? Every question bounced around in the void. His head pounded anew. He felt himself slipping deeper into the blackness and lacked the strength to fight against it.

Copyright 2002 by Janet Dailey.

ISBN: 978-0-8217-7222-5.

end.