The get-away weekend near the small town on the Washington border, a surprise from Grant, promised a relaxing escape from city life. The mountaintop lodge amenities included a spa, hot tub, pool, masseuse, eighteen hole golf course, trails for walking and biking, and excellent seafood.

Grant led Kayla into the lofty room off the lobby. The massive stone fireplace lined with big wooden rocking chairs, and a gorgeous view of Gold’s River across the room, with another row of rockers, breathed relaxation into every inch of the generous space. Grant spread a hopeful smile onto his face and encouraged Kayla to nestle into a rocker by the fireplace. She didn’t argue.

Even at the end of May the fire felt good. An employee slipped on thin rubber gloves and heaved another five foot log into the walk-in fireplace. Kayla thought the gloves a poor choice. If they should get too hot or catch on fire they would melt to the girls fingers. Kayla shivered. In part at the envisioned scene, but more importantly at the gloves color. Powder blue. Why did the cool shade trouble her and make her stomach pitch?

Kayla distracted herself with the two women on her right. The blond chatted over the fire’s crackles and sputters. “T.I. has talked so long and strong about the boat trip that if he doesn’t do it and make it happen his feelings will turn to obligation rather than honor.”

The initials jerked Kayla to attention. They could stand for anything, like Taylor Innings, her home town, or nothing. Maybe his parents simply tired of disagreeing on a name and settled instead on two simple letters. A trickle of suspicion nudged at a murky corner of her memory.

Warm and needing a new distraction, Kayla moved to the chairs facing the river and watched several barges and ships mosey up and down the water. The sun began to set. The river turned into a shimmery golden oasis. Unexplained passion enveloped her.

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, in the foreground, she saw a flash of something shiny. A rhododendron bush dense with glabrous leaves shook. All other outdoor foliage stood still. Not even the tender new fingers of the ferns twitched. Kayla swallowed the instant lump in her throat, convinced herself her imagination had logged up overtime, and reasoned a wayward golf ball had landed off course.

The next day Grant coaxed Kayla into a walk on one of the wooded trails. Away from the sounds of another human voice, the air thinned. A doe crossed their path. The scent of sweet lilacs lined the fickle breeze. Kayla exchanged her jumpy nerves for soothing feathers of peace brushing her weary soul.

A twig snapped. The hair on Kayla’s neck prickled. Peace flew away.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Grant reached out to touch her.

Kayla’s breath elevated several notches. “Someone’s following me.” She jerked her head back and forth in a frantic search for the stalker. Her leg muscles fluttered, as if preparing her for some desperate dash in a race against time.

Her feet thundered through ground cover and ferns. The rush to find safety led her to a mountain of uneven steps. Up she ran. Her mind clipped off the count in each staggered section to distract herself from the footsteps falling close behind her. A blur of huckleberries, white camas lilies, and wild pink roses fenced the steep path. At the top, Kayla paused out of breath and tallied her count. Four hundred and fourteen steps. A jumble of clipped images tumbled through her mind and lifted a corner of the dark fog. The house number where she grew up. Her lips went numb.

Strong arms grabbed her. Kayla screamed.

“Honey, it’s me.” Grant pulled her close.

She tore herself away. Stumbled on an exposed tree root. Montello was carved into the thick root. Another corner of fog rose. Her maiden name. Fear ran down her spine, into her legs, poured out her tired feet, and watered the thick wall of hidden memories in her soul. A fresh layer of confusion coiled inside her.

Everything went black.

A pinhole of light grew to movie screen proportions. Kayla blinked as Grant made a sharp left and maneuvered the car onto a gravel road. Fifty feet ahead, a sign read, ‘Blow Horn.’ He blasted the car horn four times as he inched through the sharp, narrow, blind, snake turns. Kayla’s breath balled in her throat. The wall of denial pressed against her heart and crumbled under the thudding of tires over gravel.

Her eyes locked onto the words ‘Devil’s Way,’ painted on a huge boulder lining the end of the dangerous passage. Kayla fought to steal a breath and was punched in the face with sudden reality.

Like sunlight escaping from under dark clouds, a floodlight beamed into her memory and the thick, black fog drew away like a curtain call performance. Everything came into focus and slipped into their natural places. Powder blue book cover with two shiny wedding rings dripping of blood. The title: Tomorrow’s Intentions. Four hundred and fourteen pages. Author: Montello Keyes.

Best of all, she remembered Grant, her husband, and the lodge, where they’d spent their honeymoon last May. She glanced at him and smiled. Her first smile of recognition since her train accident. She remembered one more thing. Her name: Kayla Winters. Pen name: Montello Keyes.