Free What She Doesn't Know by Beverly Barton Page B

free, posing a threat to Jolie. But the sheriff hadn’t been persuaded by the ranting of an unbalanced child. On the other hand, her father had taken the situation seriously and made immediate plans to send Jolie away—for her own safety. At the time she had believed the sincerity of his motives and hadn’t put up a fuss when he’d sent her the very next week to stay with his cousin, Jennifer, and her husband, Paul Dean Underwood, an army colonel. Later in the fall, she had entered Ansley Academy, a private boarding school in Virginia. Exactly six months after her father sent her away, he’d married Georgette Devereaux and brought her and her son to live at Belle Rose. Jolie had never returned home. On breaks from Ansley, she had flown to whatever region of the world Jennifer and Paul Dean had resided at the time. When the couple had died in a plane crash when she was twenty-four, she had lost her true family.
    She headed the Escalade down the road, intending to go back into town, but as she passed the old dirt lane that led onto the back side of the Belle Rose property and within walking distance of the pond, she slowed her SUV. Without properly thinking through her actions, she eased the sleek vehicle off the road and onto the bumpy overgrown trail. Feeling compelled to face one specific demon from the past, she parked, opened the door, and stepped down and onto the ground. If memory served her right, the pond was about a quarter of a mile through the woods. Was the old pathway still there, the one she, Theron, and the Wells offspring had forged when they were children?
    She would never forget how outraged she’d been on Theron’s behalf when Garland Wells, who’d been sixteen at the time, had told a fourteen-year-old Theron that he was now too old for it to be proper for him to play with and go swimming with the young ladies. The young ladies being Sandy and Felicia Wells, ten and twelve at the time, and ten-year-old Jolie.
    Although she searched thoroughly for the pathway, she couldn’t find it. No doubt it had been overtaken by the underbrush long ago. In all these years there had been no children’s feet to trample the vegetation and keep the ground clear. Making her way as best she could, shoving aside low-hanging tree limbs, and stomping over decaying leaves and weeds, Jolie forged ahead, and realized she was going in the right direction when she heard the sound of running water. The spring trickled out of the earth, feeding the pond. Fresh sweet water that she had drunk as a child.
    As she approached the spring, her pants leg caught on a briar bush and snagged the soft linen. She cursed softly, bent over to untangle herself, and in the process nicked her finger. She brought it to her mouth and sucked. She had lived in the city for too many years, had lost her familiarity with the country and the wilds of nature. Once free from the bush, she continued her trek until she neared the clearing. At the edge of the pond, a magnificent black Arabian stood, his head lowered to drink from the refreshing water. A saddled horse meant a rider, didn’t it? Well hidden behind a tree and thick bushes, Jolie could see without being seen. Her gaze traveled around the area and within seconds caught sight of a dark-haired man. A tall, well-muscled man standing ankle-deep in the pond. As if mesmerized, she watched while he removed his shirt, tossed it on the ground behind him and bent to cup handfuls of water. He splashed the water on his head and let it trickle across his face and down onto his wide shoulders and over his back and chest. He repeated the process several times. Jolie sucked in her breath. The man was as magnificent as the horse.
    She had come to the pond hoping she could force herself to recall the details of the day she’d been almost murdered for a second time, and perhaps remember something about her attacker. Not in all the years of therapy she’d undergone had she ever remembered anything important about