7. Kaci

As we head out of Hope, the remnants of the fire can be seen in a dark line of burnt trees on one side of the ridge. Hunter points out the line of red fire retardant that helped to contain the flames.

Wisps of smoke emanate from a few areas still burning, but Hunter tells me miraculously there was no loss of life, and the only damage to property was a couple of hunting huts in the line of the blaze. It's lucky there was no one in them.

The first half of the drive I stare out at the unfamiliar landscape, looking for clues to what I was doing here. Is this mountain my home? Did I live on this mountain? It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like home. But then what was I doing here all on my own?

I've decided I was on my own because no one has come looking for me, and the possibility that there's another person out there who was lost in the fire is too dreadful to think of. Yet I feel an ache in my heart like there's a missing piece of me.

We stopped by the search and rescue headquarters to see if there was any update on my situation.

The search and rescue team have been scouring the area where I was found for any sign of another person, or a backpack or anything that might be a clue as to my identity.

Suzie, who runs the comms center, makes me a cup of tea and hands me a cookie. I give her permission to take my photo and send it out to the other teams in the state.

Someone must be missing me.

I keep close to Hunter, and it's with relief that we get in his pickup and head up the mountain.

Hunter's pickup bumps over the gravel road as he turns off the main mountain road to a side road, and after another twenty minutes it narrows to barely more than a dirt track.

He warned me he lived remotely, and I shouldn't be surprised that we haven't passed another vehicle in about twenty minutes.

We pass charred tree stumps and smoldering ashes. It rained this morning, which helped put the final fires out, but the air is still acrid with smoke and the evidence of the fire is everywhere.

Hunter's cabin was close to the blaze area, and I wonder if that made him work harder to contain the flames.

I decide not. He's the type of guy who would give something his all no matter whose property was at stake.

After what feels like an age, we finally turn down a driveway and Hunter slows the pickup.

Hunter's cabin is a classic wooden A-frame nestled in the woods. It's in a clearing of towering sycamores which reach to the sky, almost blocking it out.

A vegetable patch runs down one side of the cabin, and there's the scratching of chickens from a coop.

"Hey girls."

Hunter strides over to the coop and leans down to speak to the chickens. There's an angry squawking, and I take it they're not happy that they've been left alone for so long, or maybe the fire terrified them too.

He enters the coop, sprinkling pellets that they attack hungrily, then reaches into the henhouse and extracts three eggs.

"Breakfast tomorrow." He holds them up and I grin, because who doesn't like fresh eggs?

Which has me wondering what I do like.

What if I'm a vegan? Or allergic to peanuts? The thought makes me shudder, but I'm so hungry I'm willing to risk anything right now.

Hunter unlocks the cabin, and my jaw hits the floor when he ushers me inside.

The downstairs is all wooden floors and cozy woolen rugs. A small kitchen sits to one side under the mezzanine floor. There are two couches on either side of a thick sheepskin rug, with a wooden coffee table and a TV mounted on the wall above a huge fireplace.

A spiral staircase leads to the mezzanine where I guess the bedroom is.

"It's beautiful."

Hunter knocks his palm against one of the wooden beams. "I built it myself."

I turn to stare at him. "Really?"

He smiles at how obviously impressed I am. Maybe out here it's normal for a man to build his own home, but I'm pretty sure that's not normal where I'm from, wherever that is.

"Yeah. When I came back from the military."

The military.

There it is again, that sensation of a memory on the edge of my consciousness. I open my mouth to ask him about it, but he gets in first.

"The bathroom's through that door." He indicates a door on the other side of the kitchen. "Towels are in the linen cupboard next to it."

I want to ask him more about the military, but he crosses the room and he's switching on lights and reaching into the cupboard to pull out clean sheets.

"I'll change the bedding upstairs. You can take the bed, and I'll take the couch."

I shake my head before remembering it hurts and pressing my palm against the side by my ear where I hit whatever it was I hit.

"No. I'll take the couch. I've already invaded your home; I can't kick you out of your own bed."

He places the sheets on the stairs and puts his hands on my shoulders. I shiver, this time a good shiver, as he fixes me with his cobalt eyes.

"You are my guest here, angel, and you're recovering. You get the bed."

He's already done so much. But I get the feeling he likes looking after me. I see it in the way he looks at me, the excuses he makes to touch me.

"All I want you to do is sit right there, relax, and I'll make us some decent food."

He steers me to one of the couches, and I sink into it. My body is heavy and stiff, which the doctor said is from the smoke inhalation, so I'm happy to sit while Hunter putters around the cabin making it ready for me.

There's a stack of magazines by the coffee table, and I flip through them. They're all hunting magazines, and I soon get bored. I don't think I'm into hunting or I'd be interested, right?

I doze off, and when I wake the incredible smell of roasting meat reaches my nostrils. My mouth is literally watering, which means I'm not vegan, or at least not a committed one.

While Hunter's busy making the meal, I take a closer look around his cabin.

He's got a rack of rifles hanging on one wall and I stare at them for a long time, trying to interpret any sensations I'm feeling. I feel nothing and conclude I'm not into guns.

If I'm not into guns and hunting, I'm probably not a mountain woman. Which means I probably don't live around here, which makes me a tourist. But from where?

There are some framed photographs on the mantelpiece, and I pick up the first one to examine it. It's Hunter smiling with an older couple who I take to be his parents. The next photo is a group of men in military uniforms. They're leaning on a desert jeep, guns slung casually over shoulders. I find Hunter and it's a younger Hunter, his face smooth with youth, a carefree grin on his face like he's off for an adventure of a lifetime.

A tingling sensation starts in my belly, and as I stare at the photo it spreads to my chest. I peer at the younger version of Hunter, and he looks familiar. Not just from the man who rescued me two days ago, but like I've seen him before in my real life. But that's impossible. If we'd met before, he would have said something.

I put the picture back on the mantlepiece and sigh in frustration. So far all I know about myself is that I hate hospitals and I may have some connection to the military. And I'm stupid enough to go wandering on my own on the side of the mountain when there's a wildfire.

"Dinner's ready."

Hunter's voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I join him at the table. It's solid wood with uneven edges like it's been handmade from a local tree, which Hunter confirms it has. I slide onto the bench seat opposite him and breathe in the heavenly smell of roasted meat.

"This smells amazing."

There are three different types of meat and a generous dish of roast vegetables. On the side are bright green peas, broccoli, and carrots.

"I don't know what you like so I did it all," Hunter says.

"I don't know what I like either."

Hunter serves me up some venison, and I take a small forkful into my mouth. It's tender and soft and practically melts on my tongue. Next I try the chicken and then the pork. It's all delicious and easy to eat and doesn't stir up one little bit of memory.

"I'm definitely not a vegetarian," I say between mouthfuls. "That's one more thing I can add to the list of what I know about myself."

Hunter gets up from the table and opens a door that I didn't notice before. It's under the mezzanine, and I get a glimpse of a wooden desk with a closed laptop and a radio unit.

He comes back with a notebook and a pen.

"Here you go." He places them in front of me. "To keep track of what you know about yourself."

I make a list, and it's very short.

Hates hospitals

Woman in wheelchair - maybe a connection?

Not a vegetarian

Not into hunting or guns

Military?

I show him the list, and he reads it thoughtfully. "Let's see what else we can find out."

I help him clear the dishes, and then we sit at the table with a pack of cards in front of us. He shuffles them expertly and deals out the pack.

"What are we playing?"

He eyes me warily. "Snap."

"Snap," I repeat, surprised that I recognize the word.

"You know how to play?"

I pick up my cards and neaten the pile in my hand. "I think so."

He flips over the first card, a three of spades. "You start."

Instinctually, I turn my top card over and lay it on the card on display. A jack of hearts. Hunter plays his card, a jack of diamonds.

I slam my hand down on the cards.

"Snap!"

Hunter chuckles. "You do know how to play."

My grin stretches from ear to ear. Not because I won the hand, but because he's right. I know how to play Snap. I don't know my name or who I am, but I can play cards.

I add Can play Snap to my list.

A few hours and a sore jaw from laughing later, I've added more items to my list.

Can play: Last Card, Patience, Blackjack, Texas Hold ‘em Poker

Which it turns out I'm quite good at judging by the stack of matchsticks I won off Hunter.

Gambling?

I add with a question mark, because it felt so damn satisfying to beat him that I wonder if it's something I do often. Like maybe I'm a card shark.

I stretch my arms and yawn. It's not yet ten o'clock, but I'm finding it hard to keep my eyes open.

"Time for bed," Hunter says, packing the cards away.

He grabs the sheets and I follow him upstairs, but he won't let me help him make the bed.

"No." He bats me playfully out the way. "You need rest. No exerting yourself until that head wound has properly healed."

I fold my arms and watch him wrestle with the fitted sheet.

"You're worse than the doctor," I mumble.

But I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. Because I don't think there's anything sexier than watching a strong man make a bed for you unless it's watching him make you dinner.

My body aches from tiredness, but as I watch Hunter's muscles flex as he strains to get the corner of the mattress stuffed into the sheet, there's a different kind of ache in my core. A yearning to touch him, to be close to him, to roll him onto the bed with me and make me forget that I can't remember.

I turn away as my neck flushes, because the last thing he needs is his unexpected house guest hitting on him.

But at least that's something else I can add to my list of things I know about myself, although I don't write this one down.

Definitely into men.