by Judy Duarte
“I’ll have breakfast on the table in twenty minutes,” she said. Then she turned and walked back to the house. But guilt continued to dog her.
Callie had been right. Alana had a big problem on her hands. And since she was determined to save face, she had no idea how she was going to fix it.
* * *
Jack watched Alana head inside, unable to keep his eyes off the alluring, gentle sway of her denim-clad hips, her shirt flowing over them, or the way her long dark hair tumbled around her shoulders and down her back. Yesterday, after he’d woken up in the hospital, he’d found her attractive. But this morning, after the pain meds had worn off and he’d gotten a good night’s sleep, he realized she was downright beautiful.
Her slight Texas drawl settled on his ears like a serenade on a treasured, well-tuned guitar. She also had a simple, country girl demeanor that appealed to him, although he wasn’t sure why. For some reason, he didn’t think he’d been drawn to that kind of woman in the past, although he couldn’t say why he’d made that jump.
Still, something was off about her, about him. About them. And he couldn’t seem to put his finger on just what it was.
But hell. Nothing about the surreal quagmire he’d stumbled into felt right. And he couldn’t help thinking that, as kind and sweet as Alana had been to him, she wasn’t being completely forthcoming about how they’d met or who he was.
Did he have a sixth sense about stuff like that? Or was he just prone to skepticism?
Maybe, when his brain healed, he’d figure it out. That is, if there was something to figure out.
No sense worrying about it now. He turned around and focused on the pasture beyond the corral and wondered how much property Alana had. And how many cattle she could run. It was going to take a boatload of cash and hard work to get this place productive again. But from what he could see, there was a lot of potential.
It was odd how he knew that. He’d been wearing designer clothing when he’d gotten hurt. Both the slacks and the shirt had Armani labels. And he also had on Gucci loafers. Other than the expensive brand names, the clothing didn’t seem familiar.
He glanced down at the faded jeans he wore today, at the borrowed flannel shirt, both of which felt more comfortable than what he’d changed out of after his shower last night. And that wasn’t just because the fabric was soft and worn. Or because they were clean and smelled like laundry detergent. There was something about them that stirred something deeper than the kind of comfort that was only skin deep, which didn’t compute. Because he knew something about property and ranching, and that was as clear to him as the stitches and the lump on his head.
So who was he?
Apparently he had money and could recognize the finer things in life. He spoke a little Spanish. And his name was Jack.
Jack Maguire, Alana had told the doctor. Or was it Jack McGee? Hell, he’d be damned if he knew. He’d been drifting in and out at the time. Still, the name Jack McWhatever didn’t sound the least bit familiar at all. He’d have to take a second look at those hospital-discharge papers, although they might not offer him any answers.
He blew out a sigh. How much longer would the blasted amnesia last? He sure as hell hoped he wasn’t stuck with it for the rest of his life.
And what about that life? Was someone missing him? Did he have a family? A wife and kids? Parents? Brothers or sisters?
No one came to mind.
He tried to conjure thoughts of Christmas, but that didn’t help. Wait. What about Hanukkah?
But nope. Neither one triggered a solitary thought. Not a tree or a dreidel. Not even a big-ass turkey dinner on Thanksgiving.
Apparently, he didn’t have any holiday memories, either. At least, none that came to mind now.
He chuffed, then turned and scanned the property again. So, Alana’s grandfather ran cattle and raised cutting horses. He was actually looking forward to checking out the mares that were stabled in the barn, although he wasn’t sure why.
Damn. He hated not knowing squat about himself. He chugged the last drop of his coffee, then headed to the house for another cup. And to quiz Alana once more. She had to know more than she’d told him. Because if they’d met in Colorado, like she’d said, they must have talked about something. Otherwise, why had he shown up here?
* * *
By the time Alana reached the kitchen, Katie and her brothers were dressed for the day—Katie in black jeans and a gray T-shirt, the boys in their Little League uniforms. They sat at the table drinking orange juice and eating cereal and peanut butter on toast.
“I’m sorry you had to fend for yourselves,” Alana said. “I meant to fix hotcakes this morning.”
“Don’t apologize,” Katie said. “If I didn’t have class this morning, I would have gladly made breakfast for everyone. As it is, I’m running late because I need to drop the boys off at Coach Ramon’s house first. They have a playoff game at eleven.”
Eight-year-old Mark, his big brown eyes bright and hopeful, looked up from his frosted cornflakes. “Are you gonna come watch us, Alana? Coach said I get to start today.”
Alana tried to attend most of their games, but she’d have to miss this one. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I can’t make it today.” She planned to stick close to the ranch. Jack seemed to be feeling better, but she didn’t want to leave him alone yet.
And speaking of Jack, she needed to fix him something hearty to eat. He’d missed dinner last night, so he had to be hungry.
The back door creaked open and boot steps sounded in the mudroom as Jack made his way to the kitchen. He stopped short when he spotted the boys and their older sister seated around the table.
“Jack, this is Katie,” Alana said. “And these handsome young ballplayers are her brothers, Jesse and Mark.”
He gave a polite nod. “Nice to meet you.”
Jesse, the youngest boy by eighteen months, stared at Jack, clearly examining his head injury—the stitches, the swollen brow, the bruising under his eye. “What happened to you?”
“Dude.” Mark jabbed an elbow at his little brother. “Don’t be rude.”
Jesse frowned at the admonition. “I’m sorry, mister. It’s just that I had a black eye once. When I almost got hit by a car.”
“You fell in the street,” the eight-year-old corrected.
“Yeah, but it could have been really bad if the man hadn’t stopped in time. I still banged my head super hard and got to ride in an ambulance.” Jesse gazed at Jack. “Did you have to go to the hospital?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah. I did.”
“Jess,” Katie said, “stop asking so many questions. Jack probably can’t answer them anyway. He doesn’t remember what happened to him.”
“I can’t blame the kid for being curious,” Jack said. “For all I know, I was kidnapped by aliens and then pushed out of their spaceship.”
That brought on a couple of chuckles, lightening the mood around the table.
So Jack had a sense of humor. And he knew how to diffuse an awkward moment. Good to know.
“Boys,” Katie said, “we have to get out of here. Finish your breakfast, then go get your gear and meet me in the car.”
“Okay.” Mark lifted his glass of juice and drained it.
Jesse bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes locked on Jack. “I’m really sorry if I hurt your feelings. You don’t look all that bad. I mean, your head might look worse than mine did. But I’m sure you’ll get better soon. I got to play ball again after about a week.”
“No worries.” Jack reached out, tugged at the bill of the boy’s red baseball cap and offered up a smile. “You didn’t hurt my feelings. And just so you know, I’m feeling better each day.”
“It’s good to see you up and around,” Katie told Jack.
“Have we met?” he asked.
“Not really. I was here when you arrived, but you w
ere pretty out of it.”
Jack carried his mug to the coffee maker and poured a refill.
Katie chugged a glass of milk, then got up from the table and cleared the bowls, spoons and glasses from the table. “I hate to eat and run.”
“Don’t give it another thought. I’ve got this.” Alana had no more than waved her off when the boys dashed to the mudroom, where they’d left a canvas bag and two bats. Once they’d gone outside, the back door slamming behind them, Jack took a seat at the table.
“You can have cereal for breakfast,” Alana said, “but hotcakes are an option. I thought I’d scramble a couple of eggs for me. What sounds good to you?”
“Whatever you’re having. Thanks.” He took a sip of coffee. “Can I do anything to help?”
“No. I’ve got it all under control.” She pulled bacon and a carton of eggs from the fridge. “Enjoy your coffee.”
She’d no more than placed Grandpa Jack’s cast iron skillet on the stove when Jack said, “So what’s Katie’s story? Have you been friends long?”
“I’ll give you the short version. Katie was in college, studying to be a vet, when her mother died. Her stepdad had passed a few years earlier, so she took on custody of her two younger brothers. She’d gone back to school part-time, but money was tight, and then she got sick and had an appendectomy. When I found out she was about to be evicted from their apartment in town, I told her they could all stay here until she got back on her feet.”
“That was nice of you.”
She shook off his praise. “I had plenty of room here, so it seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Still. Most people wouldn’t do something like that. You have a big heart,” he said.
Too big sometimes. “For what it’s worth, Katie used to work for the vet in town. So she’s been a huge help around here, especially with the mares. The only exercise they get is when she takes them for a ride or puts them out to pasture.” Alana turned the fire down on the sizzling bacon, then pulled a bowl out of the cupboard. “And Mark and Jesse help, too. At least they try.”
“I imagine the boys get underfoot sometimes.”
“Not at all.” Alana cracked four eggs into the bowl. “It’s been great having them here. I used to be a nanny, and I love kids.”
She reached into the cupboard drawer, pulled out a fork and began to whip the eggs.
“Any plans to have some of your own?”
She froze as she struggled with an answer. Funny you should ask...
Speaking of kids...
As if he’d seen her stiffen, sensed her hesitation and read into it, Jack said, “I’m sorry. That isn’t any of my business.”
Alana left the bowl on the counter and slowly turned to face him. “Actually, I was pregnant once and lost the baby. So your question threw me for a moment. But, yes, I’d love to have another child. And have a family of my own.”
Her hand slid down the front of her, sculpting the small baby bump she kept hidden behind a baggy shirt. Catching herself, she turned away and reached for the bowl of raw eggs and, using the fork, began whipping them again.
She could feel Jack’s eyes on her, so it didn’t surprise her when he spoke. “Is that why you let people live with you?”
She didn’t have many guests here—just four at the moment. But he had a point. So she turned again, facing him and the truth she rarely revealed. “I don’t especially like living alone or not being a part of something bigger than me.”
At that, he zeroed in on her. His gaze made her a little uneasy. But so what? She’d let him stay here, too.
“What happened to your family?” he asked.
Darn it. For a man who’d once claimed to be an attorney, he was beginning to sound like a shrink. But she’d kept enough secrets from him. “My mom died when I was just a baby, leaving me with my dad, who had a serious drug-and-alcohol problem. I wish I could say that’s because he took my mother’s death hard and was just trying to deal with the grief, but he was a big partyer. When I was seven, social services stepped in, and I was placed in foster care. A few months later, he died of an overdose.”
Her thoughts drifted to the day she’d learned the facts of his death.
“He actually died on his friend’s sofa. They were all pretty strung out, because it took his buddies a whole day to realize he hadn’t moved in a while.”
“I’m sorry.” His tone, his compassionate gaze confirmed his words.
She gave a little shrug. “Not everyone has a perfect childhood, but I survived. And even though it wasn’t easy at the time, it all ended up okay. My last foster family lived down the street from Callie. You met her yesterday when we got back from the hospital.”
“The pregnant blonde?”
“That’s the one. She and I had a lot in common. Her parents had died, too, although she was only in foster care a year or so. Her great-aunt eventually took custody. And when I aged out of the system and had nowhere to go, Callie and her aunt invited me to live with them.”
“So you’ve been friends since you were teenagers?”
“Yeah.” A smile stole across her face. “You know, I’ve never had a problem making friends. But Callie’s the best I’ve ever had. She’s also the sister I never had.”
Warmth surged through her heart, and grateful tears stung her eyes at the love and appreciation she had for Callie. She blinked back the faucet of emotion—as real as could be, but no doubt heightened by pregnancy hormones—and nodded toward the back door. “I’ll tell you what. After breakfast, I’ll take you out to the barn and introduce you to the horses.”
“I’d like that,” he said. “Thanks.”
Good. Alana needed another subject to focus on. Topics like cowboys, ranches and livestock were much easier to handle than thoughts and memories that would only bring on tears.
“How many slices of bacon do you want?” she asked.
“Two, I guess. No, wait.” A smile flickered on his face. “I think I like bacon. So make that three. Thanks.”
As luck would have it, Jack remained pensive until breakfast was ready. She filled his plate with a good-size helping of scrambled eggs, three slices of bacon and buttered sourdough toast, then placed it in front of him.
She’d no more than returned to the table with her own meal when he finally spoke.
“When did your grandfather pass away?”
Her heart clenched, and another difficult topic came to mind. “He died in late December.”
Right after Christmas. It had been a bittersweet holiday, yet special in its own way.
God, how she’d loved the man she’d barely had a chance to know.
“What was his name?”
“Jack,” she said softly, her voice laden with the sweet memory.
He stopped chewing. “Seriously? His name was Jack, too?”
Her heart hammered its way out of her chest.
Jack picked up a crisp strip of bacon and lifted it to his mouth. “What a coincidence.”
“Yes. Isn’t it?” She pushed aside her plate and got to her feet, ready to bolt. “More coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’m okay for now.”
Too bad she wasn’t. And if she didn’t confess about deceiving him soon, she might never be okay again.
Chapter Five
Why on heaven’s earth had Alana lied about Clay’s name being Jack?
And what if Clay found out that she’d given him Grandpa’s last name, too?
Dumb. Just dumb.
Sure, she’d had her reasons at the time, but for each one that came to mind now, as sound and noble as it had seemed when she’d been at the hospital, reality shot it down.
There was just one way out. She needed to tell him the truth. That was a no-brainer. But each time she tried to come up with a way to broach the subject, the conversation began to play out in
her mind, and she ended up feeling like a fool.
“We met one day and ended up in bed.” An easy lay, huh?
“I didn’t expect to get pregnant.” Not only an easy lay but a stupid one.
“I actually liked you, but I left without telling you my name.” Not just easy and stupid, but impulsive, too. And foolish.
No, the little chat they needed to have wasn’t going to end well, no matter what kind of spin she tried to put on it.
Maybe when his memory returned, the conversation would flow organically. And when it did happen, he might take it better than she expected him to.
But what if he was the kind of man she’d thought he was, hoped he was? And what if, after learning that she’d lied to him, he decided he didn’t want anything to do with her?
Worse yet, what if everything he’d told her in Colorado was true? If he was an attorney and had the money she thought he had, he had the means and know-how to seek joint custody. Or even...
She slowly shook it off.
“Just take things day by day,” Grandpa Jack had told her. He’d been talking about running the ranch. But the words fit now, too. What would it hurt to wait another day or so?
In the meantime, as she led Jack out to the stables, the two dogs bringing up the rear, she decided to continue playing it by ear.
Inside the barn, the morning sun peered through the dirty, smudged windows, creating a magical moment as glistening flecks of straw and dust danced in the air, not far from two saddles, each perched on a sawhorse. Mark and Jesse often came out to play on them, pretending to be cowboys.
When Alana and Jack reached the stabled mares, she pointed to the chestnut. “This girl is Bailey, and the black one is Selena.”
Jack reached out and, after stroking each horse’s neck, said, “They’re good-looking horses.”
Alana thought so, too. Not that she had any experience with that sort of thing. “Grandpa sold the geldings before he died, but he told me to hang on to the mares. I probably ought to sell them, but I have no idea how much they’re worth. Either way, I kind of like having them around.”
