by Judy Duarte
“Something wrong?” Marissa asked.
Alana hadn’t gone into great detail about her pregnancy with her new friend, but Marissa knew that the father was a man Alana had met in a bar. And the revelation hadn’t fazed her in the least. Probably because she was the kind of woman who didn’t pass judgment. Instead, she seemed to be the kind who’d say, Okay. So what’re we going to do now?
Normally, Alana would have shared her dilemma with Callie, but with twins on the way, a new man in her life and a wedding in her future, it might be best to let her BFF sit this one out. So she lowered her voice and told Marissa about Clay—or Jack. And the indecision she faced.
Marissa snatched the dish towel from the counter, dried her hands and let out a long, soft whistle.
“Any advice?” Alana asked her friend, who’d never been short on ideas.
“Why not take the doctor’s advice and wait a little longer? It might be easier to talk to him once he remembers meeting you in Colorado.”
Alana nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. So I’m glad you agree.” After letting out another little sigh, she retrieved ice cubes from the freezer.
“I’ve got a question for you,” Marissa said. “Would you have any qualms about dating a man with children?”
“I love kids,” Alana said. “Up until now, I didn’t realize I’d have one of my own. So a man with children would appeal to me. I’d finally have the family I’d always wanted.” Alana began to replenish the pitcher with sweet tea. “Why do you ask?”
“No real reason, I guess. It’s just that I met this nice guy at the donut shop the other day. He’s a single dad with two of the cutest little kids you ever saw.”
“What’s his name?”
Marissa chuckled. “I have no idea. But there were definitely sparks.”
“So what’s the problem?”
She took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “My own experience with stepparents was horrible, and I’d hate to get involved in a complicated situation like that.”
Before Alana could respond, Carlene Tipton entered the kitchen. “There you are, Alana. I’d been meaning to take you aside to share a bit of news you might like to know.”
Carlene, as sweet and good-hearted as she was, had a tendency to gossip. And, unable to help herself, Alana took the bait. “What’s that?”
Marissa cleared her throat, then took the pitcher from Alana. “I’ll take this. That way, you two can have some privacy.”
Alana doubted Carlene’s “news” would be a secret for long, but she appreciated Marissa’s intuition and respect. “Thank you,” she said, as she handed over the pitcher.
After Marissa left the room, Carlene folded her arms across her chest. “You remember Adam Hastings?”
How could she forget? The rich Texan was hell-bent on buying Rancho Esperanza, even though Alana had refused to sell—to him or anyone. “What about him?”
“I heard he made another offer on the Circle R. And this time, Paul Clemmons accepted it.”
“That’s good... Right?” Maybe now he had enough Montana property to back off and leave Alana alone.
“Good for Paul, I suppose. But some folks wonder why Hastings is so interested in buying up property here.”
Something deep inside, that same disconcerting feeling Alana got whenever she was about to be removed from a foster home and transported to another, rose up, insisting that “some folks” might have good reason to be suspicious.
* * *
When Jack was sure the baby shower had ended and all the guests had left the ranch, he returned to the house and washed up in the mudroom. Just beyond the doorway to the kitchen, he heard the refrigerator door open and shut.
“Is that you, Jack?” Alana called out.
“Yeah. It’s me.” Whoever “me” was. He turned off the faucet, reached for the towel hanging near the sink and dried his hands.
When he entered the kitchen, he paused for a moment and watched Alana as she put away the last of the party leftovers. She wore a loose yellow sundress, and her hair was pulled up into a messy topknot, revealing a pair of pearl earrings, small and simple yet lending her an elegance that...
His leisurely assessment and admiration stalled, and his smile faded. Had he seen them before today? Had he noticed the delicate earrings that added to her pretty face?
When nothing came to mind, he shook off the feeling of déjà vu and asked, “Is the coast clear?”
“Yes, and a good time was had by all.” She turned to face him, blessing him with a smile. “It’s safe for you to come home.”
Home. A couple of days ago, that word might have sent him scurrying for a memory. But now it just sounded...nice.
“It’s pretty quiet around here,” he said. “Where are the boys?” Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen them since breakfast.
“One of their friends, a boy on their ball team, invited them over for a playdate. So Katie dropped them off before the shower started. She just left to pick them up.”
He and Alana were alone?
His hormones stirred, and the fog in his brain shifted slightly, allowing a break in the clouds and a spot of clarity.
An attractive brunette sitting alone at a small, candlelit table, lifting a glass of red wine to her lips.
Recognition shot through him. Alana.
Something else stirred, too.
Awareness. Heat.
The brief piece of memory vanished. Poof. Dissipating into his fog-shrouded brain.
He blinked as he tried to re-create it, to latch on to it somehow, but it was gone for now, leaving him completely at a loss. Yet the sexual awareness remained, and his gaze locked on hers.
Her eyes filled with worry, and she closed the distance between them. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure, but I think—”
She placed a gentle hand on his bicep, and his muscle flexed in response. Her citrusy scent, her sweet touch, those expressive green eyes... The memory may have disappeared, but the sexual yearning, the sense that they’d shared more than smiles remained, filling the room, invading his senses.
“What happened just now?” She removed her hand from his arm and took a step back. “Did you remember something?”
“Yeah. I think so.” He sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out. “Where, exactly, did we meet?”
Her face paled, and her lips parted. “I...told you. We met in Colorado.”
“That part I know. But...” Damn. Why couldn’t he pull up any more recollections of that day?
No, it was nighttime. There was a candle on the table.
“You told me we met in a bar,” he said. “Was it in the evening?”
She bit down on her bottom lip, then she nodded slowly. “Yes. Like I told you before, I’d attended a cattle symposium, and at the end of the day, I decided to have a drink before dinner.”
“Wine, right? I think it was red.”
Again, she nodded.
“And I joined you at your table.” It wasn’t a question. Somehow, he just knew that’s how it happened.
Alana stared at the floor for several beats, then she looked up and caught his eye. “Yes, you approached me.”
She must have let him sit with her. “What happened that night?”
“I... We...” She folded her arms across her chest. “I shouldn’t force you to remember things.”
“I think I’m ready now. I keep getting some fleeting thoughts about that evening. I just want you to help me connect them. Did we end up on good terms?”
“To be completely honest, I’m not sure.”
He wiped a hand over his face. Something must have gone wrong, but Alana wasn’t being much help. Betty Sue said he’d asked for directions to the Lazy M. So he’d obviously been on his way to see her. But four months later? That didn’t make sense
, even in his fuzzy state.
“Why did I come looking for you?” he asked.
“I really don’t know.” She inched away.
“You must have an idea. Why would I show up after four months? You know more than you’re telling me, don’t you?”
“I’m just following doctor’s orders. Remember? It’s best if we let your memory return naturally. I don’t want to force it.”
Okay, then. Maybe he’d do the forcing. Let’s see if his gut feeling was true.
He moved forward, backing her against the counter, his eyes locked on hers. He lifted his hand to cup her jaw. His thumb brushed her cheek, stroking it. Caressing it.
Her lips parted, and he could see it in her eyes. There’d been chemistry the night they’d met, and that hadn’t changed. Something told him that’s why he came looking for her, but was he the type of guy who impulsively followed his animal instincts? Did his hormones rule?
No, she was attractive, but this wasn’t merely about lust.
He let his hand fall, and he shuffled back. “There was more to our meeting in Colorado.” He knew it, sensed it. He’d read it in her eyes just a heartbeat before, but something shifted. Now all he spotted was...what? Guilt? Fear? Uneasiness?
He couldn’t quite put his finger on exactly what it was, but she was clearly holding out on him.
Why? She might say it’s because the doctor hadn’t wanted her to push him too hard, but he sensed it was more than that.
Betty Sue might seem a little...off, but she’d seemed pretty sure of herself. That’s not what you told me at the market. You bought yourself a water and asked for directions to the Lazy M. You said your name was Clay. I heard you, plain as day.
Was that true?
There was only one way to find out. He’d have to do a little pushing himself. “Are you sure my name’s Jack?”
Her eyes widened and her lips parted, validating his suspicion. “W-why do you ask?”
He folded his arms across his chest and pressed on. “Because I think it might be Clay.”
Chapter Six
Alana’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Clay knew something, although she had no idea what. Enough to know she’d lied to him. Or at least to suspect it.
Are you sure my name’s Jack? Because I think it might be Clay.
That wasn’t the only question in his eyes demanding an honest answer—and a confession.
She placed her hand over her baby bump, as if she could protect the little one from its father’s questioning expression. Or maybe she was trying to protect herself—and the seven-year-old child she used to be, the one who’d faced a frustrated foster parent after she’d wet the bed on the first night of her placement and felt compelled to run out of the room before she crumpled into one big hot mess at his feet.
Yet while trembling inside, the teenager who’d toughened up over the years demanded that she lift her head high, stand firm and stick to her story. “You didn’t say much that night, and I wasn’t sure how much of what you were saying was true.”
At that, he stiffened. “You thought I was lying to you?”
She hadn’t known what to think. And if truth be told, once he offered her a charming smile, her alcohol-laced brain had turned to mush, and she hadn’t done much thinking at all.
“You were a stranger in a bar. I was a woman alone, and a long way from home.” She shrugged. “I thought you may have said your name was Jack, but now that you mention it, your name could have been Clay. But even then, I wasn’t sure.”
His brow furrowed, as if her words had somehow wounded him. “Why would you question my honesty?”
Her cheeks warmed and her heart soared up from her belly and nearly jumped out of her chest. What in the world was she supposed to say now? We had a one-night stand. It didn’t mean anything.
If their past had been a movie or a book, the tagline might read “Gorgeous man with money walks into an upscale bar and meets a financially strapped woman who has been craving love, intimacy and security her entire life.”
The rest of the story would pretty much play out on its own. They drink too much, and she suggests sex.
How would that explanation play out in his mind?
Badly, she suspected, because right now, it wasn’t playing out very well in hers. But even though she hated to lay it all out on the table, she’d promised herself there’d be no more lies.
“I did most of the talking that night,” she said, “and you were a good listener. I’m afraid your last name never came up at all.”
“And you never thought to ask?”
“I wish I had, but I didn’t.”
And that was the pure, unadulterated truth. Even in an alcohol-laced buzz, she could see that they were clearly mismatched in terms of their education and socioeconomic backgrounds. And after they’d made love, as amazing as it had been, as beautiful as she’d felt, she’d sobered like Cinderella the moment the clock began to chime. Then she’d reverted to her default mode—a barefoot, rag-clad woman who knew where she belonged—and where she didn’t. So she’d escaped before the magical night had ended.
Besides, men like Clay rarely asked her out a second time.
Although there had been one.
Bradley Lewis Thomason. She’d dated him for two months, and he’d treated her well. Nice restaurants, fine dining. A couple of shows where they had front-row seats.
When the holidays had rolled around, she’d asked him if she would finally get to meet his family. He’d shrugged, then he’d changed the subject. When she’d pressed him, he’d told her that she wasn’t the kind of girl his parents expected him to date.
His cool response, the reality of their differences, had hurt. She might have been crushed completely if she hadn’t thrown a glass of wine in his face before walking out the door.
That pride-shattering experience had taught her that she shouldn’t entertain foolish dreams about any kind of relationship, let alone marriage, to a wealthy man with status and connections.
“Seriously?” Clay asked, as he slowly closed the distance between them. “That’s all you can tell me about that night? About the conversation we had?”
That’s pretty much all she wanted to tell him, but he deserved to know the truth about his identity, even though she had very little to offer him in that respect.
“You were well dressed and polite,” she said. “You mentioned that you lived in Texas. But that’s about it.”
“No, Alana. There was more to it than what you’ve told me. We had sex that night, didn’t we?”
It was an easy assumption for him to make, and as much as she’d like to deny it, she couldn’t.
“Yes, we did. I was too embarrassed to admit that. I’m not the kind of woman who would go to bed with a man I’d just met. But I did that night. And so I slipped out of your hotel room while you were asleep.”
Yet he’d managed to find her. Had she somehow left a glass slipper behind?
Clay raked a hand through his hair, and his brow furrowed. “Damn. Was it that bad, Alana?”
Bad? Making love with him? “Oh, no! It wasn’t that. It was good. Great, actually. It’s just that... I don’t know.” Her cheeks burned, no doubt turning a fire-engine red. She almost flapped her hand in front of her face to cool herself down, but that would only fan the flames. Darn it. She’d really stepped in it now.
“Then,” he said, “if the sex was that good, why didn’t you wake me up and tell me goodbye?”
“Because...” She sucked in a fortifying breath and blew it out. “Well, assuming you actually lived in Texas, that’s a long way from Montana. I knew better than to expect more than what we’d just shared and assumed we’d never see each other again.”
“Yet here I am.”
Yes, here he was. “And that fact brings up a few questions in my mind, too. But until y
our memory returns, I can’t even ask you why—or how—you found me.”
“You have a point there. So is that all you have to tell me?”
“Pretty much. In a nutshell. You also mentioned being an attorney, but... Well, you have to admit that people aren’t always honest with each other when they meet in a bar.”
“Voice of experience?”
Heat blasted her cheeks again. “No! That was a first for me. A one-night thing. I don’t make a habit of picking up men in bars and giving them a line of BS. But I’ve heard other people do that. And just for the record, I didn’t tell you anything about me that wasn’t entirely true. I...” She’d begun to ramble. In fact, so much so, that even she found her story hard to believe.
“So that’s it?” he asked again, his voice laden with frustration. “All you can tell me is that I might be a Texas attorney named Jack or Clay Something-or-other?”
She could tell him that she’d conceived a baby that night, but now wasn’t the time to lay something that heavy on him. Obviously, he could hardly wrap his mind around the meager details she’d just given him. So she merely nodded.
He blew out a heavy sigh, then scrubbed his face.
Sympathy welled in her heart and began to fill her eyes. She could apologize, but she also valued self-preservation.
She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Hey. I didn’t invite you here. Not that you aren’t welcome. But I have no idea why you’re in Montana. And apparently, you don’t, either.”
His demeanor softened. “You’re right.”
Before she could conjure a response or any further explanation, her cell phone rang. Talk about being saved by the bell.
She crossed the small kitchen and snatched the outdated phone charging on the counter as if it were a lifeline and glanced at the screen.
Ramon Cruz. Callie’s husband. Why would he be calling her? Probably to thank her for throwing the shower. She should let it roll over to voice mail and then continue the conversation she’d been having with Clay, but she was more than ready for a break. So she swiped her finger across the screen and took the call. “Hey, Ramon. What’s up?”
