Return 0f The Cowgirl (The Gallaghers 0f Montana Book 5)

by Eve Gaddy

  He hesitated, not wanting to lie, but not wanting her to take the blame for something that might have been no fault of hers. “We won’t know what really happened until you regain your memory. But after my visit with the Villareals I had my secretary do some research. The ranch was making a big profit, particularly the cattle business, until about a year ago. The decline was sudden and then the disease killing so many of the stock pretty much sealed its fate. Was that your fault? Maybe. But maybe not. So my advice is to try not to think about that until we have some facts to go with the speculation.”

  “There’s nothing I can do anyway, except feel like a failure. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t talked to my family in so long.”

  “There’s no sense torturing yourself with what-ifs.” Except that’s what she was doing.

  Glenna said, “Mitch? There could be yet another reason they’re looking for me.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “When I was at the hospital they told me I lost the baby. I said ‘what baby?’ They said I’d been about five months along when they brought me in from the bus accident. So I not only lost my memory, I lost a child as well.”

  He covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry. That must have been terrible.”

  “I’m sure it would have been if I could remember it. But obviously, since I don’t remember the pregnancy, or the miscarriage, or much of anything before waking up in the hospital, I have no idea who the father was either.”

  Realizing he still held her hand, he hastily let go of it. “That puts a whole new light on things, doesn’t it? I wonder if Rolando was the father?”

  “He could have been. Again, assuming I’m Glenna. Even if he was, I don’t think we were married.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I didn’t have a ring, or a tan line from a ring. And...” She hesitated, then said, “I don’t feel like I’m married.”

  “Why would you remember being married if you don’t remember anything else?” It shocked him how much he wanted her to be right—that she wasn’t married. Married to a man who was very likely a criminal, if not at least complicit in a crime. Because regardless of what was going on at that ranch, attempted kidnapping was for damn sure a crime.

  “I don’t know. It just seems like I would.”

  “Neither Villareal mentioned you being married. I don’t know why they wouldn’t say so if you were.”

  She brightened. “Yes, you’d think they would have said that first thing. So I don’t have to worry about being married. If I’m Glenna. But if I knew I was pregnant, and it seems like I would have, why did I run away?”

  “Because you were accused of embezzling.”

  “With no proof, you said.” She sighed. “Or because I screwed up. I have a horrible feeling it’s my fault the cattle business failed.”

  “If it was your fault I don’t believe you’d have skipped.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re not the type to cut and run.”

  She shrugged, as if she didn’t believe him.

  “I think to really know what happened we’re going to have to wait until you regain your memory,” he repeated. If she did. He was going to talk to Austin as soon as he got back to the States. His brother was a neurologist. He should know something about amnesia and how to treat it.

  Mitch checked the time on his phone. “It’s almost time to video chat with Dylan. Are you up for that?”

  “I guess. It still feels weird.”

  “I’m sure it does. But maybe it will help.”

  “Maybe.”

  She didn’t sound too sure and, frankly, neither was he. But it was worth a try, and besides, Dylan and the rest of her family were really anxious to see her.

  Chapter Seven

  “We’ve still got some time before we’re supposed to call your family. Let’s finish looking in your backpack,” Mitch said when they got back to his room. “I think there’s a false bottom.”

  “All right. Let me empty it out.” Glenna had mixed emotions about talking—video chatting—with the Gallaghers. She couldn’t help thinking that they could all be mistaken and she wasn’t Glenna Gallagher. Then what the hell would she do?

  Mitch would go back to looking for the real Glenna. He wouldn’t kick her out tonight, though. He wouldn’t be that cruel. Even if she wasn’t Glenna, she was still a woman who’d lost her memory.

  “Can I ask you something?” She stopped emptying the backpack.

  “Sure. What?”

  “If it turns out I’m not Glenna—”

  “It won’t,” Mitch interrupted.

  “If I’m not—” she continued “—do you think the Gallaghers would consider lending me the money to get to the States and letting me work it off? I’d be willing to do whatever they needed. Not that I know exactly what I can—”

  “Stop. Just stop.” Mitch grasped her arms gently. “Look at me.” She met his gaze and he continued. “You are Glenna Gallagher. I’m sure of it. But even if you aren’t, I am not leaving you here. We’ll figure out the details later. Not that it’s going to be necessary. Got it?”

  She nodded, and said around the lump in her throat, “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me,” he said brusquely, letting go of her. He pulled out his pocketknife. “Let me have your backpack.”

  She sat cross-legged on the couch and watched him work on the lining of her backpack. She started to say something but Mitch gave her the evil eye so she didn’t. He worked in silence for a while and then said, “Hot damn. I was right. There’s a false bottom.”

  “What?” Leaning forward, she bumped heads with him. “Ouch.”

  He rubbed his head. “A little anxious, are you?”

  “Try terrified.”

  “Go ahead. It’s your backpack,” he said, handing it to her.

  She pulled the false bottom out the rest of the way. There was a packet of something wrapped in plastic and strapping tape. Saying nothing, Mitch handed her his pocketknife. Carefully, she cut through the tape and pulled aside the plastic. The first thing she saw was money, two packets of it. A lot of money, maybe? She put it aside until she had everything out. Beneath the money she found a passport and a DNI card. Her heart was beating so fast she was afraid it would burst out of her chest. Turning over the DNI card, she stared at it. The picture wasn’t great but it looked like her. Glenna Leigh Gallagher. Silently, she passed it to Mitch and opened the passport. The picture was better and the name the same. Glenna Leigh Gallagher.

  “Is this where I say I told you so?”

  She burst into tears.

  Hell, he hated women crying. Nothing made him feel more uncomfortable. He didn’t know how to comfort her so he did the only thing he could think of. He put his arm around her and hugged her. Comfort her, right. He didn’t even know why she was crying.

  She turned in to him, buried her head in his chest and sobbed.

  Oh, fuck. What do I do now?

  She was an incredibly sweet armful, even sobbing. He put his other arm around her and patted her back. Looked down at the top of her head, at all that thick, beautiful dark red hair, so long it fell down her back nearly to her butt. Her hair was soft and silky beneath his hands, and he wanted to bury his hands in it, tug her head back and—

  Goddamn it, get hold of yourself, you fool.

  “Glenna.” She continued to cry. “Glenna,” he said more firmly. Holy shit, she was about to descend into a crying jag. “Stop crying. Everything’s going to be okay.” Well, except that she’d lost her baby, her memory, and the bad guys were probably still after her. But hey, at least she had a real passport now.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his chest. “I shouldn’t... I can’t...” She drew in a wavering breath and sniffed. Then she raised her head and gazed at him with tear-drenched emerald green eyes. “I can’t even say I’m not usually like this because for all I know—” she sniffed again and continued “—I cry all the time.”

  He smiled. “I doubt it
. You’ve had a hell of a day. It started out with some man you didn’t know accosting you and telling you that you were a woman you’d never heard of. Then you were nearly abducted. And that’s just for starters.” He touched the bruises on her neck gently. “I bet those still hurt.”

  “Kind of.”

  Her mouth was so close. Her lips were full and tempting. Right there, begging to be kissed. Still gazing at him, she moistened her lips. He managed not to groan, somehow. One of her hands rested on his chest, the other was at his waist, where she’d been holding him. Clutching him as if he were a lifeline. God, he wanted to kiss her. Just a taste of that sweet, sweet mouth.

  What the hell was he doing?

  Abruptly he let her go and stood up. “How much money do you have there?”

  She stared at him a moment, looking, he could have sworn, disappointed. Because he hadn’t kissed her?

  Dream on, dumbshit.

  Glenna shrugged. “I don’t know. It looks like a lot.”

  He picked up one of the two stacks of bills and flipped through it, then did the same with the other. “Hundreds and fifties. Quite a few hundreds and fifties. A stack of each, in fact.” A half-inch thick bank stack, which, if it was what it looked like, meant one hundred of each bill. However, the bands weren’t as tight as they should be, which he took to mean some of those bills were missing.

  “So I did embezzle the money.”

  “No, I don’t think so. There’s nowhere near fifty K here. And besides, embezzling is usually done electronically. But this is about fourteen or fifteen thousand.”

  She simply stared at him. “I’ve been carrying around fifteen thousand dollars cash in my backpack? Are you freaking kidding me?”

  Her voice had gone higher, shock registering in it. He had to smile at her astonishment.

  “No. But I have a feeling everything isn’t on the up and up with these bills.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Think about it. That’s a shitload of cash for you to be walking around with. Do the Villareals keep that much cash around?”

  “How the hell would I know?” she snapped.

  “I think it’s unlikely. Unless it’s money from a drug deal. Or a bank robbery. Or it could be arms or even human trafficking.” Another thought occurred to him. South America, particularly Peru, was known for excellent counterfeiting of US dollars. But counterfeiting wasn’t unheard of anywhere in South America. What if the Villareals decided to invest in a counterfeiting operation rather than another illegal activity?

  Mitch pulled out a bill from each stack and held them up to the light. First the hundred, then the fifty. He looked for the telltale signs that the money wasn’t legit. He’d become familiar with counterfeiting during his many trips to South America. “These are good. Really good. But I’m about ninety-five percent sure they’re fake.”

  “Fake? You mean they’re counterfeit? I have fifteen thousand dollars in counterfeit money? Damn it, I could be thrown in jail forever.”

  “Calm down. That depends on why you have it. Come here.” He didn’t tell her yet that he believed she’d spent some of it. He held the hundred up and showed her a couple of reasons why he thought the bills were counterfeit. “I think this started out as a Venezuelan ten-bolivar note. They’re worth very little—about two cents apiece—so they can get them cheap, bleach out the picture and put Ben Franklin’s on it. In the US the security strip is red and blue. On this one it’s lilac-colored. But the paper is real, so they’re hard to detect.”

  “Okay, say you’re right and it’s phony. Why do I have it if I wasn’t going to spend it?”

  “I think you did spend some of it. Fake IDs and passports cost money. I won’t know for sure until I’ve counted it, but if these are bundled as bank stacks, some of what should be there is missing.”

  He grabbed his laptop, took it to the couch, and booted it up. Ignoring the numerous unread emails, he started with googling bank robberies in Argentina. Not finding what he looked for there, he googled arrests for illegal arms sales, human trafficking and counterfeiting in Argentina, especially near the Villareal ranch. He struck pay dirt with an article about counterfeit bills being found in a couple of the larger cities near the ranch.

  Clearly impatient with his computer searches, Glenna asked, “Do you think this is what the Villareals want? The money?”

  “I don’t know. But I’d hazard a good guess that it is. I wonder how you came by this money? I doubt they left it lying around.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she said with a snap of annoyance. “Maybe I was part of the operation.”

  He gave her a sharp look. “No, you weren’t. Not voluntarily, anyway. But you could be married and your husband was careless because he trusted you.” He did not want to think about Glenna being a part of a counterfeiting ring. Or that she was married to a scumbag criminal, either. “Maybe you’ll remember it.”

  She snorted. “Since I haven’t remembered jackshit yet, not even about the baby they said I lost, I’m not going to hold my breath.”

  “There might be something you could do to help regain your memory. When we get to Marietta you should go see my brother.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s a neurologist. He might be able to help you. Austin Hardeman is his name.”

  “I’m sure I don’t have insurance. Certainly not in America. According to you, I’ve been living in South America for years. And I don’t have any money, either. Other than a crapload of what we assume is counterfeit money.”

  “I’m willing to bet you had the bills to expose the Villareals’ counterfeiting operation. But since you were in hiding from them you didn’t have a chance to give it to the authorities. Or possibly, you were too scared to go to the local police. Which makes sense. Then came the bus accident.”

  “And I don’t remember anything about any of this,” she said in disgust. “Unbelievable.”

  He wanted to help her.

  You are helping her. You’re taking her back to her family, his practical side reminded him.

  Her family who are strangers to her, his you-never-learn side said.

  Everyone is a stranger to her.

  Everyone except me.

  She could be married. To a criminal.

  Which is exactly why she needs my help. She needs to get the hell out of here.

  You’re hopeless, Mr. Practical said.

  Hopeless? No, he damn sure wasn’t. Nuh-uh. Nope. No fucking way. Not doing that again.

  But it wasn’t an act with Glenna. She really did have amnesia. She wasn’t playing him. Still, he’d learned the hard way not to let his sympathy overtake his common sense.

  Sympathy? Is that what you’re calling it? You’ve got the hots for her, man. Remember what happens when you think with your dick.

  Chapter Eight

  “What happens now?”

  Mitch looked at his phone for the time. “Right now, we need to video chat with your family.”

  Her family. People she didn’t know. But they knew her. They would expect things from her. Things she couldn’t give. “I don’t want to. It’s only going to make all of us feel bad. Because I can’t remember them. Do we have to call?”

  “No one is forcing you to do it, Glenna.”

  “But you think I should.”

  “All of your brothers are anxious to see you. They’ve been looking for you for a long time. They haven’t heard from you in even longer. It will really help them to see you.”

  “I don’t know them. What am I going to say?”

  “They know you have amnesia. Three of them are doctors. They’ll understand. They won’t push you.”

  Glenna drew in a deep breath. “Make the call.” She might as well get it over with. Besides, they were paying for her to fly out of South America. The least she could do was thank them.

  And there was a faint hope—very faint, in her opinion—that seeing her four brothers together might jog her memory. She listened as Mitch called them.<
br />
  “Hardeman, it’s about time.”

  “Sorry. Something came up. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “Is Glenna all right?”

  “She’s fine. Still doesn’t remember anything but an occasional fragment from before the accident.”

  “Damn, I guess that’s not a surprise.”

  “No. Let me put Glenna on. Do you want to sit here?” Mitch got up, gesturing at the desk chair.

  Mitch was going to think she was the biggest weenie ever, but she didn’t care. Clutching his arm, she said in a low voice, “Don’t go. Please.”

  “They’re your family,” he said quietly. “They love you. You don’t need to worry.”

  “None of this feels real. Except you.”

  Something flared in his eyes but she couldn’t say what sort of emotion it was. He gazed into her eyes as if trying to read something. But she knew the only things he’d see were anxiety and bewilderment. “I’ll sit on the bed, right behind you. I won’t leave.”

  “Thank you.” She sat down and looked at the computer. Four good-looking men—two with dark hair, one with blond, and one with brown—looked at her with varying degrees of hope.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Glenna. I’m Dylan,” one of the men with dark brown hair said.

  “Hi, I’m Wyatt,” the blond said.

  “And I’m Jack. It’s good to see you,” the other dark-haired man said.

  “I’m Sean,” said the man with sandy brown hair. “You look a bit overwhelmed. We won’t keep you long.”

  “I am,” she said, glad at least one of them understood her feelings. “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize any of you.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Dylan said. “We get it.”

  “We just wanted to see you,” Sean said.