Long, Tall Texans: Stanton ; Long, Tall Texans: Garon

by Diana Palmer

  He sounded anguished. Her hands were cold around the phone. “Is he…conscious?”

  “He’s conscious. But…there’s a complication.”

  “What?” she asked, her mind wrapping around all sorts of horrible complications. Had he lost a limb, lost the sight in his other eye…?

  “He’s lost his memory,” K.C. said curtly. “God, I hate to tell you this! He doesn’t remember anything about the past few months. The last thing he remembers is the incursion into Barrera. Nothing since.”

  She sat down hard in a chair. “Oh, my God,” she whispered brokenly. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Is it…permanent?”

  “The neurosurgeon doesn’t know. It’s possible that he may regain some memories, but it may take a long time. How much of the memory will come back is anybody’s guess. There’s no permanent brain damage, at least.”

  She drew in a breath. “Can I come and see him?”

  There was another pause. “I’ll send the Learjet to pick you up. Clarisse, if he remembers you, it won’t be as a fiancée. Do you understand? He’ll be back in the past, before he knew the truth, before he understood that you weren’t related to him. Damn it all!” he burst out.

  She felt the blood draining out of her face. She was engaged. She was pregnant. And Rourke didn’t remember.

  “Clarisse?”

  She swallowed. Hard. “Yes, I’m still here.”

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” he said softly.

  “Thanks, K.C.”

  “I’ll call you back when I’ve alerted my pilot. If he has to…he’ll fly you back to Manaus. Okay?”

  She understood what he was saying. “Okay,” she said.

  She hung up and went to get her things together.

  “What?” Ruy asked, lounging against the doorway while she packed.

  “He’s alive but he doesn’t have any recent memory,” she said.

  He nodded. “Focal retrograde amnesia.” He understood.

  She turned. “Prognosis?”

  He grimaced.

  She drew in a breath. “That’s what I thought.” She continued packing. As she opened her closet door, some of the lace of the beautiful wedding gown spilled out onto the clean wood floor. She looked at it with anguish.

  Ruy moved closer. He turned her into his arms and held her while she cried as if her heart would break.

  “You will have your own memories, Clarisse,” he said at her ear. “And the baby. Even if you lose every other thing, you will still have those.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Go to Africa. See him. But if you have to come home, we’ll arrange the wedding as soon as you’re back.”

  She dried her eyes and looked up at him. “You’re the nicest man I know, Ruy,” she whispered.

  He smiled and bent to kiss her forehead. “That’s something, at least. Finish packing. When K.C. calls you back, I’ll drive you to the airport.”

  * * *

  HE DID, PUTTING her on the small aircraft with a sad smile. He knew, as she did, that the trip was likely to end in more misery.

  Clarisse thanked the pilot for coming the long way to get her. He was personable and friendly, and very good at the controls. His copilot was also a certified pilot. They made sure that one of them was always feeling fresh. Pilot error accounted for most fatal crashes.

  She settled into her seat and closed her eyes. At least she could see Stanton one more time, feed her heart on the sight of him, even if he wasn’t welcoming, even if he threw her out on her ear.

  He wouldn’t remember how sweetly they’d loved. He wouldn’t remember the tenuous new relationship that had given them pleasure beyond words, companionship and friendship that they’d never enjoyed. He’d loved her. Could he have forgotten? Such a memory, so ardent, so consuming, how could anyone forget something so poignant?

  Of course, amnesia would shroud all the memories, good and bad. She wondered during the long way to Nairobi what she was going to find when she got there.

  There was one tiny spark of hope that the sight of her alone might work a miracle, might bring back those memories that they shared of the magical days in Manaus. That hope kept her going.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS LATE afternoon when the pilot set down at the Nairobi airport. K.C. had a car waiting to take Clarisse to the compound.

  “I’m calling in my relief pilot, just in case,” the pilot told her with a gentle smile. “I don’t think you’ll be going back to Manaus today. But…”

  “But it’s best to cover all your bases,” Clarisse agreed sadly. “Thanks very much.”

  He nodded. “Good luck. I hope everything turns out well.”

  “So do I,” she agreed.

  The driver took her out of Nairobi and down long roads to the game park that Rourke owned. K.C. had already said that was where they were taking him. All the way, she worried about her reception. She remembered how it had been in the past, how Rourke had hated her, how he’d spoken to her. It would be so much worse now, after the happiness he’d given her in Manaus, to go back to those sad days. But, after all, he was still alive. She had to remember how it had been when she didn’t know. He was alive. That was what really mattered.

  She laid a gentle hand on the small bump under her dress where her child lay. She’d already decided that she would tell no one, not even K.C., about the baby. If things didn’t work out, if she had to leave, it would be just as well if everyone thought Ruy was the father of her child. She couldn’t risk having K.C. let something slip. The old Rourke, if he knew it was his child, wouldn’t have been above a court battle to take the child from her. He could be ruthless. She simply didn’t dare take the chance. The baby was all she would have of him, for the rest of her life. And she wasn’t going to let Rourke take him away from her.

  Just the same, she hoped all the way down the dusty road to the game park that her fears were going to be needless. Surely he’d recognize her. He had to!

  * * *

  THE DRIVER PARKED at the front door. Rourke’s house was huge. It had porches all the way around with luxurious furniture, just meant for lounging. The roof was tin, red and shiny. The fences around the property were sturdy and high. Behind one, Rourke’s lion, Lou, sat chewing on a big beef bone. He looked up briefly into Clarisse’s eyes before he went back to his bone.

  K.C. met her on the porch. He looked devastated.

  She joined him on the top step.

  “He doesn’t remember that I’m his father,” K.C. said quietly. “Dear God…!”

  She hugged him gently. He looked as if he needed comforting. “Give it time,” she said softly. “It’s early days yet.”

  He managed a smile. “You look terrible,” he remarked.

  She sighed. “It hasn’t been the best few weeks of my life, either. At least he’s alive, K.C.,” she reminded him. “At least, there’s that.”

  “Yes.”

  Voices came from inside the house. A woman’s voice, laughing.

  Clarisse’s face went pale.

  K.C. drew in a breath. “Charlene,” he said under his breath. “She was here with her father, a business associate of mine, when Rourke came home. They’ve…become close. God, I’m sorry!”

  “What could you have done about that?” she asked with a sad smile. “It will be all right.” She grimaced. “I guess it’s time to face the music.”

  “I’ll go with you. Moral support, at least.”

  “Thanks.”

  They walked inside, into Rourke’s room. He was lying on the bed, under the covers. His broad chest was bare. A bandage was wrapped around it, under his arms, with heavy padding over the left side. There were stitches high on his head, just below his hairline. She winced.

  Rourke looked up and saw her as she approached
the bed.

  For a few precious seconds, she hoped against hope that the sight of her might trigger the memories, might help to bring them back, bring him back. But so quickly, those seconds passed.

  His one pale brown eye narrowed, but not with pleasure. A sarcastic smile tugged at his hard mouth. “And just what the hell are you doing here, Tat?” he drawled. “Were you thinking you’d come running and do a spot of nursing, like the time in Nairobi when I lost my eye? Sorry, I don’t need help from you. Charlene’s looking after me, aren’t you, love?” he asked the other woman, who was very young and obviously smitten.

  “Sure,” Charlene said shyly. She smiled at Clarisse.

  Clarisse was beyond smiles. She moved a little closer. She felt wobbly. “I’m glad you’re all right, Stanton,” she said.

  “Are you? Why?” He looked at the hand she raised to her short hair and he sat straight up in bed. His eyes glittered with fury. “Where the bloody hell did you get that ring? Give it here!”

  Shocked, she felt him grab her wrist and turn it, forcing her to sit beside him on the bed as he tore the engagement ring from her slender finger.

  “How did you get it?” he demanded hotly. “You stole it, did you? There’s no way in hell I’d have given my mother’s engagement ring to a tramp like you!”

  It was far worse than Clarisse had expected it might be. She got to her feet and moved away from the bed, back toward K.C., who was livid.

  “Your manners need a little work,” K.C. said curtly.

  “You’re one to talk about manners, mate,” Rourke told the older man. “Did you invite her here?”

  K.C. ground his teeth together.

  “Get her out of my house,” Rourke said in a voice that was soft in rage. His one pale brown eye glittered. “Right now!”

  Clarisse swallowed down her anguish and managed a smile.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlene mouthed and grimaced.

  Sympathy from her replacement hurt as much as Rourke’s rage.

  “Get out!” Rourke shouted at Clarisse. “And don’t you ever come near me again, you harlot! Go pile into bed with one of your conquests…!”

  K.C. had Clarisse out the door and onto the porch before Rourke could add to what he’d already said.

  “Here, now, it’s all right.” K.C. comforted her. “I should never have let you come. I was afraid he wouldn’t know you. But I had hoped…”

  “Yes. Me, too.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Head injuries are tricky—you know that.”

  “I do know. I had one of my own, in Barrera. I still don’t remember some things about what happened there.” She drew away, pale but composed. “I’m going home, K.C.”

  “I had my pilot bring in a new crew, a fresh one,” he said, confirming what the pilot had already told her. “Want to stay at my place overnight and fly out in the morning?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. I want to go home.”

  “I understand. God, I’m so sorry!”

  She took a long, shaky breath. “I’m sorry for you, as well,” she said gently. “You and I both had started down a new path with him.” She smiled sadly. “Well, at least I know how things are now. I’ll stop living in dreams. But he’s alive, K.C.,” she added solemnly. “That’s the only really important thing. I never really believed it would work out, not even when he proposed.” She sighed wistfully. “It’s a way of life, having him hate me. I suppose I’m used to it. Keep well, K.C.”

  “You, too. If you ever need help…” he added awkwardly.

  She just smiled. She turned and walked away. She didn’t even look back.

  * * *

  SHE AND RUY CARVAJAL were married in a civil service in Manaus two days later. She was almost angry enough to send a news clipping of the ceremony to Rourke. But it would have accomplished nothing. It was just as well to leave things the way they were. After all, she couldn’t force him to love her, no matter what she did.

  She settled comfortably into marriage with Ruy. But she moved into his house. The memories in her own were killing her.

  Peg came to see her soon after the ceremony, to be told about Rourke’s injury and the subsequent estrangement. She was obviously curious about why Clarisse had rushed into marriage with a man she’d known for years, but she didn’t say anything. And if she had suspicions, she didn’t voice them.

  “It would never have worked out, despite my pipe dreams,” Clarisse told her friend quietly. “Rourke and I have known each other…oh, so long,” she laughed. “I was eight when my parents moved next door to K.C.’s house. That was in the days when K.C. still made his living as a mercenary, and he was gone a lot. He had houses all over the world. I believe he still maintains one in Mexico. But his main house is just outside Nairobi. Rourke was always hanging around the little village, trying to sneak back into a commando group.”

  “How old was he?” Peg exclaimed.

  “He was thirteen.” Clarisse laughed and shook her head at the other woman’s surprise. “Rourke was…mostly orphaned at the age of ten. His father was killed during a mission with K.C. Rourke’s mother was still alive until about a month after my father was stationed at Nairobi, at the embassy. She couldn’t do anything with Rourke, so when he was ten, he signed on with a rebel group and learned the lifestyle. By the time K.C. got back from endless missions, Rourke was leading a band of insurgents. K.C. grabbed him up, forcibly carried him back to his mother and dared him to leave home.”

  “I’ve never met Mr. Kantor, but I’ve certainly heard of him,” Peg said.

  “Most of what you’ve heard is true,” she said ruefully. “Although he’s mellowed a bit since those days.” She sat forward with a sigh. “Rourke’s mother was a sweet woman, but she was very ill. My family lived next to K.C.’s place in a house the embassy rented for us. I was with Rourke when his mother…died,” she added, hesitating. It was just as well to let her friend think that Mrs. Rourke had died of natural causes. “I sat with Stanton all night. He wouldn’t let anyone else near him.”

  “You go back a long way.”

  “A very long way. I was just eight years old, but I’d already attached myself to Stanton.” She laughed. “I was fascinated with him. He was very mature for a thirteen-year-old and I adored him. He never seemed to mind that I tagged along behind him wherever he went. K.C. said once that the only reason Stanton didn’t fall back in with the militia was that he knew I’d go right along with him, despite any interference from grown-ups.”

  “Had he lost his eye at that age?”

  She shook her head. “He lost it when I was eighteen, just after Christmas…” Her face was drawn with pain at the memory. “I raised Cain until my father put me on a plane for Nairobi. I sat and nursed Stanton while they fought to save his eye and his life. He was badly wounded. I never knew why. He was good at what he did, and he was usually careful. One of his comrades said he’d been drinking.” She shook her head. “Until then, I never thought he took a drink of hard liquor.”

  “Anyone can be pushed beyond his or her limits,” Peg said quietly.

  “I suppose so. Anyway, I sat with him in the hospital. K.C. wanted to, but there had been a lot of gossip just after Stanton’s mother died, about K.C. being his father, and K.C. didn’t want to start it all up again by staying with Stanton in the hospital. I even asked Stanton about it once and he didn’t speak to me for ages afterward. He was touchy about it until just recently, when K.C. had a DNA profile done and found out that Rourke really is his son. It’s a long and sad story,” she added, when Peg looked shocked. “K.C. lost the only woman he ever loved to the church. She’s a nun. He wanted to marry her. He got drunk and Stanton’s mother felt sorry for him. She loved him very much.” She lowered her eyes. “So many people loving the wrong people. You and Winslow got lucky,” she added with a sad smile.
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br />   “We did,” Peg agreed. She studied Clarisse’s pale face quietly. “Your husband is very kind. But he’s a great deal older than you.”

  “Yes.” Clarisse’s eyes were haunted. “He married me to give my child a name, Peg,” she said in a husky whisper. “And you must never, never tell anyone.”

  “Dear God,” Peg ground out, and tears wet her eyes. “I’m so sorry!”

  Clarisse drew in a harsh breath. “Yes. I’m sorry, too, but Stanton remembers nothing about being here with me. Nothing at all. My mother’s reputation would suffer if I had a child out of wedlock. People remember her here with reverence, even though she’s long dead. I can’t…compromise her memory in such a way. And I am very fond of Ruy.”

  “He must be an extraordinary person,” Peg replied with a smile.

  “He is. He can’t have a child of his own. So this one will be precious to him.”

  “And to you.”

  Clarisse’s hand went protectively to her stomach. “I’m going to be so very careful,” she said in a breathless whisper. “I’ve never wanted anything in my life as much as I want this baby.”

  “Will you tell Rourke, one day?” Peg asked.

  Clarisse smiled wistfully. “He’d never believe it was his. He’s back in the old days, accusing me of having affairs with endless men.” She drew in a breath. “Hurting me was a habit he got into. It was to protect me, at the time, from a relationship he thought was forbidden. He may still believe it. Or he might just remember that he hates me, but not why.”

  “Will he ever remember?” Peg asked.

  “There are some cases of spontaneous remission,” Clarisse said. “Sometimes partial memory returns. Usually there will be some missing spots. He’ll remember his childhood, he’ll be able to memorize things and remember things that happen to him now. But that period of time just before he was injured may be lost forever. Nobody really knows. There are no magical cures.”