It wasn’t that she didn’t want Joe to know what she was doing. She had nothing to hide. But after the troubling dream he’d had two nights ago and their visit to the NCIS office yesterday, she figured the poor man had been through enough and she didn’t want to burden him with her financial woes.
“Tomas is probably already out and about,” Chloe said. “As soon as I see him, I’ll ask if he has any work that needs to be done. Do you know anything about cattle or horses?”
“I’m not sure. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” He went back to eating, digging into that stack of hotcakes and syrup with the same gusto he’d shown yesterday at lunch and again last night at dinner.
Joe either had a hearty appetite or was just as anxious to get to work as she was. An active man like him had to be going stir-crazy by being cooped up indoors with no physical outlet.
Of course, if they spent any more time alone together, Chloe might lose her head and offer to provide him with a physical outlet of the bedroom variety.
Her cheeks warmed at the thought, and she turned away to avoid his gaze.
When a horse whinnied outside, she looked out the big bay window and spotted Tomas walking Lola to the paddock. The prize broodmare had been stabled in the barn and was expected to foal soon. He must be exercising her.
“There’s Tomas now,” she said. “Why don’t we go out and ask him what needs to be done. I’ll come back and wash the breakfast dishes later.”
Joe’s chair scraped the tile floor as he scooted away from the table. Then, after getting to his feet, he snatched his hat and followed her from the kitchen, through the mudroom and out the back door.
Once outside, he slipped on the new Stetson and gave it a little adjustment—just like a real live Texan.
Even though his stonewashed jeans and flannel work shirt were brand-new, they appeared to have been worn several times before. With the added boots and hat, he looked like the real McCoy—born and raised on the Rocking C—and not just a city slicker who wanted to play rancher.
Chloe hadn’t meant to admire the sexy marine’s transformation, but she’d always been a sucker for a handsome cowboy. And she was eager to see how he did on a horse.
She had a sneaking suspicion that he was no stranger to the ranch life. And with the way his backside filled out that denim, he was certainly no stranger to looking the part.
“Buenos dias,” Joe said to Tomas.
The ranch foreman responded in Spanish. They spoke that way for a while, then lapsed into English.
If Chloe had been able to focus on more than two words at a time, she would have appreciated the switch to a language she could understand.
While they talked, she tried to get her lusty thoughts in check. Finally, she managed to tune in to the end of their conversation.
“That would be helpful,” Tomas said, “if you’re sure you’re up for it.”
Joe insisted that he was.
“Good.” The foreman brightened. “Then I can stay here and work in the stables, just in case Lola needs me.”
Tomas started toward the barn with Joe on his heels, and Chloe hurried to catch up—both physically and mentally. Apparently, the foreman had told Joe there’d been some damage to the fence after the last storm.
“I’ll ride along the boundary of the ranch,” Joe said. “If I see any damage, I’ll fix it.”
“If there’s anything you and those tools you’re carrying can’t handle, just flag the spot. When you get done, I’ll go back out with you.”
The men made it sound like a simple task. And it probably would be. Joe seemed hearty enough to stay in the saddle and not get lost.
“Make sure you take plenty of water with you,” Chloe said, her nursing instincts finally kicking in. “Even though it’s cold out, you can still get dehydrated.”
Both men looked at her as though they didn’t much welcome her ministrations, so she excused herself and told them she was going back inside to do the dishes.
Once that was out of the way, she went to the den. But instead of immediately dealing with the stack of bills on the desk, she stood at the window and watched Joe lead Dave’s gelding out of the stable.
Fortunately, Firestorm had been named for his reddish color and not for his temperament. He was a strong and dependable horse, well-suited for ranch work. But was Joe?
Chloe knew she shouldn’t worry, but as he mounted, as he threw his right leg over the saddle, she held her breath.
He settled into the saddle like a natural, then cantered around the yard, no doubt allowing the horse to get used to him—and vice versa.
When she realized that he was perfectly capable of handling the reins, she let out the breath she’d been holding. Her stance relaxed even more when Tomas handed Joe one of the ranch’s walkie-talkies. At least, if he had a problem along the way, he could call for help.
Still, she stood at the window and watched until Joe and Firestorm were well out of sight. At that point, she turned back to the desk and finished the work that had piled up since Joe had arrived.
Next, she did an internet search to find contact information for the San Diego coroner’s office. It was two hours earlier on the west coast, so she couldn’t call yet. But fortunately she learned how to request the records she needed.
With that knowledge tucked under her belt, she searched Texas probate law. It didn’t take long to realize she wasn’t going to handle any of that on her own. She was in way over her head.
She checked the time—a couple of minutes after nine—and then placed a call to Jeffrey McDougall, the attorney who’d handled Teresa’s estate.
Mr. McDougall was out of the office, but his secretary assured Chloe that he was familiar with the Rocking C and the Cummings family. The woman expressed her condolences over Dave’s death and told Chloe that the attorney would call back the next afternoon.
After hanging up, she tackled the overdue invoices from some of the ranch’s suppliers. Before mailing any payments, she would need to reconcile the Rocking C bank account and figure out how the ranch was going to pay its two employees after January rolled around.
A local rancher had offered to purchase a hundred head of cattle, but Chloe had been reluctant to accept it. She had a feeling the buyer was lowballing her—not only because she was a female, but because he knew she wasn’t all that familiar with the going rate for cattle.
Unfortunately, Tomas, who’d been a ranch hand prior to stepping up to help run things when the previous foreman retired, wasn’t up on fair prices, either.
But Chloe knew someone who was. The next time she stopped by the Sheltering Arms for a visit—which would be soon—she would talk to Sam Darnell about it. The old cattleman may not keep up on his food intake, but he definitely kept up on his agricultural knowledge.
By noon, Joe had crept back into her thoughts. He’d been gone for quite a while. Maybe he’d overdone it by repairing one of the fence posts that often came loose following an East Texas rainstorm.
Of course, she didn’t want him to think that she doubted his ability, but she’d feel a lot better if she could check things out herself.
So she decided to fix some sandwiches and ride out to wherever he was working, under the pretext of bringing him lunch. The man never turned down food. And while he ate, his stomach would be too busy to allow his brain to question her intentions.
Ten minutes later, she delivered one of the thick ham sandwiches to Tomas, who was cleaning out the stalls in the barn. Then she saddled Rosabelle, the gentle mare she usually rode, and tied a rolled up quilt behind the saddle. When it was secure, she stowed the impromptu picnic lunch in the saddlebags.
Satisfied that she had everything she needed, she mounted Rosabelle and rode off to find Joe.
* * *
Joe had just finished restringing
the lower line of barbed wire when he heard Firestorm whinny at an approaching rider. He looked up to see Chloe, her blond ponytail bouncing behind her as she trotted over to where he’d tied his horse.
He couldn’t say that he was surprised. A natural caretaker like her was probably worried that he might overdo it.
“You come out to check on me?” he asked.
“No, I was more concerned about the time of day. It’s been four hours since you had anything to eat. I figured your hunger pains would be out of control by now.”
“Well, what do you know? The woman is not only beautiful, she’s smart.” He watched the blush creep up her face before she dismounted and turned to dig in the saddlebags.
Was she trying to hide her flush from him? Had she planned to bring more than lunch?
If so, that was a bad idea—although an intriguing one.
“I don’t want to get in your way,” she said. “I can just leave your food here.”
“Did you already eat?” he asked, his gloved hand still gripping a strand of barbed wire.
“No, not yet.”
“Then if you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll be finished here, and we can have lunch together. That is, assuming you packed enough food for two.”
“Are you kidding?” She shot him an impish grin. “I’ve seen you eat, so I packed enough food for six.”
He liked watching her blush, but he enjoyed her witty banter even more.
As he finished pulling the wire around the post, he asked, “You get much done this morning?”
“Actually, I did. I called Teresa’s attorney and left a message with him. Then I tackled some paperwork and paid some bills. I’m trying my best to hold everything together until I know what’s going to happen with the ranch.”
The stress of Dave’s death and the pending what-ifs must have been bugging her. And he was glad she was finally opening up to him about it—even if he couldn’t help her solve her problems. He wondered where she would go if she had to leave the Rocking C.
Before he could ask, she changed the subject. “It looks like you know what you’re doing.” She nodded toward the repaired fence.
“Yeah, who would have known?” He straightened and checked over his work. Then he placed his tools in his saddlebags. “This is my third repair this morning, and each time, it was like second nature.”
She stroked Firestorm’s nose. “How’re you doing on this valiant steed?”
“I must be doing all right. My legs haven’t begun to bow. And I’m not sore yet.”
She laughed. “That’s sounds like a good sign to me.”
“So where should we eat?” he asked.
“Up by that copse of trees. There’s a little pond there. I believe ranch folk would call it a swimming hole.”
Joe froze, and a vision of the pond burst forth in his mind, even though they’d yet to reach it.
As they led the horses around a big boulder, he said, “I’ve been here before.”
“Where?”
“Here. This place,” he said, unable to mask the awe in his voice.
When they reached a big tree near the water’s edge and they tied the horses to one of the low branches, he was sure of it. “I’ve even swam in that pond.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. I’m guessing a while ago. Maybe when I was a kid.” He scanned the pond that was surrounded by cottonwoods, as well as a tall eucalyptus. “Other things on this ranch have given me a slightly familiar feeling, but nothing like this. I remember this exact swimming hole.”
“What else do you remember?”
Joe paced the water’s edge as if that would help him go back in time, to relive the moment.
“There used to be a rope swing over there.” He pointed at the huge eucalyptus. “It was sweltering hot that day. Dave and I were taking turns launching ourselves off the rope and into the water.”
“So you remember Dave.”
“Yes. Sort of. We’d been out riding and repairing fence lines, I think. Don’t you see? I’d had this uncanny feeling that I’d done that before, too.”
“That’s great. What else?”
“Dave asked if I knew how to swim. He said, ‘I’ve never seen your aunt or uncle take you guys to the community pool.’”
“Who were your aunt and uncle?”
“I have no idea. I can only remember him asking me that question.”
“And he said ‘you guys,’ like maybe your siblings or cousins or someone else who lived with you.”
Joe wanted to recall the exact memory before he examined every detail for clues. So he didn’t answer as he walked closer to the eucalyptus. He looked up at the sturdy branch overhead. The swing was gone now, but the frayed end of the rope was still there. “I remember Dave tying the rope up there.”
“How old were you?”
“High school age, I guess. Dave slipped and landed in that shallow part right there.” Joe pointed to the spot, where reeds still grew out of the water. “He busted his arm, and Mr. Cummings flipped out because we were playing around when we were supposed to be working. So he cut the rope.”
“As a punishment?”
“No, I think he cut it down because Dave got hurt on the swing. Dave yelled at his dad and accused him of being too protective.”
“Teresa used to say that Dave had a sensitive nature, and that his father used to coddle him at times.” Chloe stared off into the distance.
Joe suspected there was more to the story than that. Of course, judging by how secretive Chloe had been while digging around in the desk yesterday, he had a feeling there was a lot she hadn’t shared with him about Dave, his parents and the ranch.
If she wasn’t going to open up with him, then he wouldn’t disclose the rest of his memory with her—including what Old Man Cummings had told Dave while scolding him. The words, the hurt they’d inflicted, rang clear in his mind now.
I knew letting that boy hang out on the ranch was a bad idea, Davey. Joey’s a bad influence on you.
The father and son had argued some more, but the rest was too blurry to recall.
Yet the sharp pricks of shame cut just as deeply, the sting just as intense, as if the conversation had unfolded only seconds ago.
And that was the real reason Joe hadn’t wanted to enlighten Chloe about that part of the memory. He didn’t want her to think Mr. Cummings had been right.
As Chloe unbuckled a rolled up quilt from the back of Rosabelle’s saddle and spread it out on the grass, Joe again looked up at the discarded remnant of rope still hanging in the tree and replayed the scene over again in his mind.
He’d been right. He knew Dave before the guy had ever enlisted, which meant they’d gone to high school together. Could Joe actually be from Brighton Valley? Was this small town his home?
No, it couldn’t be. Not any longer. He had no dependents, no family. And his driver’s license as well as his discharge papers said his home was in California.
He also had a friend in El Paso. Of course, a lot of good that contact information had been. Joe had called him yesterday after dinner. But the man hadn’t answered his phone, and he’d let his messages pile up until there was no room left for another one.
Chloe must’ve been thinking along the same line because she said, “I wonder if we should call Sheriff Hollister and let him know about this breakthrough. Since you can’t go into town yourself, maybe he can ask around and see if anyone remembers you.”
“I would think that he already asked all the locals that question and came up blank.” Joe helped her unpack the bags that held their lunch and carry them to the blanket.
She set out four sandwiches, some leftover scones, a thermos of lemonade and two apples. Then her motions stalled. “You know, if you went to high school with Da
ve, Sheriff Hollister might be able to talk to some of the other kids who were in your class.”
“Sure, but Hollister seems like a smart guy. I’ll bet he’s already asked every person my age if they remember me. And he didn’t have anything to report.”
“You have a point. But he did say that he was still investigating.”
Joe reached for a sandwich, removed it from the plastic baggie and took a bite, which would help to quench his hunger for lunch. But it wouldn’t do much when he was starving for more details on his background.
The small flashback triggered a desperate need to find out more about who he’d been, where he’d been. Even though Chloe was keeping mum about her own business, Joe couldn’t keep his memories locked up tight. He needed someone with whom he could bounce off his ideas and theories, and he suspected that the pretty blonde lounging next to him was eager to speculate with him.
“Maybe I was just hired help,” Joe said, “like Tomas. That day that we went swimming was hot. And I was here working. So it’s possible that the Cummings gave me a summer job, and that I’m not from around here.”
“But Dave mentioned your aunt and uncle, so maybe he knew them. You might have only lived with them during summers.”
“Then why didn’t I list them as my next of kin on my enlistment paperwork?”
They went around and around, speculating and eating and speculating some more. But none of the scenarios they came up with felt right.
Joe was just about to reach for a scone when he decided not to ruin a nice day spent with Chloe by bringing up all the what-ifs. So he lay back on the quilt instead, letting his hat fall off and stacking his hands under his head.
“You know what?” he asked. “As much as I want all the answers right this second, they’re not going to magically appear just because we’ve talked the possibilities to death. I’m just going to have to be patient and hope that something else comes along and jogs my memory.”
“Dr. Nielson suggested you give your brain time to heal and let nature take its course. You might only get snippets of memory here and there, but with time, it should all come back to you.”
Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas GiftThe Soldier's Holiday HomecomingSanta's Playbook Page 32
