The Rancher And The Amnesiac Bride

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  She still knew nothing about his childhood, his past, but nevertheless, Max seemed to be stepping out from behind his protective walls. He was warm, loving and lovable.

  Lovable?

  Was she falling in love with Max?

  Tick...tick...tick.

  Don’t think about that, Josie, she told herself, walking to the closet with the hangers. There was no point in knowing.

  Max still refused to share himself totally.

  The differences in their life-styles screamed the fact that they had no future.

  There was only the present, the here and now, and time was running out.

  Tick...tick...tick.

  Josie hung up the shirts, then tsked in disgust as one slipped from the hanger and fell to the floor. She bent over to retrieve it, lost her balance and dropped to her knees.

  “Very graceful, Josie,” she said aloud.

  As she reached for the shirt, she caught sight of something in the back of the closet that made her heart thunder. With a shaking hand she pulled out a tapestry purse with a leather shoulder strap.

  This was her purse, she thought frantically. The moment she’d touched it she’d known it was hers, the one she’d had with her in the memory of climbing onto the wagon seat with Rusty.

  Max had hidden her purse from her.

  Max Carter had lied to her.

  A sob caught in her throat as she unzipped the purse and snatched out the soft, leather wallet. Tears slid down her pale cheeks as she opened the wallet and stared at the driver’s license.

  “Josie Wentworth,” she whispered, tears nearly choking off her words. “I’m Josie Wentworth. I’m twenty-nine years old. I live in Freemont Springs. Oh, God, Max, why? Why did you lie to me?”

  She dropped the wallet and stumbled to her feet.

  She had to get out of the house. It was crashing down around her from the weight of Max’s lies, crushing her.

  Josie ran, hardly able to see through her tears. Down the hall, across the living room, through the kitchen, then out the back door, she ran.

  Away... away... away.

  She had to get away from the crumbling house of lies.

  Chapter Eight

  Max swung into the cab of the truck and headed back toward the house, glancing often at the darkening sky. The wind was picking up, accompanied by the deep rumble of thunder.

  They were in for a beaut of a storm, he thought as he was jostled by the rutted ground. It was one of those fast-moving babies that seemed to come out of nowhere in a big rush to do as much damage as possible.

  Was Josie afraid of thunder and lightning? He didn’t know, but he was moving as quickly as he could to be with her, just in case she became frightened when the building fury of the storm cut loose.

  Josie, Josie, Josie, his mind echoed. Damn, these weeks with her had been sensational. She greeted him with a smile and a kiss whenever he entered the house, and he had to admit he was equally glad to see her.

  He quit working a bit earlier each day now so he wasn’t dead tired and could spend the evening with Josie in the living room. They chatted, never running out of things to talk about, even though they cut a wide berth around personal subjects.

  That was proof positive that two people could be together night after night without dissecting the issues of each other’s past. Josie was definitely learning the important difference between sharing and invading a person’s privacy.

  And the lovemaking with Josie?

  Instantly, heated desire coiled low within Max and he chuckled.

  He’d better not think about the lovemaking or he’d lose control too soon. He’d wait until Josie was in his arms before he gave way to the passion that was always just a hairbreadth away from being ignited into hot flames.

  Josie seemed very happy on the Single C, comfortable in his crummy little house. Her smiles were real; he knew they were, because they reached the depths of her beautiful eyes.

  He’d been surprised as hell when she’d tackled the mess in the front yard. It was looking really nice, and Josie seemed to get a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction from the project.

  A wealthy, jet-set Wentworth who didn’t mind getting dirty? Amazing.

  The only tense moments he had after coming in at day’s end were when Josie told him how much of her memory had returned that day. He’d let out a pent-up breath of relief each time it was apparent that she hadn’t recalled who she was.

  Which meant she wasn’t planning to leave him.

  Not yet.

  Because the bottom line was, he didn’t want Josie to go.

  Not yet.

  Max frowned as the house, barn and other buildings came into view.

  Was he falling in love with Josie? he asked himself. No, forget it. He didn’t want to know. She would eventually drive away from the Single C.

  From where he was he could see her expensive car where he’d hidden it behind the shed farthest from the house. Rusty knew why the car was there and had assured Max he’d tell the hands it was none of their dang business if they inquired about the vehicle. Since Josie never ventured far from the house, there was little chance of her finding the car.

  But, yes, Josie would leave. That was a given. It served no purpose to determine how he really felt about her. He’d just hang fast to his belief that he didn’t want a wife and family, and enjoy the remaining hours with Josie as they unfolded.

  When it was over—when she left—he’d be fine, simply resume his life as it had been before the day she’d appeared on his spread. No problem.

  He just didn’t want her to go now.

  Max parked the truck close to the barn at the very moment the sky opened and cold rain descended in a wind-whipped torrent. He got out of the truck, slammed the door and was drenched to the skin within seconds.

  “Hell,” he muttered.

  “We’re going to get it good,” Rusty yelled from the doorway to the barn.

  “Yeah,” Max hollered. “Have you got the horses under control?”

  Rusty nodded. “Never a doubt about it, boss. Never a doubt.”

  Max waved a hand in acknowledgment, then took off at a run toward the house, splashing mud on his boots and jeans from puddles already forming on the ground.

  He barreled through the back door of the house and teetered slightly as he came to an abrupt halt, dripping dirty water onto the kitchen floor.

  “Josie!” he called. “Hey, where are you? Hiding under the bed because of the storm? I’ve come to rescue you, just like a hero in a book. Josie?”

  Silence was his only answer.

  “Josie?” He started forward, oblivious to the fact that he was tracking mud. “Josie, come on. This isn’t funny. Where are you?”

  He strode down the hall and into his bedroom—then stopped dead in his tracks. His heart began beating so rapidly he could hear the wild tempo in his ears.

  Josie’s purse and wallet lay on the floor in front of the open closet door.

  “No,” he said, a frantic edge to his voice. “Ah, damn it, no!”

  He turned and raced back down the hall, looking quickly into the second bedroom before continuing on to the living room. He stopped, staring at the front door.

  Had Josie called a taxi? Had she left the ranch in a cab? No, no, that didn’t add up. She might have been upset enough to leave her clothes behind, but she would have taken the purse he’d hidden in the back of the closet.

  That meant...

  Dear God, that meant Josie had been so devastated when she’d discovered her purse she’d fled on foot.

  Josie was out there somewhere in the storm.

  Max charged out the back door, hardly able to see three feet in front of him because of the driving rain. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “Jo-o-o-sie!” he yelled.

  But all he heard were the taunting sounds of the rain and wind.

  Josie ran until her lungs burned and her vision was blurred by tears. She entered the woods at the far side of Ma
x’s land and dropped to her knees, covering her face with her hands and weeping,

  Max had lied to her.

  It had all been a game to him, a sadistic, cruel scheme to keep her on the Single C and in his bed.

  Lies, all lies.

  The wind invaded the woods, rustling the brightly colored leaves on the trees. Josie stilled and lifted her head, not moving, hardly breathing, as she listened intently.

  “The song of autumn,” she whispered as tears glistened on her pale cheeks. “Granddad. Michael. Jack.” The familiar chill coursed through her. “Jack. Oh, God, Jack is dead. My brother, my beloved Jack, is dead.”

  Like a movie playing in her mind, it all came back, picture by picture, frame by frame. The ring in the blue velvet box. The letter. Sabrina Jensen. And the return of her memory was accompanied by the cold, painful truth of Max Carter’s deception.

  She hadn’t come to the Single C to find an old school friend. Sabrina Jensen was, quite possibly, the woman her brother had fallen in love with and wished to marry. If that was true, then she’d wanted to welcome Sabrina into the Wentworth family.

  There had also been the hope that Sabrina might bring at least a modicum of comfort to Joseph Wentworth by talking about the man they’d both loved so dearly.

  And Max knew that, because she’d carefully explained exactly why she had come to the Single C. But Max had refused to help her, arguing that she was invading Sabrina’s privacy by stepping into areas that were none of her business.

  And then, when she’d been vulnerable with amnesia, he’d devised a plan to teach her a lesson and to keep her on his ranch, while refusing to divulge anything about himself.

  Come into my bed, Josie, but stay the hell out of my heart, mind and soul.

  She’d gone along with it, believed all the stark and cruel lies, while Max no doubt struggled to keep from laughing aloud at her gullibility.

  She hadn’t made love with Max Carter. She’d had sex with a stranger, a man she’d never really known.

  Now she felt as though her heart was shattering into a million pieces.

  Josie wrapped her hands around her elbows and rocked back and forth, giving way once again to tears. Rain—cold, biting rain—began to fall, but she didn’t care.

  She simply cried for all that she’d lost, all that she’d never really had—with Max.

  Joseph Wentworth banged the top of the desk in his library with one fist and glared at the man standing on the opposite side of the gleaming, massive piece of furniture.

  “Damn it, Mason,” Joseph said. “You’d better have something to report today. You’re supposedly the best detective in these parts. I hired you three weeks ago to find my granddaughter. So far, you haven’t told me a damn thing, other than that Josie bought some pastries and a soft drink on the way out of town, heading for Muskogee.”

  “I realize that, sir,” the detective said. “But we had a big area to cover. We came up zero on hotels, motels, hospitals and—”

  “I know that,” Joseph interrupted.

  “That left the ranch country,” Mason said. “It’s been slow going, sir, but I have some positive news for you today.”

  Joseph sat up straighter in his chair, his heart pounding.

  “Spit it out, man,” he said gruffly.

  “One of my people was questioning a bartender in a place where a lot of cowboys hang out. A ranch hand from a spread called the Single C—it’s owned by a Max Carter—spoke up and said there was a car matching the description of Josie’s parked behind a shed on the ranch, and it had been there for several weeks. My man just called in that news to me. He’s headed for the Single C right now.”

  “Dear God,” Joseph whispered.

  “The thing is, sir, there’s a big storm raging in that section. That’s why so many cowboys were in the bar during the day. They’d been sent home from the ranches to get out of the storm. My man isn’t certain the back-country roads are still passable. He may have to sit out the storm before he can get into the Single C. He said he’d get back to me and let me know.”

  “The hell he will,” Joseph said, rising to his feet. “You’re coming with me, Mason. We’re driving there ourselves. Right now.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll get onto the Single C Ranch if I have to buy a boat and row in. You call your man in his vehicle and arrange for a place for us to meet. If that is Josie’s car, Max Carter is going to answer my questions face-to-face. By damn, he’ll be dealing with Joseph Wentworth.”

  Max urged his horse forward, the animal moving slowly through the mud. The wind howled, swirling the cold rain into a frenzy.

  Rusty had offered to help search for Josie; he’d asked no questions about why she was out in the storm. Max had refused to allow Rusty to accompany him, because the danger of being struck by lightning on the open range was far too great.

  He’d been looking for Josie for more than an hour now, calling her name into the wind until his throat was raw. He could hardly see beyond the horse’s head as the rain pelted down like stinging, physical blows.

  Ah, Josie, he thought frantically, where are you? If anything happened to her, he’d—No, he wasn’t going to think along those lines. She was out here somewhere, wet, cold, terribly upset, but she wasn’t injured.

  “Josie!” he yelled. The wind tore her name from his lips.

  This was all his fault. He’d set the lies in motion to keep from being sued by the wealthy Wentworths. He’d continued the string of lies because he hadn’t wanted Josie to leave him.

  Would she ever understand why he’d done what he had? Would she forgive him? Would she agree to sit down and hear him out?

  Lord, he hoped so. The thought of her walking out of his life with the pain of betrayal radiating from her big, brown eyes was more than he could deal with.

  Come on, Carter, he thought, swiping the rain from his face. The important thing now was to find Josie, get her safely out of this storm and home where she belonged.

  Home where she belonged? his mind echoed. In his house? In that shabby little structure Josie had filled to overflowing with her sunshine smile and wind-chime laughter?

  No. Cripes, no. He didn’t want anything permanent with Josie Wentworth. No commitment, no strings, had been the agreement they’d made, the rules they’d been following for the past month.

  Besides, once Josie realized how much money she had, she’d turn her pretty little Wentworth nose up at the sight of his crummy house and his backwoods ranch. Josie would leave the Single C just as they’d both known she would. He just didn’t want her hurt and hating him when she left. He didn’t want to be the cause of her tears.

  “Josie!” Max yelled again.

  He reached the woods at the far edge of his land and swung out of the saddle. It was dangerous enough to be on a horse on the open range in a lightning storm. He sure wasn’t riding into tall trees while high in the saddle.

  Leading the horse by the reins, Max made his way forward, the branches of trees whipping painfully against his body.

  “Josie! Where are you, Josie?”

  Josie lifted her head and uncurled herself from her huddled position beneath the low-hanging branches of a tree.

  Max? Had she heard his voice, or had that been only the wind, howling, taunting her into believing that Max had come for her?

  She was hopelessly lost and terribly frightened. A part of her never wanted to see Max Carter again. Another part prayed he would search for her, wouldn’t give up until he found her and took her home.

  Home? No, Max’s house wasn’t her home. She lived in a penthouse apartment in Freemont Springs. It was lush and plush, expensively furnished, a place where she’d never dream of entering with hands muddied from pulling weeds. It was who she was, where she belonged.

  The clock had struck midnight.

  It was time to go home.

  Tick... tick... tick.

  “Josie!”

  She scrambled to her feet, her heart racing.
/>   That was Max’s voice, she thought frantically. She was positive. Oh, thank God, he’d come for her. She had to find him before he gave up and went looking for her somewhere else.

  “Max!” she hollered, stumbling forward. “Max, I’m here. Please, Max, please, I’m here!”

  Max stopped statue-still, straining his ears, squinting against the pelting rain.

  He’d heard Josie. She’d called his name. That hadn’t been the keening wind, had it? No, it was Josie. It had to be. She was in these woods and, by damn, he was going to find her.

  He pushed aside tree branches, still calling her name.

  Seconds seemed like hours.

  And then...

  “Max!”

  Josie burst through the trees a hundred yards ahead of him, barely visible through the rain.

  She tripped and fell, disappearing from his sight.

  Max dropped the reins and ran in the direction he’d seen her.

  Josie struggled to her feet, the fleeting image she’d had of Max giving her the energy to surge forward.

  Then it all seemed to happen in slow motion.

  Lightning zigzagged across the sky like an angry monster reaching out with dangerous, sharp claws to claim its prey.

  With an earsplitting crack the lightning slammed into a tree, toppling it as though it was no more than a toothpick.

  The frightened horse reared, then turned and bolted away.

  The tree began to fall....

  “No!” Josie screamed.

  The tree struck Max, throwing him to the ground.

  Trapping him beneath its weight.

  Chapter Nine

  Josie ran.

  She halted for a heart-stopping moment to stare at Max with wide, horrified eyes. He was on his back, eyes closed, not moving.

  She tugged at the branches of the tree, a sob escaping from her lips as wet leaves tore away and filled her shaking hands.

  “Max?” she cried. “Oh, God, Max, can you hear me? I’ll get help. I’ll be back with help, I promise. Just hang on, Max.”