by Linda Conrad
For one fleeting moment Carley wondered if Witt could be faking a memory loss. But within an instant she knew, deep inside her bones, that the man she'd loved could not disguise his real identity—at least, not while he stood so close. When she didn't respond, his eyes narrowed to slits. He firmly gripped her elbow, leading her to the main house.
"Oh, Wi—" no sense confusing him by calling him a name he would likely not recognize "—cowboy," she choked. "I imagine you can handle me just fine."
If I can manage to control myself around you.
By the time Witt ushered her into the kitchen of the main house, Carley had regained, at least, partial control of her emotions. First things first. She needed to address him by a name that wouldn't be disorienting.
When he handed her a glass of water, she noticed her hands were shaking, but decided to ignore them.
"The name's Carley," she said, with more emphasis than necessary. "Carley Mills. What's yours?"
"Carley?" He took her free hand in both of his. "Nice name for such a dainty lady."
He grinned at her and she smiled back, not feeling the least bit happy.
"I'm known as Houston … Houston Smith, ma'am. I kinda run the ranch operation around here. You know … the horses and cattle?"
He'd suddenly spoken with cool politeness. She sensed it was as if he'd just remembered that strangers could mean trouble … even "dainty" strangers. His wary distance shattered her heart.
Would she be able to keep herself from pouring pent up desires and dreams all over him?
"And just what brings such a delicate flower to our little corner of Texas, Carley?" He released her hand and motioned for her to take one of the twelve chairs at the wooden kitchen table.
"I'm hardly what one might call delicate … Houston." She continued to stand but swallowed a big gulp of water to soothe her raspy throat. It didn't help. She was feeling dizzy, shaky and … delicate. Darn it.
At well over five-eight and a former world-class swimmer, delicate and dainty had never before been words used to describe her. But just now she felt weak-kneed and small.
"I've come to Casa de Valle to take over the psychologist's job while he's on temporary leave," she managed past the huge lump in her throat.
"You're a head doctor?"
"I have a doctorate in child psychology, yes."
"Should I call you Dr. Carley?"
"Some people address me as Doctor, but I'd prefer you call me Carley."
"I see. But what were you doing out in the—"
Houston was interrupted by a young girl's voice coming from the hallway. "Miz Mills?" The teenager appeared in the kitchen doorway carrying the one-year-old, currently whiny, Cami. "Oh, there you are, ma'am."
When Cami recognized her mother, she started to shriek. "Ma … Ma … Yeee!"
Carley pulled her daughter from the teenager's arms. "Hush, baby. Mama's right here."
"I'm sorry, Miz Mills. I tried to put her down for a nap, but she wouldn't have any part of it. Then she started to cry and I couldn't find anything to make her happy." In Carley's professional opinion, the round-faced girl appeared to be feeling guilty.
"Don't worry about it, Rosie. It's just the new place and strange people. You didn't do anything wrong." Carley wiped a few crocodile tears from Cami's cheeks, but nothing she did consoled her daughter. "I'm sure she'll adjust just fine after a few days. Until then, don't hesitate to bring her to me if she seems distraught."
"Yes'um. I gotta get back now. You want me to take her again?" The earnest young girl looked panicked at the thought but was brave enough to ask.
"No, thanks." Carley found herself nearly shouting over Cami's cries. "Tomorrow is soon enough for a repeat performance. I'll keep her with me for now."
Rosie beamed with relief and beat a hasty retreat. Carley inspected Cami until the toddler became uncomfortable with the perusal and buried her face in her mother's shoulder, still sobbing and heaving heavy sighs. Carley patted her daughter's back and stroked Cami's hair as she turned to the man who'd been so silent through the whole scene. He looked rather shell-shocked.
"Anything wrong, Houston?" Carley tensed in anticipation. Witt had never seen his daughter before—hadn't even known of her existence before his disappearance, but Cami's resemblance to him was unmistakable. Had he suddenly noticed? Had the sight of his daughter triggered some inner memory?
* * *
Chapter 2
« ^ »
The man who used to be Witt Davidson drawled a question in his languid, Texas accent. "That your daughter?"
"Yes. Her name is Camille. I named her after your—her grandmother. Her father's mother." Carley always wondered what Witt would say the first time he saw their daughter.
"Another pretty name for another pretty little thing."
That wasn't the way her dreams had gone. "Thank you. We call her Cami." Carley did her best to hold back the burning tears suddenly welling at the corners of her eyes.
With the first sound of Witt's voice, Cami had quieted. Now, at the mention of her name, Cami raised her head to stare at the new person making the baritone sounds. When she spotted him, her whole face lit up. She pointed a finger in his direction. "Da!"
Carley grabbed Cami's hand and held it to her chest. "Don't point, sweetie. It's not polite."
Houston Smith narrowed his eyes and studied the baby who was inspecting him with matching intensity. Something about this woman's child seemed familiar.
During the long months he'd lived in the Rio Grande Valley he'd learned to cope with the distressing feeling that everything, and everyone, seemed somehow familiar. But the sensation was particularly strong with Carley Mills and her baby.
As Gabe and Doc Luisa had kindly pointed out, a man without a past might easily mistake an enemy for a friend. He couldn't imagine Carley being an enemy, but everything was not as it appeared with her, either.
After all, what was a refined and citified-looking woman doing at a children's home in rural South Texas? The suit she wore probably cost more than she'd make working here in six months. And then there was the matter of her being out in the yard in the middle of the day, dressed to kill and without an obvious purpose.
Still … Houston was strangely drawn to her. When he'd put his arm around her shoulders to steady her, he'd felt a searing heat. Her nearness caused his flesh to jump, and he had a nearly uncontrollable urge to drag her against his chest and smother her with kisses.
He'd controlled his urges with a powerful effort. He'd been so careful up to now. So watchful all this time. His condition, when Dr. Luisa found him close to death and dumped along the side of a farm road, led both of them to believe someone had meant to finish the job and kill him. If that were true, somewhere in the world someone might still be after him. Was it possible this woman was a threat to him?
The baby raised her arms toward him. "Up. Pick me … me … now."
Carley tried to grab her daughter's attention. "No, honey. The man can't hold you right now. You mustn't beg strangers to pick you up, Cami. It could be dangerous."
Houston smiled at the baby, but there was no way he was touching that kid. She made him uncomfortable without his really knowing why.
Carley turned to him, an embarrassed smile on her face. "Sorry. She's usually timid around people she's never seen before. I do thank you for quieting her down, though. I'd hate having to wait for her to be still on her own." She scrutinized him with an unsettling gaze. "You must be good with kids."
"No." He backed up a step and changed the focus of the conversation. "The baby sure does look like you. Especially when she smiles."
"You think so? Most people say she's the spitting image of her father. Except for the eyes, of course."
Yes. Both the females in front of him had the same exotic shade of green eyes, the same slightly slanted looks when they gazed in his direction. But he could see that the child didn't carry the mother's complexion or hair coloring. And he couldn't imagine that smatter
ing of freckles adorning the baby's nose ever marring the perfect face of the woman who held her.
In fact, something about the baby gave him the same eerie feeling he'd gotten when looking in a mirror. She sort of looked like the strange reflection he'd been seeing gazing back at him. But his own face was so unfamiliar he figured her resemblance must be his mind playing tricks on him. A few moments later he was sure of it.
"Where is the baby's father?" he blurted out before thinking. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. You don't owe me any explanations."
He turned to the door, halting when the same old ache stabbed at his temple. Fighting the urge to rub his hand against the pain, he squeezed his eyes shut for a second instead. Would these headaches never go away?
Carley laid a hand on his arm. "Are you okay? You weren't being rude. That's a perfectly natural question."
She shifted the baby to her other arm. Houston could see she was tiring, but he'd be damned if he would offer to hold her child. He'd never held a baby. At least, he didn't think he had. And he certainly wasn't about to start with one who could make him feel so strange and disoriented.
Cami looked right into his soul—and he had no idea what she'd find there.
"Cami's father disappeared before she was born. He doesn't even know about her."
There were those tears again. The same ones he'd glimpsed the first time she'd made a remark about the baby's father. Houston reached for her face before he could think about what he was doing. He stroked his thumb lightly under her lashes to brush away a tear. When he felt her satiny skin beneath his fingers, the intimate friction excited him, made him want to grab her tightly and…
What in God's name was he thinking? Houston jerked his hand away but continued standing there studying her.
Her eyes had widened at his touch, and she looked like a frightened little rabbit. He figured someone had hurt her badly. He suspected it was the baby's father. Disappeared was the word she'd used. Was that a polite word for ran off?
Houston Smith couldn't imagine a more cowardly act, or any reason on earth that might drag him away from a woman who looked as good as this one did. He hoped someday to come across the bastard who'd run off and left a beautiful, pregnant wife. Houston had a few things to teach him.
The more he gazed at her standing there, holding the now quiet child to her breast, the more he had to fight the urge to take them both in his arms while he placed a searing kiss on the mother's delectable lips. Whew. Where did that come from? Maybe it was the heat.
For a moment he'd thought … he'd imagined…
The crack of the screen door slamming behind his back made him snap to attention. But before he turned to the sound, he saw Carley tense and stiffen her spine. All of a sudden the frightened rabbit was gone. Something in her eyes went taut, and he caught a steel-edged toughness that he'd missed until now.
No question. His first hunch must have been right on target. There was more to this lady than met the eye.
* * *
Dr. Luisa Monsebais stepped into the kitchen and strolled to Houston's side with her usual familiar ease. The doctor might have gray hair and wrinkles on her face, but she was as spry and agile as a teenager.
"Everything going okay here?"
"Howdy, Doc. Sure thing. I've been getting acquainted with our newest employee." He turned to Carley and the baby, urging them forward to greet the crotchety, sharp-eyed woman who'd just come through the screen door.
"Dr. Carley Mills, meet Dr. Luisa Monsebais, the ranch's favorite pediatrician."
Luisa found her voice first. "Doctor?"
"Ph.D. in child psychology, Dr. Monsebais. I'm here to relieve Dan Lattimer, who's taken a personal leave."
Luisa stuck a hand in Carley's direction, but her sun-spotted face never crinkled into a smile. "Call me Luisa. Did Houston say your first name was Carley?"
Carley nodded and took Luisa's hand, but Houston noted that her solemn face held no welcome, either.
Their terse exchange might have made the women uncomfortable, but whatever bothered them didn't seem to include him. Their problem broke the clutch of tension that had gripped Houston since the baby's first appearance in the kitchen. Luisa's steady presence always calmed him when things became oppressive.
Luisa wrapped her arm around Houston's and spoke to him with twinkling eyes. "You taking the afternoon off?"
Houston grimaced. Trust Luisa to cut to the practical. Every move she'd made since she'd found him, unconscious and bleeding alongside the deserted levee road, had been logical and utilitarian.
He had no memory of Luisa finding him. In fact, no memory of anything before he awoke in her guest bedroom ten days later. It was two more weeks after that before he could think through the haze of pain long enough to question what had befallen him and why.
Doc Luisa had made the decision to bring him to her little home clinic instead of the nearby hospital. When he'd finally asked, she'd explained about his gunshot wounds and the empty ankle holster she'd found. This close to the border, her first assumption had been that he was some kind of drug runner or smuggler and wanted by the sheriff. But with his life hanging in the balance, she hadn't been able to face turning him over to the authorities. She'd figured if he were to die, there would be plenty of time for all the questions and forms.
Luisa told Houston that by the time it was clear he would live it was also clear he had no memory of his life before the incident—and she'd grown fond of him. Fond enough to persuade him not to seek information about his obviously dubious past—and to help him get on the road to a new life.
Houston was grateful as hell to Doc Luisa. With her gentle probing, he'd managed some snatches of memories about a childhood on a ranch. He remembered enough of a background working with animals so she could find him this job at the children's home—starting over, fresh and clean.
Luisa convinced Gabe Diaz, the old man who ran this foster home, to hire him without references. Gabe was the only other person alive who knew Houston couldn't remember a thing, and it was Gabe who'd managed the phony paperwork for his new identity. Good thing the man had a soft heart.
At this point Gabe and Luisa were all Houston had. They'd saved him, protected him and befriended him. And he'd do the same for them.
For a few seconds Houston narrowed his gaze on the woman holding her child. Should he be wary of Carley? Could she be a threat to Gabe or Luisa—or him?
"Well, son? Is today a holiday I missed?"
He could feel his face flush as he grinned at the kindly but stern doctor. "No, ma'am. I'll be getting on back to work now." Houston turned from Luisa and addressed Carley as he touched a hand to the brim of his work hat. "Glad you're going to be around the ranch for a while, ma'am. But from now on, I'd stay out of the sun on hot afternoons if I were you."
Houston slammed through the screen door and out into that bright sun, all the while wondering how long the two strong-headed females he'd left standing in the kitchen would be civil to one another. And whether Carley Mills would be as much of a danger to his emotional and physical well-being as she'd already been to his hormones.
Man was she a looker! With all that mahogany-red hair, the olive complexion and those exotic green eyes, he was positive she must be the most luscious thing he'd ever encountered. She even smelled good enough to eat. The fragrance that seemed to belong to her alone was familiar, like over-ripe strawberries, but with a silken muskiness that captured his attention and made her special.
He headed back to work puzzling over the strong impression that he'd met her before. His mouth seemed to know the feel of her lips when they'd never touched them, his hands the feel of her skin in places he'd never even seen. But were those real memories … or just wishful thinking?
* * *
Carley stared through the screen door as the long, lanky cowboy strode across the yard, his boots kicking up little dust devils with every stride. She had to fight off the violent need to run after him. Her heart had wanted to be
g him to stay and talk to her … for only a few minutes longer.
The sight of the dimple in his cheek when he grinned, the lock of sandy-blond hair that fell over one eyebrow even with his hat on and those pale-blue eyes that darkened to gray when he was disturbed thrilled her. The vulnerability she found in him made her want to gather him up and hold him close until he had no choice but to remember her.
"Our Houston's a special fellow, don't you think?"
The doctor's question disrupted Carley's daydream. She turned to face the older woman. "Special?" Carley bit her lip. "Yes, I do. Definitely."
Cami picked that minute to raise her head and rub an eye with her fist.
Doc Luisa squinted at the baby's face. "That a new enrollee at the ranch? I don't recognize her."
"This is my daughter, Cami. She'll be living here with me."
"Hmm. Doesn't resemble you much, does she?"
Carley felt a bead of sweat forming above her lip. "She has my eyes."
The older woman's deep-set, dark eyes held hers for a few seconds, then her face broke into a thousand creases as she bestowed a smile on the baby and her mother. The angle of her head told Carley that she'd come to some decision about them. But Carley didn't care to discuss anything with Doc Luisa or anybody else just yet. First she needed to get to a phone.
"I'd better put Cami down for a nap. We've both had a long day."
"You came in this morning? Where'd you come from?"
Carley moved Cami from one hip to the other. "Houston. It's a longer drive than I thought."
The doctor chuckled. "A long drive full of mesquite and cactus … and not much else. You from the city?"
"I've been living there for a few years, but I was born in South Carolina, raised in New Orleans."
Luisa's eyes sparkled with intelligence and a secret mirth all their own. "Born in Charleston, I'd wager."
"Well, yes." Carley wanted to be away from this woman who was too quick—too smart. "I really need to get Cami upstairs. If you'll excuse me?" All Carley wanted right this minute was that phone.
Doc Luisa laid a staying hand on Carley's arm. "Go on for now. But we will talk, young woman. I think you have quite a few things to explain." Luisa glanced over to Cami who was about to screw her face up for a good tantrum. "I'm here at the ranch every morning to check on the kids. Only reason I'm so late today is I stopped to look in on a child with a lingering case of measles."
