by Linda Conrad
Willing? This kind of thing was right up Carley's alley. It seemed like she'd trained all her life for just such a circumstance.
The paperwork would still be here later. "I don't know my way around yet, Doe." Carley pushed away from her desk and stood. "Will you show me where the boys are?"
* * *
A couple of hours later one of the boys was leading Carley back to the main house through the maze of barns. She'd gone to talk to him as he'd finished his midmorning chores. And that was exactly what she would have prescribed for him if she'd been able to talk to him beforehand.
Both boys were products of broken homes, and the anger at their circumstances raged just beneath the surface. There hadn't been a "reason" for last night's altercation. They'd just needed to beat out their frustrations.
Hard work was the best thing for both of them. That and the anger-management classes Carley hoped to begin this week.
As they rounded the corner of the barn nearest the house, she heard a high-pitched giggle. A few more feet and Carley saw Houston talking to Rosie, the teenage girl who was so good with Cami.
Both of them tried to wipe guilty looks off their faces as Carley and the boy came near. Carley was deeply curious.
"What's up? Can you share the joke with us?" she asked.
Houston threw a quick glance over his shoulder to see if anyone was listening, making Carley's curiosity double.
"Shh. Not so loud," he whispered.
Houston Smith had a lot of nerve to shush her, Carley thought. He'd better come to the point in a hurry.
Houston threw his arm around her shoulder and whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "The church council overseeing this place would never approve, so we tend to keep this quiet. A couple of the other counselors and I have been taking the kids for dancing lessons on the weekends. There's a school dance coming up next week, and we thought they should be able to go and not make fools of themselves."
Carley was stunned. "You've been teaching the teenagers to dance? You?"
Houston reared back and looked confused. "Well, yeah. One of the women gave me a few pointers on country-western, but I'm not a half-bad teacher." He removed his arm from Carley's shoulder and narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you think the kids shouldn't dance, either … or is it something about me that makes you think I wouldn't know how?"
Think fast, Carley, old girl.
"No. No. I'm sure you're a fine teacher, and the kids should be allowed to participate in the same things as their classmates. It's just—" Carley swallowed hard and let her brain spin into over-drive "—I'd like to help with the teaching, but I don't know the two-step. Do you think maybe you could teach me?"
"I guess so."
"Funny you know the name of the most popular dance when you claim you don't know how," Rosie chimed in.
Carley and Houston both ignored her.
"When?" Carley asked Houston.
"Excuse me?"
She tried to keep the desperation out of her question, but the building need for him made her voice an octave higher anyway. "When can you teach me?"
"Some evening, I suppose."
"How about tonight? I'll even spring for a steak dinner before the lesson."
"I'll need to check with Gabe. See if he wants me to do anything around here tonight. But I imagine it'll be okay."
Carley was thrilled. What could be better than to go dancing with the man you love? He'd have to put his arms around her tonight. "I'll check with Gabe without telling him where we're going exactly. Don't worry. I'm sure it'll be fine," she drawled.
* * *
The early afternoon went by quickly for Carley. Lunch, which everyone called dinner, turned into a bigger deal than last night's supper. Turkey, enchiladas, salads, vegetables and a choice of either corn or flour tortillas loaded the table. Carley helped in the kitchen, but spent most of her time watching Lloyd roll the flour tortillas out with the broken end of a broomstick.
After the kids ate, Carley collected Cami and took her on a stroll around the main building. Cami, just learning to walk, seemed to think teetering away from her mother was the best game of the day. After both Mills women were exhausted, Carley managed to put Cami down for a nap and began preparations for her fantasy night out.
Just as she stepped into the bath, her satellite phone jangled to life, abruptly dragging her back to reality. Thoughts of her boss and real job suddenly landed her feet unsteadily down again on the shifting ground of lost memories and unsolved mysteries.
She flipped open the phone with more force than necessary. "Has anyone ever mentioned that you have an extremely annoying trait of incredibly bad timing, Reid?"
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
"I'll have Manny bring the files out to the ranch late this afternoon," Reid promised from the Houston office. "But you'll find neither the doctor nor the preacher have anything to hide."
Carley's instincts told her that both of them were exactly as they appeared, but she had to follow procedure. "I'll read the reports when I get them. Oh, by the way, tell Manny to get here well before dark, will you? Houston Smith and I have a date for dinner and dancing tonight."
"A date? With the father of your child?"
"He doesn't remember that fact, Reid, and you know it. We're starting over again. Taking things slow."
"Well, good luck, Carley. If any woman on earth could make a man fall in love with her for the second time, it would be you."
"I sure hope you're right." Carley breathed deeply. For everyone's sake, Reid. You just have to be right.
Since Reid had dragged her back to reality and away from a shower, Carley decided to plow through some of the unfinished paperwork on her desk. The afternoon wore on heavily as she tried her best not to think of Houston and their date. This morning had been difficult enough. Just one sight of him and her body betrayed her.
When he touched her she could close her eyes and taste the richness that was all him. She could bring back the images of his probing tongue, heating her and seeking her life's very core.
It was all she could do, when he'd said he felt they somehow belonged together, not to throw her arms around his neck and tell him everything that was in her heart. But the doctor warned her against such a jolt, so she'd sucked up her courage and backed away from him. She wasn't sure she could be so strong again.
Dragging her concentration back to her desk, she found that little pieces of information were missing from nearly every file. That Dan person she'd replaced must have hated to fill in the necessary blanks.
The longer she worked, the worse the situation became. Things were more than a mess. Carley wondered if the state of Texas realized how lax the filing system at this place really was. Not one set of papers on the infants and toddlers seemed to be complete.
Eventually, Carley gave up and placed a call to the nearest office of the Texas Department of Child Protective Services, Licensing Division, looking for the woman supervisor Doc Luisa had mentioned. She reached a Ms. Fabrizio, who spoke with the clipped and efficient manner of a transplanted North-Easterner.
Carley introduced herself and explained her dilemma. "So, how often do you inspect these records?"
"Oh, I never personally make inspections. One of my field workers takes care of that."
The woman sounded as if actually having to see a real child might just dirty her hands, Carley thought contemptuously.
"The law in Texas is quite clear, Dr. Mills. We must make on-site inspections every ten to twelve months. In my district we try to inspect facilities twice a year, and each child that is out-placed must have appropriate records with them for transport."
"Do you keep duplicate records?" Carley probed.
"Yes, certainly."
"We don't seem to have all the papers we need in the files. When is your field worker's next inspection?"
"We're due at the ranch in the next ten days. And I would expect all the records to be complete and in proper ord
er when my field worker arrives." The supervisor's voice became high-pitched and tense.
"May I come to your office one day this week, then?" Carley quietly asked. "I need copies of whatever we're missing."
"That's highly irregular. It's not our responsibility to help the foster homes duplicate their state forms."
Carley had heard nasty rumors that some of the bureaucrats on the other side of the border insisted on money or favors to do their jobs, but she'd always thought the ones on this side were honest and hardworking.
Maybe this particular bureaucrat wanted to be coaxed. "You sound like a reasonable woman," she began. "I'm new to the valley. Would you, by any chance, like to have lunch with me some time this week? Perhaps you can give me a few hints on how to get along while I'm here?"
"Well…"
"Please, Ms. Fabrizio. You name the day and place … be my guest."
No longer reticent, the woman jumped at a chance for a free lunch. She quickly named her day and what Carley felt sure was the most expensive restaurant in the whole valley.
Carley hung up, feeling slimy. She wondered how much each of the copies were going to end up costing her. Ms. Fabrizio was an unknown quantity, and she made Carley nervous.
Rubbing her upper arms as if this warm spring day had suddenly turned cold, Carley tried to put the whole sordid mess out of her mind. She wouldn't have to face the problem again for a few days, and right now she barely had time to take her shower and dress for her night of dancing.
That presented another problem. What did one wear to a country-western dance? A dress? Slacks? Maybe all things named Western called for jeans.
She finally decided dresses were always appropriate for any occasion that involved dancing. Once her mind was made up, Carley closed her files and bounded up the stairs to change. She could barely control her excitement. Dancing was a great excuse to feel Houston's arms around her once more.
The next hour proved more frazzling than exciting.
Cami, after rejecting an afternoon nap, whined and fussed, refusing to eat. Carley found a rip in the Western-style dress she intended to wear, and with her hair still damp, the hair dryer caught on fire.
Worse yet, Manny Sanchez arrived when Carley was still in the shower and refused to leave the folders with anyone else but her. Tomorrow she'd have to search him out and retrieve the papers she needed.
By the time Carley dashed into the kitchen, a few minutes late for her date with Houston, she wondered if maybe they'd be better off to skip the whole thing for tonight. Perhaps she could talk him into postponing until tomorrow.
If only Houston…
She halted just inside the doorway and looked up to find him standing next to the screen door talking to Doc Luisa. Carley swallowed the hard lump in her throat that had stopped her cold.
If only Houston … wasn't so dammed gorgeous.
Bareheaded, with his blond hair still wet from his shower, he wore a soft denim shirt that clung to his muscles. When she could drag her gaze away from his chest, she lowered her line of sight and took in well-washed jeans fitting him like a second skin. His contours, the lean waist and wide shoulders, reminded her of their many nights spent exploring each other's bodies—of the sensual zeal and tender ardor that marked his lovemaking.
Both Houston and Luisa turned to look at her. For a second she couldn't move. Then she remembered to breathe. "Sorry I'm late."
Carley wondered what she looked like in their eyes. Her insides were sizzling like a pan filled with hot grease, and her skin stung as if on fire. She adjusted her dress and ran her sweaty palms down her sides. God help anyone who might even suggest a postponement for tonight.
Doc Luisa angled her head to inspect Carley. "You two going off somewhere this evening?"
Houston opened his mouth to answer, but Carley beat him to it.
"We have a date for dinner and a dancing lesson," she whispered and looked over her shoulder. "You don't mind about the dancing do you? I know Gabe doesn't want…"
"Miz Mills?" Rosie appeared in the doorway holding Cami. "Can you come put Cami to bed? She just kicks and cries when I try to get her into the crib."
Carley headed toward the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes, Houston. Wait for me." She grabbed up Cami and disappeared with Rosie trailing behind.
Houston stood transfixed by the sensations and emotions that Carley stirred inside him. When he finally remembered to close his mouth and turn back to Doc Luisa, he verged on the grim side of anger.
"We do not have a date. I only volunteered to teach her the two-step." He tried to soften his tone. None of this was Luisa's fault. "You know I don't date, Doc. I just can't. What if I have a wife or a fiancée somewhere? As long as I can't remember, I won't take the chance of becoming low-down scum."
Luisa laid her hand on his forearm, forcing Houston to gaze into her eyes. He saw a different kind of look in the woman's eyes tonight. Kinder, softer, warmer.
Ever since he'd woken up in her spare bedroom all those months ago, Luisa's eyes became wary when she studied him—as if she needed to hold back some part of her emotions. But tonight all that edginess was gone.
"You do feel something for Carley. I can see it plainly written on your face when you look at her. Why don't you give her a chance, son?"
"But…" He pulled his arm free and drove his fingers through his hair.
"Look," Luisa began. "The woman is a psychologist, isn't she? Why don't you tell her about losing your memory? Maybe she can help. At the very least, I'll bet she's a good listener."
"Well … if you think we can trust her, maybe it wouldn't hurt to get her opinion."
"Oh, I'm sure you can trust her. I can tell she has a good heart … that she'd never do anything to hurt you. Give it a try. What have you got to lose?"
* * *
Houston didn't know if Carley had a good heart, but she sure had one terrific body.
They rode in silence on the way to the Wrangler Café on the outskirts of McAllen. He'd picked the place because he knew they would get a decent meal, and the band could play a mean two-step. They arrived early, and he held the door open for her. The minute they stepped inside the poorly lit bar, the few ranch hands that were there quit eating and turned to stare.
Of course, Houston had to admit Carley was worth a gape or two. Tonight she positively glowed. She wore a bright-red dress—shiny and tight. Tight enough to show every curve. And she sure had an abundance of those.
The dress dipped in front to a vee, ending in the valley between her full breasts. That dang dress also ended way above her knees, exposing impossibly long legs. So much of her skin showed he didn't know where to look first. So he tried to sneak a peek everywhere at once.
At least, he'd thought he wanted to take it all in, until the cowpokes at the bar whistled approvingly at Carley. She made a dramatic curtsy and grinned at the boys. Meanwhile, Houston pulled her into a shadowy corner. If he'd thought he could leave Carley alone for one minute, he would run out to the truck and get the horse blanket from the back to cover her up.
"Whatever possessed you to wear that get-up?" he growled when he'd seated them both at a table.
Her bright smile dimmed, and he felt as if he'd deliberately blocked out the sun. What was it about this woman that made him totally lose his mind, anyway?
"I thought you'd like it. I wasn't sure what to wear for dancing the two-step," she said a little sadly.
"I do like it." He wanted to say something to make her smile again. "You look beautiful. Too beautiful for a place like this."
That was no polite lie. Beautiful hardly covered the way she looked tonight. Even in this unilluminated corner, her mahogany hair shone with burnished lights. Her skin looked soft—touchable and silky. And when she smiled at his comment, her face glowed with a healthy beauty. Houston didn't think Carley wore any makeup this evening, or needed any for that matter.
The longer he gazed at her, the more he felt mesmerized by her eyes. Suddenly snappi
ng back to reality, Houston caught his hand in midair right before he touched her face. His fingers longed to trace the outline of her jaw, to linger against that creamy surface.
He jerked his hand away, shook his head and cleared his throat. This wasn't the way he'd imagined the evening would go.
The waitress showed up with an order pad in hand. "What'll you have?"
Carley looked confused. "We haven't seen a menu yet."
"We don't have menus. What'll you have?"
Now Carley looked annoyed. "What do you serve?"
The waitress rolled her eyes and shifted all her weight to one foot. "Look, lady, this is a steak place. We've got rib-eyes, twenty-ounce sirloins, fillet mignon and, if your taste buds run hot, steak-fajita tacos … but they're all steak. Now, how do you want your steak cooked?"
Carley raised an obviously irritated eyebrow at the surly young woman. "I'll have a fillet, cooked medium, with a baked potato and salad with blue cheese dressing." She gestured to Houston. "He'll have the sirloin, bloody, with fries and refried beans. And bring us both a long-neck beer … put mine in a glass, please."
"Why didn't you just say so?" The waitress twirled around and headed for the bar.
Houston's surprise at that whole scene made him shake his head in wonder. "Carley, you just ordered for me."
She jerked around to face him. "Uh … yeah. Do you mind? I'm so used to ordering for Cami that I guess it's become a bad habit. I didn't mean to be so pushy."
"That's not the point. How'd you know what I wanted?"
"Did you want something else?"
"No. You ordered exactly what I'd decided to have." Houston's surprise turned into skepticism. "You took the words right out of my mouth. That's pretty good … guessing. Or do you also read minds?"
Carley's mouth cracked into a sheepish grin. "I'm a psychologist, remember? I've, um, made a study of people's tastes. You just look like a man who'd want his steak rare."
"Yeah, I suppose so." For a second Houston saw a flash of some old scene in his brain. But the image vanished before he could capture the memory.
Carley had just reminded him of why he'd agreed to come tonight. "I'd like to talk to you about something. Patient to psychologist, so to speak. If you wouldn't mind?"
