Return of the Cowgirl

by Eve Gaddy

  Glenna sat at the big table and tried to decide if she should call Mitch and tell him what his brother had said, as unsatisfying as it was.

  “You look upset,” Sam said, coming into the kitchen with a pile of mail. Setting it down on the counter, she walked to the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No, but I’ll have to sometime. Maybe you could tell the rest of them. You know, the family.” She thought about that. “No, that’s a chickenshit way to handle it. Never mind. I’ll tell them later.”

  “I take it your doctor’s appointment didn’t go well.” Sam took a seat beside her.

  Glenna shrugged. “About like I thought it would. After Dr. Hardeman examined me, he said my neurological tests were all normal. He doesn’t know when he’ll get the results of the MRI but he said he didn’t expect any surprises from it.”

  “Glenna, that’s good news.”

  “I suppose it is. But he also said I’d just have to wait and see when my memory would come back. If it does.”

  Sam patted her hand. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard to hear.”

  Glenna nodded. “I asked him if I should see a psychiatrist. He offered to refer me to one if I want, but since my amnesia is due to physical trauma, it’s not likely a psychiatrist can help me.”

  “I’m so sorry. I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but the fact that your neurological exam was normal is excellent news. Was he encouraging about your memory coming back?”

  “Kind of. He said he thought I would remember eventually. In the majority of cases people regain most of their memories. But there are some who never do.” She looked at Sam. “It’s my fault. I told him I wanted it straight and not to sugarcoat it.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. It’s what I would have expected you to say. You’re a very practical woman. Direct and straightforward.”

  “I’ve been thinking about calling Mitch. But he was so sure his brother could help me, I hate to tell him what the doctor said.” Especially since Mitch was so damn determined that they couldn’t get together until she got her memory back.

  “Would it make you feel better to talk to him?”

  She didn’t need to think about that. “Yes.”

  “Then you should call him.” She got up, walked over to the counter where she’d set the mail down. “Glenna, there’s a package for you.”

  Glenna had been staring at the phone but at that she looked up. “For me?”

  “Yes, from South America. It’s postmarked San Rafael, Argentina.”

  San Rafael? It rang no bells, but that wasn’t surprising. Not much did. “Who is it from?”

  Sam squinted at the package. “Rosalie Torres. I can’t read the return address. It’s a PO box, but the number is illegible.”

  For a moment Glenna simply stared at Sam before accepting the small package, a padded envelope with Rosalie Torres’s name on it. Rosalie Torres—the name on her phony passport. Addressed to Glenna Gallagher at the ranch’s address in Marietta, Montana. What the hell?

  “Is something wrong, Glenna? Something else, I mean? Is it the package? You look shaken up.”

  “I—I am.”

  “Do you remember Rosalie Torres?”

  “Yes.” She stared at the small package, wondering why she was so reluctant to open it.

  “That’s good, isn’t it? Maybe your memories are coming back.”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  “Who is she?”

  Glenna looked up to meet Sam’s concerned gaze. “Rosalie Torres is me. It’s the name on my fake passport. I thought it was my real name until I met Mitch.”

  “Oh. That is a little...dis­concert­ing.”

  Glenna’s laugh held no humor. “Just a little.”

  “Are you going to open it?”

  “I don’t want to.” She turned it over, weighed it in her hand. It was light. So light it could have been a letter. But obviously there was something else in there. “I have no idea why I feel that way.”

  “Then don’t do it. Put it aside until you’re ready to deal with it.”

  Glenna set it on the big table and looked at Sam. “Do you think I’m a coward?”

  “Because you don’t want to open that package? Of course not.” She walked over and patted Glenna’s arm. “You’re in a terribly difficult situation, Glenna. Listen to your instincts. If you don’t want to open this package, there’s bound to be a reason, even if you don’t consciously know what it is.”

  “I wish Mitch was here.”

  “So call him.”

  “I will.”

  Sam’s phone rang just then. She answered with, “Dr. Striker. Oh, hi, Sean.” Her expression changed to one of alarm. “How many people involved? How many are we getting?” She listened a moment then said, “I’ll be right there.”

  She hung up. “There’s been a multi-car pile-up on Highway 89. An eighteen-wheeler overturned and it sounds bad. Tell Dylan I had to go in. It’s all hands on deck for this. At least until we know how many we have and how serious their injuries are.”

  Dylan walked in as Sam was rushing out the door. “Hey, I thought you were home for the afternoon?”

  “Emergency. Glenna will tell you. Gotta go.” She kissed him and ran out the door.

  Dylan just shook his head. “Must be bad for her to leave like that on her afternoon off.”

  Glenna relayed what Sam had told her about the accident.

  “Damn, I hope it’s not as bad as it sounds. If it is, she’ll pull an all-nighter on top of taking call last night.”

  “Does she have all-nighters a lot?”

  “When she’s on call. The hospital requires that there is a trauma surgeon at the hospital at all times. It’s part of having a Level III Trauma Center. That doesn’t mean it’s busy every time she’s on call, though. But trauma surgeons can and do get called in during emergencies. Like today.”

  “You’re very proud of her and the work she does, aren’t you?”

  He smiled. “Yeah. Sam’s amazing.” Puzzled, he looked around. “Where’s Glory? She’s usually got lunch fixings out by now.”

  “I haven’t seen her since this morning before I left for my appointment. She said she was going to Livingston,” Glenna added slowly. “Don’t you take Highway 89 to get there?”

  “Shit. Goddamn it.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit a couple of buttons. “No point calling Sam. She won’t be there yet and when she does get there she’ll go to surgery as quickly as possible. Pick up, damn it,” he said into the phone.

  “Sean, is Glory—” His worried expression turned to one of relief. “Thank God. Is Wyatt there? Okay, good. Has anyone called Bill? Good. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Was Glory in the pile-up? What happened to her? Is she badly hurt?”

  “Yes, she just came in. Sean says her arm is broken. Other than that, he thinks she’ll be fine. Wyatt’s there, so he can take care of her and decide what they need to do for her. Her husband Bill is on his way.” He stood there a moment, then said, “I’m going down to the barn to tell the men what’s going on and then I’ll head out. It’s not strictly necessary that I go, but, well, it’s Glory. Do you want to come with me?”

  On the one hand, she wanted to go. But on the other... “Are you sure I won’t be in the way? I don’t want to intrude.”

  Dylan gave her an exasperated look. “You’re family. There’s no such thing as intruding when you’re family.” He thought about that a minute. “Well, in a case like this, anyway. I can think of several times my family has needed to butt out but they keep on ‘helping’.”

  She smiled. “All right. Thanks.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Mitch found Glenna in the hospital waiting room late that afternoon. She looked much as she had the first time he saw her, alone amidst a crowd of people. Only these people were her family. But then he noticed she wasn’t as alone as he’d first thought. He could tell by her body language that she was more relaxed
than he’d seen her yet around her family.

  Austin had called him and told him about the wreck on Highway 89, the resulting pile-up, and that the Gallagher’s housekeeper had been involved. He’d called the ranch and gotten the machine. As far as he knew, Glenna still had no phone. It annoyed him, because how hard was it to get a burner phone? It seemed like someone could have taken her to get one. Knowing Glenna, though, she wouldn’t spend the money.

  While he was standing there, Dylan’s fiancée, Dr. Sam Striker, came into the waiting room and it looked like she was giving the family an update. Glenna, he was happy to see, had gathered round with the rest of them. She must have sensed he was there because she turned away from the group and looked right at him.

  And smiled. Damn, she had a great smile. He walked to her and took her hands in his. “I heard about the wreck, and about your housekeeper. How is she?”

  “Glory has a broken arm but she’ll be okay. They don’t think she’ll need surgery, just a splint for now and possibly a cast after the swelling goes down. Her husband is here and he’s going to take her home as soon as they release her.”

  “That’s good. I called the ranch and didn’t get you, so I thought I’d call your cell. Except you still don’t have one, do you?”

  “Yes, I do. Dylan bought me one yesterday. I was going to call to give you the number but then this happened,” she said, motioning to include her family. “Speaking of calling you, will you take me home? There’s something I want to show you.”

  “You sound upset. What is it?”

  “A package came for me today. From Argentina.”

  “Villareal found you?” Damn. The last thing they needed.

  “No, although I don’t doubt he knows where I am by now, or at the least, suspects. No, this package is from Rosalie Torres.”

  What the hell? “Your alter ego? When did you mail it?”

  “I can’t read the date but the city is San Rafael. Obviously, I mailed it before my accident, and after I acquired the fake IDs. Or at least after I decided on that name. I haven’t opened it yet. I know it’s silly but I’m afraid of what I’ll find.” She shrugged. “It’s just a package. How bad could it be?”

  “How big is it?”

  “It’s a small padded envelope. It’s very beat up, which makes sense considering I mailed it weeks ago and it’s only now showed up in Marietta.”

  “It could be more evidence of the counterfeiting operation.”

  “If it is, I don’t know what to do with it.”

  “Call the Secret Service.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You told me that earlier. I still find it weird that the Secret Service handles counterfeiting.”

  “If it’s evidence in a major counterfeiting operation, we definitely need to give it to the Secret Service. Otherwise we could turn it over to the local police, but in this case I think the Secret Service are the ones to contact. Or failing the Secret Service, the FBI. Can you leave now?”

  “Yes. Let me tell Dylan. I came with him.”

  They left shortly after that. “You looked a little more at ease with your family,” Mitch said, on the way to the Gallagher ranch.

  “I am. Even though I still can’t remember them, they’re easy to get to know. Easy to talk to.”

  “That’s great.”

  “It’s nice. I had an interesting talk with Jack last night.”

  “Yeah? What about?”

  “You, mostly.”

  “Do I need a flak jacket?”

  “Of course not. Jack even said your actions spoke well of you. Personally, I’d call it your inaction.”

  “I’m lost.” What in the hell was she talking about? Last time he’d seen Jack, which was also the first time he’d seen Jack, her oldest brother had looked like he wanted to rip Mitch apart with his bare hands.

  “You don’t know how to get to the ranch? How did you get there before?”

  “Of course I know how to get to the ranch. What the hell are you talking about? My inaction?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Glenna,” he said with a warning in his voice.

  Which didn’t appear to faze her, but at least she answered. “I told Jack that you say you don’t want to take advantage of me, and I say that’s bullshit.”

  “God help me.” He turned off the highway onto the lane leading to the Gallagher ranch.

  “Why? That’s when Jack said it spoke well of you.”

  “And you said it was bullshit, but it’s not, Glenna.”

  She shrugged. “Potato, po-taw-to.”

  Mitch gritted his teeth. Fortunately, they pulled up to the back door so he was spared saying anything in response to that deliberately provocative statement. And she knows it, too, he thought, glancing at her satisfied expression.

  Glenna opened the kitchen door and walked in with him following. “I asked Dylan about a key but he said they never lock the door.”

  They heard barking and a medium-sized black dog burst into the kitchen with his ears perked up. When he saw Glenna he ran up to her, wiggling with delight. “Hi, Shadow. This is Mitch.”

  Mitch held out his hand for the dog to sniff.

  “I forgot—have you met him before?” Glenna asked Mitch.

  “No, he must have been outside.” He patted his head and scratched behind his ears. “Good boy.”

  “He spends a lot of time with the other dogs and horses. But he sleeps with Dylan and Sam. From what I hear he’s a hero.”

  “Really? What did he do?”

  “He helped take down an arsonist. I think he bit him in the butt.”

  Mitch laughed. “That’s one way to do it.”

  “It’s quite a story. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”

  “Where’s this package?”

  “I left it on the table.” She picked up a small, padded mailer and passed it to him. “Like I told you, it’s postmarked San Rafael, Argentina. Can you read the date?”

  He squinted at it. “No, but if I had a magnifying glass I might be able to make it out.” Mitch gave it back to her and waited for her to open it. After hesitating a long moment, she ripped it open, careful not to tear the date, and poured the contents into her hand. Something small, wrapped in bubble wrap, sat on her palm. She peeled away the wrap to reveal a small, black jump drive.

  “Any bets on what this is?” Glenna asked.

  “No bets. More of a sure thing. Something that ties the Villareals to the counterfeiting operation would give them a great reason to come after you.”

  “If that’s true, I wonder why I didn’t keep it with the phony bills?”

  “You probably thought it safer to split up the evidence. The fact that you mailed it to yourself here at the ranch almost certainly means you intended to come here.”

  “Until I got derailed by a pesky old bus accident. I’m sure someone around here has a computer. We can look at it.”

  “I’m sure they do, but I’d rather pull it up on my computer.”

  “All right. Let me leave a note and I’ll be ready.”

  Mitch took Glenna back to his hotel room. He knew she wouldn’t be left behind, so he didn’t even try. He needed to have this information, whatever it was, on his computer. Most of all, he wanted to give all of the information to someone in the government. He figured the less time he or Glenna had it, the better it would be for them. And if it was evidence, the faster the authorities could bust that counterfeiting operation.

  It was also possible that seeing what was on the jump drive would trigger Glenna’s memory. Mitch wasn’t holding out a lot of hope for that. After all, nothing else had brought back her memories.

  But he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out before he broke down and made love with Glenna regardless of all the reasons why they shouldn’t. Good reasons, which would make a difference if he weren’t in love with her.

  In love? What? He couldn’t be in love with her. He’d been cured of that when he was twenty years old. Or so he’d th
ought. But if he wasn’t in love with Glenna, then what the hell was wrong with him?

  And what about her? She still had no memory of her life before the accident. If it turned out she really was married, she’d said she’d get a divorce. He’d bet his last dime the man had driven her to flee, away from him and the ranch she’d called home. Mitch couldn’t see her staying with him, especially if the Villareals proved to be key in a counterfeiting operation.

  Was it fair to Glenna to have sex with her when she still had amnesia? What if, as she feared, her memory never came back? What were they supposed to do then?

  They weren’t talking about a serious relationship. Or were they? God knows, Glenna was different from any other woman he’d ever known. Maybe it wouldn’t work out between them, but why deny them the chance to try?

  You are so damn hopeless. You’re just trying to justify taking her to bed, asshole.

  I don’t need to justify it. She wants it too. It’s not like I have to talk her into something she doesn’t want to do.

  Rationalization. You’re good at that.

  Shut up.

  “Wow,” Glenna said when they walked into the Graff lobby. “This is beautiful.”

  “It’s nice.”

  “Nice? That’s all you can say?” She waved a hand at the elegant lobby, complete with dark-beamed high ceilings, a huge chandelier and seating areas scattered throughout.

  “No. The food is good too. Speaking of food, let’s order room service. I’m betting you haven’t had dinner and I’m hungry.”

  “That’s fine,” she said, still looking around. “Are the rooms decorated like this too?”

  Mitch shrugged. “Kind of, I guess. You’ll see for yourself. It’s a nice room. Big and spacious, nothing too flashy. Looks kind of old-fashioned.”

  Glenna shook her head and followed him into the elevator.

  When they walked into his room Mitch decided to order food first, since he wasn’t sure how long it would take. “Here, see what you want.” He handed her the menu.

  “The club sandwich looks good. What are you getting?”

  “Their hamburgers are great.”