by Joanna Wayne
He dropped a hand to her shoulder, knowing, the second he did it, that he shouldn’t have. No touch between them was so impersonal that he didn’t feel the pang of wanting to hold her close. He’d have to stay on guard constantly, or else be faced with the same agonizing withdrawal pains he’d suffered the last time she’d walked out of his life.
He dropped his hand from her shoulder and buried it in his front pocket. “McCord is convinced you’re in danger. Which means either that he told you something that put you there or that you saw something.”
She scanned the area again, as if she believed the answers lay somewhere in the grass or the trees. “If that were true, wouldn’t the perp think I’d already talked to you? It would be too late to stop me from talking if that was what I had a mind to do. Unless he knows I have amnesia.”
“If he’s from around here, he probably heard you had amnesia before you did. I think we’ve stayed long enough, Darlene. If the setting were going to inspire you to remember more, it should have worked by now. It looks like the shirt is the best we’re going to come away with.”
She matched her pace to his and walked at his side. “Back to the hospital and another round of nightmares in which people are trying to kill me.” She picked up her pace. “The subconscious does strange things, doesn’t it?”
“The mind is very powerful,” he said, opening the passenger door of his truck. “Sometimes it’s our best weapon.”
“Still, it’s strange. The truth is blocked out, but terrifying untruths are as vivid as if they actually happened. I dread going to sleep anymore. I’m afraid at some level that I won’t wake up.”
Her uncharacteristic defenselessness hit him hard. “Would you like me to stay with you tonight? I need to stop by McCord’s place later for a serious chat with his foreman, but I could come to the hospital after I leave the Altamira.”
She hesitated, and then sighed. “No. Thanks for the offer, but the guard is enough. I really don’t need you.”
No surprise there. He’d known it for years. Still, the words pricked, and he hated the feeling. Hated the fact that six years after Darlene had dumped him, she still had the power to make him feel something.
Climbing behind the steering wheel, he started the engine and yanked the gear into reverse. He was the sheriff, Darlene was the victim and his prime witness. Nothing more.
But it would be a lot easier to remember those facts if the scent of her didn’t fill the cab of his truck. If he hadn’t lain awake half of every night since she’d dropped back into his life, thinking about what it had been like when she’d shared his bed.
Such stupid reactions would lead to costly mistakes unless he could get a handle on his emotions—and fast. He could use a little amnesia himself right now.
DARLENE SETTLED BACK in her seat, unanswered questions about everything she could think of rocking her mind. Clint could possibly provide a lot of the answers, but something in the hard lines of his face told her he was consumed by the mystery at hand and wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed.
Odd, though. They had apparently been good friends at one time. She’d felt a glimmer of the bond they must have shared minutes ago when he’d held her in his arms. Yet they had stopped communicating completely six years ago.
Another piece to the puzzle of her life that was lost somewhere in the depths of her subconscious. She pushed the thoughts from her mind. It was the attack, and the senator, she needed to be thinking about. If the senator wasn’t dead, she had to do everything in her power to remember something that would help them locate him.
“Who are you going to talk to at the Altamira?” she asked when she could keep silent no longer.
“Some friend of McCord’s who he hired to manage his ranch while he’s off politicking. I’ve talked to him twice and gotten the runaround both times. Either he doesn’t know anything, or McCord’s warned him not to talk to me.”
“Why don’t I go with you?”
He shot her a dubious look. “Why should you? Besides, I promised Dr. Bennigan I wouldn’t tire you out.”
“I’m not tired. And you said yourself, I’ve spent lots of time at the ranch. It can’t hurt to see if something there jogs my memory, and I certainly wouldn’t mind missing dinner at the hospital.”
“Not your D.C. gourmet food, huh?”
“Who knows? But I’ll bet you a margarita it doesn’t compare to Rosita’s.”
“Are you asking me out to dinner, FBI Agent Remington?” His eyebrows raised speculatively.
“Why not? You said it wouldn’t be the first time we’d eaten together there.”
He cocked his head in her direction. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” Because he sure as hell wasn’t.
“It’s only a stop at the Altamira and dinner. Of course, I’m sure.”
Clint pushed his Stetson back a little farther on his head. “Then get prepared. You’re about to re-meet Freddie Caulder, one of the most cantankerous men you’ve ever had the displeasure of dealing with.”
“Then why would McCord hire him?”
“It’s said he knows his cattle six ways to Sunday. And he’s McCord’s friend.”
“Another man I shouldn’t trust?”
Clint thought about it. The man was loyal to McCord, but that probably wouldn’t spill over to his friends. Only, maybe McCord didn’t even trust his friends. If he did, why hadn’t he returned to the ranch after the attack?
“You could trust him with your cows,” Clint offered, “if you had any. Other than that, I’d add him to the list of men to watch out for.”
“It’s going to be a long list.”
“Be thankful this is a small town.”
THE HOUSEKEEPER ANSWERED the doorbell on the first ring, still wiping her hands on the skirt of a gingham apron that billowed over her plump figure.
As soon as the door swung open, she reached for Darlene, burying her in a bear hug. “I’ve been so upset, worrying about you,” she said, hugging all the tighter. When Darlene didn’t respond with the same enthusiasm, she held her at arm’s length for an inspection.
“Look at you, girl. You left here the other night looking just as pert and pretty as ever. Now you’re pale as a cat in the flour bin, and that bandage practically covers the left half of your head.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Darlene answered, ill-at-ease over the attention she was getting from a woman she couldn’t remember.
“Don’t you worry none,” the garrulous woman offered as she led them into a spacious room that smelled of leather and wood fires. “The sheriff here will find the men who’ve done it to you, and he’ll track down our Jim and help him out too. If he needs it, that is. Truth is, our Jim’s probably outsmarted the rascals by now and is bringing them in for Clint.”
“You’ve probably heard that Darlene is having trouble with her memory,” Clint explained.
“You poor thing.” The housekeeper turned her attention to Darlene again, patting her on the shoulder as she walked past her. “I heard you can’t remember what happened on Glenn Road the other night, but surely you remember me.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m sure we were good friends, and it will all come back to me soon.”
The woman didn’t let it go at that, but she did switch the focus of her interrogation to Clint. “She remembers you and the senator though, doesn’t she? I mean, she’s known the both of you for years.”
Darlene grimaced as the woman suddenly started treating her as if she could no longer understand English. “I have a temporary memory loss from the accident and the drugs,” Darlene said, deciding the full spiel was preferable to being talked around. “I should be back to normal any time now.”
Back to normal. Geez, she’d said it herself, admitted she wasn’t normal now. Local girl turned amnesiac freak. She could hear the gossip mills grinding.
Clint formally introduced her to Mary, McCord’s longtime housekeeper, cook and caretaker of his daughter until Levi had gotten
big enough to care for herself. They exchanged greetings as if they were meeting for the first time, but now Mary was clearly on edge, eyeing Darlene as if she were an oddity from some traveling carnival exhibit.
Darlene took the offered seat on the leather couch and surveyed the surroundings. Clint said she’d been here many times before, in which case, the Altamira should be as familiar to her as her left foot.
The den where they sat was expansive, high-ceilinged with rough-hewn pine beams, the walls painted a light yellow, the polished wooden floor splashed with color from the woven rugs scattered like lily pads in a brown pond. A room fit for men, but still bearing a woman’s touch. Maybe Mary’s, she decided, since there was no wife.
The stone fireplace in front of her was mammoth, and what appeared to be the first logs of the evening were just bursting into flame. She let her gaze wander to the framed photographs that hung on the wall. All strangers.
No, not all. She recognized a younger version of herself in one of them, standing with a tall man—a beard covering his chin—and a woman close to her own age. She walked over to get a better look. A second later she felt Clint’s presence behind her.
“That’s you with McCord and his daughter Levi. The bay is Whiskey. He belongs to McCord, but you rode him in some local rodeo events.”
“The barrels.”
“You remember that?” Clint’s tone grew deadly serious.
Darlene put her hands over her eyes, willing the image that had flashed so quickly through her mind to return. But her efforts were useless.
“No, for a second I could picture myself on the horse in the picture, riding the barrels in a rodeo, but when I tried to wring the details out of the image, it vanished.” She drew inside herself, fighting the urge to cry out, to stamp her feet, to slam her fist into something. “When was the picture taken?” she asked, controlling her frustration as best she could.
“The summer you graduated from the University of Texas, just before you left for Quantico.”
Clint’s shoulder brushed hers as he answered, and an unexpected warmth crept through her. She trembled as a blush she couldn’t understand flushed her cheeks.
“I don’t know why I’m standing around shooting the breeze like I didn’t know manners from moles,” Mary broke in. “I’ve got fresh coffee already brewed, and a plate of just-baked sugar cookies.”
“Not for me,” Clint said. “I’m going to ring up Caulder, see if he wants to drive up here to chat or if he’d rather I come to his place.”
“Humph. You won’t find him anywhere about.” Mary made no attempt to hide her displeasure.
“Why not?”
“He left this morning, said he had business down in San Antonio and he didn’t know when he’d be back.”
“That so?” Clint hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and leaned against the door frame. “Strange timing, don’t you think? What with McCord out of pocket.”
“Everything that’s gone on around here lately’s been strange. Ever since Thanksgiving, things have been going to hell in a handbasket. Excuse my language, Darlene, but it’s the pure truth. The senator is a troubled man, and he’s been plumb irritable most of the time. It’s not a bit like him. Now he just up and leaves and doesn’t even tell me where he’s off to.”
Clint strode over to the hearth, close enough to look Mary in the eye. “Did McCord say anything to you about what the problem was?”
“Not to me. You know how he is. And Freddie Caulder is just like him. They both think they can take on the world without any help from anyone, especially from the womenfolk. The same way you are, Clint, so you ought to understand what I’m talking about better than anyone.”
Darlene joined the two of them in front of the fire. She had a few questions of her own that needed answers while Mary was in such a talkative mood. “Did Senator McCord call and ask me to come to the Altamira, Mary, or did I just show up?”
“He asked you to come. Not that he told me that, mind you, but I heard you question him when you walked in the door, wanting to know why he’d insisted you come to Vaquero at once.”
So, she hadn’t just taken a few days of vacation as she’d told her supervisor. She’d come to the ranch at McCord’s request.
As soon as Mary left the room to fetch the coffee, Darlene returned to her spot on the couch and motioned for Clint to join her. “You said you had been to the Altamira on Monday afternoon, Clint, apparently before I got here.”
“Right. That’s how I knew McCord was wearing the blue-plaid shirt.”
“Why were you here?”
“McCord called me.” Clint leaned back and crossed a booted foot over his left knee. “When I got here, he offered some lame excuse that his fence had been cut and some of his cattle were running loose.”
“Isn’t it possible that could have been the truth? There are miles of fences out here.”
“It’s possible he had his fences cut, but not that he’d be calling me about that. Like Mary said, he’s a man who likes to handle his own problems.”
“So you think he called you for another reason, and then decided not to tell you.”
“You got it. He did the same thing Thanksgiving Day, about the time Mary said she started noticing trouble. Right after that his daughter was in some bizarre kidnapping scheme that he designed himself because some crackpot in the Northwest made a threat against her.”
“This could all be tied together.” For the first time since the attack, she felt like they were getting somewhere. “Where’s that crackpot now?”.
“Dead and buried. Shot by a co-conspirator.”
“And the co-conspirator?”
“You definitely think like an investigator. But this is a dead-end trail. I’ve ridden it for two days myself and gotten nowhere. Both men involved in the threats and the attack on Levi were killed. But there’s no shortage of crackpots out there, and the more publicity McCord draws, the more frequently he’s going to be targeted by someone with an ax to grind.”
“I’m surprised anyone wants to run for president.”
Their conversation halted as Mary stepped back through the open door. Darlene turned down the cookies, opting to wait for Rosita’s tortillas, but she savored every drop of the rich coffee, so different from the lukewarm, watered-down beverage the hospital had served with her lumpy oatmeal.
The hospital. A place of healing, yet she dreaded going back there tonight, even though the afternoon’s activities had taken more out of her than she planned to admit to either Clint or the doctor. They would only see it as a reason to keep her imprisoned in that dratted room.
One more night was all she planned to stay there, with an armed guard at her door, provided by a sheriff who believed she was in imminent danger.
A sheriff whose touch affected her in strange and sensual ways that made no sense...unless they had been more than friends six years ago.
And that was one question he could answer tonight at dinner.
Chapter Five
“I love the smell of this place,” Darlene said, stepping into Rosita’s.
“Spices and grease?”
“That works for me. Can we grab that table by the window or do we have to wait for them to seat us?”
“This is Vaquero, Texas. If you wait to be seated, you’ll go home hungry.” He followed her to the table by the window, his heart twisting inside that she’d chosen it. Maybe her memory was a lot closer to the surface than she realized.
Or maybe he was giving in to wishful thinking, a pastime he should have put away with his cap guns.
He watched Darlene scan the area, her eyes lingering on first one group of diners and then another.
“Is this what you expected?” he asked, knowing from her expression that Rosita’s hadn’t evoked the memories she’d hoped for.
“I didn’t expect it to be this crowded.”
“Saturday night’s strutting night. All the wranglers have to take their best girl out for dinner.�
� He held Darlene’s jacket while she shrugged out of it, and then laid it on the chair next to her, choosing the seat across from her for himself.
“So why aren’t you with your best girl?” she asked, looking up at him as he pulled his chair closer to the bare Formica table.
Her green eyes were taunting him, her full red lips curled into a seductive smile. Old sensations settled into the pit of his stomach like molten metal. His mind was playing tricks on him, making him picture her the way she’d been six years ago. Youthful, flirtatious, giddy with desire. Why the devil had he brought her here?
Easy answer: poor judgment.
Now he didn’t have a lot of choice but to make the best of it, and then avoid this kind of punishing behavior in the future.
“My best girl is a four-legged filly, and she doesn’t cater to restaurant food,” he said when he was sure his voice and libido were controlled enough not to make a fool of him. “Barley and oats are fine with her.”
“I’m surprised the local ladies let you get by with that. I’d guess more than one would have her sights set on a cowboy cop with dark, curly hair and a roguish smile—that is, when he lets one slip out.”
“I try to avoid women with their sights set. It keeps everyone from being disappointed.” He picked up the stained menu that rested between glass shakers of salt and pepper. Not that he needed to see what it said; the offerings had changed very little in all the years he’d been coming here.
“Well, would you look at this? Darlene and Clint, together again. And I’d all but stopped believing in miracles.”
Clint looked up from the menu, groaning inside. With his luck running the way it was, he should have known it would be Rosita herself who waited on them tonight.
“Lawmen have to eat too,” he answered, making light of the fact that he was having dinner with his old girlfriend, and hoping Rosita took the hint.
“You need to get your eyes checked, Sheriff, if you think that is a lawman sitting across from you.” She took her hand from her hip and stepped closer to Darlene, bending over to get a better look at the bandage. “And I don’t know what kind of police work the two of you have been doing, but it doesn’t look healthy to me.”
