by Sylvie Kurtz
“There’s nothin’ I can do for you. Darryl Hager is on vacation. Won’t be back till next week.”
“We just want to take a quick peek at some of your records.” Taryn smiled at the clerk, but it was having no effect. Might have worked better, Chance thought, if the clerk had been male. As it was, the thin woman with the bad perm and overbleached hair wouldn’t make eye contact with him. She answered only when Taryn spoke to her.
“Won’t take but a minute.” Taryn inched a twenty-dollar bill along the desk’s polished surface.
The clerk slurped her coffee. Never taking her gaze from Taryn’s face, she dragged the Jackson toward her with a long, manicured nail. The bill disappeared into her pocket. “Ain’t got the key to the records room, honey. I’m just the receptionist here.”
“Well, is there someone else I could talk to?”
“There’s Darryl Hager, but like I said, he won’t be back till next week. And Judge Frasier’s not due to make his rounds till next Wednesday.”
Chance tugged on Taryn’s sleeve. Why didn’t anyone want to just up and spit out the truth? Did the sheriff hold that much power over the whole town? Or did it go deeper? Frustration hummed along every one of his nerves. If he didn’t get out of here, he’d explode and do something he’d regret—like hike that skeleton of a clerk against the wall and rattle her till the key he knew she had on her clunked to the floor. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“But she has to let us look. This is public information.”
“And we can probably get it elsewhere.”
Taryn sighed and gave the clerk one more shot. “Do you know where we could find someone named John Henry Makepeace?”
The clerk tapped her long nail against the desktop. Eyes scrunched, she appraised Taryn. “Try Gum Springs Road.”
“Any specific address?”
“Look for the white gate. Can’t miss it.”
The phone rang, and the clerk pointedly turned her back on them.
Taryn followed him outside. Heat slapped at them from every direction. The breeze kicked up dust on the street, stinging their exposed skin. Sun beating down on them, drawing beads of sweat on every inch of them, they walked back to the truck.
“Think she was telling the truth?” Taryn gamely tried to keep up with his ground-eating strides. He slowed half a beat, compromising between blowing off some steam and accommodating Taryn.
“I guess we’ll find out.” He started the truck and turned the air-conditioning on high, then grabbed the map and searched for Gum Springs Road. “There, east of where we are, on the edge of town.”
In silence, they made their way to Gum Springs Road. After the initial two houses, there was nothing but pine lots on the road until a white picket fence shot into view half a mile away. Chance slowed down.
“Oh, wow,” Taryn said, twisting to get a better view out the window.
The truck idled, rumbling the seat beneath him. He should feel something, shouldn’t he? Sadness? Relief? He tried to assess what he was feeling and found nothing.
“Want to go in?” Taryn asked.
He nodded. They went through the gate, followed the asphalt path past the gatehouse, hiked alongside the slimy creek running nearly dry. Taryn slipped her hand in his, and he was immensely grateful for the sense of connection.
In a neglected corner of the cemetery, near a statue of an angel green with moss, they found what they were looking for—a granite marker memorializing John Henry Makepeace. He’d died ten years ago. Beside the grave of his grandfather were those of his parents, and beside them were two small plaques bearing his and his twin’s names.
“Someone still cares,” Taryn said, fingering the fresh bouquet of red, pink and white roses on John Henry’s grave.
But who? And how could they find out? His parents were dead. His grandfather was dead. His twin was also missing.
“So what do we do now?” Taryn asked, squeezing his hand.
He led her away from the graves holding his family. With those worried blue eyes, she was evaluating the effect this find was having on him. What would she think if he said he felt nothing about the grandfather he couldn’t remember? Would it drive her away? For whatever reason, he wanted to hang on to her trust. He swallowed the bitter feelings rising with the slow burning anger.
“The best plan would be for you to go home—”
“I told you—”
“But since you’re insisting on being so stubborn,” he said, “let’s move to plan B.”
“Which is?”
Chance held the passenger door open for her. One other person had witnessed that awful day fifteen years ago. “Finding Ellen.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
Trapping her in the truck, he leaned one arm against the roof and one on top of the door. “We’re going to find a phone and you’re going to call the Angelina Rehabilitation Center. Then you’re going to pretend to be a long-lost friend of Ellen’s trying to locate her.”
“No.” She shook her head, hugging her purse to her stomach. “I can’t do that. You know I’m not good with lies. My face turns all red and I start stammering.”
“Nobody’s going to see you on the other end of a phone, and we’ll practice before you make the call.”
He stared hard at her. A twinge of guilt twanged through him at the naked fear in her wide blue eyes. But if she was going to play stubborn, then he’d make her see the foolishness of her ways. The facts they were uncovering were telling him he was not the man she thought he was. “Or you could always go back home and let me handle this on my own.”
“You’re not playing fair.”
“Sweetheart,” he said as he pushed himself away, “nothing in this situation has been fair from the get-go.”
Dropping her gaze, she nodded. “Okay, so what do I say?”
TARYN WAS GOING to throw up. She just knew she would. She was shaking so hard, she could hear her insides rattle. Chance was driving, heading toward Lufkin, but she saw none of the scenery. All of her attention was on the small black object in one hand and the piece of paper with the phone number of the Angelina Rehabilitation Center in the other.
“I can’t do this, Chance. I just can’t.”
Looking for Ellen wasn’t such a good idea, she suddenly decided. If Ellen was even alive. Fifteen years was a long time. She might be dead by now. For all they knew, if she was still at the rehab center, then she might not be in any shape to answer questions. Hadn’t the newspaper article mentioned critical head injuries? That could mean brain damage. How could she possibly help them?
“I think we should look for whoever’s still caring for your grandfather’s property,” she said, staring at the phone.
Chance didn’t say anything. It was so unlike him to just leave her hanging like that, wallowing in her own misery. Yet she knew, that in the past, she’d also grown from pushing to overcome her own fears. If she didn’t follow through, she’d be disappointing not only Chance but herself, too. And knowing Ellen’s fate would at least relieve part of Chance’s nightmare.
Taryn was sure that Chance wasn’t to blame for whatever had happened fifteen years ago. The only way to prove that to him was to talk to Ellen. And to talk to Ellen, she’d have to get over her own fear and place that call.
“I’m not very good at lying,” Taryn said in one last desperate bid to have him move on to plan C.
“We are looking for Ellen. It’s really not that far from the truth.”
Taryn nodded. Not a strict lie—just a smudging of the truth.
Pressing one button at a time with slow precision, Taryn initiated the call. When someone answered, not hanging up took everything she had.
“Can you connect me with Ellen Paxton’s room?”
“One moment, please.” The distant voice came back on. “I’m sorry that patient is no longer with us.”
“Ellen died?” The prospect horrified Taryn. Chance’s gaze cranked toward her. Already guilt hardened h
is eyes.
“Oh, no,” the voice said quickly, seeking to reassure. “Miss Paxton was transferred to another facility.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.” Taryn gave a huge sigh of relief that really didn’t take much acting. If Ellen was transferred, then she might still be alive. “When did she leave?”
“I’m not sure. Before I was here, so that’d be at least eight years ago.”
“I’m an old friend from high school and I was driving through, hoping to visit. Can you tell me where she is now?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s against our policy to give out patient information.”
“I’m just passing through Lufkin on business. I’m an old friend. I was so hoping I’d be able to see her. Can’t you look at her file or something?”
“What did you say your name was?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I should have said.” Taryn racked her mind, picturing the yearbook pages Chance had photocopied. Heat burning her face, she silently prayed that small town tendencies kept true in Ashbrook as they did elsewhere and that she wasn’t stepping in too big a pile of troubles. “Justine Lassiter.”
Over the line, Taryn heard the clicking of computer keys.
“Miss Paxton’s no longer current, so her file isn’t available on this system. Someone would have to go down to the file room and that request has to be made in writing.”
“Oh.” Taryn didn’t have to feign her disappointment. “Well, is there someone who was on staff then who’s still on staff now who could help me? I’d really hate to be so close and not be able to say hello.”
“Er,” the receptionist hesitated. “Let me see what I can do.”
In the tuneless elevator music that followed, Taryn could hear her own heartbeat drum against her ear. “She’s looking,” she said to Chance. “Ellen was transferred to another facility.”
Chance nodded. “You’re doing great.”
The brief upward kick of his lips and his encouragement warmed her.
“I’m sorry,” the voice said. “It’s against our policy to give out patient information.”
“Even for a friend?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Well,” Taryn drew out the word, giving herself time to think. “I thought maybe a picture of the old gang might have cheered her up.”
“I’m sorry,” the voice said. “But really, how many private facilities are there in Lufkin? I hope you find your friend.”
Taryn smiled. “Thank you for all your help.”
She signed off and turned to Chance, beaming a smile of triumph at him. “When we get to Lufkin, we need to find a phone book and look for a private rehabilitation home.”
ARMED WITH ELLEN’S ADDRESS, Chance and Taryn made their way through the maze of streets in Lufkin to the Pine Creek Home.
As its name implied, the nursing home sat overlooking the slow-moving Pine Creek. Magnolias and old oaks sculpted the manicured lawn, lending the estate an aura of calm. Accompanied by nurses in crisp white uniforms, a few patients in wheelchairs enjoyed a shady garden. Groomed flower beds here and there added to the portrayal of serenity. A wraparound porch surrounded the enormous Victorian-like house painted in proper white with black accents.
Despite the outward appearance of tranquillity, something about the place made Chance uneasy. Taryn held his hand as they climbed the front steps. A discreet sign on the door read Entrance. Chance tried the knob and found it locked, so he rang the doorbell.
Why secure the front door? To keep patients in or intruders out? Neither scenario did anything to calm the alarm tensing his body.
After a moment, the door swung noiselessly open and a cheerful face peeked through. An old-fashioned white cap adorned the nurse’s dark hair knotted at the nape. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Chance said. He felt Taryn’s hand squeeze encouragement. “We’re looking for Ellen Paxton. She’s an old schoolmate of my wife’s and she wanted to visit while we were passing through.”
“Oh.” The nurse frowned. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
“We won’t stay long,” Chance insisted.
“We just want to say hello,” Taryn added, smiling. “It’s been a while and we’re just passing through.”
The nurse looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, but it’s against the rules.”
“Visiting hours are over?” Taryn asked, frowning and glancing at her watch.
“Yes,” the nurse said, but Chance got the distinct impression she’d snagged Taryn’s suggestion to mask a deeper truth. What exactly was going on behind these locked doors? “Our patients thrive on routine.”
“When can we come back?” Chance asked.
“It would be best if you checked with her husband first. He’s very protective of her and won’t allow visitors unless he’s aware they’re coming.”
“Husband?” Chance asked. How could someone who’d lived in a nursing home for fifteen years have gotten married? The uneasiness inside him stirred to hornet frenzy. His grasp on Taryn’s hand tightened and it was all he could do not to wrap her in his arms and shield her…from what? She shot him a worried glance.
“I didn’t know Ellen had married,” Taryn said.
“Yes. If you went to school with her, you might know him. Garth Ramsey.”
“She married Garth?” Taryn’s surprise seemed genuine. She was getting good at pretexting. “I would never have pictured that match.”
“Oh, he’s so good to her. After all this time, it would have been easy to lead his own life and forget about her, but he visits her twice a week, every week, without fail. And it’s not just a quickie visit, either. He sits and talks to her for hours.”
“He sounds devoted.”
“He is. It’s too bad more of our patients don’t have family as caring as he is.”
“Where can we find him?” Chance asked.
“You have been out of touch for a while, haven’t you?” The nurse gave a small smile. “Mr. Ramsey is probably at one of his offices in town. Try the Ramsey Oil Company, the Ramsey Cattle Company, or the Ramsey Land Company.”
“COME ON IN. Come on in.” Garth ushered the two people waiting for him into his office. For once Carter had been right. Seeing this man in the flesh left no doubt as to his identity. The Caddo cheekbones. The Scot stubbornness in the set of his mouth. The dark eyes that seemed to reflect no light. He thought he’d been ready to face the past, but he wasn’t. The sight of Kyle Makepeace looking at him all dark and angry was enough to turn him into a seventeen-year-old—for a second. Then the familiar drive kicked in and the game was on.
The missus by his side was pleasing on the eye. But then, Kyle had always had good taste in women. Ellen had that fey quality about her with her long blond hair and witch-green eyes. They’d once made him yearn for the promise of moonlight magic of her and him on a blanket by the river. His fingers lingered on Taryn’s shoulder as she shook his hand while they introduced each other. This woman’s blue eyes and velvet skin had him thinking of slow satisfying sex by a roaring fire. Fire was more appealing these days than fey magic.
She looked around his office with open curiosity while Kyle sat in his chair ramrod straight and looked about as comfortable as a pig at a pork sale.
As she spied a framed picture of him at the White House, her eyes widened. “Is that the president?”
Garth smiled. Making an impression was so easy. “It sure is. I was invited to a state dinner and got to spend the night in the Lincoln Bedroom.”
She arched her eyebrows and part of him purred at the caged pleasure he thought he saw in her eyes. “Impressive.”
If you think that’s something, wait till you get a gander at the rest of my assets. He let his gaze slide down her front, pause at her peach-perfect breasts, then skim down her curves. A figure like that needed silk. The clothes had to go. Now, there was a thought. Oh, yeah, I’m gonna get me some of that. “That is the least of my accomplishments.”
“I can see that,” she sa
id as she glanced at the signs of success he’d displayed across the walls. “You seem to have accomplished quite a lot in fifteen years.”
The leather of his executive chair creaked as he leaned back and studied her with delight. She’d be feisty. The soft, sexy look was a ruse for the vixen beneath. She’d be a real conquest for a change, not just the plastic variety so ready to throw themselves at him. He was up to the challenge. “You want to know my secret?”
She shrugged, but the dismissive move didn’t fool him.
“Real estate,” he said, barely able to contain the need to reach for her skin and taste it. “I’ve got so much passive income comin’ my way with property investments that I can finance any project I want.” He turned to Chance. “Remember that summer when I was going to work for my uncle?”
Chance’s gaze narrowed and his jaw tightened. Makepeace was still a hard-ass when he wanted to be. “No.”
“I saw the possibilities. But Uncle Weldon was too conservative. He didn’t understand the difference between risk and risky.”
“And you did,” Taryn said, deflecting his attention from Kyle.
I got Ellen. I’ll get you, too, darlin’. “If you’ve done it, it ain’t braggin’,” he said with his best drawl.
“You can’t argue with success.” She reached for Kyle’s hand, but he ignored her. “Chance and I would like to visit your wife.”
“Chance?” God, that was good. Chance. Like the guy needed any more luck. Kyle had really gone and fooled the girl. He’d kept up the facade for fifteen years. Why break it now? “When did you change your name?”
Worry turned her eyes so big and the blue so watery deep, his pulse actually kicked up a notch. When was the last time a mere woman had raised his blood pressure?
“When I washed up downriver without a memory.” There was an edge to this new Kyle. His fists were tight by his side. Anger bubbled right below the skin. And Garth wanted to make it boil.
