Undercover Groom

by Lovelace, Merline

  “I don’t... I can’t...” She gave a long, shaky sigh. “No.”

  A leathery palm came up to pat her hand. “It’s all right, Chloe. Don’t fret. When you’re ready, you’ll remember.”

  “What if I’m never ready?”

  “Just take it a day at a time. A day at a time.”

  She managed a wobbly smile. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  A frown wrinkled Hannah’s forehead as her young helper pushed to her feet. She hated the helplessness that kept her on this damned sofa, almost as much as she hated her inability to banish the shadows from her young friend’s eyes.

  She’d known since the first moment the slender blonde in new-bought jeans and a fuzzy yellow sweater showed up at the store that there was more to Chloe Smith than a mere drifter. Just as she now knew there was more to Mason Chandler than a casual hunter. She’d seen enough in her sixty or so years to consider herself a good judge of horseflesh and a fair judge of men. For all that this Chandler fellow’s kiss had shaken Chloe right down to her toes, Hannah’s instincts told her he didn’t mean harm by her. She intended to keep a close eye on the girl, though, just in case...and she’d make damned sure the rest of Crockett’s inhabitants kept Chandler in their sights.

  “Hand me the phone, girl,” she said briskly, her near accident forgotten. “I’ll call down to Harold and order us some supper from his diner.”

  Mase drove Crockett’s half-block-long downtown, searching the handful of buildings that fronted the single street for a hotel. The closest he could find was a two-story edifice in silvery wood. Under a shaggy moose head, a weathered sign proclaimed that the building housed the “Offices of the Mayor,” the “Dobbins Taxidermy Studio” and the “Crockett Café and Pool Hall.” A tacked-on cardboard strip announced rooms to let in hunting season.

  Ten minutes later the portly mayor/taxidermist/ restaurateur showed Mase to an upstairs room generously decorated with examples of his art. Stuffed rainbow trout and ringtail quail shared wall space with an arched-back bobcat. A stag head with a full rack of antlers was mounted above the narrow bed, at just the right height to stare regally at his reflection in the dresser mirror.

  It took some doing, but Mase finally eased his loquacious host out the door, dumped his carryall on the chenille-covered spread and reached for the cell phone he’d tucked in his shirt pocket. Three calls and ten minutes later, Pam Hawkins answered his coded signal.

  “Did you find her?”

  “I found her,” Mase replied grimly. He gave Pam a quick rundown on the situation, then cut right to the reason for the call.

  “I just contacted the clinic in Mitchell and told them I was sending a courier to pick up the doctor’s report and the X rays they took of Chloe.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Mase smiled grimly at the flat, no-nonsense response. Now that he’d found his missing fiancée and ascertained that she wasn’t in imminent danger, he was stretching things by using his covert contacts like this. Thankfully, Pam had even less concern for such niceties than he did.

  “Have the X rays delivered to the Chicago offices of Dr. Peter Chambers. He’s standing by, waiting for them.”

  His partner whistled. “Chambers is one of the top neurologists in the country, isn’t he?”

  “From all reports.”

  “Call me back when you hear from him, okay?”

  “Will do. And thanks, Pam.”

  Mase cut the connection, then hefted the small instrument in his hand. His next call would be to Emmet. It wasn’t one he looked forward to. Chloe’s father had lost both sleep and weight in the past three weeks. Her brothers hadn’t fared much better. Half the Fortune clan, her great-aunt Kate included, had wanted to fly out to Crockett when Mase announced that he’d located his missing fiancée and was going after her.

  Not knowing what the situation might be, Mase had persuaded them to stay home until he phoned. Now Mase would have to break the news about Chloe’s condition to Emmet.

  The call proved every bit as explosive as anticipated. A furious Emmet Fortune singed the ends of Mase’s hair, first for instigating whatever damn fool argument had sent his daughter off into the night, then for refusing to take him along when he went to find her. Only the prospect of a three-way conference call with the neurosurgeon kept Chloe’s father from slamming the phone down and flying straight out to South Dakota.

  They held the conference call three hours later. Dr. Chambers proved as calm and professional as Emmet Fortune was wired.

  “I would have preferred to look at a complete CAT scan, but the X rays you sent are surprisingly good. The doctor in Mitchell knew what he was doing.”

  “The hell he did!” Emmet huffed. “The idiot diagnosed a concussion—a concussion, for God’s sake!—then let Chloe wander off on her own.”

  “He diagnosed a mild concussion,” Chambers corrected, “as evidenced by the bruise on her temple. There were no other signs of trauma, nor did your daughter complain of any pain or dizziness when she was seen, only a slight disorientation. She didn’t tell the doctor she was experiencing memory loss at the time of her examination.”

  “Yes,” Emmet exploded, “and I want to know why!”

  “I’m only speculating at this point, of course, but short-term memory loss is more common that you would imagine in accidents like this. The victims often try to conceal their state. They’re confused and frightened by their inability to recall who they are or where they are. Many hope their memory will return if they function as normally as possible.”

  “Will it?” Mase asked, gripping the phone with white-knuckled intensity. He had a good idea that Emmet was doing the same at his end of the line.

  “In most cases, yes. Provided another shock or trauma doesn’t cause the victim to retreat even further.”

  “Another trauma! No one’s going to shock or hurt my little girl! Not if I’m alive to stop it.”

  Mase sidestepped Emmet’s furious explosion. “What do you recommend?”

  “Don’t force her. Let her set the pace of her own recovery.”

  “Are you saying we shouldn’t tell her who she is?” Mason asked.

  “Or bring her home?” Emmet sputtered.

  Chambers hesitated, but he hadn’t made it to the pinnacle of his field by hedging his opinions.

  “You said she didn’t recognize you, Chandler, and you’re her fiancé. The odds are she won’t recognize her own name if you provide it. No, at this point, I wouldn’t throw her identity at her or make her face a lot of friends and relatives. Give her some time.”

  “The hell you say,” her father shouted. “I want a second opinion.”

  “You’re free to consult with whomever you please,” the doctor replied. “I can refer you to a specialist in New York.”

  His reasonable reply took none of the wind from Emmet’s sails. Instead, Chloe’s father changed his tack.

  “I’m coming out there, Chandler.”

  Mase gripped the phone, knowing he wasn’t about to win any brownie points with his future father-in-law. “Why don’t we let the doc off the line, Emmet, then we’ll talk about it.”

  An excruciating fifteen minutes later, Mase snapped the cell phone shut. Emmet was determined to get a second opinion, maybe a third. He’d agreed to stay in Minneapolis—for now!—but he made it clear that he’d nail Mase’s hide to his trophy room wall if anything or anyone harmed Chloe further.

  With that promise ringing in his ears, Mase debated his next move. The tantalizing aroma of fried onions wafting under the door decided the issue. He couldn’t remember downing anything but coffee since the night Chloe disappeared.

  He slipped the phone into his vest pocket and headed for the door, only to yank the instrument out again when it hummed against his chest. A quick glance at the incoming number told him the call was secure.

  “What’s up, Pam?”

  “I thought you should know Dexter Greene just surfaced
. We got a report that he rented a vehicle under an assumed name at the Minneapolis airport. The car was spotted the next day parked a few blocks from your house.”

  “The hell you say!”

  “We’re tracking him, Mase. Or trying to. He’s as slippery as his son was, and twice as smart. When are you coming back to help me with this?”

  “I’m not. He’s all yours.”

  “What?”

  “I’m staying in Crockett for a while. With Chloe.”

  “Oh. What’s the diagnosis?” Pam asked belatedly.

  “Dr. Chambers says it may take a while for her to recover her memory.”

  “Just out of curiosity, how long is a while?”

  “However long it takes, I’ll be with her.”

  A small silence was Pam’s only answer to that.

  Snapping the phone shut a few moments later, Mase followed his nose down the stairs.

  He’d grab something to eat, he decided, then head back to the general store. The sign beside the front door said it stayed open until nine. He’d told Chloe he’d come back for his fishing license. It was as good an excuse as any to reestablish contact with her.

  Assuming she’d speak to him after his caveman tactics.

  Mase couldn’t blame anyone but himself for that blunder. He’d been so relieved to find her and so damned hungry for the taste of her mouth that he’d pushed right past the restraints he’d maintained throughout their long engagement.

  Now he faced a whole new set of restraints. He couldn’t touch her, much less taste her, until her memory returned. Or, he thought grimly, he won her trust. Either way, the next few days or weeks or months could prove even tougher than the past year had.

  The prospect put tight lines beside his mouth as he walked into the combination pool hall, bar and café.

  “Grab a stool,” Mayor Dobbins called cheerfully from his position in front of the grill. One-handed, he reached into the cooler behind the counter and slid a long-neck across the counter. “I’ll get your order as soon as I finish up this order of onions for Miz Hannah. She likes ’em sizzling.”

  Under the watchful eyes of a curly homed mountain goat, Mase straddled a stool and took a long, grateful pull of beer. Lowering the half-emptied bottle, he sniffed appreciatively at the heaping mounds of succulent onions and crisp fried liver.

  “Does Hannah come in here to eat?”

  “She did before she busted her ankle,” Dobbins answered with a shrug. “Since she’s been laid up, though, Chloe fetches her dinner for her.”

  “She does, huh?” Mase twirled his beer thoughtfully. “Why don’t I spare the lady a trip and take their dinner up to the store? You can add another order of that liver and onions for me, too.”

  The mayor complied, chuckling as he tossed a slab of raw liver onto the grill. “I hope you’re not thinking about a cozy little picnic with Miz Hannah and Chloe. The one’s too tart to put up with such foolishness, and the other...”

  “The other?”

  Dobbins sent a cloud of onions into the air with a flip of his spatula. “Well, let’s just say you aren’t the only male around these parts with picnics and such on his mind, Chandler.”

  A frown snaked between Mase’s brows. Before he could demand an explanation, the mayor’s cheerful grin faded.

  “Not that Chloe pays any attention to the randy young goats who’ve come sniffing around her Someone’s hurt that girl. Bad.”

  He swung around and jabbed his spatula in Mase’s direction. The abrupt movement sent an arc of onions flying across the counter. They landed with a splat on his customer’s blue down vest, but Dobbins didn’t seem to notice. His chubby face had hardened into lines of fierce protectiveness.

  “There are some of us in Crockett who wouldn’t take kindly to seeing her hurt again.”

  “You can count me among them.”

  Dobbins studied him a moment longer before nodding and turning back to his grill. Thoughtfully, Mase picked the onions off his chest and popped them into his mouth, then downed a second beer while he waited. He wasn’t surprised that the mayor and the feisty general-store proprietor had taken Chloe under their wing. Her breezy smile alone had won more hearts than Mase’s.

  As soon as Dobbins bagged up the dinner orders, Mase snatched it up with the instructions to add the total to his bill. Impatience to see Chloe again gnawed at his insides even more sharply than his now-ravenous hunger.

  Once out in the swiftly falling dusk, he opted to walk the fifty or so yards to the general store. Crockett didn’t boast any sidewalks, only the road that ran straight through town. His long legs ate up the blacktop, while his lungs dragged in sharp mountain night air. An owl hooted in the distance. The lonely howl of a coyote answered a few seconds later.

  Within minutes, Mase reached the Crockett General Store. He had to admit the place looked better at night. The full moon hanging just above the granite peaks that surrounded Crockett gave the weathered storefront a silvery sheen. Warm, golden light streamed through its dusty windows. Even the crates and bins piled on the crowded porch held a special...

  Mase froze, searching the shadows at the far end of the porch. His body went wire tight as he caught another flicker of movement. He barely had time to assimilate the glint of moonlight on pale blond hair before Chloe’s agonized shriek tore through the night.

  Four

  With Chloe’s scream echoing in his ears, Mase reacted instinctively. The paper bag in his hand went flying. In a single fluid movement, he bent, yanked the Glock from its leather ankle holster, thumbed the safety and launched himself toward the shadows of the porch. His shin slammed into a wooden crate. A bushel basket of potatoes got in his way. He kicked it aside and jumped a tangle of new rope before he got to the frantic figure at the far end of the porch.

  “Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!”

  She danced away from him, her face contorted. Mase’s heart almost clawed through his rib cage as he searched the shadows for an unknown, unseen threat, all the while following her erratic passage across the porch.

  “What is it? Chloe, what’s the matter?”

  “Oh, God!”

  “What happened! Tell me!”

  The whiplike command finally penetrated. Scrubbing her hands up and down the front of her jeans, she jerked out a reply. “I was...reaching for the switch on the ice locker...and I stuck my hand...in the bait box!”

  “What?”

  “The worms!” she wailed. “I stuck my hand in the damned worms!”

  Mase gaped at her. His blood thundered in his ears. Every muscle in his body screamed with the need to act, to shield, to protect. He’d left all remnants of his cool in the street with the liver and onions and charged across the porch to rescue Chloe from night crawlers.

  Luckily she was too absorbed with scrubbing her palm down her jeans to notice either his gun or his total lack of cool. Willing his pulse to something less than mach-three airspeed, Mase thumbed the safety again and slid the Glock into its leather nest.

  “Oh, yuck! I’ve got dirt and gunky stuff all over me!”

  Shuddering and stamping her feet, she started to dance again. Mase caught her elbow and steered her toward the window.

  “Move into the light. I’ll de-worm you.”

  He squatted in front of her and dusted his hands down her legs, dislodging a few squiggly critters in the process. With a disgusted “arrrgh,” Chloe stamped a couple more times. The potatoes Mase had knocked over bumped across the boards. He ran his hands down her legs and across her sneakers a final time.

  “You’re clean.”

  “Not hardly.” Shuddering, she slumped against the windowsill. “Ugh! I have a feeling I’m going to dream about creepy crawlies tonight.”

  Mase dangled his wrists on his bent knees and battled a grin. Not very successfully, as it turned out. Chloe caught his expression and gave a little huff.

  “You wouldn’t think it was so funny if those slimy things had been crawling down your leg”

>   “No, I guess not.”

  He wiped the grin off his face, but couldn’t resist the urge to pull her chain just a bit. She looked so thoroughly and completely disgusted.

  “Worms aren’t so awful. In fact, they’re kind of interesting when you consider that they lack lungs or gills, but can breathe underground and underwater.”

  “Interesting to you, maybe.”

  “Did you know the average earthworm’s body is divided into about a hundred and fifty segments? Each segment moves independently to propel it forward.”

  She glared at him. “What are you, some kind of a wormophile?”

  The grin snuck back. “Nope. But I did have a heck of a crush on my high school biology teacher. Mrs. Bellario...every teenage boy’s dream come to life.”

  Chloe huffed again. “Let me guess. Beautiful, smart, and as well endowed as they come.”

  “You got it.”

  He pushed to his feet, fighting a sense of wry disbelief. None of the scenarios that he’d envisioned might occur after he located Chloe included dusting her down for worms or discussing his long-ago lust for the curvaceous Mrs. Bellario. Nor had he envisioned finding his sophisticated fiancée in cheap sneakers, even cheaper jeans and a long-sleeved white T-shirt that displayed many of South Dakota’s tourist attractions.

  Her attractions, as well, Mase noted with a sudden punch that destroyed any inclination to continue his teasing. The light streaming through the window behind her left her face in shadow but picked up every curve, every indentation of her slender body. The desire he’d banked for so long hit him square in the chest.

  He reached out a hand, his throat tight. Maybe if he just talked to her. Just talked to her.

  “Chloe...”

  “I’m okay now. Slimy, but okay.” She scrubbed her palm down her jeans one last time and sent him a rueful smile. “Thanks, Mr. Chandler.”

  It was another hit to the chest. Sharper. Far more direct.

  “Mase,” he said slowly. “The name’s Mase.”

  “Thanks, Mase.” She tilted her head, studying his face in the light from the window. “And thanks for catching Hannah this afternoon.”