Lost But Not Forgotten

by Roz Denny Fox

  “Is that all it is, Gilly?”

  “I don’t mind,” she was quick to say.

  Mitch reached for her left hand. “Well, I do.”

  Then it happened—what she’d feared most in coming here. Ethan lifted his wineglass and studied her over the rim. “We aren’t deliberately excluding you, Gillian. Tell us about yourself. Where did you come from and what did you do before landing in Desert City?”

  Her hand trembled inside Mitch’s. Not realizing it, she implored him with huge eyes.

  “Our lives may be open books,” Mitch snapped at Ethan even though he wasn’t fully certain what Gillian was imploring him to do. “Other people prefer privacy. Shall we find an impersonal topic?”

  She telegraphed him a grateful smile.

  “Work is an impersonal topic,” Ethan argued stubbornly.

  Gillian reacted to an undercurrent radiating toward her from Mitch’s best friend. “Uh, waitressing is pretty boring compared to what you and Regan do. And ranching must be more exciting than waiting tables.” Pulling her hand out of Mitch’s long enough to pick up her glass of wine, Gilly smiled at him, ignoring Ethan. “What can you tell me about your ranch, Mitch? I mean, if I’m going riding with you, I’d like to know if I should be prepared for sand or rock or worse.”

  “You’re really coming out? No kidding?” Delight danced in Mitch’s eyes. “Is eleven o’clock good? I’ll fix sandwiches to take on our trail ride. There’s a spot up the mountain where you can view the whole valley. Remind me to draw you a map before we leave tonight.”

  “Oh, I kn—” Gillian clamped her lips shut. She’d been about to say she knew the way. “I need to buy an area map,” she finished lamely.

  “Sounded to me as if you were about to admit you knew where Mitch lives,” Ethan accused.

  “It’s no secret,” Mitch said sharply. “Ethan, I’m sorry if the chief pulled you in to work on your day off. Don’t take your bad mood out on Gilly. Maybe we should forget playing cards, and call it a night after dessert.”

  “I’m not the one going off the deep end. I’m beginning to wonder if DeSalvo’s bullets severed a connection to your brain. What do you know about her?” Ethan demanded resoundingly, even though everyone at the table sat gaping at him. “I haven’t figured out what game you’re playing,” he said, leaning into Gillian’s face. “But if you’re not on the up and up, my advice is to pack it in, darlin’, and move your operation to another town.”

  Mitch jumped up, knocking over his chair. Grasping Gillian’s wrist, he yanked her up, too. “Ethan’s not himself tonight. Thanks for dinner, Regan, but Gilly and I are leaving.”

  “Mitch, I’m sorry.” Regan threw a frustrated glance at her husband, who calmly cut a third tamale. “Ethan, Gillian brought flan for dessert,” Regan hissed.

  “You keep it.” Gillian smoothed back a flyaway curl. “Mitch, why don’t you stay?” She eased out of his hold. “Your dog’s still in the backyard. I can find my own way. For the record,” she muttered, “Bert gave me your address.” That was true enough—even if it wasn’t the whole truth. “But I’ll understand if you’d rather withdraw your invitation to go riding.”

  “Not on your life!” he said explosively. “Give me a minute to collect Trooper. While I’m gone, I’ll expect Ethan to apologize.” Aiming a last glare at his former partner, Mitch limped out the back door and slammed it hard.

  Gillian had disappeared by the time he returned with the dog and his food and bowls. Nor was Ethan anywhere in sight. Only Regan, who sniffled as she scraped nearly full plates of food down the garbage disposal.

  “Did Ethan tell Gillian he was sorry?”

  Regan raked a wet hand through her hair. “Don’t… Mitch. Ethan thinks you’re making a mistake. He says you’ve always paid attention to his hunches. I wish you’d both take stock of what you’re doing. Please, don’t let this woman—a virtual stranger—ruin a solid friendship.”

  “Ethan’s hunch is wrong this time, Regan. He’s too pigheaded to admit he’s not infallible. I’ll see you around, but I doubt if it’ll be any time soon.”

  “Mitch…” Regan trailed him to the door. Once he’d marched stiffly through it, she made no effort to say more. Instead, she stood and watched him drive away.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GILLIAN WENT to the café at 5:00 a.m. to work the breakfast shift. She could have had the day off, but the extra money would come in handy.

  During a lull she cornered Flo. “Earlier you asked how my evening went. Then we had a rush of customers so I couldn’t really answer. It started out okay, but ended badly. Mitch’s friend doesn’t like me.”

  “Regan?”

  “No, she was nice. And the…babies…are adorable. Ethan—he’d rather I hadn’t come to dinner. Has Detective Knight said anything to you about me? I mean, does he normally interrogate newcomers so rudely?”

  Flo hesitated a fraction too long.

  Gillian’s heart began to pound. “He’s said something? Tell me. I can’t answer charges if I don’t know what they are.”

  “Honey, it’s nothing. Ethan will be the first to tell you he operates a lot on intuition. Some say he’s right a majority of the time. Not all the time, mind you.”

  “Are you saying he met me and intuitively dislikes me?”

  “See, it even sounds silly. He said red flags went up the first day he met you. Your first day at work, when Mitch made such a big play for you. Ethan’s hung up on the fact that he ran your name through their office computer and nothing came up. It’s a super-duper machine the city paid thousands of dollars for. Ethan claims the database has the poop on everybody who lives in this country. Obviously his shiny new toy isn’t so omnipotent if your name didn’t even show up.”

  She wished to heaven she’d never brought up the subject. “I’m not sure what that means,” Gillian ventured hesitantly. “And…why is he looking up my name, anyway?”

  “That’s what I told him. If a person’s done nothing wrong, why would they be in that dumb old database? I love these cops, but you can’t tell ’em a thing. And they’re a tight bunch. Almost like a brotherhood. So few of their marriages last, which is why they’re concerned about the women their friends date, if you see what I mean. Ethan’s a fair man. Eventually he’ll figure out you’re good for Mitch, and he’ll come around.”

  “I have no intention of marrying again.” Gillian frowned pensively. “Don’t any of them date casually?”

  “Sure…but…” Flo tugged at one earlobe. “I probably shouldn’t open my mouth. Mitch was sweet on someone who eloped with another man. His friends wouldn’t want him hurt again. Ethan’s happy. Maybe he feels guilty about that.”

  Gillian’s mouth dropped open. “Because he feels guilty and he doesn’t like me, he’s honor-bound to make sure Mitch dislikes me?”

  “Like I said, cops are a unique bunch.”

  “Unique isn’t the word. Juvenile is more like it. If I knew how to reach Mitch, I’d cancel out on our horseback ride this afternoon.”

  “Now, now, Gilly girl. Why punish Mitch? Or yourself, for that matter. You two go have fun. You both deserve it.”

  “If he’s interested in marriage, I’d never want to give him the wrong impression.”

  “I’ve known that boy for five or six years. Haven’t seen him stampede to the altar yet, though enough women have tried.”

  Gillian’s shoulders relaxed. “In that case,” she said, shedding her apron, “I’d better go. He’s expecting me at eleven.”

  “Have fun. Don’t be falling off a horse, though. It’s hard to waitress if you’re wearing a cast.”

  At last, Gillian found something to laugh at. Waving, she dashed out.

  SHE’D LEFT her boots in the car. Changing into them provided a legitimate reason for stopping halfway down Mitch’s lane in case he had the spot under surveillance. Although, why would he?

  Learning that Ethan Knight had run her phony name through his computer had made her extra jumpy. And
it had crossed her mind that he and his former partner might have been pulling some sort of good cop, bad cop routine on her last night. After all, they didn’t know she’d seen the men who’d followed her from New Orleans leaving Mitch’s ranch.

  If he and Ethan wanted to keep tabs on her, though, why would Ethan say anything to Flo, who might fire her? Then what would they have gained?

  Gillian’s head ached from trying to second-guess them. Pushing aside the muddle of her thoughts, she slowed and stopped near the grove of trees. It took her a surprisingly short time to search the brush on either side of the lane. There was no sign of her suitcase. Someone had already found it. The disappointment crashed over her, wave after wave of it.

  Until this moment, Gillian didn’t know how fiercely she’d been hoping the case had merely been knocked into the tall grasses bordering the lane. One reason was simple—she wanted her belongings, wanted Katie’s urn. The other shocked her. She wanted to absolve Mitch Valetti of any connection to those men in the blue car.

  Gilly trudged back to her vehicle and was climbing in when a beat-up silver pickup came toward her from the direction of Mitch’s ranch. She experienced a moment’s fright, but stood her ground.

  The truck slowed to an idle. An elderly man with a shock of white hair stuck his head out the driver’s window. “You lost, miss? This is a private road.”

  “I’m, uh, looking for Mitch Valetti. Have I made a wrong turn?”

  “Nope, you’re headed right. Is your car acting up?”

  “No.” The man studied her so intently, Gillian thought she’d better appease him. “Well, I felt a thunk and thought maybe I’d hit a chuckhole and damaged the front end. I checked, but found nothing wrong.”

  “Hmm. I didn’t see any holes going in. But I was in a hurry. Ask Mitch to take a gander at your front-end alignment. If the frame is sprung, you’ll want it fixed. Ruins tires fast otherwise.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be sure to mention it to him. Well…he’s expecting me at eleven.”

  The old codger waved, revved his motor and drove up on the right bank near the fence to squeeze past her. It hadn’t occurred to Gillian earlier that Mitch might have a lot of visitors. Any one of whom could have picked up her case thinking they’d found a prize.

  She felt more dejected than ever. But since the man was probably still watching her in the truck’s rearview mirror, Gillian started her engine and proceeded down the lane.

  As she pulled into Mitch’s circular drive, she winced. Directly ahead were the broken split rails where she’d plowed through his fence. She’d been sure he would’ve fixed it by now.

  Sitting there a moment, tense and awash in guilt, she noticed Mitch exiting the barn and walking toward her with the rolling, cowboy gait that had first intrigued her. When he drew near, she saw he looked positively unkempt. There was blood on his shirt and jeans, and the sight took her aback.

  “Gilly,” he called, sounding out of breath when he opened her car door. “I phoned, asking Flo to give you a message. She said you’d already left. I have to cancel our ride. I had a mare go into labor around two o’clock this morning. She’s had a rough go of it. You must have passed Doc Bishop, my vet, headed out. He’s been here since three.”

  “Oh, Mitch. Is your mare all right?”

  He nodded—a slow smile creased his stubbled cheeks. “Her colt’s a beauty. Want to see him?”

  “I’d love to, if it’s not imposing.” She slid out the open door, then drew back. “Wait. You were going to the house to fall into bed, weren’t you?” As he moved closer, she’d been afforded a clearer look at his bleary eyes.

  “Yeah,” he admitted scrubbing a hand across his un-shaven chin. “I probably look like crap, and smell worse. If you can stand being around me, I’m dying to show off Pretty Baby’s handiwork.”

  “Okay. I’ll only stay a minute. I’ve never seen a baby horse,” she said, completing her exit from the car this time.

  They walked in silence. Due to Mitch’s more pronounced limp, their upper arms brushed with each step. Beyond the barn, Gillian noticed that the ground leveled out into a huge green pasture where a dozen or so horses grazed contentedly.

  “Is all of that yours?” she asked, shading her eyes against the sun.

  “Don’t I wish? My neighbor, Dave D’Angelo, and I split a lease on eight hundred acres that we seed for grazing. He runs steers on his portion, the horses are on mine. I hope to breed and sell good saddle horses. Someday,” he added.

  “Building a business is grueling, time-consuming work,” she remarked absently.

  “Spoken like someone who’s been there and done that.” Curiosity tinged his face as he opened the barn door and stepped aside, holding it open for her.

  Gillian moved into the dark barn, pausing to let her eyes adjust. She heard her heart pounding in her ears. Another wrong step. Darn, she continued to stick her foot in her mouth around Mitch. “I thought I told you my husband started his own CPA firm,” she said haltingly, weighing her words carefully.

  “Your ex-husband, you mean?” Mitch let the door bang shut at his heels. He bumped into her as he cut in front to take the lead again.

  “Yes, of course I meant my ex.” She squinted as he flipped a switch turning on a bank of overhead lights. Gillian might have elaborated, but she opened her eyes and caught sight of the mare and her spindly-legged foal. “Will you look at that? He’s positively the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” She leaned against the gate that blocked the stall. All ears, eyes and long legs, the sorrel colt with the white blaze on his face wobbled toward them on splayed feet.

  “He’s smaller than I imagined a baby horse would be,” Gillian said in hushed tones.

  Mitch placed a booted foot on the lowest rail and rubbed the mare’s velvet nose. “He’s a runt, all right. But he’s a fighter, and he’ll grow.” Turning, Mitch lifted the lid on an oak barrel. He reached in and pulled out an apple, which he fed to the mare.

  “I didn’t mean to sound negative. He’s lovely, and I appreciate your bringing me out to see him. I’d better go now and let you get some sleep.”

  “You’ll give me a rain check on the trail ride, I hope?”

  “Uh…sure.”

  “So, what’ll you do with this unexpected day off?”

  She shrugged. “Either go back and work the afternoon shift for Flo or catch up on my laundry.”

  “Laundry? Now you’ve really made me feel bad. I wouldn’t send my worst enemy off to do that dreary chore. Tell you what. Let me catch a few Zs, and I’ll drive over and we’ll take in dinner and a movie.”

  “There’s no need,” she protested.

  “I want to, Gilly. Do you like Italian food? I know this great place. Nothing fancy to look at, but the pasta…” He kissed the tips of his fingers. “Bella.”

  She laughed. “I’m sold. What’s the address? Name a time, and I’ll meet you there.”

  “I could pick you up at your place,” he said, sobering.

  “I know. But I’d rather, uh, meet you.”

  “When I take a lady out, I like to see her safely home.”

  “Mitch.” Gillian gripped the top rail of the stall. “Your friend Ethan is right. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “Okay, so tell me. What don’t I know?”

  She peered through her lashes and met his stubborn gaze. “For one thing, I’m not sure how long I’ll stay in Desert City. For another, I’m not looking to get serious.”

  Mitch hauled in a deep breath, and rammed his hands in his back pockets. “If you’d said that last night, Ethan wouldn’t be so worried thinking you’ve got your eye on my property and my pension. Me, I like a plainspoken woman. I still want to take you to dinner. Next week, if you’re still around, we’ll do the trail ride we missed today.”

  Gillian sighed. “You’re tenacious, I’ll say that.”

  A smile found its way to Mitch’s lips. “Mulish is how my former partner put it. So, are we set for dinner then at Pagglio�
�s? Say eight, or would you rather go earlier?”

  “Eight is fine. Pagglio’s is in the phone book?”

  “You sorta remind me of a mule yourself,” he muttered.

  Smiling, she patted the mare and murmured goodbye to the foal. An easy silence fell between them as they left the cool barn, walking into a splash of fall sunshine.

  “Gilly, the least I can do is offer you a cold drink before you head back to town. I’ve got iced tea or lemonade.”

  “I’m fine, Mitch. I don’t need anything. You, on the other hand, look ready to drop. I’ll leave now. Go grab some sleep.” They’d reached her car. Mitch was quick to open her door.

  “I guess you couldn’t help noticing the chunk missing from my fence. I’d planned to spend this morning splitting new rails to patch it. Pretty Baby had other ideas.”

  An invisible hand squeezed Gillian’s lungs. “Is repairing a fence hard? If it takes two people, I could help on my next day off.”

  “I wasn’t hinting,” he said dryly. “I was merely pointing out that some idiot flattened it and took off through the desert instead of using my road.”

  Gillian’s nerves were suddenly too jumpy to let her comment. She hoped he didn’t reflect back and think it odd that she slipped behind the wheel and gunned her motor without further comment, leaving him eating her dust with little more than a feeble wave.

  He might be wondering. She noticed he didn’t move—at least not while he remained in her rearview mirror.

  All the way back to town, she told herself how many kinds of fool she was to get involved with Mitch Valetti. She had to end this, she vowed.

  Considering her resolve, she couldn’t really explain why, at seven-fifteen, she hauled out the phone book and looked up the address of the Italian restaurant.

  At seven-thirty, she changed into one of the only two dresses she’d brought from the town house she’d left so hurriedly in New Orleans. Dresses Daryl had packed…

  At 8:10 she pulled into Pagglio’s parking lot. Unaccountably, joy tumbled through her veins when she saw Mitch seated in his Corvette.