Lost But Not Forgotten

by Roz Denny Fox

  He took his time leaving the lot, waiting until she turned the corner. He even made a circuit around the dark-blue sedan—a newer-model Lincoln, pricy but otherwise unremarkable. He hadn’t imagined Gilly’s reaction. Something about that car made her jumpy as a frog. What? he wondered.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  GILLIAN’S MIND remained on Mitch’s troublesome kiss all the way home. A mutual kiss, nagged an inner voice.

  “I only kissed him back because it’s been too long since anyone kissed me,” she grumbled to herself after parking and tramping up the back stairs. “Idiot! You can’t afford to get romantically involved.” She slammed her apartment door behind her far harder than necessary.

  Not even a long hot shower succeeded in washing away the feel of his lips. Nor could it remove the scent of his aftershave from her nose. Mitch wore something subtle, not citrusy as Daryl had. Though with Mitch, Gillian detected a tangy spice toned down with a dab of—sage, perhaps? On Mitch it smelled yummy, Gilly mused, slipping into her nightgown and flopping down on top of her bed.

  “Yummy?” Her tone was disgusted. It was a word she’d never before used in connection with a man. But in the next moment she wryly admitted that Mitch Valetti’s lips tasted good enough to eat.

  Then, girl, you’d better pretend you’re on a strict diet!

  Snapping off the light, she heaved a sigh and beat her pillow into a lump before burying her head underneath.

  THE FOLLOWING Thursday dawned with dark clouds rolling in across the nearest mountain range. By midafternoon it was pouring buckets of rain. And the next day, too.

  Gillian knew that when it rained this hard in New Orleans, things could easily be left dripping for three or more days. She latched on to the storm as a sign—a legitimate excuse not to go horseback riding with Mitch on Sunday.

  In true desert fashion, the sun rose clear and bright the very next morning. Gillian glanced outside when the lunch crowd arrived, and saw that the ground had completely dried. She had no justification for not going unless she flat-out wanted to slight Mitch.

  “Do you need me to work tomorrow?” Gilly asked Flo hopefully before her last shift ended on Saturday night.

  Flo winked. “Not if you’ve got something better to do. I know you’re our one and only waitress, but you need some time off.”

  “I like working here, Flo. And I made enough in tips this week to get ahead a little bit.”

  “You deserve good tips, honey, the way you hustle. Take tomorrow off. Enjoy yourself. Could you work two shifts next Wednesday, though? I have a doctor’s appointment.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “Nah. The yearly overhaul.”

  Gillian laughed. “I’ll work all three shifts if you’d like. Wouldn’t want you to miss getting lubed and oiled.”

  “Speaking of cars,” Bert popped out of the kitchen in the middle of their conversation. He obviously didn’t understand why that sent the women into peals of laughter.

  “Listen up, ladies. This isn’t funny. I’ve seen the same two men cruising this neighborhood. They look kinda shifty-eyed, ya know what I mean? You two be careful.”

  Gillian gave a start, almost dropping the plate she’d taken off the warming shelf.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you, Gilly. They could be bumbling tourists, but it’s never a bad idea to stay alert. There’s a lot of funny business goes on in this old world.”

  “Yes.” Gillian made sure she had a solid grip on the plate this time. “Did he happen to say what color car?” she asked Flo. Bert had gone back to the stove.

  Flo ducked her head into the pass-through and asked him. “He’s not sure. Dark.” She rolled her eyes at Gillian. “Bert says streetlights distort colors. He’s color-blind, you know, and hates to admit it. Faked his way through the military. He said if he sees them again, he’ll try and get the license number. It’s easy enough to have one of the guys from the station run it through their system.”

  Nodding, Gillian hurried off to deliver the plate before it needed reheating. A dark car. Could it have been blue? She felt cornered. Were the men hanging around the city hoping to get lucky and find her? Or had they found her and were merely biding their time?

  Leaving work, she scanned the street carefully before dashing to her car.

  Later, locked inside her apartment, Gillian spent the evening trimming and coloring her hair again in order to maintain her disguise. She’d been so careful to cover her tracks. How could they have run her to ground so fast?

  Easy, if they’d had the help of Mitch Valetti.

  Which might explain why the goons were cruising around the café. Thank goodness she hadn’t given Mitch her home address. And it was a good thing she had put off applying for an Arizona driver’s license.

  Darn, she didn’t want Mitch to be part of this mess. If he was, though, then it was time she quit playing mouse to his cat. She didn’t have that damned key. So the killers’ secrets would never be exposed. Unless Daryl had hidden the notebook in a bank that audited inactive safety-deposit boxes years down the road. By then, everyone involved would be old and gray. Oh, it all seemed so hopeless.

  The next day, Gillian wasn’t exactly looking forward to meeting Mitch. She felt ambivalent about him. The part of her that enjoyed his company and his kiss woke up eager to see him. The saner part waved all sorts of warning flags. Underneath it all lay a desperate need to find her suitcase and go into hibernation.

  Once again, after her drive to the outskirts of town, she parked short of the curve in Mitch’s lane. This time she searched thoroughly along both sides of the fence. If by some miracle she’d overlooked her case before and found it now, she’d retreat and quietly leave town. She’d go pack her bags and light out for someplace new. Someplace far from Desert City. Far from the handsome, sexy, troublesome Mitch Valetti.

  No luck. The missing bag remained missing. Her spirits plummeted. Depression washed over her as she drove the remaining distance to the ranch.

  Mitch had apparently anticipated her arrival time. She’d barely shut off her engine when he led two saddled horses out of the barn. A barn gleaming with new paint, Gillian noted. The broken fence had also been repaired. He’d obviously been busy this past week, she thought as she climbed from her car and studied his renovations. The horses in the back pasture looked fat and sleek.

  Seeing her, Trooper streaked past Mitch toward her. Barking incessantly, the pup pounced on Gillian and began licking her face.

  “Trooper, get down!” Mitch dropped the reins and rushed over to Gillian, who was trying to escape the rambunctious dog. He grabbed Trooper’s collar. “Sit,” he ordered. “You’re late,” he said to Gillian, using almost the same tone. “I’d about decided maybe I’d jumped the gun saddling our mounts in advance.”

  “You really asked me out here to ride horses?”

  Mitch stripped off his cowboy hat, slapped it twice on his leg to dislodge dust, then resettled it on his head. “Well…yes. I thought that was the plan.”

  “The whole plan?”

  “I suggested a picnic on the mountain. Food’s already in the saddlebags. I left them in the house where it’s cooler. I thought you might, uh, need to use the facilities before we take off.”

  She glanced nervously toward the house, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. No eyes peered furtively out from behind his curtains. No blue car half-hidden behind his barn.

  “Gilly, is your sudden hesitation about our, uh, kiss?” he asked uncomfortably.

  What would you say if I told you it was about two men who drove a big blue car? She wanted so badly to toss that back at him. Which would quash any hope she had of getting him to deliver a message to his pals. After all, Mitch Valetti, ex-cop, had no doubt learned to turn any situation to his advantage.

  “Sorry, I wasn’t really listening, Mitch. The fact that you kissed me last weekend had all but slipped my mind,” she said breezily. “To answer your question, though…no, I don’t need to use the facilities
. I’m ready to ride. Are we going alone?”

  Well, she’d certainly put him in his place. If he’d had second thoughts about how far they might progress beyond that first kiss…well, he was obviously the only one giving it a high priority.

  “You mean are we taking Trooper? I’m not making a lot of headway teaching him to heel when I whistle. He’s sort of a pain in the butt at times. All the same, I’d hate to risk losing him on the mountain.”

  Gillian smiled faintly at his admission. “The little guy has you wrapped around his paw, I see.”

  “Yeah.” Mitch sounded guilty. “Don’t let him hear you say so. The truth is, I wonder how I managed to live here alone for so long.”

  “He knows we’re leaving. He looks sad. Let’s take him. Unless the trail is too overgrown. If it’s not, how hard could it be to keep him on a leash?”

  “I hope I won’t regret this. Okay, we’ll give it a whirl. There’s a long, sturdy leash hanging on a hook just inside the barn. Will you nab it while I collect our lunch?”

  “Don’t forget to bring water for him.”

  “There’s a stream where I plan to eat. It should be running well after Wednesday’s storm.”

  Shading her eyes, Gillian stared up the sloping hills. “A stream. In the desert? So…can a person camp out in these hills?”

  “If the person likes sharing a bed with scorpions and rattlesnakes.”

  Gillian acted so squeamish, Mitch rethought his decision regarding the pup. “You know, that’s another reason not to take Trooper. He’s liable to stick his nose into a den of rattlesnakes.” Mitch bent and lifted the wriggling pup. “I’ll shut him inside. Mount up on the pinto. I’ll be right back with our supplies.”

  Gillian hated snakes. She didn’t know anything about scorpions. But she couldn’t very well renege on the outing now. Doing as Mitch said, she climbed awkwardly into the saddle. It’d been years since she sat on a horse. Had they always been this far off the ground?

  “How’s the length of those stirrups?” he asked on his return as he limped past her to toss leather saddlebags across the rump of his sorrel gelding.

  Gilly noticed Mitch eying the way she handled the mare. “The fit’s remarkable.” To prove it, she stood in the stirrups.

  “I thought you and Amy were similar in height. That’s the saddle she used. Outside of oiling, it hasn’t been off the rack since the last time she stopped by to ride.”

  “When was that?” Gillian regretted her curiosity. Mitch Valetti’s relationship with Amy Knight wasn’t any of her business.

  “More than six months ago. After she met ol’ Creighton Henner and began hanging out at the country club, Amy developed an aversion to the smell of horses. And me.” He laughed, but his joke didn’t seem humorous to Gillian.

  “Then I’d say Amy needs a nose adjustment. When we met for dinner, I remember thinking your aftershave or cologne smelled fantastic.”

  “Is that a fact?” Stepping into a stirrup, Mitch’s smile revealed pleasure—and sensuality. He casually swung his leg over the saddle.

  Blushing, Gillian kneed her horse into a turn. She cursed her instinctive remark. And his reaction, which had made her heart beat faster.

  The two rode side by side across the pasture stretching out behind Mitch’s barn. Every so often his leg brushed hers, sending Gillian’s pulse into high gear. If her life depended on it, she couldn’t have repeated a single thing they talked about during the entire trek across the field to the foothills. And if they hadn’t soon joined a narrow trail that led upward, forcing them to ride single file, Gillian thought she might have dissolved into a mess of steamy hormones. Never in her entire life had she been this aroused by a man’s look or mere touch.

  She’d always thought she and Daryl had a fairly normal sex life. Looking back, though, it dawned on her that he’d never been very demonstrative. Busy expanding her flower shop, she’d often arrived home exhausted. Skipping sex hadn’t seemed any big deal. She couldn’t imagine skipping sex if Mitch was waiting at home.

  Had she changed so much? Every free minute at work she had dreamily relived Mitch’s kiss. At home, in her bed, she’d gone way beyond that in her imagination. Embarrassingly beyond, if she was being honest.

  “You okay back there?” he called, ejecting her out of her illicit meanderings.

  “Go-ood. I’m enjoying the view.” His broad back and slim hips provided excellent scenery, as a matter of fact.

  “You get turned on by sand and limestone?” A low, sexy laugh floated over his shoulder.

  “Are you angling for a compliment, cowboy?”

  “Were you flirting?”

  To her shock, Gillian realized she’d been doing just that. “I guess I was,” she admitted, deciding to play it straight. So much of her life seemed to be swaddled in lies. “But I’m sure you know what an attractive picture you make.” She wanted to be testy, dammit.

  “You’re awfully direct when I can’t get my hands on you.” Mitch craned his neck to keep her in view. All of a sudden, he swore and grabbed his thigh. Doubling over, he loosed a series of dark mutterings.

  “Mitch? Is it a stitch in your side? Can you get down? Maybe walking would help.”

  “I haven’t ridden this long since my surgery. Hang on. We’re almost at the overlook where I planned to stop. I’d rather wait and get down there.”

  “But if you’re in pain—”

  “I’m always in pain. Some days are worse than others. My theory is the faster I get back to a normal routine, the quicker I’ll heal.”

  “Spoken like a man. What does your doctor say?”

  A drawn-out silence answered Gillian. But she wasn’t in any position to scold or even offer advice. If she’d adopted his attitude toward pain—and she had suffered severe emotional pain after losing Katie—she probably would have healed much faster. Instead, she’d let anguish drag her down. Now she feared that she bore full responsibility for everything that had followed. If she’d healed emotionally, Daryl might not have taken a mobster’s account. If he hadn’t taken the account—

  No, that wasn’t true. Daryl was driven by money. He always had been. Chances were, he’d have accepted the account with dollar signs in his eyes, anyway.

  They rounded a corner and a panoramic vista opened up. Gillian reined in her horse. “Oh, my. It’s so beautiful! Look at the red, yellow and purple streaks in that sky. Oh, oh, it reflects off the cliffs. I’ve never seen purple mountains before.” She slid from the saddle, eyes raised to follow a red-tailed hawk making loop the loops against the splintered rays of the sun.

  No matter how badly he hurt, Mitch derived immense satisfaction from watching Gillian’s reaction to his favorite haunt. He took his time dismounting. As his pain eased, he loosened the girth on his saddle and limped back to do the same with hers.

  “Mitch, Mitch! Come quick. Are those your horses running through that rocky canyon? Oh, they’ll be killed.” Gillian clapped a hand over her mouth. Mitch recognized the low keening sound she made as fear for the animals.

  Slowly, he limped up behind her and pulled her back against his chest. “That’s a sight few are privileged to see, Gilly. Our local band of wild horses. The white stallion leading them has been king for a decade. As far as you can see is reservation land. The O’Otam people call him Winter Smoke.”

  “So they’re Indian horses?”

  “Nope. They’re free. Thousands of wild horses still run free on public and reservation land in Arizona. Some ranchers want them destroyed. Here, we take turns hauling out feed for them in the winter.”

  “Don’t they steal from your herd?” She leaned against him, tipping back her head to meet his eyes.

  Mitch gripped her upper arms hard, fighting the temptation to turn her around and kiss lips whose taste he vividly recalled. “My hope is that Winter Smoke knows I care about him. I like to think we have an understanding. If I’m wrong and one day he steals a mare or two from me, I hope my herd will have grown to the point t
hat I can say so be it.”

  Gillian turned his words over in her mind. His credo was diametrically opposed to Daryl’s, to whom money in the bank meant everything. Mitch’s outlook more closely matched her own belief—that it was better to share wealth. She’d frequently given an impoverished child flowers to present to mom or a favorite teacher. She’d discreetly discount bouquets for elderly women who carried worn purses and counted out each penny. More often than not, Daryl yelled at her when he did her books. “You’re awfully softhearted for a cop,” she murmured, carried away by memories.

  “Cops are no more alike than…say, waitresses.”

  “Touché.” Gillian sighed, afraid she was enjoying the feel of his chin pressing down on her head a little too much. “The horses are gone. So is the hawk. What are we looking at now?”

  “Whatever’s out there.” He swayed her gently from side to side. “I just like holding you.” He blew softly on a curl that framed her ear. “You cut your hair. It’s sexy this way.”

  She stirred. “Mitch…” Gillian felt him nibble at her ear. His warm breath tickled her, and she ducked her head to her shoulder. He simply moved his lips to the other side of her neck.

  Alarm coiled in her stomach when he began to press openmouthed kisses from the hollow under her ear to her collarbone. It wound tighter as he nuzzled her T-shirt out of the way. Shortly, though, alarm changed to languid pleasure. Gillian felt her body go limp—warmed by the afternoon sun and made weightless by Mitch’s onslaught. Her nerves hummed along with the soft sounds—the whicker of the horses, the melodic call of birds flitting among the trees. The buzz of honey bees and the laughing rush of water from a nearby stream.

  The stream. She’d forgotten Mitch said they’d picnic beside a stream. “Listen,” she begged, sounding breathless. “Do you hear the water?”

  He raised his head fractionally. “Yeah.” He sighed. “I guess we’d better take the horses to the creek and let them drink. I usually do that first thing. Shows how you scramble my brains.”