by BJ Wane
“I swear to God, if you don’t put him away this time, I’ll kill him myself,” she whispered with furious intent.
“You might have to stand in line.” Clayton looked over her head and saw Louise’s battered face through the window into her room. She was unrecognizable through the swelling, her nose, cheek, and jaw broken, her head swathed in white bandages, and her body hooked up to multiple life-pumping machines.
“I’ve spoken with my office, and Chester is locked up as there’s no doubt of his guilt, even without Louise saying so. How much, if any, did you witness?” Shawn asked Theresa.
Despondency replaced her anger, and she turned, laying one hand on the glass partition. “The ambulance and cops arrived the same time as me and followed me in as he delivered the last blow to her head. Why wouldn’t she listen to reason?”
Clayton shook his head and gave the distraught woman’s shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t understand it either, but I’ll make sure he pays and doesn’t get the chance to hurt her, or anyone else again.”
“Too little, too late. She’s not going to make it this time,” she replied without turning around.
Shawn moved to stand next to Theresa. “Don’t write her off yet. And if she dies, it’ll be murder.”
“And I won’t settle for anything less than life.” Given their history, Clayton figured he could try the case and get the maximum sentence with no problem.
They sat with Theresa for an hour, all three of them leaving after talking to the doctor and hearing Louise’s grim prognosis firsthand. After waiting until she’d driven out of the hospital parking lot, Clayton and Shawn strode to their vehicles, Shawn saying, “Hell of a start to the weekend.”
“Isn’t it, though?” Clayton thought of Skye’s departure, hoping she meant it when she agreed to come by the rodeo before leaving. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked her, but he didn’t care. He wanted to see her again. “What’s your first event tomorrow?”
“You mean today? It’s already two a.m. I start with saddle bronc riding. How about you?”
Opening the driver’s side door, Clayton peered at Shawn over the hood, the dim lighting of the parking lot casting him in shadows. “Calf roping, but, right now, I wish it was steer wrestling. I could use the release of extra aggression.”
“I hear you. I’ll see you out there, then.”
Clayton lifted a hand as he got behind the wheel. “Good night.”
****
Sharon Mize waited until that woman entered the library then followed her inside, not caring if she was stalking. She had to get Clayton to see reason, and one way to accomplish that was to eliminate the competition. This interloper was thwarting her plans, and she needed to get something on her to turn him off. Until she’d seen them together at the Watering Hole, she’d figured time was on her side to get, and this time keep Clayton’s attention again.
The idiot woman couldn’t have played into Sharon’s plans any better when she set her purse down at a computer, leaving it there while she strolled down the nearest aisle of bookshelves. Hurrying forward, she dug through the purse, pulled out her driver’s license and took a quick picture with her phone before putting it back. She frowned at her last name of Anderson, swearing someone had said it was Marshall when she’d asked around about her.
Going to another computer far enough away from that one so Skye wouldn’t see her, Sharon sat down and typed in her name and address. Fifteen minutes later, she left the library giddy with her success, too excited to wait before telling Clayton what she’d found. She didn’t see Skye again and could only hope she’d gone for good. Either way, she was sure Clayton wouldn’t have anything more to do with her once she revealed her information.
****
Skye’s knowledge of where the county fairgrounds were located was one of those intact memories she couldn’t explain, the same way she couldn’t decipher the dreams plaguing her sleep last night. More disjointed arguments between her and Alex had kept her tossing and turning, his angry, hate-filled voice giving her cold shivers even in her sleep. She still couldn’t figure out what he’d meant by her ruining his plans, or if that was even real and not something her mind made up. Somehow, this nightmare had to end. She couldn’t go on like this and maintain her sanity. No one could.
It probably wasn’t wise to have agreed to stop by the rodeo this morning for one last goodbye, but she couldn’t turn Clayton down after seeing his grief-stricken face last night. Lisa had filled her in on Louise Campbell’s history of abuse by her husband, and how critical she was after this last assault. She could understand Clayton and Shawn’s frustration with the woman’s refusal to go through with filing charges against him and their sorrow over this latest attack. That call had dampened her pleasure in the evening and her hopes of spending one more night with Clayton
She didn’t have a schedule of events for the rodeo yet, but from the number of vehicles in the parking areas and fields surrounding the grounds, it was well underway by the time she arrived at ten a.m. The morning had already warmed up to over eighty degrees on its way to a high of ninety, and, as she walked toward the entrance gate she was glad she’d put on shorts and a tank top.
Nothing about the whole rodeo scene seemed familiar as she paid for a ticket and took the event guide the attendant handed her, but that didn’t mean she’d never gone to one before, only that she didn’t remember. She paused by a souvenir stand to glance through the pamphlet and found Clayton’s name under several events, the first one calf roping, which was currently underway. Everything was well-marked, and she found the corral easily enough, settling on a bleacher with a good view. Between the exultant shouts from participants, the applause and encouraging cries from the audiences, and the complaints coming from the animals, the noise level was close to deafening, but it didn’t take her long to get caught up in the excitement.
Being a timed event, it moved fast, and she watched two participants come and go in fifteen minutes before Clayton rode out. His carefree grin was back in place this morning, and a warm fuzzy encompassed her chest, her pulse hitching as she eyed his rippling, roped arm muscles when he circled the lasso above his head, his thick quads bunching with the strength it took to maneuver his horse chasing the darting calf. His infectious laugh tickled her belly, and, when he tossed the lasso with perfect accuracy, catching the bawling calf on the run, his white teeth flashed with his cocky grin. From the cheers, she guessed he’d busted through the previous low score, taking over first place.
Skye’s gaze followed him out of the corral, ogling his broad shoulders and sweat-dampened work shirt. His wavy hair clung to his nape despite the red bandanna tied around his neck. When he dismounted and ducked into the nearest shelter, she jumped down to go tell him goodbye, her heart heavier with each step. Two small calves occupied one stall, and a horse sporting a wrap around its lower leg was resting in another. A noise toward the back drew her in that direction until she stumbled to a stop seeing Clayton shirtless, chugging a bottled water.
The moment he saw her, he lowered his arm, a slow grin creasing his lean, weathered cheeks. She decided then and there that there was no one sexier than Clayton wearing nothing from the waist up but a bandanna around his neck and a Stetson, his dark skin glistening with sweat.
“I made it.” She offered him a weak smile, stepping forward.
“I’m glad.”
Without warning, he hauled her against all those bronzed, naked muscles as soon as she reached him, his mouth swallowing her gasp then her low moan. Immersed in his kiss, relishing the tight band of his arm around her waist, she didn’t hear someone else enter until a cold, calculating voice broke them apart.
“Really, Clayton. I never took you for a man who would dally with a married woman.”
Clayton stiffened and released her, his blue eyes turning frosty as they went from Skye’s face to Sharon. Shaking inside and out, Skye exhaled her shocked breath when he kept hold of her hand.
“Sweetheart, do you know wha
t she’s talking about?”
Although cool, his tone wasn’t accusatory, which helped Skye gather her thoughts enough to say, “No, since my husband is dead, and I don’t consider myself married anymore.”
“Liar!” Sharon spat, twin red blotches marring her cheeks as she stomped toward them. “Her real name isn’t Marshall, or even still Anderson, like her driver’s license says. It’s McGregor, and her husband is Alex McGregor.” Placing her fists on her hips, she leaned forward and sneered. “There’s no record of his death, so nice try.”
Shit, now how to explain? Skye closed her eyes as Clayton went rigid next to her. “He’s dead, but I can’t explain why his death hasn’t been recorded.”
“Why?” he asked, and it was his skeptical tone that broke through the icy fear in her veins.
Over three weeks of pent-up emotions, living with terror-induced uncertainty and not knowing who to trust or anything about herself, blew up in a tortured outcry of three words.
“I don’t know!” She yanked her hand out of his hold and whirled to face him. “I don’t know,” she repeated, her breathing labored as she willed him to believe her. “He was dead the last time I saw him.” Rubbing her temple, which started throbbing where she’d been struck, she choked out, “I can’t remember anything that happened before that.”
“Oh, please,” Sharon drawled. “You’re not falling for…”
Clayton held up his hand, his jaw turning to granite. “How do you know what name is on her license?”
The conniving woman blanched and paled before daring to place her hand on his chest, giving him a coy smile. “I snuck into her purse this morning at the library, for you, though, Clayton. I knew something was off with her—”
“Get out of here, Sharon.” He pushed her hand away and pointed toward the door. “Now.”
There was no mistaking his fury, or the worry erasing Sharon’s smug expression. He waited until the door closed behind her before turning his attention on Skye. Crossing his arms, he stated in the same cool tone, “Tell me what you remember.”
This was the first time Skye was privy to his rigid prosecutor’s persona, and it worried her. Sinking onto a hay bale, she tunneled her fingers through her hair, pulling the heavy strands back, away from her face. Left with no choice, she told him what she knew. “My memories of him start when I woke on the floor of our bedroom with a raging headache, blood running down my face, and amnesia. I got to my feet and saw him lying on our bed, shot. I didn’t remember who he was, still don’t, but a woman named Harper was there, claiming to be my best friend, and said the gun lying next to him was the one she gave me, supposedly because I was afraid of him or didn’t trust him.”
“You think you killed him,” Clayton stated, reaching for his shirt.
“No. I mean, I did, when I first ran. But I’ve had dreams, bits and pieces of us arguing, and a gun going off after I was struck and going down.”
He shrugged on his shirt but left it unbuttoned as he faced her with a derisive look and his hands fisted on his hips. “Dreams aren’t proof, Skye. Where’s…”
The door opened again, and three young guys came in, joking together. Skye jumped up, using the interruption to her advantage. If he needed proof to believe her, she was screwed. Her only hope now was to return to her house and contact Harper. Her heart twisted as she dashed toward the door without another word, catching Clayton off guard long enough for her to lose him in the crowd as she made her way back to her car, tears streaming down her face.
****
Clayton swore, reaching the parking lot in time to see Skye pulling onto the highway. Fuck. He’d been so surprised by her revelation, he’d handled it, and her, all wrong. The painful despair etched on her face when he’d been dumb enough to snap about proof would haunt him for a long time. He couldn’t bear for her to think he didn’t believe her, or worse, that he would even consider prosecuting her instead of defending her.
Huffing a frustrated breath, he spun around and went in search of Dakota. If anyone could help him find her with only those names Sharon had mentioned, it was him. Dakota’s computer-search skills were honed over the twenty years he’d spent looking for his mother’s murderer, the search programs on his home computer the best software anyone could buy.
He thought of Louise Campbell, fighting for her life, and vowed to find a way to help Skye. He’d failed Louise, but, God help him, he would not let Skye down. Winding his way through the crowd, he found Dakota with Poppy near the spectator bleachers for the barrel racing. His friend must have read something on his face because he straightened with a sharp, assessing gaze.
“What’s wrong?” Dakota asked by way of a greeting.
“I need your help getting an address, fast.” Clayton explained what little Skye had given him, leaving nothing out. He trusted Dakota, and, as Shawn joined them with Lisa and gave his full support, he was able to inhale his first easy breath since Skye had taken off.
“We’ll need to sign off on the events we haven’t competed in yet then meet at my place,” Dakota said, leading the way.
“I really appreciate this,” Clayton replied then glanced toward Shawn. “Both of you.”
“We’ve always had each other’s backs, and that extended to our girls, starting with dealing with Lisa’s stalker.” Shawn slapped him on the back, grinning. “I’m just glad you’re not fighting the inevitable, like I thought you would.”
Clayton shrugged. “When it’s right, it’s right. Didn’t one of you tell me that?”
“Yeah, but we didn’t think you’d listen,” Dakota drawled as they reached the sign-in booth and took their names off the upcoming afternoon events.
Lisa’s face reflected compassion as she said, “I hope she’s okay. I can’t imagine going weeks with no memories of my past.”
“Me either,” Poppy stated. “Unless I got to pick which memories I didn’t want.”
If Clayton weren’t so worried Skye was heading into trouble because of his blunder, he’d tease Poppy about that remark. Instead, he followed Dakota back to the ranch, hoping for fast results from his search.
****
Skye parked in the driveway of her house, hands clammy on the steering wheel, a ball of nausea lodged in her throat. She didn’t want to go inside but saw no way around it. The answers she needed could be in there if she could regain her memories of her marriage. Her quick search for news this morning at the library again turned up no mention of Alex’s death, and it was no wonder Clayton had needed proof of her innocence. It made her question Harper’s motives. Wasn’t hiding a body taking friendship a little too far?
“I can do this. I have to do this.”
She forced her hands off the wheel and struggled to swallow as she got out. The warm afternoon had nothing to do with the sweat rolling down her spine to pool in her lower back while walking up to the front door. Her fingers shook pulling her key from her purse, unlocked the door, and stepped inside before she caved to the urge to run away. Her head started pounding the minute she closed the door, and she couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or bad.
Skye couldn’t stand the eerie silence, so she turned on the television in the living area as she strolled through on her way to the kitchen. It was an older home, with separate spaces instead of the now-popular open concept in most houses, and the walls added to her nerves. She wondered what type of floor plan Clayton’s place boasted, another reminder of how little she knew about him. Her heavy, aching heart told her how much she longed to learn every detail about him and his life.
The kitchen was clean with no clutter, but the flash of her standing at the sink filled with dishes, and Alex next to her, glowering, was a clue it wasn’t always kept that way. She shuddered, gripping the back of a chair at the kitchen table to steady herself until the stomach-churning recall reel ceased. At least she was on the right track forward, she thought, releasing the chair. As Skye moved into the hallway, the bile stuck in her throat threatened to come up from just a glan
ce into the bedroom she had shared with her husband.
Not yet ready for that room, she pivoted the other way and entered another room, this one set up as an office. She recognized her computer where she knew she wrote. Sticky notes were strewn over the desk, bookshelves on either side lined with paperbacks. The titles on the right were the romantic suspense series the library carried, with her alias, S.L. Anders. But as she stepped in front of the shelves on the left, she got the answer to why the equipment and scenes at Spurs were familiar. Using a second alias, Lucinda Cross, she also wrote in the steamier romance genre, which must have required research in a club.
Picking up a book, visions of her sitting in another club, notebook in hand as she viewed several scenes flooded her throbbing head. Turning the computer chair, she sat down before her spinning mind landed her on the floor. With a deep breath, she let the flashbacks play out, her nausea easing as they slowly faded to a stop. Glancing at the clock, she saw ten minutes had passed, leaving her shaken but determined now to enter the bedroom she’d shared with Alex.
Stepping into the last bedroom, she froze in place when a woman came out of the walk-in closet, the gun in her hand aimed at Skye. A cold knot formed in her stomach as she stumbled back, her first instinct to flee.
Then the woman spoke. “I don’t think so, Skye. As much as I’d enjoy the chase, we shouldn’t waste the time.”
“Do I know you?” With her memories filtering back, Skye would think she’d have some sense of familiarity about the other woman other than her face reminded her of someone. “Who are you? What do you want?” She tried holding herself together, to still her trembling, but found that impossible when staring down the barrel of a gun.
“What I’ve wanted since I came up with the plan for my sister to introduce you to Alex – half of your inheritance.”
She moved forward, and Skye retreated, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Sister? “Who’s your…” A lightbulb went off and she connected those dots. “Harper? She’s your sister?” She saw the resemblance the same time she recalled the lunch date between her, Harper, and Alex, and how she’d allowed her loneliness and grief over her mother’s condition to consume her.
