Cowboy Lies

by Lynde Lakes

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Praise for Lynde Lakes

  Cowboy Lies

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  A word from the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Nothing felt right—nothing felt familiar—

  nothing jogged memories. Even her own name sounded strange to her ears, if it was her name. Molly Ryan? That mellow name didn’t fit the fire blazing in her gut, and that scared the hell out of her. Married. Was she really married?

  She’d begged to stay at the hospital. She’d felt safe there and had grown to trust Dr. De La Fuente during her months of treatment. That is, until he released her to this stranger in tight blue jeans and told her to trust the guy. How could she trust a Stetson-wearing hunk of testosterone like him? God, he was pacing next to the fireplace like a fenced-in wild stallion. The initial shock of learning she might be shackled to this hard-edged cowboy slid closer to full-fledged panic. Did he expect her to share his bedroom tonight?

  Lamplight reflected and magnified the shadow on the wall of his feral, agitated movements. Did he resent that she’d been thrust on him in this bewildered condition? Would he turn that barely contained anger on her? She shivered, fighting an urge to bolt. “I can’t be married to you. Nothing seems right!”

  Praise for Lynde Lakes

  “While the amnesia storyline is an often overused one, in Lakes’ talented hands ‘old’ becomes ‘new,’ and the heroine’s amnesia adds a necessary element to the story. This is the first book in the Ryan Ranch trilogy, and it offers passionate, strong-willed characters and plenty of unexpected intrigue.”

  ~Barb Anderson, Romantic Times

  ~*~

  “Lynde Lakes has opened many eyes with this great book…My husband and I discussed this book after I finished reading it. It is one of those things you never really think about, but hope and pray never happens—waking up one morning and never knowing anything at all about yourself or those around you. Having children of my own, this is something that would really scare me. This book is worth keeping, and I will look for all books written by Lynde in the future.”

  ~Tammy Adams

  Cowboy Lies

  by

  Lynde Lakes

  Ryan Ranch Trilogy

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Cowboy Lies

  COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Lynde Lakes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Tina Lynn Stout

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  Previously published by Amira Press, 2004

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2015

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0238-6

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0239-3

  Ryan Ranch Trilogy

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my son, Capt. Bob,

  who will always remember the horse

  that kicked him in the head.

  Acknowledgements

  Rainbows to my wonderful Wild Rose Press editor Johanna Melaragno. And to my cover artist Tina Lynn Stout.

  Chapter One

  Nothing felt right—nothing felt familiar—nothing jogged memories. Even her own name sounded strange to her ears, if it was her name. Molly Ryan? That mellow name didn’t fit the fire blazing in her gut, and that scared the hell out of her. Married. Was she really married?

  She’d begged to stay at the hospital. She’d felt safe there and had grown to trust Dr. De La Fuente during her months of treatment. That is, until he released her to this stranger in tight blue jeans and told her to trust the guy. How could she trust a Stetson-wearing hunk of testosterone like him? God, he was pacing next to the fireplace like a fenced-in wild stallion. The initial shock of learning she might be shackled to this hard-edged cowboy slid closer to full-fledged panic. Did he expect her to share his bedroom tonight?

  Lamplight reflected and magnified the shadow on the wall of his feral, agitated movements. Did he resent that she’d been thrust on him in this bewildered condition? Would he turn that barely contained anger on her? She shivered, fighting an urge to bolt. “I can’t be married to you. Nothing seems right!”

  He paused, and his piercing gaze locked with hers—the intensity sent chills along her nerve endings. “You’re gonna have to trust me on this one, Molly,” he drawled. “We’re hitched.”

  There was that trust word again. Before she could respond, he wheeled around and headed out of the room. This was unreal. The possibility that she’d ever loved this man, let alone married him, was as remote as finding the proverbial needle in a haystack.

  Fighting the instinctual warning twisting her insides and using the strength of her growing fear, she chased him down the hallway, running to keep up. “Not so fast, cowboy. What did you say your name was again?”

  He’d told her a number of times—she’d repeated the name Matt Ryan over and over in her mind, trying in vain to trigger anything that would indicate a past with him—but she wanted to keep him talking while she attempted to put things together in small circles, feeling her way.

  He paused and gave her a hard look. “Okay, one more time,” he said in a low, tight voice. “I’m Matthew Ryan, Matt for short. Is that so danged hard to remember?”

  It wasn’t, so why didn’t his name trigger a memory? With searching fingers, she touched the tender spot where the needle had gone in. The drugs the doctor had shot into her veins to keep her calm during her long helicopter ride from the private hospital somewhere along the Mexico border to this South Texas ranch had pretty much worn off, and her head was getting clearer by the minute. The doctor had diagnosed her memory loss as traumatic amnesia, fugue state, whatever that was.

  Matt turned his back on her again and continued down the hall. His tall, lean body was custom built to wear those faded, hip-hugging blue jeans. When he reached a closed door down the hall, he opened it and entered.

  Before crossing the threshold, she peeked in. Please don’t let this be his bedroom. She sighed in relief at the sight of pastel walls, a rocking chair, baby articles, and a crib. An image of an empty crib flashed in her mind. She stiffened until she saw the baby inside, kicking its feet in delight. She had an urge to gather the baby into her arms and run, but to where? Why?

  Her gaze flew to Matt. His shoulders and chest filled his royal blue chambray shirt in a way that made him look altogether too formidable. She shivered. Maybe she had known him before. If so, what had he done to her in the past that just looking at him gave her the urge to pound his impressive chest?

  What did the flash of memory about an empty crib mean? Perhaps she could rein in her fear if
she knew the basis of her anger and that fight-or-flight feeling.

  The Stetson shading his eyes increased her sense of uneasiness. When he’d picked her up at the doctor’s house, he’d worn the Stetson. She assumed he’d taken it off during the helicopter flight, but she couldn’t swear to it. She spent the trip drifting in and out of consciousness while on a cot behind the cockpit. When they left the craft, he had it on again.

  To squelch her growing anxiety, she took a deep breath. Maybe she wouldn’t feel so small if she gathered her courage and cut him down to size. “Isn’t it rude to wear a hat in the house in Texas?”

  Matt looked her up and down, then took off his Stetson, and tossed it across the room. It hooked over one of the two protruding spiky knobs on the back of the wooden rocking chair in the corner of the nursery. He still looked dangerous. His black, wavy hair fell across his forehead in a bad-boy look, and thick strands curled in a rugged line across his collar. “Better?” he asked, raising a devilish eyebrow.

  “Er, yes. Thanks.” She swallowed to clear her constricted throat. “There’s something else you can help me with.”

  He shifted his weight. “Fire away. I’ll help if I can.”

  “Well, I’ve got your name down pat now, but I need to hear the other stuff again.”

  He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and shook his head. “All right, for the last time, I’m the owner of this cattle ranch. You’re my wife, Molly, and this is our baby, Sara Jane.” He gestured to the baby lying in the crib with her big blue eyes fixed on the tinkling zoo mobile revolving over her head.

  Molly gripped the railing of the crib. “I can accept that this is my baby—”

  “Our baby,” he corrected in a deep voice that vibrated through her.

  She took a breath to calm her thudding heart. “Okay, our baby. But this doesn’t feel like my home. I don’t feel safe. Why is that?”

  Matt didn’t quite look her in the eye. “The doctor gave you something. Maybe your paranoia is a side effect. It’ll pass. You have nothing to fear here.”

  “Paranoia? That’s not it. I have a good reason to feel the way I do.”

  Sara Jane cooed and waved her little fists. With that cap of curly red hair, the baby could be hers. Suddenly, a desire to hold Sara Jane overwhelmed her. Would it feel right? She lifted the baby into her arms and drew her close, inhaling baby powder and the sweet smell of baby oil. She loved her, no doubt about that, but she felt sure she’d love any baby. “How old is she?”

  “Three months.” Matt took the baby’s small hand in his large callused one. His gesture brought him too close for comfort, and Molly stepped back.

  To avoid looking into his eyes, she lowered her gaze and stared down at her flat belly. “Shouldn’t I be more rounded if I had a baby so recently?”

  Matt threw his hands up in the air. “For crying out loud! You just got out of the hospital. You’ve been ill. Remember?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t remember, and you know it.”

  His eyes softened. “Be patient. It’ll all come back.”

  “Will it?” What if this wasn’t her life at all? “My name doesn’t even fit me.”

  Matt laughed without humor. “Yeah, well, I’ll have to agree with that. With that auburn hair and spitfire tongue, you should’ve been named Blaze or Flame.”

  Molly glared at him. Could she really be married to this cowboy Neanderthal? She jostled the baby, reveling in her warmth against her breast. This did feel right.

  Matt reached for Sara Jane. “Time to put this little angel back down. She’s not usually up this late.” Molly backed up a step, but Matt didn’t let that stop him. He took the baby from her arms, retrieved a fresh bottle from a small ice chest near the crib, and placed it in the warmer on top of the dresser, while holding Sara Jane with easy confidence in the crook of his arm.

  She watched Matt while the milk heated, wondering how he fit into the frightening image of the empty crib. Instinct told her she should keep the flash of memory to herself until she had more to go on. “I can give Sara Jane her bottle.”

  He tested the milk to be sure it wasn’t too hot, sat down in the rocker, and stuck the nipple in the baby’s mouth. “You can take over tomorrow—after you rest.”

  Molly bristled but held in her frustration. A dark-haired beauty had been here when they’d arrived about an hour ago. Matt hadn’t introduced her, and she had disappeared without a word. “Who was that woman?”

  “What woman?”

  “Don’t play games. The dark-haired beauty.”

  “Oh, her.” He looked down, masking his emotions. “My housekeeper, Tita.”

  Molly leaned against the wall and folded her arms. “Is she the one who’s been taking care of Sara Jane in my absence?”

  “Partly. But when I’m home, I do it. Sometimes, the rest of the family helps out.”

  “Rest of the family? Where are they? When do I meet them?”

  “Soon.” Matt glanced at his watch. His neck reddened as if mentioning his folks had embarrassed him. Why? “You’ve been up too many hours for your first night home. Go to bed. Your temporary room adjoins this one.

  Relief washed over Molly. At least he didn’t expect them to sleep together tonight. But what did temporary mean? How temporary?

  He pointed down the hall. “Just turn to the right. Everything you need is in there.”

  “I’m really not that tired.” She was exhausted, but how could she rest with so many questions swirling in her mind? “Tell me more about your family.”

  Matt gave her a stern look and gestured with his head. “Go. Doctor’s orders.”

  Damn Matt. He was rude and as bossy as any Third World dictator, and not the kind of man to give a woman that warm, secure feeling she craved. She was about to tell him so when something about the loving way he was holding Sara Jane touched her heart, and she decided to let him get away with his tyranny one more time. Tomorrow, she’d get her answers, one way or another.

  ****

  Molly awoke with a start in a king-size bed—a strange bed. Then the events of the previous night came rushing back. She threw her legs over the side of the bed and thrust herself to her feet. It was time for her showdown with Matt.

  She showered fast and dressed in one of the outfits she found in the closet. The Levi’s felt stiff and a little tight, but the boots were comfortable enough. She touched the fringe on the vest. If these were her clothes, why did she feel like a city woman playing cowgirl?

  Matt could answer that—and he would if she had anything to say about it. But first, she had to see to Sara Jane’s needs. She opened the door of her bedroom and looked into the hall. The nursery door stood wide open, and she tiptoed inside.

  The crib was empty! An unexplainable, overwhelming panic gripped Molly. She could scarcely breathe. It was as though the empty crib had triggered buried emotions of a past too horrible to remember—something concerning a baby—she had to find Sara Jane now!

  Following the aroma of coffee, she ran to the kitchen. Sara Jane was strapped into a high chair, gurgling and happy. Molly let out a sigh of relief and kissed the baby’s dimpled cheek. Then she saw the housekeeper, Tita, by the sink. “I got scared when I found the empty crib.”

  Tita shrugged.

  Molly forced a smile while trying to hide her disappointment that it wasn’t Matt caring for Sara Jane. Darn. Here I am, all geared up to have it out with him. “Where is Matt?”

  Tita shook her head as though she didn’t understand. When speaking English didn’t work, Molly tried Spanish. How did she know Spanish? Maybe she’d learned it while in the care of Dr. De La Fuente. Or maybe she came from a Spanish heritage. It pleased her to learn that she spoke it with such ease, but it raised more questions. Molly blinked in surprise when Tita didn’t seem to understand her. All she got in response was a sad look and another shake of the head.

  Why wouldn’t Tita acknowledge her? Was she mute? Molly used an instinctive, untrained sign language of sorts
to ask if Sara Jane had been fed. Tita handed Molly two jars of baby food—soft, watery oatmeal and applesauce.

  Before the housekeeper left the room, she thrust a note from Matt into Molly’s hand. It had only three words on it, in big bold black letters—DON’T GO OUTSIDE.

  “Hmm. Guess what, Sara Jane? After Mommy feeds you, we’re going outside.”

  ****

  Molly found a stroller in the foyer and placed it at the bottom of the front steps.

  She settled Sara Jane into it, propped with small pillows and a safety belt. The baby gave a delightful dimpled smile that sent a surge of warmth to Molly’s breasts. Wait a minute—if this baby was hers, why wasn’t she nursing her? It must have had something to do with her hospitalization. Matt said she’d been ill, but she felt strong, healthy.

  She smiled at Sara Jane. “Mommy’s just fine, isn’t she?” Mommy. Had she accepted it? She wanted to. No one could be with Sara Jane for over two minutes without falling in love with her. Feeding Sara Jane had been fun and felt natural enough, yet not really familiar.

  The morning sun was warm and bright, lighting the surrounding barns and sheds with the glowing freshness of wet paint. Although the distant roar of ranch machinery and trucks gave the feeling of activity in the air, Molly saw no one.

  Even though Sara Jane wore little denim coveralls and a red, long-sleeved cotton shirt that protected her from the sun, Molly shaded her with the stroller’s awning. She wouldn’t take a chance with the baby’s delicate skin. She pushed the stroller along the bumpy, dusty ground toward the nearest barn, in hope of finding Matt, some of his family, or at least a talkative ranch hand.

  She felt someone’s gaze boring into her back—felt someone following her. Her heart skipped a beat. She looked around. A toothpick shadow jumped out of sight. If it was a ranch hand, why was he playing games? The hair on her neck prickled. Was there danger here besides Matt? Or was the unnerving sensation a reaction to something in her past? Don’t go outside, Matt’s note had said in bold letters. Molly thrust her chin into the air, refusing to be intimidated. This was supposed to be her home, so why should she be afraid? Maybe her fear stemmed from the realization that nothing looked familiar. She glanced around at the house, the barn, the equipment. It was as if she had been blindfolded, led to a strange, mysterious place, and then released to stagger around on her own, disoriented.