by Lynde Lakes
Inhaling the tempting aromas of bacon and something sweet, she complied.
“Señor Matt has already eaten and is out doing chores.” Tita removed a plate of waffles from the warmer and served Molly.
Molly cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said, feeling like a guest. But she wasn’t a guest—not if she was married to Matt. So where did she fit in? Wasn’t she supposed to be the cohead of this household? “Don’t I usually do the cooking?” Molly asked while smearing strawberry preserves on a waffle.
Tita shook her head. “Cooking and cleaning are my jobs. I come in at four in the morning and get Señor Matt fed and out the door. Then I clean and go home by noon. I come back for a couple of hours to make dinner.” She paused from wiping off the stove. “But feel free to do whatever you want.”
“Matt said you cared for Sara Jane while I was away. Who takes care of her when you leave?”
“Don’t worry. Señor Matt makes sure there is always someone reliable here to care for her.”
Molly wanted to pursue that more, but too many questions might make Tita clam up again. “Well, I appreciate the wonderful care you’ve given to her.”
“I enjoyed it. I haven’t had a baby around for years. And it’s part of my job. So whenever you need me…”
Molly nodded her gratitude. She liked taking care of Sara Jane herself, but it was comforting to know that Tita would help in a pinch. In fact, Molly thought, as the irking issue of the disconnected phones popped to the forefront of her mind, she might take her up on the offer right away. Molly began to tap the plate with her knife.
“Do you need something else, señora?”
“Oh. No. I’m sorry,” she said, and put the knife down. “Dealing with Señor Matt tends to make me a tad uptight, which brings me to the phone issue. Tita, why are the phones disconnected?”
Tita frowned. “Ask Señor Matt. I have no idea why he does these things.”
Molly wanted to ask if he’d always been so controlling, but she had to get the phone issue settled while he was gone; regaining her memory just might be on the line. “Where can I find a working phone?”
Tita’s expression darkened, and she didn’t say anything for several seconds as though debating the wisdom of answering. “The closest one is in the office in the barn. But who would you call? You have amnesia, no?”
Molly felt her nerves tighten. She liked asking questions, but didn’t like answering them. “Perhaps my doctor.”
The worry lines in Tita’s face eased. “Of course. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that we are all so worried about you. Especially Señor Matt.”
“Señor Matt worries too much.”
Tita laughed. “Si. He does. But he means well, and his heart is as big as Texas.” She paused. “Don’t be too hard on him. He has many responsibilities.”
Molly shoved away the wave of guilt. She hadn’t asked to be one of those responsibilities. “Well, I intend to lighten his burden beginning today.” She didn’t know how, but if she was going to be a part of this ranch, she intended to do her share. But first, she had to get to a phone. Molly took a gulp of coffee and rolled her waffle into a fruity spool to eat on the run. She gave Tita an impish smile. “I have a sudden urge to inhale some barn odors. Would you please watch Sara Jane a little longer?”
Tita chuckled. “Si. It will be my pleasure. But if you take things into your own hands, Señor Matt won’t like it.”
Molly gave Tita an impulsive hug and kissed Sara Jane. “Señor Matt doesn’t need to know.”
****
Matt and his foreman, Alfonso, loped along side by side, riding the flat plains of the ranch, the terrain punctuated here and there by pockets of brush and mesquite. They inspected windmills, fences, and cattle while discussing ways to set up extra safeguards against hoof and mouth and mad cow diseases. After they finished their inspection and covered the necessary topics, Matt said, “I’ll see you back at the ranch.” He veered his quarter horse away and settled into his own thoughts.
The heat of the day inched upward, warmed the billowing wind. By noon, the temperature would stall around one hundred degrees Fahrenheit and make the air hot, thick, and inescapable. He didn’t mind. For the most part the arid climate here in South Texas, the Land of the Sun, gave him eleven months of favorable weather, which was a plus in ranching. Matt wiped the sweat and dirt from his neck with a red paisley kerchief. It was a perfect afternoon to take Molly out to Verde Creek. The more he thought about the idea, the better he liked it. The outing could work as his apology for last night.
In retrospect, he felt rotten for leaving Molly standing in the middle of the kitchen without even a parting good night. At the time, however, all he could think about was getting Luke out of there before his loose-tongued brother said something to make Molly start questioning their marriage again. She’d always been so perceptive; she knew something was wrong. He wished he could tell her everything. For her safety, it all had to come back slowly or the trauma of the bloody murders, the kidnapping, and the fact that she and her baby were still in danger would re-trigger the fear. Then all they had gained in the recovery process would be down the tubes, and she might end up in blackness for life.
Tightening his hands on the reins, Matt felt as though a rod had been rammed up his spine, which made him sit in the saddle more rigidly than usual. The less Molly and Luke talked the better. That’s why, after the veterinarian, the ranch’s stand-in medical man, said Luke could ride if he took it easy, Matt sent him out to the west sector to supervise the rounding up of strays.
The image of his brother’s hands on Molly filled Matt with seething rage. He dug his heels into Gold King’s flanks with too much severity, and the quarter horse tossed his head in protest and bolted forward. “Sorry, boy,” Matt muttered. Damn that Luke. He had no business treating any woman with such disrespect. Especially Molly. If she hadn’t stopped Matt, he would’ve made his brother eat the tile floor. Matt knew he had no right to be jealous, but when it came to Molly his feelings were irrational. He’d thought he’d gotten over her, but he hadn’t. She was the only woman he’d ever been involved with who’d challenged him, kept his mind sharp, and kept him on his toes. Her intelligence and curious nature were terrific qualities for a reporter. Now those traits could get them killed.
****
Molly raced toward the barn clutching the slip of paper with the mysterious phone number on it. The deep, azure blue sky was free of haze, its sharp clarity defining everything in razor edges. She gave the slip of paper a ferocious squeeze, counting on the phone call to return her memory to equal clarity.
Noises of ranch machinery gave a hum of activity to the hot, dry morning. Men would be working in the barn. Would one of them try to stop her from making the call? From the shed, a leathery Mexican man of about sixty rode a tractor, towing what looked like a generator on a flatbed wagon. He waved, and she waved back.
She nodded at the two vaqueros leading their horses from the barn toward the road. They smiled and tipped their straw hats. Did they know her? Had she actually lived on this farm? It all felt so unfamiliar. It seemed Matt had lifted the silent treatment, and warmth spread through her at the thought. Then, guilt twisted through her for going behind his back. But it was his fault. He shouldn’t have disconnected the phones to begin with. She had every right to use the telephone. She’d lost her memory, but she wasn’t a child and wouldn’t allow herself to be treated like one.
Molly glanced around, then slipped into the barn. Sunlight swept through a window in the haymow and spilled onto a pile of golden hay. No one was around. With her heart pounding, she found the office, also unoccupied, and crept inside. She spied a half-full mug of coffee on the desk and found it to be warm to the touch. That and the partly eaten biscuit on a napkin suggested that the person who’d left the snack would return soon. She grabbed the receiver of the telephone and let out a sigh of relief when she heard the dial tone. What would she say when she reached the person on the o
ther end of the line? If she recognized the voice, she’d take a direct approach. If not, she’d have to play it by ear. Maybe playing telephone solicitor would work. The way she’d wheedled the location of a phone from Tita suggested that she might be good at drawing information from people. She closed her eyes for courage, then opened them, and punched in the number.
“Buenos dias,” a deep resonant Latin voice said. Nothing about the charming Spanish accent sounded familiar. Darn, that cancelled out plan one, which forced her to move on to plan two—getting his name and address. From there, she could either hire a detective to take pictures of the guy, or go to the man’s home or office herself and see if he looked familiar. What excuse could she use to get his address? She’d have to offer to send him something. But what? Then, like magic, it came to her. “Sir, my company is giving away a free trip to Hawaii.” Again, she had the distinct feeling she’d extracted information from people before.
“Hawaii? Free?” he asked, sounding wary.
She kept glancing at the doorway and listening for footsteps. “Right. All you have to do to win the trip is answer three easy questions.” How would she finance this insanity? Did she even have any cash of her own? Oh, well, she’d worry about that later. “There are two requirements, sir. You have to be the person listed on the phone bill, and give your name and address.”
The line went silent. The silence continued for so long that if she hadn’t heard low background music she would have thought he’d hung up. She started trembling. Time was ticking by—the biscuit eater could return at any moment and catch her on the phone. Molly’s heartbeat pulsed in her ears. Should she have been more direct and asked for this guy’s help? She had his phone number, why didn’t she recognize his voice? If he’d recognized hers, he’d have said so. Or would he? She shuddered. It was hell not knowing who to trust. “Are you still there, sir?”
“Claro, of course,” he said. “Now let me get this right—” He repeated the deal she’d offered in a cat-and-mouse kind of mocking tone that made her glad she hadn’t been more direct.
Her throat felt dry. “That’s it,” she said. “Simple as pie. If you’re the person listed on the phone bill, we’re in business. Are you?”
“Si,” he said, his tone still wary. “But this sounds too good to be true. What is the catch, señorita?”
Ignoring her desire to slam the phone down, she pressed on. “No catch. Now, before we get to the questions, I need your name and address.”
The name he gave was Carlos Martinez with a Dallas address. She verified the spelling twice after scribbling down the information. She had what she needed—Hang up now, she told herself. But what if a little more conversation could jog her memory? With that seductive thought drawing her in, she stayed on the line.
“Now that I’ve introduced myself,” he said in that mocking tone that was beginning to set her teeth on edge, “it’s your turn, señorita. Give me your name.”
In spite of the feeling that a few more words might trigger something in her brain, she trusted him less and less. Even if she were certain that she was Molly Ryan, she wouldn’t give him that name. She glanced at the picture on the calendar on the wall. A donkey was winding up a mountain path in the rain. Rain. Mountain. “Rainy Montoya,” she said without guilt.
“What a delightful name,” he said. “You know, bonita, you have a unique voice.”
Unique, oh, no. A chill slid up her spine. Does he recognize it?
“I could fall in love with the music of your speech. When I win this contest, do me the honor of accompanying me to Hawaii,” he said in a tone as smooth as Sangria wine.
She sensed he was toying with her. She rubbed her arm and forced a laugh. “Not so fast. First the questions.”
“Ask away, bonita.”
Oh, God. Now I have to come up with something. Again, she had an urge to hang up, but she might need to talk to him after she verified his name and address, so she kept up the game. Frantic, she looked around. Her scan stopped on the calendar again. She flipped the pages and gleaned her questions from the blurb under a picture of The Alamo. “Name the capital of Texas, the state’s nickname, and the state flower.”
He laughed. “Such easy questions, bonita. Austin, Lone Star State, and the bluebonnet.”
Darn, taking her questions from the calendar had been dumb. If she had her memory back, maybe she could have come up with something better. She tried several times to bring the conversation to a close. He seemed reluctant to let her go. He told her that this was the first time he’d ever won anything. He went on about an uncle winning big in the state lottery. Delaying tactics?
She had to interrupt him to end the call. When she hung up, she was shaking. The Latin Romeo’s delaying tactics didn’t feel right. What if he could trace her number? Don’t panic, she told herself. Maybe it would be okay. She pushed her uneasiness to the back of her mind and called Directory Assistance. Her heart sank when the mysterious phone number didn’t match the name and address the Latin Romeo had given to her. Now she was more worried than before. He’d given her the wrong information. Why? Was he someone from her past she should fear? If he had caller ID, could he pinpoint her location? Could she somehow have blocked him from getting this number? Well, it was too late to worry about that now. He kept me on the phone a long time. The thought echoed in her brain. She shuddered, now convinced that her call had been a terrible mistake. She’d given him the opportunity to trace her call, and she had learned nothing specific about him.
****
The ranch loomed ahead—his prize, and his curse, Matt thought. He spied Roberto in one of the corrals taking his horse, Kickapoo, through quickstepping barrel race traces. The teen and his horse made a smooth loop around a barrel at breakneck speed and continued the figure eight around a second barrel. Then, Roberto closed the top of a cloverleaf and looped again. Matt wished he had his stopwatch with him. If he was any judge of time and skill—and he was—the boy would walk away with a trophy at the Rancher’s Rodeo next week.
Images of past rodeos played in Matt’s mind—the clowns, the music, the cold-sweat excitement in the chutes. He’d done it all—ridden the wild broncos, wrestled steers, roped and branded cattle, handled horses, and roped calves. He grinned, thinking of the twenty first-prize trophies and half-dozen scars and healed broken bones he had to prove it.
Roberto looked up, and Matt made a strong, closed-fist sign of approval. The wide smile that spread across the teenager’s face warmed Matt’s heart.
Matt had almost reached the barn when he saw Molly slip out the door. She glanced around with a guilty look. Matt yanked on the reins, and before Gold King could come to a complete stop, he dismounted on the run, his saddle leather groaning with the off-balance shift of weight. “What the hell were you doing in there?”
Gold King halted and stomped in place. Matt clenched his teeth and waited for Molly to answer. Electricity crackled in the still air, broken only by his horse’s stomping hooves. In his work, trust was a major thing, but in Molly’s confused state, he could only trust her to make more trouble for them.
A swift flush rose in Molly’s cheeks. She hesitated, and then smiled. “Looking for you, of course. How’s Luke?”
Molly’s hair, a tumble of auburn waves, glinted in the sunlight and cascaded about her shoulders when she approached. Her slim body, softened by curves, moved as fluidly as quicksilver. The anger flowed out of Matt like flash flood waters. He had to stop assuming the worst. “Luke’ll live. He sends his apologies for last night.” Matt caught the bridle and rubbed the horse’s nose. Molly was so close now that he could smell her flower-scented shampoo. “I want you to go somewhere with me. Verde Creek. I thought we could take a picnic.”
She shaded her eyes from the sun. “Do I know that place? Will it help me remember?”
Matt took off his black Stetson and slapped it against his thigh, shaking out a cloud of dust. “It’s worth a try.”
He winced inside. Of course, Molly cou
ldn’t remember a place she’d never seen before, but for some reason, he wanted to share his haven with her—let it work its magic, and maybe she’d relax enough to allow the healing process to begin.
Roberto dismounted, vaulted the corral fence, and ran toward them. Matt winked at the boy. “The trophy’s in the bag, pardner.” He introduced Roberto to Molly. The teen blushed and dug the toe of his boot into the dirt. Matt slapped the reins into the boy’s calloused hand, amused how easily Molly had bewitched the boy. “Get Gold King ready for another ride, and saddle up Starlight for Molly. We’ll be leaving in about half an hour.”
Roberto saluted and led Gold King toward the barn.
“I’ll get Sara Jane ready,” Molly said.
The gentle expression of love on Molly’s face touched Matt, and he hated to disappoint her. “This afternoon it’ll be just you and me.”
She frowned. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving her.”
Matt understood. Regardless of the amnesia, Molly, in her subconscious, hadn’t forgotten that her baby had been kidnapped. But the kidnappers didn’t know about the ranch. “Sara Jane’ll be in good hands. For extra protection, I’ll have Roberto stay in the house until we get back.”
Molly hesitated.
“This afternoon’s gonna be a scorcher. A little filly like Sara Jane will be better off in the air-conditioned house.”
Matt knew that Molly couldn’t argue with that, and for the baby’s sake, she’d agree to leave her behind.
****
Within a half hour, Molly met Matt at the barn. His inky hair, still wet from a quick shower, curled at his collar. He wore his trademark hip-hugging jeans and a fresh, long-sleeved white shirt, rolled high on muscled forearms. He settled his Stetson high on his head, looking all cowboy and too rugged and handsome for his own good—and if she were honest, for her own good.
He grinned. “Ready?” He was leading Gold King and Starlight by the bridles.
