Remember Me, Cowboy

by Caroline Burnes

  “Where is she?” Slate asked.

  “Even without a shred of encouragement from you, she waited. Five years, Slate. I imagine you know how long five years can be. So when you decide to go making accusations and threats, maybe you should think of someone besides yourself.”

  Slate nodded. “You’re right. One hundred percent. I came to that conclusion myself and that’s why I’m here. I want to apologize to Cassidy and make it clear that I have no intention of forcing myself on her or Lindsey. Whatever she decides to do is what I’ll abide by.”

  Nita’s expression shifted. “Maybe there’s more to you than I thought.” She sighed. “She’s over at Crater Pond. It’s up the Creek Road about four miles.” She waited. “That’s Vista Blue property, so be prepared for Cole if you head up there.”

  “Did she go with Cole?”

  “No, she went alone with Lindsey. But Kip said she packed a lunch for three. Somehow, I got it in my head that she might have been planning on taking you with her. They haven’t been gone very long. You could catch up with them if you tried.”

  “Thanks.” Slate meant it, for her faint words of encouragement were more kindness than he deserved.

  THE RED-AND-SILVER PICKUP blocked the road, and Slate had no choice but to stop. Cole Benson got out of the cab with his hand resting on the gun beside him on the seat.

  Slate stopped and got out. He wasn’t afraid of Cole. And he wasn’t backing down.

  “You’re on private property,” Cole said, with a mean grin.

  Slate had prepared himself for this confrontation. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m looking for my daughter.”

  “If she’s on Blue Vista property, you can wait until she leaves.” Cole lifted the gun, motioning with it to indicate Slate was to leave.

  “I’m not leaving without talking to Cassidy and seeing Lindsey.”

  “Either you go on your own, or…” He fired one shot in the air and Slate watched as several men appeared at the top of a small bluff. It was like a Wild West shootout.

  “This isn’t necessary, Cole. I’m not trying to start trouble, and I don’t have a weapon. I only want to talk to Cassidy.”

  “Then do it on her property.”

  Slate swallowed his anger. “Look, Cole, whatever happened this morning was unnecessary. We both lost our tempers, and Cassidy was the loser. Let’s put this behind us. I understand we used to be friends.”

  “We were competitors.” Cole grinned. “If you had your memory, you’d hate me. I won the purse on Mr. Twist. I got the half million in prize money that allowed me to buy your mother’s ranch.” His smile widened. “And I’m going to get Cassidy and Lindsey.”

  His words were almost more than Slate could tolerate, but he held his temper in check. “If Cassidy chooses you, I have no option but to back off. But that’s up to Cassidy. I only want to talk to her.”

  “Not here. Now, get going.”

  “I can’t do that.” Slate shook his head. He saw the shadow beside his boot too late. Even as he swung around to see who had crept up behind him, he felt the blow to his head and realized that he was dropping onto his knees. His last sight was of Cole Benson’s triumphant grin.

  CASSIDY SURFACED and treaded water, pulling air into her deprived lungs. The small pond was deeper than she’d thought, but on the last dive she’d found the tractor. Now she knew exactly where it was. There was no hope she could search the bottom without an oxygen supply, but she was exhilarated at finding the tractor. It proved that Slate’s dreams were an accurate reflection of reality.

  If only she could find the gun. That evidence would dissolve the link between Slate and the robbery weapon, but more important, it would prove that someone, or several someones, were lying about Slate’s involvement in the attempted robbery.

  If there ever was an attempt made on the bank.

  For Cassidy, the tractor validated so many of the things she’d felt but been unable to prove. Slate was innocent. She had the first bit of solid proof.

  She took off her flippers and started up the bank. As soon as Lindsey woke up, they’d take a dip and then head into town. The first person Cassidy wanted to see was Rusty Jones. Rusty had presented the gun as evidence against Slate. But had he considered that someone might have made a duplicate gun?

  A chilling thought struck Cassidy. If someone had gone to the trouble to create a replica of Slate’s father’s gun, then they’d intended all along to frame Slate. He hadn’t happened into the bank and unluckily become part of a robbery attempt. Someone had planned to implicate Slate—had planned to send him away to prison.

  The crowning glory had been Slate’s amnesia.

  Suddenly Cassidy realized what a ticking time bomb she’d stumbled onto. If she was correct and Slate had been deliberately framed, then whoever had done it was waiting, anxiously, to see if Slate would recover his memory.

  It didn’t seem likely after five years in prison, but it was possible that a return to the location where he’d developed amnesia might trigger something from the past. And if it did, whoever had created the frame would be waiting.

  “Lindsey!” Cassidy called out as she scrabbled up the side of the pond onto the dry grass.

  She looked under the tree and for a moment she felt as if she’d been sun-blinded. The blue-checkered cloth was undisturbed, and the place where she’d left her daughter sleeping was empty.

  Chapter Ten

  Cassidy stumbled across the grassy field and stopped at the edge of the checkered cloth. There was a slight impression where Lindsey had lain, but the child was gone.

  “Lindsey!” she called out, turning in a complete circle as she shouted her daughter’s name over and over again.

  When it was obvious her daughter wasn’t around the pond, Cassidy faced the water. The smooth blue surface was calm. There was no sign that a five-year-old might have slipped beneath the water. Cassidy choked back a sob and grabbed the mask and flippers. She dove again and again, until her lungs burned with a need for oxygen and rest. There was no sign of Lindsey in the murky depths.

  Once she forced herself out of the water, Cassidy knew she had to calm down. She had to think—to be clear.

  If Lindsey hadn’t gone into the pond, then she had to be somewhere around the area. She was a little girl; she couldn’t have traveled far. Not alone, and not on foot.

  Cassidy snatched on her clothes and jumped into the truck. She decided to drive in ever-widening circles around the pond, until she found her daughter.

  The summer sun had reached its zenith, and it burned down with a relentlessness that made Cassidy dizzy. But she left the truck window down, calling and listening for Lindsey. As she topped each small rise, she imagined her beautiful blond daughter there, playing, oblivious to the anxiety she was causing her mother. But at the crest of each gentle slope, she found only empty grassland and clusters of live oaks.

  It was a half hour later when she moved into land that had been reclaimed by cedars. The scrub growth was thick and Cassidy felt her hopes plummet. The dense, scrappy trees would provide hiding places for Lindsey and make the search much harder. Still, she pressed on, calling out as she drove and stopped, drove and stopped.

  A glint of bright red caught her attention, and she angled toward a thick cluster of cedars that had grown along the edge of a rocky ravine. As she approached what appeared to be an abandoned vehicle, a herd of five deer broke cover and took off, bounding over rocks and scrub, their white tails bouncing. Cassidy drew closer to the parked truck with caution.

  She recognized it as Slate’s. Hook’em had stored Slate’s big red diesel for five years, keeping it in mint condition for Slate when he got out of prison. Now the front fender was mangled and there were scratches along the paint.

  Cassidy felt her stomach knot even tighter. The truck looked as if it had been in an accident—and it looked empty. She got out of her vehicle and approached on foot.

  “Lindsey!” Cassidy had a terrible thought. Slate had vowed
to see Lindsey. What if he’d picked her up at the pond and then had an accident? To hell with caution, she thought as she ran to the truck calling her daughter’s name.

  “Mama!” Lindsey’s face appeared in the truck window.

  “Lindsey!” Cassidy felt relief so great her knees actually trembled.

  “Mama!” Lindsey burst into tears.

  Cassidy sprinted around the truck to her child. She opened the door and held out her arms as her baby girl threw herself into them. As she pressed Lindsey to her chest, she saw Slate slumped over in the seat. Blood caked the side of his head and had dripped onto the truck seat and dried.

  For one terrible moment, Cassidy thought he was dead. She held her sobbing daughter and reached across the seat to find a pulse. To her relief, Slate moaned.

  When his eyes opened, they were clouded with pain. As his mind cleared, Cassidy saw that he registered her presence, and Lindsey’s.

  “What happened?” he asked, frowning.

  Cassidy was relieved that Lindsey quieted as soon as Slate spoke. The little girl still held tightly to Cassidy’s neck, but she turned to look at Slate. “He’s hurt,” she said, whimpering. “He was bleeding and he wouldn’t talk to me.”

  “It’s okay,” Cassidy reassured her, though she wasn’t certain at all that it was. “Slate? Do you know who we are?”

  Slate nodded slowly. “But I don’t know how I got here.” He looked out the window. “I was…”

  Cassidy eased Lindsey to the ground. “Let me look at Slate’s head, honey. He may need Doc Jameson to put in a few stitches.”

  “Like Kip had to have when he cut his hand?” Lindsey’s voice was already stronger and calmer.

  “Exactly like that,” Cassidy said, though she knew that with Slate’s history of amnesia, another blow to the head could not bode well. She eased onto the seat and gently touched Slate’s scalp. The gash was in his hair, but she could see that it was about two inches. It definitely needed a needle and thread.

  “Slate, what were you doing with Lindsey?” She asked calmly enough, but she felt him tense and knew he understood perfectly the underlying focus of her question. She was actually asking what in the hell he was doing on such a godforsaken strip of the Double O with her daughter.

  “I assumed you brought Lindsey with you,” he said.

  Cassidy swallowed. “You don’t remember taking her from the pond?”

  “I don’t remember because I didn’t do it.”

  Cassidy used a clean napkin she’d tucked into her pocket to dab at the wound. “You’ll need stitches.” He sounded so certain. So positive.

  “What I need is some answers.” Slate’s voice was angry. “Are you telling me that somehow Lindsey ended up in this truck in this—” he looked around “—place? I’m not even sure where we are, much less how I got here.”

  “What happened to your head?”

  Slate hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  Cassidy sighed, suddenly angry at him. “That’s a mighty convenient memory you have there, Slate.” She eased out of the truck, her hand wrapped tightly around Lindsey’s. “You almost frightened me to death. When I came out of the water and Lindsey was gone, I was terrified she’d gone into the pond and drowned. There was no trace of her. Not even a note. You can’t imagine how that made me feel.” As she talked, her anger grew. “But then I suppose that might have been what you intended.”

  Slate straightened up and got out of the truck on the driver’s side. He walked around the vehicle. “It looks like I hit a tree or a rock or something,” he said, calling her attention to the dented front bumper. “Don’t you think I’d remember having a wreck?”

  “I don’t know what you might remember,” Cassidy said in a soft voice. “All I know is that one minute Lindsey was there, and the next she was gone. Then I find her with you, at least two miles from the pond where she was sleeping.”

  Slate’s green eyes were wide and clear. He stared at her for several seconds before he spoke. “Any jury would convict me of abducting my daughter, right?”

  Slate’s words were calculated to hurt her, and they did. “That’s not fair.”

  “So far, a lot of things in my life haven’t been fair. Today is just one in a long list.”

  Cassidy turned to Lindsey. “What happened?” she asked. “You were asleep under the tree, remember?”

  Lindsey frowned. “We ate the sandwiches and I went to sleep.” Her small forehead was furrowed. “I heard men talking, but it was a dream, I think. And then I woke up here and Slate was hurt. He was bleeding, and he wouldn’t wake up.” Tears formed in her eyes and slowly traced down her cheeks. “I thought my daddy was dead.”

  Lindsey’s words melted her as nothing else could. Lindsey had accepted Slate as her father with the open, trusting heart of a child. She only hoped Slate would appreciate—and protect—that trust. “It’s okay,” Cassidy reassured her. “It’s okay, sweetie. We’re going home and getting Slate taken care of.”

  She met Slate’s gaze. It was as clear and green as she remembered, and filled with awe. So he was aware of the magnificence of Lindsey’s acceptance. She knew instinctively that he would protect their daughter, and then she wondered if she was a fool or just plain stupid, because she was beginning to believe him. Again. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. Don’t you remember anything?”

  Slate’s face took on a closed look. “In fact, now that my head is clearing, I do. I remember going after you and Lindsey. I wanted to talk to you and to see her. Cole stopped me on the road.” He instinctively felt his head. “While I was talking with Cole, someone slipped up behind me and coldcocked me. That’s the last I remember.”

  Cassidy looked again at the badly dented fender. “You don’t remember hitting anything?” She didn’t know what to believe. Lindsey hadn’t levitated and floated across the ranch to drift into the window of Slate’s truck. She glanced down to look for tracks, but the ground was so hard there wasn’t a trace of anything.

  “Nope.” Slate knelt down to examine what was left of some moisture on the ground. He opened the hood. “Looks like I lost the radiator, too.”

  “Climb into my truck,” Cassidy said. Her primary concern was her daughter. “We’ll sort things out after you see the doctor and Lindsey has something cold to drink.”

  SLATE STARED OUT the window. Though he kept his expression blank, his mind raced from one bit of memory to the next. He did remember everything up to the point that Cole’s man bushwhacked him. He hadn’t lost his memory. He was positive about what had happened.

  As the cool air conditioner of the truck blasted over him, he was suddenly aware of the little girl who sat between him and Cassidy. His daughter. He looked down at her and felt a sharp sense of wonder. Her wide blue eyes were on him, and the tiniest frown pulled at her high forehead. She picked up Slate’s hand and held it in both of her own.

  “The stitches won’t hurt too much,” she said wisely.

  Gazing down at her, Slate knew terror. His fear was that he would never remember the important things of his life—and that he might one day lose the memories he had of Lindsey and her mother. That thought was too much to bear.

  “Who was with Cole?” Cassidy asked into the silence.

  “There were three up on the ridge, but I didn’t know them. And then the one who slipped behind the truck and hit me.” Slate watched Cassidy’s reaction and was rewarded with nothing. She kept her eyes on the road and her hands steady on the wheel. He couldn’t tell if she believed him or not.

  “What were you doing on Blue Vista land? You should have known Cole wouldn’t welcome you.”

  “I was on the way to the pond. Nita told me where you had gone. I was leaving, but I wanted to see you. To see Lindsey.”

  Cassidy glanced at him. “That doesn’t explain how Lindsey got in your truck.”

  Slate had thought about that. “There are two possibilities. Cole or some of his men took her and put her in the truck—after they’d wrecked it a
nd put me in it. Or else I was dazed from the blow to the head and I took her.” He felt his heart pounding as he waited for her reaction.

  “Why would Cole do such a thing?”

  He knew Cassidy was carefully choosing the path of the conversation. “Why would Cole tell me about Lindsey?” he countered. “I’m certain you’d made it clear to everyone that you wanted that information kept from me.” He saw he’d scored a point. “Look, my truck was close enough to the pond so that you were certain to find me and Lindsey. He knew either I would regain consciousness and return Lindsey, or you would find us.” Slate knew it was time to shut up and let Cassidy think.

  “And you think Cole did this in an effort to blacken your name.”

  “More likely, you’d figure I wasn’t safe to have around Lindsey. If I was doing things and blacking out, you wouldn’t be tempted to view me as a responsible parent.”

  Cassidy nodded slowly. “I can see that possibility. Cole has always been a man who made things work out to his satisfaction.”

  Slate took the deepest breath he’d taken since he’d come to. Cassidy was at least considering his interpretation of the facts.

  He felt her gaze on him and turned to find her blue eyes strangely curious. “What is it?” He could see that she hesitated, that she wasn’t certain whether to broach the subject or not. “Tell me,” he pressed.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware of the way you talk in your sleep, but something you said to Johnny Vance led me to believe that your father’s gun may be at the bottom of that pond.”

  Her statement was so unexpected, so startling that Slate was momentarily speechless. “Dad’s gun is locked up at your house.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Cassidy’s smile was tight. “What if someone had a copy of that gun made?”