The Texas Brands
The Littlest Cowboy
The Baddest Virgin in Texas
Badlands Bad Boy
Long Gone Lonesome Blues
Texas Guardian
Lone Star Lonely
The Outlaw Bride
Texas Angel
Texas Homecoming
LONG GONE LONESOME BLUES
Previously titled: The Husband She Couldn’t Remember
First Published 1998
Copyright © 2014 by Maggie Shayne
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Excerpt from Lone Star Lonely
About the Author
Chapter 1
He’d dreamed about his wife again.
Ben lay still in bed, wide eyes staring up into the darkness as he waited for the chill in his blood to fade. A warm, dry breeze made the curtains dance in the open window, and brought in the sounds of a west Texas night. Cicadas whirred and coyotes yipped like brokenhearted lovers. In the dream Penny had been in trouble. And like she always did when she got herself into trouble, she’d been calling to him for help.
It wasn’t like her to ask for help openly. Oh, but it was just like her to get herself into a mess and then come running to him, scared witless and too proud to admit it. He’d always known when she needed him, though, whether she admitted it or not.
It was later that she’d changed, become quiet and scared and timid. Much later. After Doc told her she was gonna die slow, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Seemed like just knowing that had killed her spirit. The most vibrant part of Penny had died before the illness even began to show its cruel symptoms.
In the dream, though, she hadn’t been that broken woman he’d married. She’d been the hell-on-wheels amateur sleuth he’d fallen in love with, crying, but in anger and frustration more than fear. And not so much asking him to help her as demanding he get his ass in gear. Like she used to do, before it all went to hell.
But in the dream he couldn’t reach her. Couldn’t get to her.
It didn’t take a shrink to tell Ben it was guilt. He hadn’t been with Penny at the end. And he should have been, dammit. But her death hadn’t come quite the way they’d both expected it to. Not slow like Doc had said it would be. As things turned out, it happened all at once, out of the blue. Penny had died alone, despite Ben’s promise that he’d be at her side, holding her tight in his arms when the end came. She’d died without him, and that was something he still hadn’t managed to forget. It ate at him, the guilt.
A cow bellowed from outside, and her calf bawled back at her. Ben shook himself and slid out of bed, grateful to have something to do besides lie there and dream of Penny, or think back on all the things he should have done and hadn’t. He pushed the billowing curtains aside and leaned his hands on the sill to look out over the lawn toward the barns and the pastures beyond.
A lopsided half-moon spilled yellow light over the flat, wide expanse that was the Texas Brand. It bathed lush, fence-post-lined meadows and gleamed on the barn roof. Ben scanned the pasture in search of the noisy cow and calf, just to be sure they were all right. But something caught his eye and dragged his gaze along the worn driveway to the road at its dusty mouth, where the words Texas
Brand rose in a hewed wooden arch that had been there for as long as any of them could remember.
A woman stood there, underneath that arch. Staring up at it. And there was something familiar about her stance and the tilt of her head.
Ben stiffened, then forced himself to close his eyes. “Not again, dammit,” he whispered. “She’s gone, Ben. And if you don’t get hold of yourself, you’re gonna have the whole damned family thinking your sanity went with her.”
He opened his eyes again. She was still there. Her hair moved with the wind, lifting away from her face. But it was dark where she stood in the shadow of the arch. The half-moon didn’t illuminate her features. He couldn’t even tell what she was wearing. But there was something about her….
“She’s not Penny. She’s probably not even real,” Ben told himself, even as he wondered why every cell in his body was responding as if she was. He couldn’t even see enough to know what color her hair might be. But she didn’t vanish when he looked away, rubbed his eyes and looked back again. At least he wasn’t imagining things this time, like the other day when he thought he spotted his wife outside the dojo in the middle of his preschool karate class. She’d been staring through the window at him. Of course, there had been no one there. This time there was definitely someone there—just not Penny.
He reached for the jeans on his bedpost, tugged them on without taking his eyes from the spot where the woman stood. He didn’t bother with the button or the zipper, ignored the boots standing at the foot of his bed, didn’t even consider grabbing a shirt. He just looked out there one last time to assure himself she wasn’t going to disappear like the last mystery woman had, and then he ran. Into the hall, down the stairs, through the house and out the door onto the wide front porch. He looked toward the place where she’d been…but there was no one. Nothing. The wind blew a little. Dust devils rose like ghosts in the driveway, and the porch swing creaked as it moved back and forth.
Ben scanned the area as far as he could see, but found no sign of her. It was as if she’d never been there. Just like the woman at the dojo.
Moving like a sleepwalker, he scuffed barefoot down the driveway toward the big wooden arch, ignoring the lights coming on in the house behind him, and the footsteps, and the familiar squawk and bang of the screen door. His brothers, of course, worrying about him like always. They wanted to fix this for him. The problem was, they couldn’t. Losing Penny was like losing his own soul. And he was beginning to think he’d never get over it. He was beginning to think he hadn’t yet realized the half of just how deeply it had affected him.
“Ben, what the hell’s going on?” Garrett’s booming, big-brother voice rolled on the night, breaking the gloom. Even the coyotes shut up when he spoke.
Ben just shook his head and kept walking. He stopped beneath the arch, looking for footprints in the dark, and seeing none.
“Ben, are you okay?” Elliot called. He sounded scared. He was the youngest. It must shake his sense of security to see one of his big brothers apparently falling apart at the seams.
“I’m okay.” Ben said it softly, but his voice, like Garrett’s, was as big as his frame, and carried. “I thought…I thought I saw someone out here, is all.”
He heard booted feet tapping down the porch steps, and then a deep, firm voice saying, “I’ll go.”
Adam, of course. Ben had always been closest to Adam. That tie had been strained when Adam took off for the
East Coast and his executive job there. He was only home now on a month-long leave of absence he still hadn’t explained, except to say he’d been missing the Texas Brand and just needed to be home for a while.
Ben suspected Adam had come back because of him. The family seemed to think he’d been mourning too long. They probably figured if anyone could help him through this, it would be Adam.
Ben straightened as his brother drew near, but when he inhaled, his heart tripped over itself. He smelled lilacs. Penny had always smelled of lilacs.
“So what did you see out here, big brother?” Adam asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the pole that supported one side of the arch.
The guy looked like a GQ cover, even when he was rousted out of bed in the wee hours. Black designer shirt with its Nehru collar all buttoned up, and shirttail tucked into his black designer jeans. His boots gleamed. Not a scuff mark or a manure stain on ‘em. He hadn’t been home long enough yet.
Ben shrugged. “Do you smell anything out here?”
Adam frowned, but sniffed. “Yeah. Cows.”
“Anything else?”
Tilting his head, Adam sniffed again. “Horses?”
“Never mind.”
Adam studied Ben’s face. “What did you smell?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, what did you see?”
“Someone, just standing here. Doesn’t matter now, I suppose.”
“Maybe it does and maybe it doesn’t,” Adam said. “Did you think you saw a man or woman?”
“What difference does it make?” Ben straightened and started back for the house.
Adam’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Woman, then. C’mon, Ben, be straight with me here. Did you think you saw Penny again, just now?”
Ben stiffened a little, but said nothing.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Adam came around so he could see his brother’s face. “I’m worried about you, Ben.”
“Don’t be. Look, I wish the whole damned family would just ease up. I’m going on without her. I set up the dojo, didn’t I? Started a new life. I don’t see what more you guys expect from me.”
“A business isn’t a life, Ben. And what we expect from you is that you pull yourself out of this. Stop mourning her with every breath you take. We want you to be happy again.”
Ben met his brother’s eyes. Darkest blue, and fringed in black, and filled right now with concern. “That’s not gonna happen, Adam.”
“It’s not impossible, Ben. Other people do it.”
Hell, he wasn’t “other people.” When would his family get that? His temper bubbled over, and he didn’t bother trying to keep a lid on it. “Like you, right, little brother? Like the way you got over Kirsten Armstrong never showing up on your wedding day—by running off to New York City and never looking back? Like the way you refuse to go into town whenever you come home, for fear of running into her and the rich old geezer she married?”
Adam lifted his chin, anger and moonlight flashing in his eyes, though he fought it visibly. “I’ll forgive that, Ben. Once. Because I know you’re hurting.”
“So are you,” Ben said. “You just take a minute to think how much worse it would be if Kirsten died on you, instead of eloping with another man. You think about that, and then you tell me I should be over it, Adam.”
Adam lowered his head, shook it slowly. “You’re being obtuse. I’m not comparing my history with K—with her—to your loss. And I’m not still hurting over her betrayal. Hell, I hate her lousy guts.”
“So much you can’t even say her name,” Ben said. Then he sighed. He was a jerk to throw Kirsten in Adam’s face. His brother’s wounds were still too raw. Ben tipped his head back and stared up at the moon for a long moment. “Sorry I ripped into you, Adam. That was hittin’ below the belt. I know you’re just being such a pain in the backside because you’re worried about me.”
“I am.”
Ben nodded, lowering his head. “So’m I, to be honest.”
“Then what are we gonna do about it?” Adam asked him.
Ben shook his head slowly. “Just don’t tell me to get over Penny the way the rest of ‘em keep doing, okay? There is no such thing as over Penny. Not for me.”
“All right,” Adam said. “I’ll lay off.”
Ben looked Adam in the eyes. Then, satisfied his brother meant what he said, he slapped him on the shoulder and they walked together back to the house. “So what do you do, sleep in them fancy duds of yours?”
Adam slanted him an irritated glance, so Ben shut up.
He didn’t sleep again after that. There was only an hour till dawn anyway, so he put on his spotless white gi, knotted his black belt at the waist and went barefoot into the backyard to face the eastern horizon.
As the sun rose, he pressed his palms together in front of him, bowed deeply, and then began the slow, flowing moves of tai chi. He went through the yang short form, the long form and the short form again before the familiar feeling of peace began to settle over him. His nerves calmed and his muscles relaxed. The tension drained, and he lost himself in what he was doing, focusing only on that and nothing else. His entire being concentrated on each movement. He’d found it was the only time he could stop mourning the death of his young wife.
But even then, as focused as he was, he kept getting the odd sensation that someone was watching him.
She’d found an address, the name of a ranch in Quinn, Texas, and nothing else. She’d discovered the slip of paper in the lining of her jacket one day—after they’d let her start wearing regular clothes again, and walking outside in the fenced yard on occasion. It seemed to have slipped through a hole in the pocket and worked its way into the lining. She’d felt it there as she dressed, and her natural curiosity made her eager to retrieve it.
Okay, she’d had to tear the lining apart to retrieve it. So maybe her “natural” curiosity was a bit…overblown. Mutant, even. So what?
The Texas Brand. She’d had nowhere else to go when things began to look…less than just right at the clinic. Something was going on there. They were keeping things from her; she knew it. And when she’d mentioned leaving…well, they’d acted so strangely.
Somewhere in her mind there was a vague notion that she sometimes jumped to conclusions. Someone—she wished she could remember who—used to tease her about having more conspiracy theories than Oliver Stone. Maybe she was wrong in being so suspicious of Dr. Barlow.
But she didn’t think so. The man had shifty eyes, and he never looked directly into hers when she asked questions. She sensed he was a liar.
Besides, he kept telling her she had no one. That she’d come to this clinic alone and desperate, and had told him herself that she had no family to turn to. And she knew that was a lie.
There was this feeling inside her. A huge, welling emotion that got so big sometimes it nearly overwhelmed her. It was like…like a longing. A craving…for someone. She knew it was someone and not something. And she knew it was someone real…someone lost in the vast black hole that had swallowed up her memory.
He’d loved her, though. She knew that. Because she dreamed about him. And she could never remember the dreams when she woke up again, but they left her feeling good all over. Warm and safe and so loved it was beyond comprehension. At least, she’d feel that way when she first awoke. Then, as reality set in, she’d be left with nothing but an aching sense of loss. Even though she wasn’t sure just who it was she was missing so much.
Oh, she had someone, all right. And she would find him if it was the last thing she did. Even if Dr. Barlow did insist this man of her dreams didn’t exist.
There were other things that didn’t add up. Things that made her realize she wasn’t being told all they knew about her. For example, she was American. It was obvious from her voice and her accent. Slightly Southern, with perhaps a bit of a twang. Right in line with the slip of paper and the Texas address. How the hell had she managed to get all the way to England in the first p
lace? And why? Had she known someone there?
If she had, she didn’t any longer. She knew no one when she finally clawed her way out of the coma. Not even herself. But some gut instinct had told her to get her rear end to Texas to find the answers. And so she had.
She stood now in the shelter of a large oak tree, her body shielded from sight by its broad trunk, watching him. And every nerve ending vibrated with awareness and a jolting feeling of familiarity. Was he the man in her dreams, the man whose face she could never remember?
Or was she just filling that emptiness with the first likely candidate she came across? It didn’t feel as if she was. But damn, how could she believe it without evidence? She couldn’t go by just this gut feeling that had hit her so powerfully the first time she’d set eyes on him.
He was a beautiful man. At first glance she’d have pegged him as awkward and clumsy. She’d have never believed he could move the way he was moving now, because he was very large. Tall, and broad as a lumber-jack or a weight lifter. Tanned from hours in the Texas sun.
Watching him move, hands floating as his body turned, she realized he was as graceful as a dancer.
He stood facing the orange sunrise. She watched from behind, so the fiery sphere cast him in silhouette, turning the baggy white clothing he wore into gleaming red. He was barefoot as he moved his hands and body in slow, synchronized beauty. A slight breeze fingered his shaggy golden hair, despite the fact that he’d pulled it back with a band.
She’d come here because she had no clue where else to go. And this wasn’t the first time she’d watched this golden-haired Brand from a distance.
But she’d stopped short of walking up and knocking on the front door of his gym or dojo or whatever he called it. And she couldn’t bring herself to just go up and knock at the door of his house, either. She wanted to know what she was getting into first, and so some reconnaissance was in order. Who were these Brands of Texas? Would they be glad to see her, or even know her at all? What had they been to her? And why…why did looking at this man make her stomach tie itself in knots and bring an odd tightness to her throat?
Long Gone Lonesome Blues Page 1
