by Judy Duarte
But the fact that he’d so easily assumed they’d once been—or still might be—lovers had flattered her. And, in a way, excited her.
To be honest, she was attracted to the mysterious vagabond who’d wandered into her life. But nothing would become of the growing attraction, because Louanne wouldn’t allow herself to become involved with him—for more reasons than one.
As she started down the hall, she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to find Rowan awake or asleep. But the moment she reached his doorway, their eyes met and her pulse quickened.
She placed a hand on the doorjamb, but didn’t enter the room; she didn’t trust herself to get too close to the gorgeous man lying in bed.
Before she could catch her breath and broach the subject, he slid her a shy, half smile. “You look really familiar to me. And I’m not sure why. But I’m sorry for assuming that we’d…you know.”
Yeah. She knew. And, in a way, she was sorry that they hadn’t.
She offered what she hoped was a sincere smile. “That’s all right. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you. And I intend to do whatever I can to help you find your past.”
Their gazes locked. And for a still, heated moment, his prior assumption and her attraction swirled around them like the first stirring of a Texas twister.
“Well,” she said, trying to end the awkward moment. “I’d better get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
She went back to her room and climbed into bed, but sleep evaded her until just before the break of dawn, when she gave up hope of a run-in with the sandman and quietly started her day.
About an hour or so later, Noah cried out, and she managed to reach him before he woke Rowan. Then, after changing his diapers, she took her son into the kitchen, where he sat happily in his high chair, drinking milk from his little cup, while she prepared bacon and hotcakes.
The morning sunlight filtered through the age-yellowed lace curtain, dappling the chipped tile countertop. And the aroma of fresh coffee wafted through the house, as the old percolator sputtered and gurgled on the stove, blending with the savory scent of breakfast meat.
A rap sounded at the back door, and Pete let himself in. He took off his hat and hung it on the rack in the service porch, where her daddy used to always leave his. “How’d it go last night?”
“All right,” she said, deciding not the mention the nocturnal chat, the caress of her hand. The self-conscious way she’d withdrawn from Rowan’s touch as she’d remembered when her skin hadn’t been so leathery.
Pete held a purse-like, zippered bag in his hand. “Is he awake?”
“No. Not yet.” Louanne cracked an egg into the white ceramic bowl of pancake flour, then tossed the shell into the trash.
“Well, I found out how he got hurt.” Pete poured himself a mug of coffee. “While I was going out to mend that stretch of fence, I found a busted up motorcycle lying in a ditch.”
“So he must have crashed.”
“Yep. And it was a damn nice bike at that. He was riding one of them fancy Harley-Davidsons. ’Course it don’t look so fancy anymore.”
It didn’t surprise her. Rowan had wealth written all over him, in spite of the worn jeans. “I heard those bikes were expensive.”
“At one time,” Pete said, “Hells Angels and other biker gangs used to favor those big bikes. But now, they’ve become popular with those yuppie fellows.”
Was Rowan a young professional-type?
The wrecked Harley ought to answer a few questions, like how he’d gotten hurt. But it merely provided more questions about the enigmatic Rowan Parks.
“Anyway, I didn’t bring that durn bike back here. It must weigh a ton. But I found this in a saddlebag near the seat.” He placed his discovery on the countertop.
Louanne wiped her hands upon the apron, then picked up the leather pouch. Curiosity begged her to unzip it, to look inside. To learn more about the hellion who’d touched something hidden in her soul.
“You gonna open it up?” Pete asked.
A smile teased Louanne’s lips. Pete was as curious as an old woman, according to Aggie. And she’d seen his nosy side. “Why don’t you tell me what’s inside, since you probably already peeked.”
He chuckled. “You’re as bad as my wife.”
Before she could apologize, he said, “I found a California vehicle registration, listing Rowan Parks as the owner. And a few personal items, like breath mints and a checkbook. Plus a cell phone.”
Louanne wasn’t normally a snoop. Had Rowan been unconscious, she would have had every right to sift through his belongings to notify the next of kin. But he was certainly able to go through his belongings himself. Of course, if the cell phone battery went dead before he got a chance to look at any missed calls, he might never learn who he was. Or be able to alert his friends and family members that he was alive and safe.
“You want me to take this little feller to Aggie?” Pete asked, as he poked a callused finger at Noah’s belly and received a squeal and a smile for his efforts.
“Sure. But he hasn’t had his breakfast yet.”
“Aggie loves feeding him.”
“I know.” Louanne smiled warmly and gave the man a hug. “In case you’ve forgotten, I appreciate how much you and Aggie do for us. And how much you love Noah.”
“We love you, too, honey. You’ve been like the daughter we never had.” Pete removed the happy child from the high chair. “Come on, li’l pardner. Let’s go say hello to Aggie.”
When Louanne was alone in the kitchen, she picked up Rowan’s cell phone. It looked like a top-of-the-line model. Fancy and expensive, like his Harley. Like his Rolex. It suited him, she supposed. Or at least the picture of him she was forming.
As soon as she’d figured out how the bells and whistles worked, she pulled up a list of phone numbers. The one on top belonged to “Sam.” She jotted down the number, just in case the battery died.
“What are you doing?”
Louanne jumped at the sound of the masculine voice, turning to see Rowan standing in the kitchen doorway, looking like a sleep-tousled dream-come-true.
She held up his cell phone. “Good news—I think. Pete found a wrecked Harley-Davidson not far from where we found you. This leather pouch and a cell phone were in the saddlebag. You’ve programmed numbers in here, so we have a way of accessing your past.”
He just leaned against the doorjamb, unsmiling.
She would have thought he’d be eager to find out who his friends and family were. Who Emily was. “What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know.” He raked a hand through the tumble of dark, rebellious locks, not making the strands look any better or worse. “Maybe it’s the dream I had last night.”
She didn’t doubt he’d found it disturbing. “What about the dream?”
“I was running from something.”
Like she was running and hiding? “From whom?”
“No one in particular. It was more of a force, a presence. From feelings like grief and anger.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain, but I don’t feel a pressing need to go home, wherever that is.”
“Maybe it’s the amnesia that has you uneasy.”
Not knowing who he was and how he fit into the scheme of life had to be confusing and unsettling, to say the least. And she suspected it could cause a person to become a bit paranoid.
How would she feel if her memory suddenly vanished? If those frightening images of Richard no longer surfaced, no longer haunted her days and nights?
She might sleep better, but would her fear remain as a faceless, unidentifiable threat?
“Maybe you’re right.” Rowan took a deep breath, then blew out a ragged sigh. “The amnesia—not being able to remember who I am—has left me a bit unbalanced.”
“Aren’t you curious about the past, the people in your life?”
“Yeah. But I can’t explain the discontent, the uneasiness I feel.”
“People might be
worried about you.”
“And they might not give a rat’s hind end about me.” He raked a hand through his hair again. “See what I mean? I keep getting these weird feelings, and I don’t know where in the hell they come from.”
“Calling up your past can wait,” she said, understanding, at least to some extent, his reluctance. “If that’s what you want.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know what I want. Or what those people mean to me.” He nodded toward the cell phone she held, then shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. He looked so tough, so vulnerable.
“The call can wait. You can make it whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks.” His heavenly eyes lingered on hers and revealed sincerity and appreciation. But that wasn’t all. When he looked at her, the room seemed to come alive with sexual awareness, something she didn’t want to consider and didn’t dare question or pursue.
Several hours later, while Noah was napping at Aggie’s and Louanne was hanging a batch of wet sheets on the clothesline, Rowan joined her outside.
The afternoon sun glistened on the black strands of his hair, like a kiss of sunlight on a raven’s wing in flight. And she found it difficult not to stare. Not to let romantic notions kidnap her thoughts and ride off in the sunset.
“Maybe it would be a good idea if you made that call,” he said. “But keep things generic and brief. You can say I need some time to myself. Then you can gauge their reactions.”
“All right. I’m nearly done here.” She hung the last sheet on the line, but before she could pick up the empty wicker laundry basket, he snatched the handle at one end and carried it into the house. She followed behind, watching the swagger of his walk, the way he filled out her father’s shirt and jeans in a way the tall, lanky, older man never had.
Once inside, Louanne glanced at the phone number she’d written on the notepad by the phone. “The first one belongs to someone named Sam. Does that name sound familiar?”
“No.”
She picked up the receiver of the wall-mounted kitchen phone and dialed. A moment later, a recorded message answered.
That was odd. She looked at Rowan, caught his gaze. “The number is no longer in service, and there’s no new number. How up-to-date is your phone list?”
“You’re asking me?” Rowan rolled his eyes and blew out a ragged sigh.
“Sorry.” She picked up the cell phone and glanced at the display. The second entry was a bit disturbing. “I brought this up last night, but I’d better ask again. Does the name Emily ring a bell?”
“No. It still doesn’t.”
Well, nevertheless, there was a woman in his life named Emily, a woman he’d called for last night in his dream. And for some reason, that fact was a little unsettling.
But she brushed her discomfort aside. No doubt Emily missed her man. Louanne certainly would, if her husband or lover turned up missing.
She picked up the kitchen phone and gave it another shot. After four rings, an answering machine kicked on, and a female voice said, “You’ve reached 555-4349. There’s no one to take your call right now, but if you leave your name and number after the tone, we’ll get back to you.”
We’ll get back to you?
Was that a single woman’s ploy to make it appear she didn’t live alone? Or were Emily and Rowan live-in lovers? Or maybe even married?
Last night, Rowan had looked at Louanne and touched her in such a loving, gentle way—the way a man touched a woman he wanted sexually. Not that Louanne was an expert at that sort of thing, but she knew the look, the touch.
She’d pulled away, of course, for a variety of reasons that had nothing to do with the way his fingertips had sent a shimmy of heat pulsing through her veins.
Now she was even more glad that she hadn’t let things go any further. What if she would’ve let their attraction build?
Rowan might be spoken for—by a woman named Emily. A woman whose recorded voice sounded young, nice and pretty—if a person could gather that kind of information from an answering machine.
At the beep, Louanne left her name and number, mentioning Rowan and asking Emily to call her back. Then she hung up.
The third entry in line was someone named Brenda. Another woman? Was Rowan playing the field?
She glanced at him. “How about Brenda?”
He shrugged. “Why don’t I go take another shower? I’m not used to the Texas humidity. Besides, I don’t feel up to an awkward conversation with people I can’t remember.”
When he left her alone in the kitchen, she gave it one more try—just for the heck of it. And this time, her call was rewarded.
“Parks residence. May I help you?”
For a moment, her tongue deserted her. She’d been halfway prepared to talk to Sam or Emily, but they hadn’t answered. This time someone had.
Louanne was well aware of the fact that Rowan had a past, a history. People in his life. But those people were strangers to her—to both of them, right now.
Did Rowan have a loving home? A shady past? Friends and family who cared about him?
Or demons to outrun, like Louanne did.
Suddenly, she understood his apprehension, his fear. At least to some extent. She took a breath and forced herself to speak. “My name is Louanne Brown, and Rowan Parks asked me to call.”
“You’re calling for Rowan?” The woman’s voice wobbled. “Where is he?”
“In Texas.”
“But is he all right?”
“He wrecked his motorcycle and received a few bumps, bruises and cuts in the process. But a doctor looked him over and said that he was fine.”
“Oh, dear God,” the woman said, before blurting out a loud, drawn-out “Emily! Come quick.”
A sob sounded on the other end of the line, and Louanne suspected the woman who’d answered had broken down and cried.
Moments later, another female voice came on the line. “This is Emily Parks. What seems to be the problem?”
Emily Parks? The lump that had formed in Louanne’s throat merely grew larger, and she found it nearly impossible to speak, to respond. To think.
Was he…were they…married? It would seem so. But it really didn’t matter. Louanne and Rowan were merely strangers, ships passing in the night.
But if that was the case, why did she feel as though someone had let the wind out of her sails and left her adrift on a lonely sea?
Chapter Four
Louanne gripped the receiver until her knuckles whitened, as she tried to gather her thoughts, her words. “Rowan asked me to call and let you know that he’s safe.”
“Thank goodness. Where is he?”
“On my ranch in Texas.”
Emily paused momentarily, probably trying to make sense of it all. “Who is this?”
“My name is Louanne Brown.”
“I appreciate your call,” Emily said. “Rowan stormed out of here like a bat out of hell the other night, and I was afraid he’d have an accident. Then a man from the police department called about an hour ago and reported that they’d found his motorcycle in a ditch in Texas. Needless to say, we’ve been worried.”
It sounded as though Rowan had left in anger. Isn’t that what Emily had meant by saying he’d stormed out of the house?
Louanne looked to the empty doorway, wishing that Rowan were standing there, so that he could advise her on what or how much to say. But what good would that have done? Rowan couldn’t even remember Emily, let alone leaving home like that.
It was hard to second-guess what had happened, but maybe Rowan had a good reason for the grief and anger that had haunted his dream last night.
Had Emily upset him? Caused him to end their relationship? Maybe she’d been the one to put the kibosh on things.
Had Rowan wanted to forget something? Had his amnesia been a bit self-serving?
Louanne had always enjoyed her psych classes in college, but she really wasn’t qualified to analyze what was going on in Rowan’s relationship
s, even if she couldn’t help herself from doing so.
Besides, speculating wouldn’t do any good at this point.
“Was Rowan hurt in the accident?” Emily asked.
“Five stitches was the worst of it.” Louanne ignored the amnesia that still plagued him. “But he’ll be all right. He just wanted me to call so you wouldn’t worry.”
“Thank you,” Emily said. “Can I please speak to my brother?”
Her brother? Emily was Rowan’s sister? For some reason Louanne refused to dwell upon, she felt a sense of relief. “He’s not available right now, but I can have him call you back?”
“Did he tell you about the…blowup?” Emily asked.
“He vented a little bit,” Louanne lied, wondering if that would free Rowan’s sister to reveal any of the details. “I figure there’s always two sides to every story.”
“Rowan was furious with our father, but that, of course, was nothing new. His anger has been steadily brewing for years.” Emily blew out a heavy sigh. “Rowan’s probably better off with you in Texas, at least until he cools off. They’ve never seen eye to eye. And quite frankly, I’m worried one of them will do or say something foolish, something that can’t be undone or forgotten.”
“I understand,” Louanne said, although she didn’t. Still, she was glad she’d made the call, that she’d been able to ease the minds of those in the Parks family, of Emily in particular. “I left a message at your house with my number, but if you have a pen and paper, I’ll give it to you again.”
The muffled sound of a drawer opening and closing came over the line. “Go ahead.”
After Louanne recited her telephone number, Emily said, “Thanks again for the call. And for looking out for my brother. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” Louanne tried to dig for a bit more information. “By the way, who is Brenda?”
“Brenda Wheeler is my father’s housekeeper. She more or less raised us, after my mother…left home. So, when she learned about the accident, she was beside herself.”
“And Sam?” Louanne asked.
“I don’t know anyone by that name. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” Louanne twirled the phone cord around her finger. “Rowan mentioned something about him, that’s all. And I was curious, but hated to pry.”
