A Man with a Past

by Mary Connealy

  She and Falcon were alone in the front room. Kevin and Win had gone to bed. Molly had the kitchen clean and bread baked for morning. She’d looked in every corner of the kitchen and her room, and as Cheyenne had known, there was nothing.

  Wyatt had come in from the barn and gone to sleep. Falcon had the bunkhouse to look forward to. The dog was already tucked in there with Andy.

  “Let’s get some rest.” Falcon came up to her and rested one hand on her arm. “We’ll start again tomorrow. We’ll get it figured out.”

  Nodding, it all caught up with her. The shock of the Sidewinder’s will that had thrown her whole life into upheaval. Long days branding. A week in the wilderness, and now the worries about the ranch deeds.

  She was exhausted. But maybe, even though there was a lot to figure out, they were on the way. She let her shoulders sag with fatigue, and it brought her too close to Falcon. He wrapped his arms around her.

  “Rest against me for a bit.”

  She couldn’t resist letting him bear her weight for just a moment. She thought of the puppy. With her head resting on Falcon’s strong chest, she let a faint smile curve her lips.

  The moment between them stretched, then it became something more than a moment. She raised her head at the same time he did, and their lips almost touched by accident.

  “Patsy,” he whispered.

  She jumped away from him. “What?”

  A bucket of ice water couldn’t have cleared Cheyenne’s head any faster.

  Falcon stumbled back. His eyes wide. She saw the knowledge in them. He knew what he’d said.

  He didn’t say it again, but he didn’t try to pretend those words hadn’t come from his mouth.

  “You.” She jabbed a finger at his chest. If it had been a bullet, she’d’ve shot him in the heart. Which sounded real good right now. “You . . . are married.”

  Falcon’s jaw clenched so tight she thought she heard his teeth creak.

  He didn’t deny it. “I-I just . . . I don’t think so.”

  He put space between them, when they’d been so close. He rammed his fingers deep into his hair.

  She saw the pain. It came when he was trying to remember. How could she feel compassion for him and want to clobber him at the same time?

  “Patsy. Who is that?” he asked.

  “You’re the one who said her name.”

  Falcon didn’t respond.

  At last she was able to say, “I believe you when you say you don’t know. But if you left a wife back down the trail . . .”

  The anger of it, the hurt. The wanting. She turned to get out of here, get away from him.

  “Cheyenne, wait!”

  She turned as she reached the door. Only after she’d obeyed him, did she realize she was doing it. She fought down the urge to go kick him. Truth was, she wanted to kick herself for trusting him.

  For obeying that cracked-whip voice.

  But here she was, stopped in place by his command and staring at him. An odd urge to cry swept through her at his rugged good looks. His gentle confusion. His pain. Even guilt. She saw all of that. Maybe he did have a wife, and even without remembering her, he felt guilty on a very deep level.

  And maybe his memory had hidden her, and the way he’d held Cheyenne close hadn’t been meant as any disrespect. But he’d come out here without her, hadn’t he? He’d never said a word about a wife. Kevin had brought his family along. If Falcon had a wife and he hadn’t brought her, then he had abandoned her. Just like the Sidewinder.

  She fought back tears. They didn’t fall, and no sob escaped, but she was crying inside in a way that reached to her heart.

  She hated that she wanted to do such a foolish thing as cry. She hated that he’d made her yearn and care and want.

  “I’m sorry.”

  A sorry excuse for a man.

  “I’m sorry I spoke another woman’s name. But who is she?”

  “A woman you left behind, I’d say.”

  His jaw clenched tighter, nodding as if he had to force his head to move up and down. “You’re right to be furious. I can’t . . . that is, we can’t be . . . well, we can’t be . . . close to each other. Not until I remember.” He came closer to her right after he said they couldn’t be close. And she didn’t run.

  He was absolutely right. Cheyenne’s heart, previously neatly frozen and safe, was now aching.

  “I do know one thing, Cheyenne. If I’m a polecat like my pa, then losing my memory might be for the best.”

  “Why? So you can abandon a wife, maybe children, with a clear conscience?”

  “No, because if I’m a low-down sidewinder of a man, then today I can become someone new. The thought of abandoning a family is sickening. I can’t believe I have it in me to do such a thing. Talking of it makes me ashamed to the bottoms of my feet. If that’s who I was, then that’s not who I will be anymore.”

  He came toe-to-toe with her. He reached up that rough, gentle hand and caressed her cheek with two knuckles. “From this moment on, I am going to be a decent, godly man. No matter how beautiful the woman is. And no matter how my head is full of you when it comes to thoughts of a woman.”

  He meant it. She could see it plain as day. But then he had no idea of the kind of man he was. Nothing he said now would hold when his memory returned.

  “From this day forward, I intend to be a better man than my pa, and that means nothing passes betwixt the two of us until I know for certain I’m free.”

  It was a noble promise. She wished him luck keeping it. Then she left the room on the silent vow that free or not, men couldn’t be trusted. And that was what she needed to remember.

  SEVENTEEN

  Wyatt stepped out of the back door of the house.

  From her mount in back of the herd, Cheyenne saw his mouth drop open. He shoved one hand into his hair and knocked the Stetson clean off his head.

  And then his eyes landed on the bull. He went from shock to pleasure. Then anger.

  Shouting, Wyatt ran for the nearest corral gate. “Rubin, get out here! Andy, Kevin, you too!” There were horses in the corral, but it was a good-sized yard. They could live together for a bit if they had to.

  Andy came out of the bunkhouse. He ran in exactly the right direction to keep the cattle from turning away from the corral gate. The kid was learning.

  Cheyenne would have probably been able to haze them in the right direction, but the boy was helping. And she’d taken five RHR hands along to drive the cattle back. Falcon, too, but she wasn’t speaking to him.

  Rubin charged out of the barn, more cowhands on his heels. They all took off to block cattle from picking the wrong direction.

  Kevin stepped out of the ramrod’s house in his socks. He saw the cattle, vanished back in the cabin, and was out again in seconds with boots on. Win came to the door to watch in wide-eyed confusion.

  She wasn’t much of a ranch woman, but she knew her pa ran Herefords and the RHR ran Angus, and there were a few Herefords here with the HR brand.

  The cattle were gentle critters. Cheyenne had expected them to be wild as deer. Instead, they were fat from a life of easy food, plenty of water, and enough contact with men that they didn’t get overly upset at the sight of a horse and rider. They were broke to the trail by the time they got them up and out of that meadow.

  It had been easy for her and her cowhands to guide them home, despite Falcon being next to useless. He seemed to figure out the way of it enough that he could ride along behind while everyone else hazed the herd. They’d made their way to the RHR with little fuss.

  Now those mostly black-and-white cattle walked calm as you please into the corral.

  Rubin ordered the men to get the horses out of that corral, away from the cows. Horses, especially cow ponies like these, would sometimes make a game out of herding cattle they shared a space with, which, in a pen like this, amounted to bothering them.

  Best to separate them as soon as possible.

  Wyatt had the gate closed, and
Cheyenne was on the ground.

  Falcon swung down, and reached for the mama dog, who’d come hobbling out of the house. Molly had kept her inside until the cattle were penned up. But now Molly stood at the kitchen door, and the dog was loose, coming straight for Falcon. The mama was already looking stronger. She needed to put on some weight, but she’d survive.

  Andy came up to them and picked up one of the puppies. “Can I have one of these for my own?” His question was about the only normal thing anyone had to say about this mess.

  Better than talk of cattle rustlers and land grabs. Betrayal that had gone on, maybe for years. It had to be for years.

  “You can have all four of them as far as I care.” Cheyenne dragged in a chestful of air to calm herself, before saying, “Let’s go inside.”

  “The sheriff told you to take the cattle?” Wyatt watched the cattle crowd up to a watering tank that stood in the yard.

  “Yep, he listened to my story, went with us to the land office, rode out to that valley and checked it out, then said he was going to bring in Ralston.”

  “So the land agent found evidence Ralston’s deed was forged?”

  “Yep. Spellman’s got proof of our claim and is transferring the deed to that. There’s a whole lot to tell about his checking old records, old signatures, dates from the time Ralston recorded his purchase. There weren’t any other purchases besides Ralston’s because there wasn’t a land agent. The date alone shows it to be a fraud. He must’ve broken into the land office and put a forged deed in and stole the original one.”

  Cheyenne wanted to talk to Rubin, too, but he was busy riding a horse into the corral to lasso the horses in there. The other men were with him, and though she hated being suspicious, she wasn’t sure whom she could trust. The last trouble they’d had was with their own ramrod partnering up with the foreman from the Hawkins Ranch. And Percy Ralston was another HR hand.

  Was he the only outlaw left? Or were some of Cheyenne’s own cowhands in on this?

  “I still can’t believe you found our bull,” Wyatt said. “He’s a beauty.”

  Cheyenne turned and marched to the house. Wyatt fell in beside her. In fact, he passed her, eager to get her to where she wanted to be so she’d talk.

  Falcon considered not going in with them. He could take his dog and her pups, and go to the bunkhouse, which seemed to be his house for now.

  Andy came up beside him. Still holding one puppy, he crouched by the litter, then sat right down on the grass and coaxed a second puppy onto his lap.

  Which meant Falcon was out here playing with puppies and a kid.

  Which seemed like a fine idea. He hunkered down beside Andy and petted the mama dog, who’d lain down again, exhausted, poor girl. “Let’s take the pups to the bunkhouse.”

  Andy smiled as he cuddled the little critter to his chest and giggled when it licked his face. “Okay.”

  Andy looked away from the pup, dodging its tongue but not very hard.

  “Falcon,” Cheyenne shouted from the back door, scowling at him, “get in here.”

  She went back inside, not waiting to see if he’d obey her.

  Jealous of the kid, Falcon said, “Can you see to them for a while? I think they’ll let her stay in the bunkhouse. She may turn out to be a good cattle dog.”

  “I’ll feed and water her and find some kind of nest for her and the puppies.”

  “She’s half-wild so don’t upset her overly. If you touch that shoulder, she might bite. I sure would.”

  Andy grinned. “There’s a good-sized bone left from yesterday. I’ll probably leave the shoulder alone if it don’t start in bleeding again.”

  The kid probably had more sense than Falcon did. He wondered if the boy had ever had a dog. Then Falcon wondered that about himself.

  He meandered to the house. Goin’ slow, at least partly because he didn’t like Cheyenne’s bossy ways.

  He thought of that almost kiss. Maybe he liked her bossy ways a little.

  Who was Patsy?

  He pictured that cabin again.

  It caused a deep throb in his noggin so he quit thinking and went inside.

  The whole family was sitting at the table squabbling, ’ceptin’ Molly. She was by the stove like usual.

  Mostly the noise came from Cheyenne and Wyatt.

  “I wonder what you two were like before this whole mess with Clovis’s will. ’Cuz I ain’t never heard neither of you do much but complain.”

  That shut ’em up.

  The pair turned to glare at him.

  Wyatt said, “I’ve climbed that mountain a few times. I’ve never seen a trail on the side you and Cheyenne were on.”

  Falcon explained how the rocks were stacked to disguise the trail. “I almost went past it myself,” he continued. “If that dog hadn’t whined, I might’ve.” But he wouldn’t have. He’d seen those rocks had been moved. It had been well hidden, but he’d seen it all right.

  “I can’t believe Percival Ralston stole our bull. And that was years ago. He’s been at this for a long time.”

  “And faking how hurt he is, Wyatt,” Cheyenne insisted.

  “I know him just well enough,” Win said, “to know he couldn’t lift a bunch of heavy stones. At least not if he’s really as injured as he acts.”

  “Well, he’s a skilled liar, clear enough,” said Falcon.

  “My father probably didn’t even notice he had cows missing,” said Win. “Especially because Percy Ralston does most of his bookwork. He’s—”

  They were all jabberin’, one on top of the other.

  Molly was the only one not talking, not angry. She was busy getting a baked chicken out of the oven. It was late for dinner, but she must’ve planned to wait on him and Cheyenne. The woman was a fine cook and had a good head on her shoulders.

  Falcon’s head, on the other hand, was a wreck. All this talk was too much. He shut it out, and suddenly his thoughts were flooded with flashing, stunted memories.

  The same things.

  Patsy. Harvey. A cabin. “Pa, is that you?”

  The pain was too much to let him talk to these folks. He should put his thinkin’ aside and help figure out what to do with the cattle he’d just stolen . . . or maybe taken back. But he had to get through this wall in his head, memory was just behind it. And hurt or not, he had to pound his way through it to remember who he was.

  He backed slowly out of the kitchen. He wanted to go out the back door and find Andy and help him care for that nice little family of dogs. But he didn’t think he could swing a door open and not be noticed, even with them all stewin’ over this rustling mess. Besides, much as he wanted to spend time caring for a dog, he needed to remember.

  Instead of trying to sneak outside, he left the kitchen for the hallway and kept backing up until he reached that room they’d been in before with the big picture of Cheyenne’s ma on the wall.

  He stood in there, the kitchen noise faint from here. His ears were grateful for the quiet, though his head still hurt.

  He stared at that picture. It was Katherine, he knew, but it was so close to Cheyenne. Katherine’s coloring was a shade lighter. She had blue eyes instead of black like Cheyenne’s. But the pretty face, the size and shape of her, was pure Cheyenne. A beautiful pair of women.

  His pa had been married to this woman.

  “Pa, is that you?”

  A sickening throb sent him stumbling backward. His hands clasped his head. He came up against the wall, and his knees weren’t steady enough to hold him. The pain sent him sinking to the floor. He’d found a corner. His back was to a wall of bookcases that met right here in the corner with him.

  There was a soft rug on the floor that made it as easy to sit on as any chair.

  He sat there with the picture of Katherine LaRemy Brewster Hunt staring down at him. As if she knew he wanted to kiss Cheyenne.

  As if she knew he . . . what? He’d like to dredge up all sorts of guilt to lash himself with, but he didn’t even know what kind o
f man he was.

  Was there a woman somewhere he’d left behind? Patsy? Abandoned like his own ma?

  A face swam into his vision. Patsy. A big girl. Blond with a good smile. Patsy. His . . . his . . . it was right there. A stabbing pain went through his head, so sharp it turned his stomach, and he thought he might empty his belly right there on the floor.

  He clutched his head, sank his fingers deep into his hair and pulled, hoping pain on the outside would help him bear the pain on the inside.

  Who was she to him? The memory came with what felt like a kick in the head, but he had to know. He couldn’t be anything to Cheyenne if he had a wife.

  Patsy. His wife.

  The cabin he’d shared with her.

  The cabin he’d ridden away from to head from Tennessee to Wyoming.

  He waited, wanting more to come through that door, or for him to step through it into his memories.

  But that one glimpse.

  Cheyenne had been a betrayal. She had to have been, if Patsy was his wife.

  Pushing himself, he knew, if he could just hang on a little longer, bear the pain, he’d remember everything.

  EIGHTEEN

  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been hunkered down there when a movement to his right brought his head up. His eyes were almost blurred through the pain.

  “Are you bad off?” Kevin rushed to his side and dropped to one knee.

  Falcon’s wavering memories slammed shut. He wanted to swing a fist into Kevin’s face and tell him to go away.

  Then he thought of what Kevin had just said—and the voice he’d said it in.

  “Did you, uh, o-once s-say . . .” His memory wavered. “Did you ever say ‘Pa, is that you?’ I mean, say it to me . . . ever?”

  Kevin’s cheeks turned a ruddy color. One corner of his mouth turned up in an embarrassed smile. For some reason, the expression helped Falcon push aside the pain in his head.

  “Yep, when you stepped off the train.” Kevin gave Falcon a worried look, checking him over. Then he rose to his feet. “For just that one second, with you turned mostly away from me, you looked so much like my pa, uh, our pa, a man I hadn’t seen for twenty years, that I let those words loose. I knew even as they left my mouth you were too young.”