Dawn was just beginning to break when Matt got up noiselessly, took his clothes and tiptoed from the room, leaving Hope in a deep sleep. He went directly to the bathroom he always used, automatically flipped the light switch and then blinked in surprise when the lights came on. Since the storm had obviously died out, maybe the electricity would stay on this time, he thought with a satisfied nod of his head.
It immediately occurred to him that the phone might be working as well, and he hurried to try the one in his bedroom. The dial tone in his ear was just about the sweetest music he’d ever heard. Now, at last, he could do something about Hope. She was a dangerous woman, and the sooner she was transferred to the Stockwells and out of his hair, the better off he’d be. Look what had almost happened last night. He accepted full blame for their nearly making love, but blame and responsibility weren’t the point. What he viewed as just plain scary was Hope’s fervent physical response and then her talking about the possibility of already being romantically involved with some guy she couldn’t remember. So much logic didn’t seem to be in tune with amnesia to Matt’s way of thinking, and besides, his advances last night hadn’t been made with romance in mind. Being in bed with a sexy woman had caused a perfectly natural reaction, and there’d been nothing romantic about it.
“Women,” Matt mumbled, thinking that he was darned glad this morning that Hope had gotten logical instead of cooperative last night, because she thought of sex as romantic and he thought of it as simply the most pleasurable function of the human body. Damnation, she’d probably be talking about the magic of falling in love this morning if they’d actually done the deed. Good thing one of them had put on the brakes.
After shaving, brushing his teeth and getting dressed, Matt returned to the telephone and checked the dial tone again. With enormous relief he wondered if he dared call Doc Pickett at this unholy hour. But what if this is my only opportunity to phone anyone? he mused with genuine concern. After all, the electricity had come on and then gone off again; the phone could do the same damned thing.
Before he could completely argue himself out of waking up the doctor, he dialed Adam Pickett’s home number. Matt could hear the Pickett phone ringing, but before it was picked up Matt heard something else—Hope’s voice. She was crying loudly, almost hysterically, and it startled Matt so much that he slammed down the phone and ran to the living room. She was not in bed, but rather rushing around the room as though the devil himself were on her heels.
“Hey, hey, take it easy.” Matt caught her by the shoulders, and she spun on him with crazed eyes and clawing fingernails. For his own protection, he grabbed her hands and hung on tightly. “Good Lord, woman, what’s the matter with you?”
“Leave me alone. Let go of me!”
“Hope, for crying out loud, calm down.” The terror in her glassy eyes scared him, and then it dawned on him that she wasn’t really seeing him. Was she seeing someone who’d maybe hurt her? The person who had caused the trauma that had resulted in her amnesia?
Matt gentled his voice. “Hope, what’s my name? Who am I? Look closely at my face. You know me. Say my name.”
She had stopped struggling to free her hands because he was so much stronger than she was, and the soothing sound of his voice began penetrating her terror. Blinking her wet eyelashes, she finally looked at Matt’s face and into his eyes.
“Matt,” she whispered, and her legs collapsed completely.
He stopped her from falling, then picked her up and brought her to the sofa, where he sat down and cradled her on his lap. “What happened?” he asked softly. “Was it another dream?”
Weeping quietly, she buried her face in his shoulder. “It was awful. A man was trying to—to—you know.”
“To rape you?”
“Maybe. I was terrified, but then I—I seemed to be trying to—to seduce him.”
“That’s a mighty strange dream, Hope?”
“I know it is.”
“Hope, was he the same man you’ve been having other nightmares about? Did it feel as though you knew him? Do you remember his face?”
“I don’t know,” she moaned. “But I’m sure we were in a hotel or…something.”
“A room in a motel or hotel?”
“Yes, I think so.” Hope brought her right wrist up and looked at the red marks on it. “Something horrible happened to me, Matt. I was tied up, these marks are proof of that.”
“Were you tied up in this dream?”
She thought a moment, then sighed. “Not that I can remember. Matt, what if it wasn’t all a dream? What if I’m reliving the same horrible experience over and over in these nightmares?”
“It’s possible, I suppose,” Matt said slowly. “But thinking logically, the nearest motel is about a mile this side of Hawthorne, and how did you get from there to here?”
“Maybe that dreadful man brought me here.”
“For what reason? If there’s any truth to your dreams, you were already in his clutches in a motel room. It doesn’t make sense that he would take you way out here.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she said in a shaky whisper. “But I got here somehow. Did—did I walk?”
Matt frowned thoughtfully. Why were her clothes so torn and snagged. She’d done some walking, that was certain, and through some very thorny bushes, to boot. But all the way from Hawthorne?
“Not likely,” he said introspectively, as though speaking only to himself. A chill suddenly went up his spine. Was it possible that some pervert had abducted her and then she’d somehow managed to get away from him? And what if the guy wasn’t a sex offender but someone after the Stockwell money? My God, he could still be after her, watching the house from a distance with binoculars and just waiting for another chance to snatch her!
In all that rain?
He was probably warm and dry in a comfortable vehicle.
Aren’t you getting just a bit melodramatic over some dreams, for God’s sake?
Could be, but it’s also possible that Hope is starting to remember her past, and why wouldn’t she recall the last events first? Especially if they were as terrifying in reality as they were in her dreams.
He realized all of a sudden that his hand was cupping her sweetly curved behind and her breasts were pressing into his chest. Instantly he became aroused, and he seriously considered just throwing caution to the winds and doing what he wanted and suspected what she wanted as well, because it kept happening every time they touched each other.
Dammit! Why was this happening to him? Abruptly he moved her from his lap to the sofa, then got to his feet. “I’m going to make some phone calls.”
“The phone is working this morning?”
Matt was startled by the fear in her voice and eyes again. “The storm’s over, Hope,” he said firmly but quietly. “It’s time this ranch got back to normal.”
“And me?” she said in a shaky little voice. “What’s normal for me, Matt?”
She looked so lost and forlorn that he nearly caved in and took her in his arms again. Instead, he kept his emotions under control and his hands to himself.
“That’s what we have to find out,” he said. “I’m going to call Doc Pickett, and maybe you should think about phoning your mother.” Hope cowered back against the sofa cushions as though she were hoping to hide herself in them. Matt frowned. “Are you afraid to talk to your mother?”
“I don’t know her,” Hope whispered. “Please don’t make me talk to anyone yet. I’ll get stronger, I know I will, but I—I’m not ready to…talk…to…strangers.” Her wispy voice trailed off to nothing.
Unnerved by the shaky insecurity of her demeanor, Matt raked his hair with both hands. All right, fine, he thought. I’ll lay that one on Doc along with everything else and let him deal with it.
“Forget I mentioned it,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be in my office for a while. Rap on the door if you need anything.”
“Yes…all right.” Hope watched him leave and then suffered a deluge of painful emotions. She was not Matt McCarlson’s responsibility and she was behaving as though it were his duty to shield her from her own fears. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered, and despairingly put her forehead in the heel of her hand and shut her eyes. I can’t go on like this for much longer. Matt’s going to phone his doctor friend about my condition. Will Dr. Pickett come out here and see me? Will he be able to help? I feel like my brain is in a thick, dark fog, and what could anyone, even a doctor, do to clear my head so I can remember?
But what if the doctor does drive out here and then, after an examination, decides that I need to be…what’s the word? Institutionalized?
Stunned by the thought, she clenched her hands into fists. No matter what the doctor says, I will not leave here, I won’t!
But she didn’t need a memory to know that she was in one very precarious situation. Sitting around weeping, feeling sorry for herself and acting like a wimp over bad dreams would never convince anyone that she was an emotionally sound person.
It was time that she woke up and smelled the coffee. She could function without a memory, and she would start proving it immediately.
Matt had Dr. Adam Pickett on the line. “You say she can’t remember anything?” Doc asked.
“That’s her story, Doc, and I have no choice but to believe her. She didn’t even know her name until she saw her driver’s license.”
“And you found her outside lying in the mud?”
“In the mud and unconscious. I have no idea how she got here and neither does she.”
“Strange…damned strange business. Matt, have you ever seen her before? I realize you don’t know the woman, but have you ever seen her around town or anywhere else?”
“No, never.” Matt was withholding the information that Hope was a Stockwell. Not that Doc wasn’t trustworthy, but Matt was getting very protective of Hope and it just seemed best to him that no one knew where she was. The more he pondered the kidnapping theory, the more sense it made. It also made sense that if the kidnapper was lurking around the ranch, as Matt had initially contemplated, he could have made another attempt to grab Hope yesterday when all the men were out on the range.
So, if there really was a kidnapper and if he hadn’t given up on cashing in on his nefarious scheme…? Hell, was it possible the kidnapper had no idea in which direction Hope had gone after she’d escaped his clutches?
Realizing that even though his theory contained an awful lot of assumptions it could be more true than not, Matt frowned, decided again to keep Hope’s Stockwell relationship on a had-to-know basis, just in case someone should innocently let her location slip around the wrong person, and asked Doc Pickett, “Can you come out here and check her over, Doc? I think you could make it in your four-wheeler.”
“Tell me how she is physically.”
“She seems fine. I thought the cut on her head was worse than it was, and at first I was concerned about other injuries. She has a few bruises, of course.” And chafing on both wrists, which look to me like rope burns.
“Then I’m not even going to try to go out there, Matt. Some people were seriously injured during the storm, and I can’t leave them to check the degree of a woman’s amnesia, who is apparently sound otherwise.”
“But what should I do? I mean, is there anything I should be doing to help her regain her memory?”
“Well, one thing you should probably do, now that you have phone service again, is to call the sheriff’s office and find out if anyone has filed a missing person report on her.”
“Yes…yes,” Matt said rather impatiently. “But is there anything I should be doing for her?”
“Treat her like you would anyone else. Listen, Matt, amnesia is a peculiar condition. Odds are she’ll regain her full memory in a reasonable span of time without any treatment whatsoever, and here’s the most peculiar part of it. No one can predict how it will occur. It could come back in bits and pieces, or her whole life could suddenly open up to her without rhyme or reason. Then, of course, there’s the chance that some small event, or a smell, or the sound of someone’s voice, or any one of any number of things, could trigger some memory that in turn triggers another and so on and so on. If that should happen, you could be sitting in the same room with her and be completely unaware of her metamorphosis.”
“Great,” Matt mumbled. The only thing he’d learned from this conversation was that he was on his own with Hope until Doc got freed up in town, unless Matt turned her over to her family, and that option wasn’t nearly as appealing as it once was. Truth was, talking to his doctor friend had confused more than aided him.
But there was one more question he had to ask. “Doc, is there any chance of my doing something to cause her amnesia to become a permanent condition?”
“It’s very unlikely, Matt, and not something you should be worrying about. As I said before, treat her as you would anyone else. Let me ask you this. Is she emotionally depressed?”
“Wouldn’t you be?” Matt returned dryly.
Doc Pickett heaved a sympathetic sigh. “Yes, anyone would be. Matt, just do the best you can, and you might think about this. If my four-wheeler can make it across muddy open country to your ranch, one of yours can make it to town. Bring the lady to Hawthorne and I promise that I’ll squeeze out a few minutes to see her.”
Matt froze. Take Hope to town where just anyone could get a look at her? Give whomever it was that had caused her to lose her memory in the first place another chance at her? He wouldn’t even know which pair of eyes to mistrust.
“Thanks,” he said a bit thickly, simply because he felt so numb. “I might do that.” It was a lie; he had no intention of putting Hope in further danger by taking her anywhere. Here, on his ranch, he felt she was relatively safe. No, she hadn’t been safe yesterday when he and all the men had been off working, but she’d definitely be safe now that he’d started figuring things out. At least he thought he was starting to figure things out. He could be miles from the truth, he knew, but there could only be so many explanations for her being way out here without a vehicle during a fierce storm. And if he really wanted to be generous and give her the benefit of the doubt, what about that nightmare she’d suffered again only this morning? There could very easily be a connection between her situation and her dreams of a motel room and a man who scared her half to death.
Matt said goodbye to Doc Pickett and hung up the phone. Then he sat back in his chair and brooded. Hope was afraid to talk to “strangers,” but he certainly wasn’t. Should he take it upon himself to phone the Stockwells and let them know that Hope was all right?
Maybe he shouldn’t go that far, but what about letting Sheriff Cliff Braeburn know the score? Cliff was a good friend and as honest as the day was long. Besides, Cliff was a stand-up guy who never tried to feather his own nest by speaking out of turn. Whatever he did or didn’t do in Hope’s behalf would never cause her a moment of discomfort or concern.
And, Matt added in his own mind, neither would anything Cliff did about Hope cause him a problem. He picked up the phone again and dialed the sheriff’s office in Hawthorne. “This is Matt McCarlson. Is Cliff around?” he said to the person who’d answered the call.
“Hold on and let me check.”
In a minute, Cliff’s voice was in Matt’s ear. “Hey, Matt. Are you treading water out there?”
“Damned near, Cliff. At least we were for a while. Listen, there’s something I need to talk over with you, and I don’t want anyone hearing any part of our conversation. Would you call me back on your private line?”
“Sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“I’ll call you back right away.”
The line went dead and Matt set down his phone. It rang in seconds, and he grabbed it and put it to his ear again.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Cliff asked.
Matt wasted no time on small talk. “Hope LeClaire is at my place.”
“The Stockwell heiress?”
“One and the same.”
“Well, what in the devil is she doing with you? Everyone in Texas is looking for her.”
“I don’t doubt it, but until this morning I had no way of letting anyone know about her sudden appearance. Short of smoke signals,” Matt added wryly.
“No phone service, huh?”
“No electricity, either. We haven’t exactly been living the life of Riley out here, but the topper was finding a half-drowned, mud-soaked, unconscious woman lying near my mailbox the second morning of the storm. I swear to God I thought she was dead, Cliff. I was on horseback and from a distance she looked dead. Anyhow, to make this story short, she was very much alive and not even hurt very badly, except for one thing. She had absolutely no memory. Still doesn’t.”
“Then how do you know who she is?”
“Because of the article in the newspaper that day—my last delivery, incidentally—and because she had a purse with a wallet in it with items that identified her. Okay, here’s the situation. She knows her name because of the things in the wallet, although she remembers nothing of herself. But I didn’t tell her about the newspaper article. Truth is, Cliff, I’m scared of doing or saying the wrong thing with her. I called Doc a few minutes ago, hoping that he could drive out here with some sort of miracle cure for amnesia, but he said he had too many seriously injured patients to leave town. Sounds like we weren’t the only one treading water during that storm.”
“You’ve got that right, Matt. It was a son of a gun of a storm, and there was some pretty bad flooding in several areas. We got everyone evacuated in time, but not before a lot of folks got hurt trying to save their livestock and other possessions. There were some vehicle accidents, too, so I’d have to say that Doc is probably running in circles trying to keep up.”
“I guess we all have our problems,” Matt said. “What do you want me to do about Hope?”
“Well, now, that’s one problem I’m not trained to solve, Matt.”
“Neither am I,” Matt said flatly. “But you’re the law, and there’s something else you should think about. I don’t know how she got way out here in the storm, Cliff. And she’s having really weird nightmares about a motel or hotel room and a very scary guy. I think she was kidnapped, held in some strange room, and she somehow managed to escape. Incidentally, her wrists have rope burns, so I believe she was tied up.”
“She was tied up in a motel room and then she escaped and did what? Walked to your ranch?”
“Walking that far is not impossible, Cliff. But maybe she stole the guy’s car and it conked out before she got here. Maybe she got lost and disoriented and just wandered onto my land. Hell, Cliff, I can’t fill in the details, but something damned unpleasant sure caused her to lose her memory.” After a long silence, Matt said, “Cliff?”
“I’m here. Just doing some thinking. Okay, assume the lady was kidnapped and got away from her captor. Doesn’t it make sense that he’d hightail it out of the area before she could bring in the law? And considering her medical situation, she wouldn’t even be able to give us a creditable description of the guy.”
“That’s true, Cliff, but what if the jerk is persistent and still hanging out somewhere, waiting for another opportunity to pick up a load of Stockwell money?”
“You mean, kidnap her again?”
“Cliff, I know this whole scenario is nothing more than speculation, but do we dare take the chance that it’s not?”
“Ignoring a possible criminal activity is not an option, Matt. Your theory is feasible, even if it is merely speculative at this point. While I’m trying to sort it out, though, I think I should call the Stockwells, tell them where Hope is and relieve their worry.”
“I agree. Would you also call Hope’s mother in Massachusetts? Hope doesn’t want to talk to anyone, and I really don’t think she should be forced into anything. The woman’s name is Madelyn LeClaire and I have a phone number from a card in the wallet where she can be reached in case of an emergency concerning her daughter.”
“Yes, I’ll call her. She should be reassured, as well as the Stockwells.”
Matt recited the phone number. “Anyhow, Cliff, I believe there’s a kidnapper out there, and probably not very far away from either of us, so I think you should impress on both the Stockwells and Mrs. LeClaire to keep Hope’s whereabouts to themselves. What do you think?”
“Until we know more about what happened to Hope, I fully agree. You realize, of course, that without proof of criminal behavior that all I can do is suggest that no one hold any press conferences to celebrate Hope’s safe haven.”
“Cliff, I’ve seen you in action. Your suggestions are usually followed to the letter.”
“We’ll see,” Cliff said. “I’ll do what I can. That’s all I can guarantee, Matt.”
“Thanks, Cliff.” Matt put down the phone and realized that he felt much better. At least Hope’s family would no longer be worried sick over her absence.
Of course, he hadn’t helped his own case any. Hope was still under his roof, still in his hair, still underfoot and under his skin!
“Damn,” he muttered, and got up from his desk chair to start the day’s work, of which there was more than enough to go around, considering all the cleanup from flooding and then the repairs needed to the roads on ranch property. The county would take care of road damage beyond McCarlson land, but the roads on Matt’s property were his responsibility.
The thing that put a knot in his stomach was that the damage repair might require money as well as hard work.
Cursing under his breath, he left the office and headed for the kitchen. The aroma of perking coffee and cooking food startled him. He stopped in the doorway and gaped at Hope, who was busy at the stove.
She felt his presence and glanced over her shoulder to see him. “I’m making French toast and bacon for breakfast. The coffee’s done, so grab a cup and sit down. I couldn’t find any syrup but I’m making some. Everything will be ready in just a few minutes.”
Matt didn’t move fast. Rather, he walked slowly to a cupboard for a mug and then, almost in slow motion, filled it with coffee. Apparently Hope had stopped shivering over that nightmare, and her transformation was amazing and hard to understand. Unless, as Doc had told him might happen, she’d gone through the metamorphosis from amnesiac to normal.
Clearing his throat, Matt leaned against a counter and watched her. “Uh, how do you make syrup?” he asked, thinking that was a safe enough question to begin a conversation that might tell him she had remembered everything about her past.
“With brown sugar, butter and a little water. If I had some heavy cream I could create an incredible sauce for the toast, but what’s simmering in that little pan will do.”
“You’re quite the little chef, aren’t you?”
Hope took her eyes from the pans on the stove to give him a quizzical look. “I wonder if that’s true.”
Matt’s hopes faded. She hadn’t remembered anything important. Apparently cooking was as natural as breathing for her, and… Wait a damned minute! Wasn’t there something in that article about Hope LeClaire and some cooking school?
Setting his mug on the counter, Matt said, “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t be long. Everything’s almost ready.”
Matt went to the laundry room and opened the drawer in which he’d secreted the newspaper containing the article about Hope. Keeping an ear cocked in case she should decide to see what he was doing, he quickly scanned the article. Sure enough, there was the reference to Hope’s education he’d just recalled. Hope LeClaire recently graduated from the distinguished London cooking school, Le Cordon Bleu. Stuffing the paper back into the drawer, Matt returned to the kitchen.
“You look…odd,” Hope said when she saw him. “Is something wrong?”
Matt’s expression grew wry. “Other than the obvious?”
“Sorry,” she answered. “I know I’m a terrible burden. But I’m trying very hard not to be such a…uh, burden. Matt, did you phone Madelyn LeClaire?”
He could see the idea terrified her. “No,” he said, and retrieved his mug of coffee and sat at the table. “That food smells terrific and I’m famished.”
“Good,” Hope said quietly, and began dishing it up.
Once Sheriff Braeburn phoned U.S. Marshal Rafe Stockwell, a marathon of telephone calls ensued. Rafe passed on the news that Hope was safe and physically well to his brothers Jack and Cord, and to his sister Kate. Hope’s amnesia was a shock to all and extremely confusing. What should they do? they wondered to each other. And was Matt McCarlson as trustworthy as Cliff Braeburn indicated? Of course, they had to discuss this with their mother, Madelyn, and they decided to make it a conference call so they could all reassure her that Hope truly was safe and sound.
The thing was, the Stockwell siblings weren’t as positive of that as they sounded when they talked to Madelyn, who had already been told the news but was very pleased that her other children were as concerned about Hope as she was. After a few minutes of conversation she said, “Do you think I should come to Texas?”
“Come if you wish, Mother,” Rafe told her. “You are always welcome. But there’s something else you should know. Hope has amnesia.”
“Amnesia! How? Why?” Madelyn asked in obvious horror. “The sheriff didn’t tell me that.”
“No one knows what caused it,” Rafe said quietly.
“There’s foul play afoot,” Madelyn declared then. “I suspected as much. Rafe, are you sure we all shouldn’t go to the McCarlson ranch en masse and—and just haul our darling Hope out of there?”
“Hope is terribly frightened, according to Matt McCarlson, Mother,” Kate said gently. “I don’t think any of us should try forcing her into anything. For the time being, I believe we should content ourselves with the fact that she’s physically well and safe in the McCarlson home.”
“Rafe, can you vouch for Mr. McCarlson’s integrity?” Madelyn inquired.
“Sheriff Braeburn can,” Rafe said. “And I trust Cliff implicitly. But there is one other thing to consider, Mother. Hawthorne and the surrounding area have suffered a hell of a storm. According to the sheriff, anyone trying to get to the McCarlson ranch at present just might find himself stuck hubcap deep in mud. In a few days the area should be pretty much dried out, and let’s all keep in mind that a lot can happen in two or three days. Maybe by then Hope’s amnesia will have disappeared and she’ll remember her family and want to see us. That would be so much better than everyone descending on her when she has no idea who we are.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Madelyn concurred, though there was a definitive note of concern in her voice.
The conference call ended with everyone promising to stay in close contact. Hope was safe, at least, and while they all wanted to see her with their own eyes, they agreed not to aggravate her medical condition by barging in on her. Also, they agreed to tell no one where Hope was, which further reinforced Madelyn’s belief that her youngest daughter had met with foul play and could still be in danger.
But she agreed with her other children not to notify the media.
From now on, they all knew it would be a waiting game, and each member of the Stockwell clan was on pins and needles.
Some burning questions were, regardless of Sheriff Braeburn’s stamp of approval, just who in the devil was Matt McCarlson, and how had Hope ended up at his ranch?