Hope listlessly wandered the house after Matt left. Was what he’d told her true? Was some nut watching and waiting for an opportunity to get to her? Were her nightmares more real than not? Some awful event had brought her to this isolated ranch in the middle of a stormy night, of that she had no doubt.
But neither did she have any memories of that night—unless they were taking the form of terrifying dreams. If only she could put a face on the man that haunted those dreams, or would even that clarify what had caused pure disaster to nearly kill her? If the man was a stranger, for instance, if she hadn’t met him prior to that night, would recalling his face do her any good?
Of course, she hadn’t really been that close to death. Matt had rushed to the rescue, or something like that. All she’d lost was her memory, after all, not her life. Bet he wishes he’d never gone riding that morning.
It was a mean, small-minded thought. He’d done everything a man could do for a damsel in distress, hadn’t he?
Yes, and then he seduced you! You, a virgin. Is that the act of an honorable man?
And you loved every minute of it. You’d like it to happen again, and you know it.
Oh, shut up!
With a grim set to her lips, Hope went to the kitchen and began checking the grocery supply. She no longer doubted her ability to turn out a delicious meal from simple ingredients. What’s more she was beginning to know what ingredients would have added greatly to the rather mundane dishes—though tasty—that her limited larder permitted. Fresh greens, for instance. Specialty vinegars and oils. Almost any kind of seafood or fish. And milk and cream and wine and…
She stopped short, thinking that she’d seen some bottles of wine when she’d searched the house for women’s clothing. But where?
She started going through cupboards once again, and on the bottom shelf of the dining room hutch she found three bottles of wine. They were sealed and corked and dusty. If Matt was a wine drinker then he’d forgotten about this supply, Hope thought as she carried the bottles to the kitchen. Reading the labels told her brand names and the type of wine—two were white, one was red—in each bottle. None of the information meant a whole lot to her, and sighing over how little she really knew about anything—other than cooking, which seemed to be a natural-born talent—she located a corkscrew and opened a bottle of the white wine. Pouring an ounce or so in a glass, she tasted it, smacked her lips and took another swallow. She had no idea if this was a good vintage, but it sure did taste as though it was. Finishing what was in the glass, she poured some more and drank that, too.
Humming then, she took a chicken from the freezer, removed its wrapper and placed it in cold water for a quick thaw. She was going to make coq au vin, and she had to laugh because she had no knowledge of the meaning of the term and yet knew exactly how to prepare the dish.
“And how about some dessert tonight?” she murmured. After a few minutes of contemplation she took out the ingredients to make vanilla-flavored custard, making substitutions where she had to. Then, extremely pleased with her planned menu for tonight’s meal she poured more wine into her glass. Sipping as she worked it was quite a surprise to her that when it came time to cook the chicken in the wine there wasn’t a whole lot left in the bottle. She opened the second bottle of white and poured it in the pot with the chicken.
Then she eyed the bottle of red wine and decided that she really should taste it, too. Giggling over nothing at all, she got out the corkscrew again.
By late afternoon all the wine was gone and Hope was seeing everything through a most delightful rosy-hued haze. Staggering to the stove, she turned off the burner under the coq au vin, took the custard from the oven and turned that off, as well, then wondered just when Matt would be coming in for the day.
Thinking of Matt and last night’s escapades made her feel warm and tingly all over. He was quite the man, wasn’t he? After all, he’d accomplished what no other man she’d ever known had done. Not that she could remember any others, but good grief, it was only reasonable to presume that she’d known lots of men in her previous life. Obviously none of them had moved her the way Matt did, or she would not have still been a virgin.
She recalled then how Mat had held her that morning and told her that she was making him want her again. “One-night stand, my left foot,” she scoffed. He would have followed her to the bedroom in the blink of an eye, if she’d been inclined to do any blinking.
“But I would like to do some blinking,” she said with another tipsy giggle. “A whole lot of blinking. There must be a way to let him know it without coming right out and saying it. I really couldn’t just blurt out, ‘Matt, I’d just love to blink you again.”’
Her own wit struck her as so hilarious that she fell on a chair and laughed until she cried. Wiping her eyes some minutes later, she thought of how good it felt to laugh over something silly.
But there was nothing silly about the heat building in all the erotic places of her body that Matt had so easily brought to life, and she remained on the kitchen chair and fantasized ways to get Matt to repeat last night’s adventures—minus the nasty remarks afterward, of course.
A most delightful fantasy took shape in her mind, and she knew that she was just tipsy enough to go through with it. Laughing again, this time low and seductively, she got up and hurried away to take a shower. Her plan would work only if everything was ready when Matt came in for the day. She had no time to waste.
“Chuck, would you like to come in and say hello to Hope?” Their day of hard work was over and they were talking in the yard, not far from the house.
Chuck considered the invitation. “I don’t know if I should, Matt. She’s scared of me.”
“She’s scared of everything, and it’s understandable. But I’m positive she’d like you if you gave her the chance to know you better.”
“Yeah, probably,” Chuck admitted. “But not tonight, okay? I’m pretty beat. You must be done in, too. Damn, that road work is sure a lot harder than herding cattle around, or even cutting hay and I ain’t never been particularly fond of haying time.”
Matt grinned. “Okay, go on to the bunkhouse and put your feet up. See you in the morning.” They started to walk away from each other when Matt called, “Chuck, the men are bound to have some fun over a woman staying with me, now that they’ve seen Hope. Just let ’em think or say anything they want to, okay?”
“If you say so. Good night, Matt.”
Matt was one step into the kitchen and sniffing the delicious aroma in the air when he saw some fabric on the floor. He picked it up and frowned curiously. It was the blouse Hope had been wearing that morning. Odd that she’d thrown it on the floor, but maybe she’d merely dropped it on her way to the laundry room.
Carrying the blouse, he peered into the laundry room, saw nothing unusual then left that area of the house to go down the hall to his bedroom. He stopped in his tracks. There on the floor right in front of his boots was another piece of clothing—a pair of slacks. He looked ahead and saw two more things on the floor, only they were much smaller piles and a pretty peach color.
“What in hell?” he muttered, recognizing Hope’s underwear. It was as though she’d raced from the kitchen to his bedroom, throwing off her clothes as she ran. Why in hell would she have done that?
In the next heartbeat he knew why, and his body responded so quickly to an image of her naked in his bed that he nearly choked on his own breath. Good Lord, what if Chuck had taken him up on his invitation and come in with him?
And what was going on in Hope’s mind? After what he’d told her last night about how dead set he was against a serious relationship, did she really want to continue what he’d made plain enough could only be an affair between them? Not that he wouldn’t cooperate to some extent. Hell’s bells, he was hard just thinking about making love to her again. But did she think she could change his attitude with sex?
“It’s not going to happen, Hope,” he said softly, and went on to the door of his bedroom, picking up her personal garments on his way.
And there she was, in a striking, provocative pose of bare legs and arms, with the corner of a sheet just barely covering her torso and her hair tousled and arranged in an intriguing manner on the pillow under her head. Her eyes were closed, as though she were sound asleep and totally unaware of how seductive she looked.
“You little fake,” Matt said under his breath, and walking into the room he tossed her clothes on the end of the bed. He stared at her, positive that she would at least peek at him from partially opened eyes and maybe even laugh a little. After all, she’d devised this sexy scenario and must see some humor in it.
But she never moved. Neither did he, except for the deeply furrowed frown that gradually formed on his forehead. She was sleeping! On his bed, stark naked and in a pose that would make any man hot.
Matt was suddenly angry. What was this cat-and-mouse game that neither of them seemed to be able to elude? Not that he could speak for Hope—hell, how could she disconnect adult games from meaningful feeling when she had nothing to go on but the present? But he couldn’t say that about himself, or make excuses for his behavior when he knew the score. Obviously he was thinking with something other than his brain. No matter how frequently or seriously he told himself to stay away from Hope, he was there every single time she beckoned.
Granted, most of those weak moments were caused by genuine concern for her fears. It had to be unspeakably painful not to remember anything at all about oneself, and his compassion for her plight knew no bounds. Then, too, his worry for her safety was something he couldn’t rid himself of with any amount of commonsense arguments. Regardless, wasn’t he getting in just a bit too deep with a woman from one of the wealthiest families in Texas who would be throwing her financial weight in every direction if she knew the true facts of her life?
The telephones in the house rang, including the extension on his bedside stand, and Matt grabbed it before it could ring a second time and wake up Hope. He hoped that she’d stay asleep for the time being, because he knew in his soul that if she moved that sheet only a few inches to her right he’d be a gone goose again. In fact, there was a picture in his mind’s eye of himself and Hope that kept getting more erotic by the moment.
Turning his back to her, he said a gruff “Hello” into the phone.
“Is this Matthew McCarlson?” a female voice asked.
“Yes, I’m Matt. What can I do for you?”
“We’ve never met, but I’m sure you’ll recognize my name. I’m Kate Stockwell Larson. I’ve debated about making this call ever since learning of Hope’s whereabouts. Would you mind giving me what information you have about her? As you might imagine, we’re all very concerned about her medical condition. Does she really have amnesia?”
“Unfortunately I can’t talk now.” Matt was speaking so quietly he could barely hear himself, but if Hope woke up now and started asking questions, he wouldn’t know what to tell her. “Could I call you back in an hour or so?”
“Certainly.” Kate Larson recited her phone number and said goodbye.
Matt noiselessly set down the phone and glanced at Hope. Her eyes were wide-open and staring at him.
“Your girlfriend, I presume?” she said coldly. God, she felt like the worst fool alive, naked in his bed with her pose and body language all but begging him to make love to her. And had he been on the verge of doing it when his girlfriend called? Was he still planning on an “hour or so” of fun before returning the lady’s call?
Matt heard something foreign in Hope’s voice, a slight slurring of syllables that rang a bell in his head. She was tipsy! On what?
On wine, of course. She’d found those old bottles of wine in the hutch.
Matt rarely drank alcoholic beverages, even wine. He simply did not have a taste for it, and those bottles had been in the hutch for years, purchased by Trisha and forgotten by him.
“You’re drunk,” he said bluntly. “I wondered about this imaginative little scene, but the minute you spoke I knew what had brought it on.”
Hope was genuinely shocked. She jerked herself up to a sitting position, holding the sheet to her bosom. “I most certainly am not drunk!” she said forcefully.
“You most certainly are. It’s as obvious as the nose on your face, baby.”
“I would appreciate your not using that insulting term with me,” she said haughtily, totally unaware that she’d really said, “I would aperchate your not ushing that asulting term with me.”
Matt shook his head. “Go get in your own bed and sleep it off, baby.”
“You did it again!” Forgetting the sheet altogether, Hope clumsily got to her knees. Swaying back and forth on her unsteady perch, she said, “How come you’re so mad at me?”
When that sheet dropped, so did Matt’s willpower. She was so lushly beautiful, so sensually ripe and female, and his head was already full of last night’s ardent lovemaking. How could he resist both her and the seemingly indestructible desire in his own body? He could calm the savage beast she’d given life to within him with fiery lovemaking, but it reared again every time they were together.
“Dammit!” he muttered, and moved closer to the bed. “You’re going to fall over if you don’t sit down,” he said raggedly.
“Better yet,” she purred, “why don’t I lie down?”
“Yeah, that’s a whole lot better,” Matt said grimly when she was on her back. Especially when she slowly spread her legs apart in blatant invitation. “Even without a memory you know how to make a man crazy, don’t you?” he said, and began taking off his shirt.
“You make me crazy, too, you know,” she replied throatily.
She was tipsy and he knew that he should get the hell out of that room. A scrupulous man would never take advantage of an inebriated woman, and he’d always taken pride in his high moral standards.
But instead of leaving, he finished removing his clothes and then got on the bed with her.
“Don’t lay on the bed, silly.” She giggled. “Lay on me. And do it. I’ve thought of us doing it again all afternoon.”
He moved on top of her, guided his arousal into her and began moving. Her laughter died a sudden death. “You own me,” she whispered feverishly. “You’ve made me yours, and there’s something way down deep inside of me that knows nothing is going to change for us. Not ever.”
Matt’s mouth went dry, but he couldn’t stop making love to her. If she was right, heaven help him. At the moment he was in no position to debate the point, so he didn’t even try and instead concentrated on the mind-blowing pleasure of being where no man had gone before—inside her hot, clinging body.
It didn’t last for long. When she began writhing under him, clawing at his back and shouting his name, he brought them both to climax with fast, hard thrusts.
Afterward, sated and too drained to even talk, they both fell asleep, with Matt once again curled around her backside.
The second that Matt awoke in the middle of the night he remembered Kate Stockwell Larson’s phone call and his promise to call her back in “an hour or so.” She probably thinks I’m some kind of lying jerk. Dammit, why didn’t I remember it in time?
Yeah, right. You were so busy nailing Hope again that nothing short of an atomic blast would’ve brought you to your senses.
Disgruntled and more than a little irritated with himself, Matt moved away from Hope so he could at least turn off the lights. Since there was no reason to even try to act as though he were still an honorable man—he’d totally destroyed that dignity—he crawled back in bed with her.
The inevitable happened. She awoke just enough to snuggle against him, which was all it took to bring on another bout of the hottest lovemaking that he’d ever experienced. Afterward, when Hope was sleeping again, Matt stared into the darkness and finally admitted that he was sunk.
The knowledge that he could only blame himself for his slide from grace made his misery even worse. There’d been a dozen opportunities for him to push Hope away and to explain to her that nothing personal was ever going to happen between them. Instead, he’d let his libido do the talking and the decision making, and in the process he’d lost sight of the man he’d been before all of this began.
If only she didn’t have that damned amnesia! Did he dare have a much needed talk with her about the various types of sex? Yes, people in love desired each other, but desire also came wrapped in other packages, and that was what he wished he could impress on her. Hope, you and I are not going to spend the rest of our lives in bed together, however convincingly your inner voice spoke to you. I do not own you, nor do I want to own you. Good Lord, I don’t want to own anyone! Please, please get that idea out of your head.
Then, for some unknown reason, his entire train of thought went in another direction. A picture developed in his brain, a picture of his house as it had been before he’d carried Hope into it—colorless and stagnant. That image was followed by one of himself, and his lifestyle, which had consisted of work and worry and very little else. Day after day, nothing had ever changed, except to get a little worse, a little duller, a little more boring. And obviously he’d gotten dull, too—at least dull-witted—along with everything else, because he hadn’t done so much as considered that instead of being proudly independent and private, he was lonely and miserably unhappy.
He thought of Trisha, and how unhappy she’d been living there. When the passion of their love had been in full bloom, the seclusion hadn’t mattered. But gradually the lack of a social life had made her hate the ranch, and because Matt loved every foot of ground he owned, they had grown farther and farther apart. He recalled taking Trisha to Hawthorne for an occasional night out, but her distaste for local color had ruined every attempt he’d made to lift her spirits. Truth was, she’d been in high society before their marriage, and it was what she’d started longing for again.
Matt frowned. Why in heaven’s name was he going over that old ground again?
But he knew why. Deep in his gut he knew exactly why. It was because the same damned thing would happen if he gave in to his seemingly insatiable hunger for Hope and sweet-talked her into believing that she owned him, as well.
He set his lips into a thin, grim line. They connected in bed, yes, but it was the only place they functioned on the same wavelength. It was something he’d be wise to remember, and anytime he got foolish ideas about a long-term relationship, he should remind himself of what lay ahead for Hope. Once she found out who she really was, and then when she remembered everything for herself, well, hell, she’d forget him so fast it would be like the whole thing had never happened.
Knowing all that, wasn’t he a total bastard for making love to her at every opportunity? Especially since he’d taken the one thing a woman could only give once—her virginity?
Groaning, Matt forced his eyes to close. He had to stop thinking about it. He had to get some more sleep. He and the crew would be working on the road again tomorrow, and he needed his rest.
But he also had to return Kate Larson’s phone call in the morning. With their money the Stockwells could engage the best doctors in the world for Hope. Matt had a feeling that Kate was working toward that very conclusion. After all, now that the Stockwells knew where their sister was, why would they leave her alone with her amnesia and a strange man?
Matt left the house early the next morning, but he returned around nine. Hope smiled when he walked in, and her thoughts about last night were written all over her face.
“Hi,” she said, sounding breathless.
She looked good enough to eat, in a pink flowered skirt and pink tank top. Matt was thankful that he didn’t remember seeing those same clothes on Trisha, but he still wasn’t overly thrilled with Hope wearing them, only because he was tired of reminders of the past and what a damned mess he was making of the present. Hell, if the downward trend of his life continued, he’d be homeless, friendless and looking for free handouts so he could eat in the future.
“I came to use the phone,” he told her in a flat, emotionless monotone that did not invite conversation.
Hope’s smile faded. “Oh.”
Matt passed through the kitchen and went to his office. Shutting the door behind him, he sat at the desk and dialed Kate Stockwell Larson’s number. She answered on the second ring.
“Mrs. Larson, this is Matt McCarlson. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you last night, but something came up and when I remembered your call, it was too late to return it.”
“That’s all right, Matt. Is it all right if I call you Matt?”
“Of course.”
“And you must call me Kate. Matt, how is she?”
“She still doesn’t remember anything, Kate. I talked to a doctor I know in Hawthorne, and he told me that amnesia is not ordinarily a permanent condition. Actually, his opinion was that Hope’s memory could return at any time.”
“Did he examine her?”
“He was too busy in town. Apparently a lot of people were injured in the storm. Then there were the road wash-outs to contend with, which made it darned near impossible for anyone to get out here.”
“Are you still stranded?”
“We’ve only got a little more work to do on the road from the highway. Actually, it’s passable now, though there are still some pretty rough spots to traverse.”
“I see. Well, that’s good news, at least. Matt, I want to see her. Do you have any idea how she would react to a visit from me?”
“Kate, she doesn’t have the slightest idea of who she is, let alone you or her brothers. She won’t even phone her mother…I mean, your mother. When I suggested it, Hope nearly fell apart. She’s terrified of strangers.”
“We’re hardly strangers to her, Matt.”
“You and I know that, but Hope doesn’t.”
“She should be under a doctor’s care, Matt. You certainly must agree with me about that.”
“Kate, the only thing I know for sure is that Hope is getting by on very little information and not unhappy about it.”
“Matt, you couldn’t possibly be aware of our suspicions, but we’ve discussed the possibility of Hope having been abducted and then somehow escaping her kidnapper. I wasn’t going to tell you that since we have no proof to substantiate the theory, but something unforeseen happened to her. The plan was that she would deplane and then wait for our driver to pick her up and deliver her to our deceased father’s home. I doubt very much that she simply forgot a much discussed plan and walked away from the Grandview Airport of her own volition. At any rate, just how safe is she at your ranch? Do you use night patrols as a matter of course? Some ranchers do, I know.”
Matt’s blood suddenly ran colder. He wasn’t the only person who’d come up with that kidnapping theory and other people—especially Hope’s family—thinking the same thing made it seem even more probable.
He cleared his throat. “I’m keeping very close tabs on her, Kate, that’s about all I can say.”
“You don’t believe she’s out of danger, either, do you?” Kate exclaimed. “Let me put it another way. You decided for yourself that she’s been in grave danger and it could happen again! Oh, Matt, I’m so frightened for her. I have to do something, I simply have to. What’s the name of the doctor you spoke to?”
“Dr. Adam Pickett.” Matt gave her Doc’s phone numbers in Hawthorne, then added, “Kate, as long as I draw breath, Hope is safe. Count on it.” A long silence ensued, until Matt said, “Kate, are you still there?”
“I’m here. She’s come to mean something to you, hasn’t she?” Kate said softly. “Oh, Matt, I’ve been told you’re a widower and a very nice man. I very much hope you don’t end up hurt over this. The doctors I’ve been talking to said that the person she is with amnesia could disappear completely when her memory returns.”
Matt felt jolted, but he didn’t let on. “Don’t worry about me. I only want what’s best for Hope.”
After a short hesitation, Kate agreed. “That’s what we all want, Matt. Goodbye for now, and thank you for talking to me.”
Feeling like a pricked balloon, Matt put his head in his hands and sat there numbly for a long, long time. Finally, he heaved a sigh and got to his feet. He had to get back to work, but he wanted a few words with Hope before he went. While he was not going to risk her mental health with more information than she could possibly digest, there were a few things she had to know about him—the most urgent being some personal history about himself that he should have told her before this.
After all, he didn’t want to be hurt any more than he wanted her hurt. He could deal with almost anything except heartache over a woman he couldn’t have, and hadn’t he already admitted last night that he was getting in way too deep with Hope?
It was time to destroy her romantic notions, and to pray that if he managed to turn her off him, he’d be strong enough to keep his hands to himself.
As for last night’s ludicrous thoughts about loneliness and unhappiness once Hope was gone, everyone knew that middle-of-the-night blues were the worst kind.
He was becoming a damned wimp, that’s what was happening, and it was time he put an end to that destructive process, as well. After all, Hope was going to get better, and she was going to leave the ranch. And with Kate Larson’s determination in play, that day was just around the corner.
“Get used to it,” he muttered to himself as he left the office and headed for the kitchen.