As soon as the words were out, Clay cringed. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. It’s just that she’s …” He shook his head. “I can’t even define it, but I can say that Ellis Valmont is someone I will never forget, and that’s coming from a man who can’t remember most of his life.”

Valmont patted Clay’s shoulder. “Trust me,” he said. “I know what you mean. You should have met her great-grandmother.” He paused. “And yet my father survived, as will whatever man is privileged enough to be allowed close enough to Ellis Valmont to wed her.”

“I’m sure she’s got plenty of choices.”

“To be certain,” he said. “But that girl is stubborn and knows what she wants. So far it hasn’t been any of several dozen suitors. And counting.” He looked at Clay as if sizing him up. “I wouldn’t get my sights set on her if I were you. She’s not hunting for a husband, so if you’re aiming to think that direction, you ought to think again.”

“What?” Clay shook his head. “Me? No. That’s not at all what I was thinking. Look, I am just going to go get those boiled eggs and see if I can find her. Any suggestions on where she might be about now?”

“Try north of the smokehouse up in the thicket. Her mama has a little patch of herbs that she keeps up there behind a fence. Says the deer stay out of them up there. If she’s not there, then I’d head east from that point. She helped a lady named Lyla give birth last week, so she will probably go see her and Jonah while she’s out and see how things are going there. Take a walking stick with you, though. I’ll fetch one.”

“North of the smokehouse or east to Lyla and Jonah’s home,” he repeated as he slung a rifle over his shoulder and accepted the walking stick, then bid the older man goodbye. His speed was excruciatingly slow compared to the swift pace he would have preferred as he set off on his mission to feed the herbalist.

Or was she a healer? Yes, that’s what he’d heard her call herself, although where he was from she would have merely been called a doctor.

Clay froze. Where he was from? And exactly where was that? An image tried to rise in his mind, something with trees and a mountain ridge off in the distance.

Definitely not New Orleans.

And yet Ellis had told him he was Claiborne William Andre Gentry from New Orleans, and she was certain of it. She had declared she’d seen him sign the roster herself, hadn’t she? That much he thought he remembered.

The image of the hills, however, felt very real. What else could he recall? Clay stood very still under the pecan tree and begged another memory to rise.

Nothing.

He tried again and failed, so he set off down the path, leaning heavily on his walking stick and stopping frequently. Finally he heard what sounded like snip, snip, snip.

Clay followed the sound until he found Ellis halfway up a tree balancing a basket on her elbow and reaching for something hidden in the branches.

“I hope you’ve got a plan for how you’ll be getting down from there,” he called. “I doubt I can repeat the adventure from the other day and carry you home again.”

Her laughter carried across the distance between them and made him smile. A moment later, she scurried down the tree and landed on the ground with ease.

“You’ve done that before,” he said as he paused to catch his breath.

“Since I was a child,” she told him. “I’ve been teaching Mack and Lucas in anticipation of the day I no longer want to be the one climbing, but so far only Lucas has taken to it. Mack gets a little distracted.”

“About this Mack fellow,” he said. “I know that many of the men have gone off to fight, so that would limit the ones who are available to work. However, I hope you don’t pay Mack much.”

Ellis covered her smile as she walked toward him. “We don’t pay him at all, actually.”

He nodded. “That explains why you keep him employed here. Took me longer the first couple of days, but today I completed all of his chores in less than an hour. Did you know that according to your grandfather, when Mack goes into the henhouse, he leaves the snake if there’s one in there? What kind of farmhand is that?”

She reached him and allowed her smile to show. “The kind of farmhand who just had his sixth birthday.”

“Wait.” Clay shook his head. “Mack is a child?”

She laughed as she pressed past him to walk down the path. “Mack is my youngest brother. He loves to gather the eggs, but we don’t trust him with the snakes yet.”

“I’d say not.” Clay turned to follow and then had to stop to catch his breath. “So this Lucas fellow?”

“Also my brother,” she called over her shoulder. “He’s eight, going on nine he would tell you, and is missing his front teeth, but he does everything I tell him to do without question.”

“This is beginning to make sense now.”

She paused and turned around. “What do you mean?”

Clay began walking toward her, leaning heavily on the walking stick. “Your grandfather doesn’t think I’m well enough to do actual chores around here so he’s giving me child’s work.”

“I might argue with you, but you look terrible right now,” she told him. “Put your bag and rifle down and let’s rest.”

The bag. He’d forgotten all about the reason for following Ellis. When she’d settled on a grassy spot beside the path, he eased himself down and prayed he could stand back up again when the time came.

“Your breakfast,” he said as he handed her the bag. “Your grandfather said you left without eating.”

“I suppose I did.” She opened the bag and retrieved the tin to remove a boiled egg. “Have some,” she told him.

Eggs were not his favorite, but Clay picked one up to be polite. “How many did he think you would eat?” he asked as he counted at least ten eggs remaining.

“Grandfather always cooks for a crowd. Too many years of living in New Orleans where any number of family members could drop by at a moment’s notice, I suppose.”

Clay found himself at a loss for words. He had no idea if he had a similar story or if his family was smaller. Perhaps even nonexistent.

There was just a blank where that memory should have been.

He turned his attention to Ellis. She wore a more traditional day dress today, made of pale green cotton and sprigged with yellow flowers. Her hair had been captured into a thick braid that hung down her back.

“Something wrong?” she asked him.

He swiveled to face her, rolling the boiled egg around in his palm. “During the time I had fevers, did I ever talk about my family?”

She looked at a spot off in the distance and then returned her attention to him as a warm breeze blew past. “I don’t think so. Why? Did you remember something?”

Clay toyed with a blade of grass and then tossed it away. “Possibly. I have this memory—at least I think it is a memory—of green hills and trees with a house down in a valley and …” He shrugged. “Well, that’s about it. I don’t know where it is, but I feel certain it isn’t New Orleans.”

“No,” she said with a chuckle. “There are none of those things in New Orleans. Well, there are houses, of course, but that’s where the similarity ends.” Ellis paused. “Do you truly think this image you’ve seen in your mind could be your home?”

“I do,” he said. “Although I cannot tell you why I would think so. It makes no sense, and yet it feels like it’s supposed to be my home.”

Ellis pressed an errant strand of hair away from her face. “Maybe your memories are returning.”

“That is possible.” He let out a long breath. “It is frustrating not to know what I don’t know. If that makes sense.”

“It does.” Ellis appeared ready to say something more, but then she shook her head.

“I would like to earn your trust,” he told her.

Her gaze jolted toward him. “Why?”

He affected an innocent look. “Because I like you. I mean, now that you aren’t forcing that sleeping potion down my throat, that is.”

“Sleeping medication,” she corrected, though he thought he noticed the slightest twinkle in those green eyes.

“Whatever you call it, I think that foul-tasting medication either helped me remember or caused me to forget.” He plucked another blade of grass and glanced at her. “What do you think? Did I happen to say anything that might fill in where my memories are blank?”

Immediately he knew he had struck a nerve. Though they had danced all around the subject before, there was no doubt she had just answered in the affirmative.

Ellis had made much of the fact that she did not trust him. Was this just a way for her to deflect the fact that it was he who should not trust her? Whatever side he was on in this conflict—if indeed that was what brought him to Texas via the Greys—was it possible that the flame-haired beauty might be on the opposite side?

He would certainly never find out this way. With little time left before the day of his mysterious meeting, Clay decided to take a different approach.

“You know what?” he said as he stood and dusted himself off and then offered his hand to help her up. “I think you and I have just about exhausted this topic. If I said anything or if I didn’t, neither of those things matter right this minute.”

As he expected, Ellis looked confused. She picked up her basket and then returned her attention to Clay. “No?”

“No,” he said as casually as he could manage while he retrieved his rifle and slung it back over his shoulder. “If the Lord wants me to remember so that I can be where He wants me to be, then He will make that happen. In the meantime, I have work to do here.” Clay paused to offer a smile. “Apparently I am about to graduate to doing the chores of a seven-year-old.”

“Eight,” she corrected with a grin.

“Yes, that’s right. Eight. So I might need to get in a few more days of healing before I can manage that.”

Her expression went serious. “Are you having any more pain?”

He was, but he wouldn’t admit to it. Nor would Clay tell her that he felt weak as a kitten after walking just from the farmhouse out here to find her.

He’d had enough of being treated like a sick man to last a lifetime. And although he did have an ulterior motive for changing his tune and ceasing the conversation about his missing memories, he was also ready to think of himself as whole again and not in need of being cared for by a woman.

“I’m fine,” he told her.

“And you’ve been changing the bandage on your shoulder and leg?”

“Every night after I wash up.”

Finally he’d had enough. “Ellis,” he said firmly, “change the subject. I am healing in my body and am tired of talking about whether I’m going to be healing in my mind or not.”

Her expression told him he’d spoken too harshly. “Sore subject,” he said gently. “Pardon the pun. So why don’t you tell me what was so important that you were climbing a tree and risking your pretty little neck to cut it?”

Had Clay Gentry just called her pretty?

As she fell into step beside Clay, Ellis launched into an explanation of the supplejack vine and its usefulness in taming coughs and strengthening the blood. As she spoke, she was aware that Clay appeared less attentive to her words and more concerned about something behind her.

His hand traveled slowly to the stock of his rifle and remained there. Far from a casual gesture, it appeared he had gone on the defensive. But against what?

“Is something out there?” she said as she glanced behind her to see nothing other than foliage that crowded the path through the woods.

“Ellis,” he said slowly, his voice even. “Come stand behind me, please.”

“Why are you speaking like that? What is—”

He hauled her behind him in one swift, firm move and then drew his rifle.

“Is it the bobcat?” she whispered.

Rather than respond, he touched his index finger to his lips to silence her. “Stay behind me.”

“Come out,” he shouted. When nothing happened, Clay made the demand again.

“Clay,” she finally said, “if you saw someone out there and they don’t speak Acadian French, they aren’t going to know what you’re saying.”

“I’m not speaking French,” he snapped.

“You are,” she whispered again. “Say this: Come out.”

He repeated her words. This time the command came out in perfect English. At her nod, he smiled.

A rustling in the brush not far from where they had just been sitting caught her attention. Clay backed up until they were hidden in the brush.

“Be very still,” he said softly.

“You’re still speaking English,” she said with a grin.

Then a shot rang out, shattering the bark of a sweet gum tree just behind her. Ellis dove to the ground and stifled a scream.

“Take cover over there,” he told her as he nodded toward the depths of the thicket. “Stay down low. Do you have a pistol?”

Heart racing, Ellis retrieved the pistol from her skirt pocket and showed it to Clay. “In case I had to shoot the bobcat.”

He glanced around then returned his attention to Ellis. “It’s not a bobcat this time. Be ready to shoot anyone who isn’t me or your grandfather.”

She nodded even as she prayed she would not have to do as he asked. Time seemed to stand still, and every noise in the forest became amplified. Something crawled across her leg, but she crouched down stock-still and refused to move.

A hawk screeched overhead, and Ellis gasped. “‘With long life will I satisfy him,’” she whispered as she quoted the last line of Psalm 91. “Let me have a long life, please, Lord. I promise I won’t waste it.”

The crack of a rifle rang out, echoing across the forest. A man shouted something she couldn’t quite understand. Then silence.

How long she crouched there with no idea whether Clay was alive or dead, Ellis had no idea. Finally she heard footsteps. With her pistol in hand, she lifted up just enough to see Clay hurrying toward her on the path.

She stood and shook the leaves off her dress with her free hand. Clay grasped her by the elbow.

“Come on,” he demanded.

Ellis leaned down to reach for her basket but he pulled her back. “No time,” he said. “Let’s go.”

She followed him through the woods, along the path that skirted the northernmost part of the Valmont property. They were almost home when she realized he had taken the long way.

There was only one reason a man in a hurry would do such a thing. “You’re avoiding the clearing, aren’t you?”

Ignoring her, Clay kept walking. He had slowed his pace to match hers, this much Ellis knew, and so she hurried as best she could. Still, she was winded by the time the house came into view—remarkable considering Clay’s recent brush with death. Who was out there who would cause pain and weariness to fade for speed’s sake?

For her sake too. Like once before …

At the edge of the clearing, Clay grasped her elbow. “Walk normally. I don’t want anyone who might be watching to know you’re aware of them. However, here’s the path I want you to take.”

He described a trek that involved going from the forest to the pecan tree and then around the large barn and chicken coop to reach the summer kitchen. “I will be right behind you, but don’t look back. Just know I will be there. From the kitchen, we will walk into the house together.”

“Kitchen!” Ellis shook her head. “We forgot the eggs.”

Clay sighed. “That is the least of our concerns.”

“Why? Who did you shoot?” she demanded.

“Not now,” he said. “Wait until I give the signal and then go.” She frowned but did as he told her. “And remember I am right behind you.”

She nodded and then smiled. “Oh, and Clay?”

“Yes?” he said as he checked the ammunition in his rifle.

“You may not realize this, but everything you’ve said since you yelled in the woods has been in English.”

“Good to know,” he responded as he glanced around and then returned his attention to her. “But can we discuss this later?”

She smiled. “Count on it.”

With Clay right behind her, Ellis hurried forward to pause at each place along the route to the house. As soon as he gave the nod, she walked as casually as she could to the next agreed meeting place. Finally they arrived at the summer kitchen.

There Clay held his finger to his lips and then pressed past her to look out the door. After a few minutes he turned to face her.

“Who shot at me?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea. I was crouching down and couldn’t see a thing.”

His gaze darkened. “Not today, Ellis,” he said as he gestured to his shoulder. “Who did this to me?”