The Heiress and the Sheriff

Three

“Stay here. I’ll get a wheelchair,” he ordered.

Moments later Wyatt was back, and Gabrielle had no choice but to allow him to push her to the elevator, then out to the sidewalk to his waiting truck.

As they traveled away from the hospital, Gabrielle focused her attention on the passing buildings and streets, hoping something might spark her memory. But after several blocks whizzed by, her spirits sank to her feet. Nothing about the city looked familiar.

As though he were reading her thoughts, he asked, “Recognize anything?”

“No. But I have a feeling I don’t recognize this place because I’m not from around here.”

His expression remained unmoved as he negotiated the pickup truck through heavy traffic. “I could have told you that yesterday.”

She thrust a heavy wave of hair back from her face before fixing him with a stare. “How?”

“You hardly sound Texan. Californian, I’d wager. You have that West Coast look about you, too. Tanned skin, sun-streaked hair.”

“I’m sure there are tanned women with streaked hair around here,” she pointed out.

“Yeah. But you’re different. And I think you know it.”

She was different because she had amnesia! she wanted to yell at him. Instead, she asked, “What did you find in my car?”

The pickup was a four-wheel-drive vehicle with a shift stick in the floor. She watched the corded muscle in his arm work as he shoved the stick into a lower gear. She instinctively knew he was a strong man. She could still feel the grip of his fingers on her shoulder when he’d steadied her in the hospital room.

“It’s in that sack beside you. That was all I could find. I’d say the only reason it didn’t burn was because it was sheltered by the metal glove compartment. Also I managed to find the VIN number on your car,” he said. “It’s being run through a computer.”

“What will that tell you?”

“Where the vehicle came from. Who owned it.”

A pent-up breath whooshed out of her. “Then you might find out who I am.”

His lips twisted as he glanced at her. “You said you’re Gabrielle Carter. Is that not true?”

He saw her fingers grip the paper, saw her gaze at the clump on her lap as though it was the only thing she possessed in her life. And maybe it was, he thought. The notion bothered Wyatt. Way too much.

“I am Gabrielle Carter,” she said resolutely. “But who is she?”

He motioned toward the sack. “Maybe that will give you your answer.”

Slowly, she unrolled the top of the brown paper bag and peeked inside. “A book?”

“More than just a book.”

Gabrielle carefully lifted the article out of the sack. The leather cover was charred around the edges and streaked with smoke, but the words on the front were still visible: Holy Bible. What had she been doing traveling with a Bible? she wondered. Was she a religious zealot? She didn’t feel like one. Then again, she was obviously spiritual. Several times in the past two days she had found herself silently praying. Perhaps the book was a family heirloom that she hadn’t wanted to part with.

Trying to ignore Wyatt’s watchful eye, she quickly opened to the front pages of the book where a family tree would normally be registered. Her heart sank when she saw the entry lines were empty.

She rubbed her fingers back and forth across her forehead. “What do you think I was doing with a Bible?”

“Who knows? Maybe you came here to do missionary work.” His gaze cut a skeptical path from her neck all the way down to her feet. “But in that getup, I very much doubt it.”

Her face flaming from his blatant inspection, she looked down at herself. Even though her black ribbed top had a scooped neck and no sleeves, there was nothing indecent about it. Nor about her jeans. The sandals were a little funky and the heels a bit high, but from what she’d briefly seen on a few women in the hospital lobby, they were in style.

“You have a certain image of a missionary woman?”

The faint smile on his face was more smirk than anything. Gabrielle wished she had the strength and the nerve to reach across the seat and slap his jaw—lawman or not.

“Yeah. And it sure doesn’t fit you.”

She breathed deeply and tried to stem her rising temper.

“Why don’t you want me to go to the Double Crown Ranch?”

“Are my feelings that obvious to you?”

“Very.”

They were finally leaving the city behind. Wyatt reached to shove the gearshift into overdrive, and, once again, Gabrielle watched the rhythmic movements of his body. For the first time she noticed there were no rings on his fingers. A watch with a silver band encrusted with squares of green malachite circled his left wrist, but other than the distinctly Native American piece, he wore no jewelry. She was not surprised at the absence of a wedding band. There was nothing about the man that said he belonged to a woman. Or ever would.

“The Fortunes are my good friends,” he told her. “I don’t want them to be taken advantage of.”

His words stung her hard. Why, she didn’t know. What this arrogant sheriff thought of her shouldn’t matter one iota. But it did. “Do I look like an ax murderer or something?”

“Or something.”

She wanted to scream at his short, noncommittal answers. “What does that mean?”

“The Fortunes have had their share of troubles lately. I don’t want your presence adding to them.”

Still gripping the Bible, she squared around in the seat to look at him. “What sort of troubles?”

“I’ll let them tell you.”

She sighed and turned her gaze back to the passing landscape. They were in the countryside now. The land was gentle and rolling with thick green pastures shaded by large hardwood trees. Cattle and horses could be seen on either side of the highway. Cowboy country. Sheriff Wyatt Grayhawk certainly looked like one.

“You’re not a man of many words, are you?”

He glanced at her, and Gabrielle was instantly bowled over by the grin on his face. His teeth were a startling white against his dark skin, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with faint amusement. She couldn’t imagine how potent he would look if he were to really smile.

“Sometimes it takes more than words to get your point across,” he said.

Well, he’d certainly been getting his point across to her loud and clear. In his opinion she belonged in a police lineup rather than as a guest at the Double Crown Ranch.

Sighing, she put the Bible back in the paper sack. “So this is it? This is the sum of what I have in the world.”

“It was a miracle the Bible survived the heat. Count yourself lucky you were conscious enough to have gotten out when you did.”

She’d been so busy concentrating on her memory that she hadn’t thought much about the accident. Wyatt’s suggestion reminded her just how blessed she’d been to survive the fiery crash.

“I do. And I will remember…everything. Eventually. The doctor said I would. And when I do I’m going to take great pleasure in telling you so.”

His brows lifted skeptically. “Telling me what, Miss Carter?”

She drew in a deep breath, then heaved it out. “That I—I’m not a criminal!”

He shrugged. “I never said you were.”

The drawled words had her teeth grinding together. “You didn’t have to. I could read it all over your face.”

Beneath the brim of his hat, she could see his dark brows arch ever so slightly.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Miss Carter. You might just read me wrong.”

Her gaze was drawn downward to the chiseled lines of his lips and she wondered how many women had looked at this man and wanted him. Plenty, no doubt. His long lean body and hard-edged features oozed with sensuality. But Gabrielle knew a sexual romp was all any woman would get from this man.

“What does that mean?”

He flipped on the turn signal, then glanced at her with narrowed eyes. “It means you’d better not try to second-guess me.”

“You’re infuriating!”

His smile was menacing. “I’ve been called much worse things. And most of them by women. Your words can’t hurt me, Miss Carter.”

She suddenly felt sick and cold inside, and it had nothing to do with the ache in her head or the freezing air blowing from the vents on the dashboard. It wasn’t right for any human to be as hard as Wyatt Grayhawk. Surely beneath the badge pinned to his breast was a beating heart. There had to be something or someone in this world he cared about. But so far she could see no sign of compassion in the man.

“No. I’m sure they don’t,” she murmured as she deliberately turned her gaze away from him and fixed it on the narrow country lane they were now traveling. “A person has to feel to be able to hurt. And I can see you’re not capable of either.”

She felt, more than saw, him look at her. But he said nothing. After a moment she felt something inside her wilt like a thirsty flower. Whatever happened in the future, she knew she would never forget this man. His dark stern looks, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand had all burned themselves into her wounded memory.

Less than five minutes later Wyatt parked the truck outside a large house surrounded by a wall built of sandstone. Except for a few shade trees, the structure sat on flat, open land. In the distance, she could see a large barn of weathered wood and another long building that appeared to be horse stables. Nearby were several working pens and numerous outbuildings.

Since she had no memory, she had no way of knowing if she’d ever been on a ranch before. But in any case, she could see this place was a grand-scale operation.

“Is this the Double Crown Ranch?” she asked, as Wyatt helped her down from the cab of the pickup.

A southwest wind was blowing, wet and hot. It tugged at her hair and fluttered the leaves of a nearby cottonwood. She pushed the pestering strands from her face, then glanced at him as she waited for an answer. As usual, she found his hazel eyes watching her, weighing her reactions.

“Yes. This is the Double Crown Ranch. It’s the Fortune family homestead.”

From what she could see of the house, it was a huge structure with sand-colored adobe walls. Several stone chimneys jutted above the flat tiled roof. In this heat she couldn’t imagine needing fireplaces, but maybe Texas didn’t always feel like a sauna.

They passed through a wrought-iron gate fastened beneath an arched entryway connecting the sandstone walls. As they walked along a curving stone walkway, she was immediately struck by the lush plants growing all around them. Roses as big as saucers hung from thick green bushes, while clematis and honeysuckle vines draped the heavy beams that thrust from the eaves of the roof.

Gabrielle hadn’t thought she was nervous about coming to this ranch, but as she and Wyatt crossed a covered entryway and approached a large, antique wooden door, she realized her mouth was dry and her pulse was racing.

Nothing about this beautiful place seemed familiar, but for some odd reason, she felt a connection to it. As though she were supposed to be here, but didn’t know why.

“Maybe someone here will recognize me.” She spoke the thought out loud.

Wyatt punched the doorbell. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“You don’t say very much, and when you do it’s always pessimistic. Are you always this way? Or am I the only one who sees this side of you?” she asked.

“I’m not pessimistic, Miss Carter. I’m realistic.”

Her lips pressed together. “You know, I don’t think it would hurt anything if you called me Gabrielle. ‘Miss Carter’ makes me sound like a dowager.”

“I only call my friends by their first name. And I don’t know you at all.”

Gabrielle felt as if he’d actually struck her across her face. She was alone and lost. Any sort of warmth from him would have been welcome, but it was very obvious he didn’t care about her feelings. To him, she was nothing but an unfinished job.

She quickly looked away from him and tried to swallow the hurt. The pain was oddly familiar, as though she were used to rejection. By her family? she wondered. Or a sweetheart? Or maybe, God forbid, she didn’t have anybody. No parents or siblings. No boyfriend or lover.

“No. I don’t guess you could know me. I don’t even know myself,” she said quietly.

He was being a bastard. Even he knew it. But something about this young woman was different. She made him itch in all the wrong places, and he couldn’t afford to let himself get friendly with her.

Still, the crushed look on her face left him feeling like he’d been kicked in the gut. He didn’t want to hurt her. He just didn’t want her getting close.

“Look, Miss Carter, I—”

The massive door suddenly swung open and a short middle-aged Mexican woman peered across the threshold at the two of them.

“Good afternoon, Wyatt. I see you’ve brought our new guest.”

“Hello, Rosita. This is Gabrielle Carter. She’s just been released from the hospital. Maggie assured me you’d be expecting her.”

Except for one white streak at her temple, the plump woman had very dark hair that was pulled to the back of her head in a heavy bun. She had what looked to be a maid’s uniform on; so Gabrielle assumed she must be a housekeeper of some kind. She stepped up to Gabrielle and studied her with keen but kind eyes. “Yes. We’re expecting Ms. Carter,” she said to Wyatt, while continuing to regard her new houseguest. To Gabrielle she said, “I’m Rosita Perez. My daughter Maggie tells me you’ve lost any possessions you may have had, that everything was burned in the car. I’m very sorry to hear it.”

Gabrielle nodded down at the paper sack she was clutching in one hand. “All Sheriff Grayhawk found was my Bible. I think I’m just lucky to be alive.”

“I think you are lucky, too,” she said, then glanced at Wyatt. “I’ll show Gabrielle to her room. Did you want to see Ryan?”

Wyatt shook his head. “No. I won’t bother him now. I’ve got to get back to the office.” He glanced at Gabrielle, who looked even more pale and worn since he’d picked her up at the hospital. “I’ll be back later. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

Gabrielle nodded that she understood, and extended her hand to him. “Thank you, Sheriff Grayhawk, for bringing me out here.”

He hesitated only for a second, then reached to clasp her hand in his. Her fingers were small and soft and cool against his warm palm, and for one wild second, he wanted to draw her to him, nestle her cheek against his chest and assure her everything was going to be all right.

But that was the last thing he could allow himself to do. Gabrielle Carter might not be entirely innocent. And even if she was, he couldn’t let himself care. He’d been hurt too many times to chance another slap in the face by a woman.

“You’re welcome, Miss Carter,” he murmured, then glanced at Rosita. “If you need me, call me. Otherwise, I’ll let you know what the VIN number turns up.”

Wyatt turned and left through the door they had just entered. The housekeeper said to Gabrielle, “Come along and I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. Then you might want lunch.”

“Thank you,” Gabrielle told her, then followed her ample figure out of the entryway and into a large great room.

Without a memory, she had no way of knowing what sort of house or apartment she’d been living in before the car accident. But something told her it hadn’t been anything like the Double Crown ranch house. One whole wall was dominated by an open rock hearth. The ceiling was high and supported by rough oak beams. The walls were stucco and decorated with numerous paintings and prints, most of which depicted scenes of the Old West. The floor was polished tile, and covered here and there with woven rugs in Mexican and Native American patterns.

Across the room, directly in front of them, a pair of curved, wooden-framed glass doors opened out to a courtyard. Like the front entrance to the house, it was beautifully landscaped with blooming sage, tall clumps of ornamental grass and climbing rosebushes.

“My daughter told us you have amnesia. She feels very guilty about the accident. She wishes she had never gone riding yesterday. I warned her not to go. The night before I had dreamed of a striking serpent.” The older woman shrugged and lifted her palms in helpless acquiescence. “I am her mother, but she paid me no more heed than anyone else around here.”

Gabrielle wondered if the older woman considered herself some sort of psychic. Frankly, she didn’t think she believed in such things. But if the housekeeper had truly dreamed of a striking snake, it would be an awfully eerie coincidence.

Gabrielle followed the woman into a large kitchen. Something spicy and delicious smelling was simmering on a large gas range. Gabrielle’s stomach gnawed hungrily—the dry oatmeal and cold toast at the hospital had been too horrible to eat, and last night’s fare hadn’t been much better.

“Maggie is my youngest. She’s married to Dallas Fortune,” Rosita said, clearly in an effort to strike up a safe conversation.

“Is this their house?”

The housekeeper chuckled as she motioned for Gabrielle to follow her down a hall off to the left of the kitchen.

“No. Dallas and Maggie live in another house on the ranch. It’s a whole lot like this one, just not as big. This is Ryan Fortune’s home. He’s the father of Matthew, Zane, Dallas, Vanessa and Victoria. But I don’t expect you know any of them.” She made a tsking sound of regret. “Pobrecita, you don’t even know yourself.”

“Maybe if I have a chance to see some of these people, I might remember something,” Gabrielle said hopefully. “I had to be headed to this ranch for some reason. Sheriff Grayhawk thinks I was up to no good. But I don’t believe that. I don’t feel like a bad person inside—and I think I would if I were really bad. Does that make sense, Mrs. Perez?”

The woman opened another heavy wooden door carved deeply with Spanish designs, and gestured for Gabrielle to cross the threshold before her. The room was massive with more stucco walls and heavy beams supporting the ceilings. On one end was a bed, dresser and chest all made of yellow pine. At the opposite end was a sitting area furnished with a large couch and stuffed armchair covered in tan leather. Like the great room and kitchen, the floor was also tiled; the scattered woven rugs filled the room with deep, rich colors.

With a wag of her finger, the housekeeper said, “No. No. I’m not Mrs. Perez. I’m Rosita. And I’ll call you Gabrielle, okay?”

At least Rosita wasn’t going to be like Sheriff Grayhawk, Gabrielle thought, but then no one could be like that man.

She smiled warmly at the woman. “Yes. I’d like that.”

“Good. And I wouldn’t worry about Wyatt Grayhawk. He thinks all women are up to no good.”

“Why is that?”

Rosita shrugged and tapped her finger against her chin in contemplation. “He’s a half-breed. His Indian blood is always at war with the white part of him. He’s never happy. But he’s a good man.”

Deciding she’d talked long enough, Rosita quickly headed out of the room. “Look around and make yourself comfortable,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll come after you in a few minutes when lunch is ready.”

After the housekeeper had closed the door behind her, Gabrielle wandered over to the king-size bed and trailed her finger over the coarse spread woven in a southwestern-style pattern. The rich turquoise, burgundy and copper colors were just the right contrast to the varnished pine and light-colored walls.

On the long dresser, there was a matching comb, hair-brush, and hand mirror, but nothing else. As Gabrielle glanced around her, she noticed there were no family photos anywhere in the room, so she assumed it was probably used only by guests on the ranch.

The sitting area was equipped with a small television, stereo and bookcase filled with several hardback and paperback selections. But at the moment she had no need for entertainment. Her thoughts were whirling with all that she’d seen and heard since she’d arrived, and her headache had increased to a steady pounding behind her eyes.

She found the bathroom, which to her surprise was fitted with a huge old claw-foot tub. At the end, a wooden bench was loaded with stoppered bottles filled with oils and salts and bath gels. The idea of filling the tub with warm water and bubbles and soaking for a long while was a tempting one, but Rosita had already warned her that lunch was nearly ready. Gabrielle would have to postpone the bath for now.

Back in the sitting area, she walked to the long windows overlooking the courtyard and discovered one of them was a door. She didn’t open it, but stood gazing out at the beauty of the gardens surrounding the massive house.

“Knock, knock! May I come in?”

Gabrielle turned at the familiar sound of Maggie’s voice to see the woman’s smiling face poking around the edge of the door.

“Of course! I was just waiting for your mother to call me for lunch.”

Maggie stepped into the room carrying two giant sacks with twine handles. The logo of a prominent department store was embossed on the glossy paper.

“She said we could take five minutes and then to come. So hurry and look at what you can,” Maggie told her.

“Look at what? What is all this?” Gabrielle asked.

Maggie lugged the two sacks over to the bed. When she dumped the contents, wrapped packages spilled over the mattress.

“It’s most everything you’ll need for a few days. We’ll go back and get the rest whenever you’re feeling stronger.”

Gabrielle’s hand lifted to her throat as she stared in stunned fascination at the pile of packages. “This is all for me? An extra pair of jeans and a top would have been plenty!”

Maggie’s smile was gentle. “We don’t know how long it will take for your memory to return. You’ll need several changes. And a woman has to have makeup and toiletries and lingerie.”

Gabrielle was still too overcome to move, so Maggie took the initiative and opened one of the boxes. “Look at this! I thought it was darling. See if it will fit, and you can wear it for lunch.” She thrust a pale blue flowered dress at Gabrielle.

“Oh, do you dress up for meals here?” she asked, then glanced down at her jeans and top. Wyatt’s implication that she more or less looked cheap was still a fresh wound. “I guess I do look pretty awful.”

“You don’t look anything of the sort. I just thought the dress would lift your spirits. Anyway, we hardly ever dress up for meals around here—everything is casual. Everyone is always so busy that no one knows who is going to show up. Unless there’s some sort of special occasion going on. But parties have been pretty few and far between here lately. Wyatt doesn’t think they’re a good idea.”