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“You want the farm?”
She hadn’t included herself in the question. That stung his conscience, especially since he wasn’t so sure he wanted the family part.
He tried to remain unaffected by her apparent coldness. “Is this a healthy business?”
“In spite of you, we’re fine.” Rachel took a quick swig from her iced tea, capping the answer. Then, “Am I going to hear your story?”
Damn, his story. What there was of it.
He set down his beverage on a coaster. “It’s pretty simple, really. I woke up one morning in New Orleans with the mother of all hangovers. A wino was going through my pockets, but I didn’t have anything. No ID, no money. I suppose I’d been mugged. I don’t know.”
He left out one important detail. The blood on his shirt. Rachel didn’t need to know that yet. He’d been covered in the red matter on his left side, evidence of a knife wound that had sliced between his ribs. It’d been superficial, but enough to leave a slight scar.
But then there’d been the blood on the other side. The side with no wounds. There’d also been coagulated red liquid on his hands, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was someone else’s blood.
It’d kept him from going to the police to find his identity, from going to the hospital. What if he’d committed a crime? Should he have turned himself in?
He’d had no answers, had needed time to think the possibilities through, to listen to the word on the streets.
Rachel gasped at his news. “You don’t remember anything?” She paused while he shook his head.
“Damn,” she continued. “You obviously don’t know that your wallet was found a while ago. It was behind old crates in a New Orleans alley. Some random guy was using your remaining credit cards, so I doubt you were mugged for money.”
He couldn’t even feel relief at this news. He still had no idea about his past.
Rachel shot another question at him. “Why didn’t you get to a hospital?”
“Leave it to a nurse,” he said, trying to change the subject. “I only remember commonsense things, no details. Enough to get by in life. I took a job as a dishwasher, but I knew I could do something more. One night, these Texas ranchers came into the restaurant. I cleared the dishes from their table before they ordered after-dinner drinks. When I heard them talking about horses, something sparked inside me. I quit and went to Texas.”
Rachel held up a finger. “Well, you didn’t go for medical attention then but I still want you to go now, Matthew, to make sure you’re okay. Even if you’re stubborn as a mule.”
At least that hadn’t changed about him. “Do you want to hear my story, or not?”
She sat up like an attentive choir girl. “Yes.”
“Great.” His body tightened as he looked into her eyes. Eyes that reflected a man who’d obviously hurt this woman in the past. The thought didn’t sit well with him. “I got a job as a ranch hand near Houston. Menial stuff, mucking out stalls, exercising the stock. Deep down, I knew this wasn’t what I was cut out to do. My boss knew it, too, but I was a good worker.
“One day, this feisty gal—a P.I.—came into the foreman’s office, asking questions about a Matthew Shane. My boss suspected something, but he didn’t give any information. He came to my bunk that night and told me everything she’d said. The private detective left her card, and my boss gave it to me. Told me if I knew anything about this man to call.”
Matt didn’t add that he himself had done some checking about this Matthew Shane, just to see if he’d been the man who’d done something immoral to coat his hands with someone else’s blood. When Matthew’s record had turned out clean as a whistle, Matt had decided to return to Kane’s Crossing, facing his old life while remaining “Matt Jones,” the name he’d given his new identity. Even now, if he dropped the “Jones” part and adapted the last name “Shane,” he’d still be the man he’d become in Texas, resuming his former business—horse breeding—and reclaiming his sanity. Bottom line—he’d still be a nobody.
He wasn’t sure what he’d do about the wife part, though.
He looked over at her, sitting so primly and properly on the couch. She was playing with something on her finger.
A ring.
An image assaulted him, making his head swim. It was a flash of strumming guitars, bougainvillea, sultry nights spent walking down narrow streets with balconies looming overhead, the scent of saffron floating over seafood.
Then it was gone. Too insignificant to mention. But she must have seen the shock on his face.
“It’s my wedding ring,” she said, flushing as if she were embarrassed to be caught still wearing it. “Are you okay?”
He reached for his iced tea to chase the dryness from his mouth and nodded.
He stopped cold, his arm stiffening.
A little girl stood in the doorway, an urchin with a searching gaze and pursed lips. Expressions reminiscent of Rachel’s.
In his mind’s eye he saw the girl swinging through the air with the effort of his arms, her long curly brown hair and eyes—his hair and eyes—bouncing and laughing with delight. He saw her dancing on the tops of his shoes, giggling and holding on to his forearms for dear life.
“Company, Mommy?” she asked in a voice that couldn’t have pulled experience from more than six years of life.
Still reeling with the last image, Matt shut his eyes as the next one assaulted him: a platinum-blond woman and a little boy, posing for a camera, springtime smiles on their faces.
Problem was, the image didn’t look anything like Rachel and this girl who couldn’t be anyone other than Matthew Shane’s daughter. Problem was, he didn’t know who the picture people were.
All he knew was that they had to be an important piece in the puzzle of his past.
But who were they? And why had he remembered them right after seeing Rachel’s ring and his own daughter?
Matt’s heartbeat thudded in his ears, keeping pace with the throb of his scar, as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Once again, he wondered what kind of life he’d led before leaving Rachel.
Chapter Two
R achel stood and went to her daughter’s side, brushing a cookie crumb from the girl’s face. “Tamela, I’d like you to meet someone.”
The child wrinkled her nose in Matt’s direction. He wondered if she remembered anything about him: what he looked like, what it had been like to hug him.
He only wished he could remember more.
Rachel took Tamela by the hand, leading the girl to Matthew. “This is your daughter,” she said, a catch in her voice.
At least he could hold on to the few images that had entered his mind. He dropped to the stone floor on one knee, bringing himself eye-to-eye with Tamela. He stuck out a hand for a shake. “How’s my girl?”
Rachel shot a cold glance at him, maybe warning him that he’d already gotten too familiar. Well, this was his daughter, for Pete’s sake. Again, he got the feeling that Rachel wasn’t all that comfortable with his return.
Why?
Tamela stepped toward him, ignoring his outstretched hand, widening her eyes. Matt felt like a snake behind the glass of a zoo exhibit. “Why did you leave, Daddy?”
Oh, damn. Matt didn’t know how to explain this. He drew back from her.
Luckily Rachel stepped in, leaning her knee on the floor, right along with Matt. “Daddy’s got a story to tell us, honey. Just keep in mind that we’ve still got a lot to talk about. Okay?”
Matt’s body reacted to Rachel’s perfume—a night-blooming jasmine bouquet. The scent was elusive, mysterious, yet somehow comforting. The wildness of it took him back to a dark place. A warm place.
Tamela interrupted his thoughts. “The other day Mommy told Mrs. Cassidy that you’re a no-good scoundrel.”
Rachel cleared her throat. “That was during your quiet time, Tam. Mommy was joking with Mrs. Cassidy. Adults do that sometimes.”
Yeah, Matt was absolutely wheezing with laughter inside. “I’ll be honest with you, pumpkin.”
At this, Tamela smiled, her brown eyes shining. Matt wondered if he’d always called her by that pet name.
He continued. “I don’t remember much about the past two years. But I’m trying to do the right thing, coming back home. I’ve lost most of my memory.”
“Like you lose a shoe? I did that in school last week. Mommy didn’t even get mad at me.”
Matt wished Mommy wasn’t so mad at him for losing something, either. “I guess it’s a little like that. And sometimes that shoe will turn up in the strangest places, when you least expect it. Or sometimes you’ll find clues as to where that shoe is. Just like my memory.”
“So we can help you find clues?” asked Tamela. She scooted closer to Matt, placing a pudgy hand on his shoulder with all the openness of a child.
Matt’s heart choked. He couldn’t help the swell of emotion clogging his speech. He wanted to scoop her into his arms, hug her with all the love she’d been missing from him these past two years. Buying time to recover, he glanced at Rachel, whose brows were knitted. Her eyes resembled a mist-covered lake, unmapable.
“Tam,” she said, her voice creaky enough to make Matt think she’d been affected, “sometimes memories never come back, and we have to be prepared for that.”
Matt wondered if she’d prefer to keep Matthew Shane on the “Missing” side of a milk carton. What would they do if he never remembered his life? Did he have the right to be here, expecting to reclaim his horse farm, his lifestyle?
The little girl nodded stoically, like a minireporter gathering information for The Toadstool Times. “Why are you dressed like a country singer?”
Rachel hid a sudden laugh behind her hand, turning away from him. When she recovered, their gazes caught, and he felt fire in his belly—fast-moving and furious. He could almost feel her hair silking down his skin, her breasts sliding over his chest.
Damn, his libido was moving way too quickly. He wasn’t even sure he liked Rachel, but something deep inside told him it didn’t matter. He felt chemistry between them—a brew that could allow them to make love like strangers, making the tangled sheets hot and sweaty, making the morning-after parting of ways a simple act.
The thought was all too easy, causing Matt to wonder if Matthew Shane had spent much time in roadside bars, roadside motels.
He cleared his throat and answered Tamela’s blunt question. “A country singer, huh? Well, I lived in Texas for a while. It’s comfortable to wear jeans and a hat when you work on a ranch with horses.”
“Like our horses?” she asked, a single dimple lighting one side of her mouth.
“Not really. Down there we have quarter horses, and we use Western saddles, just for a start.”
Tamela nodded as if she knew exactly what he was talking about. Matt realized that she’d been raised on this farm, learned to ride with English saddles, on thoroughbreds and saddlebreds.
The whole scene was a lifetime away from Texas flatlands and dust, bluebonnets and horizon-filled sunsets.
The phone rang, and Rachel stood. “Excuse me.”
As she walked away, she tossed a glance over her shoulder, seemingly worried that he’d revert back to the old Matthew at any moment.
But would that be such a bad thing?
He and Tamela turned to each other, questions drawing them together like time-sharpened hooks.
Rachel walked into the adjoining kitchen, dodging the island cutting block with its hanging cast-iron pots and pans in order to get to the phone. Her heart was still pounding from the sight of Tamela and Matthew, huddled together in the family room. She didn’t know why she felt so threatened.
Heck, yes she did. She was afraid the old Matthew had come back to her, bad habits and all. She didn’t want to say it was a relief that this new man—this stranger—didn’t remember everything Matthew had done to let her and Tamela down, but… Okay, maybe it was a relief.
“Hello?” she asked, after getting the phone.
“Ms. Shane?” drawled a crisp, to-the-point voice.
“Chloe Lister?” Thank goodness. Talk about saved by the bell, or the ringer or…whatever. “There’s no one else in this world I’d rather be talking to right now.”
A deep sigh from the other end of the line. “Don’t tell me. Matthew got there before I could. Dammit, I knew I’d blown it.”
“Listen, Chloe, don’t be so hard on yourself. I hired you to find my husband, and obviously you flushed him out. He walked right up to me today while I was working on the farm, just as calm as you please. Like he’d been away on an extended business trip.”
“I understand, Ms. Shane.”
Rachel could imagine Chloe, dressed in a crisp business pants suit with her straight hair cut in a sharp line to the jaw. Vigilant and purposeful, that’s why Sam Reno, the county sheriff and a good friend, had recommended Chloe’s investigative services.
The woman said, “I should’ve known that Texas foreman was lying through his teeth to me. He kept looking at the door, as if expecting the truth to walk in at any time. The man must’ve gone to Matthew right after I left.”
“You did well, Chloe,” Rachel said, wandering to the kitchen entrance to spy on Matthew and Tamela. The pair was seated on the couch, laughing together about something or another. A bolt of…what was it—jealousy?…coursed through Rachel at the sight.
Tamela would’ve been too young to remember Matthew’s frequent business trips and the countless parties he’d attended with the thoroughbred set, parties he’d enjoyed without Rachel. She’d opted to stay home with her daughter.
Not that Matthew had been a bad father. He’d showered Tamela with affection, making the child glow whenever he walked into the room. Rachel had to admit that she felt a prod of envy, thinking about how his effortless love won over their daughter every time, while she’d had to take the everyday ups and downs of it.
But hadn’t she been living with this protective silence her whole life? She’d done it when she’d seen her mother’s sins, kept quiet in order to make sure the family was happy.
She’d lived most of her life in her parents’ upstate New York home, dressing like the perfect daughter, smiling at the dinner table as her mother and father asked about her day at prep school. Then she’d hide in her room at night, locking away her mother’s secrets with her. Even after Rachel had gone to college, she’d kept her silence. Maybe that was Rachel’s destiny—to be the sentinel of domestic happiness, securing all the bad news from those she loved the most.
Rachel shook herself back to the moment as Chloe rounded up the phone call. “I’ll be there as soon as I can, Ms. Shane. Expect me tonight.”
“Thank you. I’ll have dinner waiting, all right?”
Chloe signed off, every bit the professional. Rachel could almost imagine her buffing her shoes and delinting her ensemble before checking in tonight.
She turned off the phone and leaned against the door frame, watching Matthew. She hated to admit it, but he was still capable of seducing her with a glance. Whether he meant to or not.
Maybe it was his light brown eyes, the way they invited a girl to a guaranteed good time. Or maybe it was that half smile, the one that used to smack of arrogance. Now the added melancholy drew her, made her want to smooth a palm over his brow to promise him everything was going to be all right.
Sure. Make those vows you can never keep, Rachel.
Where Matthew used to be light and charming, this man was dark and reticent. Even the achingly uncertain glances he’d slid in her direction were working the old magic on her.
And that body. Matthew had always shadowed her with his height, but he’d gone soft around the edges with his playboy ways, the whiskey-chub around the belt line, the desk-jockey arms. This new guy was all muscle. All temptation.
Don’t go back to the way things were, she told herself. Don’t fall into his arms for no reason. Don’t let that overwhelming sexual draw make you forget that your marriage had become a tattered thing after your extended honeymoon period.
Rachel straightened her spine, donning her protective facade once again. Then she dialed Matthew’s family to tell them that their brother had finally come home.
Matt watched Rachel pace the kitchen floor, phone to her ear, her body flashing past the door every few moments.
He couldn’t help himself. He wanted her to look at him again, maybe even smile at him for once. He wanted to know exactly what was going through her mind. Was she calling the men in the white coats to haul him out of her life? Or was she yearning to touch him as much as he wanted to touch her, just to get a taste of what Matthew Shane had once possessed?
Who knows? Maybe touching her would bring back a memory or two. Maybe it’d even make some new ones. Good ones that wouldn’t haunt her eyes or make her keep a safe distance.
The knife wound between his ribs pulsed again, reminding him of just how right Rachel was to distrust him. After all, Matthew Shane, the man with blood on his hands, could be his wife’s worst nightmare. And did he really want to make her confront that?
Tamela poked him in the arm. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He shook off the dark mood and focused on the angel next to him. Maybe Matthew hadn’t been too bad if he helped create something as wonderful as this child.
“Are you going to tell Mommy to let us stay here? Grandma and Grandpa want us to come back to New York.”
Matt tried to keep his cool. “She wants to leave Kane’s Crossing?”
“I love it here.” She spun a finger through a long, brown curl. Maybe it was a habit. “I love my horse, Booberry, and I love the Cutter’s Lake carousel and I love…everything!”
Matt flicked a spiral of hair from her shoulder. It felt like the thing to do. Natural. Expected. “Now why would you and your mommy leave all that?”
Tamela sighed, sounding much older than her years. How much stress had his absence put on his daughter?
“Every time she talks to them on the phone, Mommy cries. Then Mr. Tarkin calls, and she cries even harder.”
Tarkin. The name sounded familiar for some reason. Matt thought of ice, ambition, money. “Help your pop out, Tam. Can you tell me about Mr. Tarkin?”
Tamela stuck out her lips and narrowed her eyes, then said, “He’s a mean old man, and when he comes to the farm, the trainer and the grooms and everyone else don’t smile. He killed Suzy Q.”
A horse. Suzy Q. How could Matt remember this piece of trivia when he couldn’t remember his own damned life?
“So Mr. Tarkin had Suzy Q put down?” Too late, he wondered if Tamela knew what he meant.
Sharp as a tack, she did. “I heard Mommy on the phone, saying Mr. Tarkin wanted money. That’s when Mommy cries the most. When people talk about money.”
Matt would have to ask Rachel about Tarkin. If he wanted to go back to his old life, he’d have to know everything about the farm and how it was running.
He felt someone hovering over him. When he looked up, Rachel was standing in back of the couch, seeming none too amused.
“Tam, honey, you want to go upstairs and pick out a nice outfit? Uncle Rick and Aunt Lacey are coming over tonight.”
Tamela bounced off the couch and out of the room. Her footsteps pounded up the stairway, leaving Rachel and Matt in a staring contest.
She blinked first. “That was cute. Squeezing information out of a six-year-old.”
“It’s a hell of a lot easier than talking to you.”
“Great. You’re back for an hour, and you’re already feeling entitled. Glad to see that, Matthew.”
Matt stood. “I would’ve liked the chance to talk with you privately before the relatives hit the scene.”
Rachel came out from behind the couch, lifting her chin to look directly into his eyes. The gesture turned him on like a power switch, electrifying him with her spirit.
Damn that chemistry.
She said, “I thought they might want to know that their wayward brother had returned to Kane’s Crossing.”
He glanced away. “I don’t recall siblings.”
Silence, unbroken except for the ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. Hell, it could’ve even been his time bomb of a conscience.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Listen, I’m going to be doing a lot of messing up here, so cut me a little slack.”
“Likewise. I can’t seem to do anything right.”
“That’s not…” Your fault.
The rest of her sentence went unspoken. Probably because his amnesia very well could’ve been his fault. And maybe Matthew Shane had brought trouble to the house more than once.
Would she even be surprised if she knew about the blood on his shirt, on his hands? Or had Matthew shed enough proverbial blood on his wife?
The air conditioner kicked on. She was so near, he could smell the jasmine, could feel a stray hair from her braid as it blew past his neck. It tickled him, making him shift his stance.
“I suppose I owe you an explanation about the farm,” she said.
He didn’t answer, and she didn’t pursue the subject. Instead, a heat-heavy silence pulsed around them, pulling them together while wedging them apart.
Dammit, he couldn’t stand the small talk, the distance between them. Without thinking of the consequences, Matt reached out and cupped her face between his palms. He caught a glimpse of her stun-parted lips, her wide eyes and flushed skin, before crushing his mouth to hers.
Soft as a gasp, her lips parted beneath his, melting into the welcome-home greeting he’d been hungering for.
Damn, her skin was so smooth against his calluses, her scent so inviting. In the back of his mind, Matt knew that he’d missed her touch, the long hair that was even now fluttering against his throat.
She pressed against him, nudging his lips with hers. Matt’s body reacted instantly, stiffening. He moved his fingers down her face, her jaw, her throat. Her jasmine-mirage perfume teased his senses, filled his mouth with the warm tingle of comfort. Almost like a fine bourbon.
Suddenly, Rachel pulled back from him, as if realizing she was supposed to be angry with the old Matthew.
Every inch of skin above her neckline was as red as rage. “Damn you, Matthew,” she said, punctuating the curse by pressing her fingers over her lips.
Maybe she wanted to stop the throbbing, the pulsing he was feeling, too.
“That was more of a homecoming than I got earlier.” He tried to keep a straight face, but the very recent memory of the kiss pushed a grin across his mouth.
She lowered her hand, pointing a finger in his direction. “You think this is funny, don’t you? You find it amusing that I’ve had to endure all of this town’s gossip, that I’ve had to walk down the streets of Kane’s Crossing acting like I still had some damned pride? Do you realize that every time I’d walk into the Mercantile, Darla’s Beauty Shop or even Meg Cassidy’s bakery that someone would smirk or snicker or mutter something outright rude to me?”
She overimitated a Kane’s Crossing drawl. “‘So, Rachel, ya must’ve driven Matthew away with a cattle prod.’ Or, ‘Say, Rachel, it takes a lot to scare away a Kane’s Crossing boy.’”
Here she took a deep breath, and Matt’s heart clenched when he realized that she was on the edge of tears.
But she continued. “You have no idea what it’s been like without you, Matthew. And your coming home hasn’t made things much better so far.”
Her words stung, but he deserved it. For being cheeky, for being two years late for dinner, for being her husband.
“I’m sorry, Rachel. I’ll say it a million times if I need to.”
A sharp laugh was her prelude to an answer. “Then start now. But a million apologies won’t even begin to cover the damage you’ve done to your daughter.”
Part of him wanted to remind her that he—this man he was right now—had no idea what he’d done to wrong his wife and child. Yet he had the feeling she already knew that. So he decided to stand there, to take the brunt of her pain, to suffer for the other Matthew’s sins. There was no other way around it.