Son of Texas

“About the future. The person who shot me. My memory. And you.”

“Me?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes.” Josie snuggled into him once again and his arm instinctively went around her. “And how much I’m going to miss you and your voice.”

“My voice?”

Josie told Caleb about the warm milk and how his voice made her feel, especially when she was afraid.

“You can always drink a glass of warm milk with chocolate in it when I’m not around.” He was trying to be flippant, but his heart felt heavy.

“It won’t be the same.” Josie looked at him and slowly kissed the corner of his mouth. “Kiss me, Caleb.”

He couldn’t resist. He took her lips with a fiery hunger fueled by a year of glances, touches and yearnings. For a brief moment he ignored the warning in his head and tasted her tongue, her lips, her mouth, and let himself feel everything that he shouldn’t. He couldn’t do this to her, to himself, to Eric. Once her memory returned, she would regret this lapse.

Josie belonged to someone else.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for the many letters asking about Caleb McCain and Belle Doe from Forgotten Son (Harlequin Superromance #1250). I’m happy to tell you that this is their story.

Many of you wrote asking who Belle Doe is. I have to tell you a secret. Her character just sort of evolved in Forgotten Son, and at the time I had no idea who she was or who had shot her. When I was faced with writing her story, I had a blank page. I knew I wanted her to be from south Texas. Other than that, Belle Doe really was Belle Doe—as mysterious to me as she was to you.

People often ask me where I get my ideas for stories. In this case, the process was simple yet very complex. I had to unravel the mystery of Belle Doe—the mystery I had created. I was halfway through the book and I still had no idea who had shot Belle. Her story kept changing as the characters took over. Luckily, I have a very understanding editor.

I had fun traveling to south Texas and solving this mystery. So come along and see what happens.

Happy reading,

Linda Warren

P.S. It’s such a pleasure to hear from readers. You can e-mail me at Lw1508@aol.com or write me at P.O. Box 5182, Bryan, TX 77805 or visit my Web site at www.lindawarren.net or www.superauthors.com. Your letters will be answered.

SON OF TEXAS

Linda Warren

To Pamela Litton, Christi Hendricks and Naomi Giroux—

the ladies who sat at my kitchen table many nights

munching popcorn and critiquing my first manuscript,

The Truth About Jane Doe. Thanks for helping make a

dream come true. This is book number fifteen.

Look what you started.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

One of the very good things about being an author

is that I get to meet a lot of nice, friendly people

who share their lives with me. One of those people is

Becky Wood, R.N. Thank you so much for your support

and for allowing me to share Chula with readers.

Another person is Viola Barker—Thanks for sharing your

interesting life, especially your home remedies.

It’s been a pleasure getting to know you.

Any errors in this book are strictly mine.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

WHO AM I?

What’s my name?

The sharp probing questions jabbed at Belle Doe with the power of a professional boxer, but her mind fended them off like a pro as it did every day. Her memory was blank as a newborn’s, yet she wasn’t a baby waiting for a mind to develop. She was a grown woman struggling to remember her life.

Who am I? Why can’t I remember? Her therapist, Dr. Karen Oliver, said not to force herself, but at times she felt so frustrated and confused. Her memory loomed in front of her like a wall she couldn’t get through or over. Dr. Oliver said this was normal, a protective instinct for post-traumatic stress-disorder victims who’d survived horrific events. Eventually she would become stronger and allow the memories of her past to break through.

But when?

Sitting in the window seat at the home of Ms. Gertrude Parker, Belle slowly counted to ten to ease her frustration. She looked out at the beautiful spring day. A clear blue sky beckoned and suddenly a red robin landed on a hibiscus bush outside the window. The sight calmed her even more. She took note of lilies blooming, the lush live oaks, the brilliant new green of the St. Augustine grass that Wendell, the gardener, tended.

It had been over a year, that was as close as the authorities could figure the timeline, since she’d been rescued from a cult in the Texas Hill Country. Over a year since the doctors had found the bullet in her head. She had no name, no memory. She’d spent four months in the hospital and she’d now been with Ms. Gertie for almost eight. The authorities were unsure how long she’d been in Austin before the cult had found her. The cult members had found her walking the streets of Austin and had taken her in, named her Jezebel, made her a slave and beat her regularly. She was saved from that nightmare by a Texas Ranger, and another ranger helped her to face her fears and live again. Her Texas Ranger. That’s how she thought of Caleb McCain.

The FBI, the Texas Rangers, doctors and therapists tried to piece together what had happened to her. Seeing that she cringed when anyone called her Jezebel, Caleb insisted they rename her Belle and had the hospital records changed to Belle Doe. That was the first time she became aware of him. He cared. The others were doing a job, but Caleb actually cared about her. He was the first person she’d come to trust after her nightmare ended, and he’d been there for her ever since.

As she slowly began to recover from the physical violence, she was faced with being moved from the hospital to a mental institution until her memory returned. The doctors didn’t have a choice and had to abide by hospital rules. With no memory she knew the institution would be as bad as the cult—only in a different way.

Caleb spoke with the doctors and they agreed it would be best for Belle to live outside the hospital and establish the necessary framework for a normal, healthy lifestyle so she could function in the present. This would, hopefully, facilitate her memory’s return. But they didn’t have the resources to find someone to take her in. It was Caleb who went the extra mile.

He’d found her a job as a companion to Ms. Gertrude Parker, a widow who hadn’t remarried after the love of her life died in WWII. Living with Ms. Gertie had been a blessing. She was truly an angel in disguise and she and Belle had formed a bond that would never be broken. Dr. Oliver had said that the relationships Belle formed now would build a strong foundation of trust and deep roots, which would help strengthen an inner connection within herself. But the doctor also warned that once her memory returned, those foundations wouldn’t be as strong. Her old life, the person she used to be, would take precedence.

Belle lived cautiously, taking each day as it came, and was grateful for the kind people who now filled her world. Gertie was a wealthy eccentric of undeterminate age, but Belle guessed she was somewhere in her eighties. The woman had wrecked four cars in one year; her lawyer deemed it unsafe for her to drive. Ms. Gertie had resisted her loss of independence, firing chauffeur after chauffeur. Gertie was a cousin of Caleb’s stepfather and when Caleb heard about the problem, he thought Belle would be a perfect companion and helper.

And Belle desperately needed a home. Caleb had arranged for her to get a driver’s license and Gertie hired her at their first meeting. Now she had a home and she’d found a measure of peace in Ms. Gertie’s colorful world.

Gertrude’s Victorian home had been in her family for years. It was equipped with a pool and tennis courts, and filled with priceless antiques and artworks. She lived in the big house with two cats, Prissy and Prudy, and a Jack Russell terrier named Harry. Belle was sure she’d never lived in such opulence before. Despite the comforts of her present life, everything felt foreign to her, and she lived with this unsettled feeling every day.

She ran her hands through her long dark hair, then reached for the colorful band and tied it into a ponytail, then looped it again to make a knot so it wouldn’t bounce around. The action was natural, as if she’d done it many times before. This was an implicit memory, behavioral knowledge without conscious recall, as Dr. Oliver called it, just as Belle knew how to read and write but she couldn’t remember how she’d learned those skills.

From what she’d learned about her condition, parts of her memory should have returned by now. After a year, there was less chance of it returning at all. She feared she’d be in this limbo forever.

Sighing, she glanced at her watch—just after twelve. Gertie was resting as she did every day unless she had an appointment. This was the time Belle used to practice the exercises the doctors had taught her to help regain her memory.

Taking a deep breath, she asked out loud, “What’s my name?”

There was no answer, just a numbness of her mind and her spirit.

The sky darkened to almost black and Belle watched a thunderstorm roll in, chasing away the spring day. Crazy Texas weather. She didn’t know much, but she knew about the unpredictable weather in Texas, another implicit memory. Thunder echoed loudly and lightning zigzagged across the sky. Wendell, who’d been fertilizing the yard, hurried to the garages just as the skies opened up.

The rain made a drumming noise against the windows and lightning zipped across the grass with dangerous flashes of lights and spine-tingling sounds. Belle knew she should move, but something was happening in her mind. She could feel it.

In her sessions with Dr. Oliver she’d learned a current event or experience could trigger long-forgotten memories. Sounds, smells or other stimuli such as the weather had the capabilities of sparking her mind. And the memories could return bit by bit or all at once or not at all.

Thunder rumbled through her as continual flashes of the lightning streaked the sky. She shivered, watching the storm and waiting for a miracle. Rain poured down the windows in trails and she was mesmerized by the movement. She could almost feel it reaching into her—washing away. Washing away. She grabbed her head as it began to throb. Thunder blasted like a gun and memories, beautiful forgotten memories, floated to the surface.

“Tell Daddy your name.” The words were clear almost as if her mother was standing beside her.

“I scared. Don’t like rain. It’s too noisy.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. Mommy and Daddy are right here. Tell Daddy your name.”

“Don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. We practiced all day. Tell Daddy your name.”

“My name is Joscelyn Marie.” She said it proudly and loudly.

“Yes. Yes, it is. Now what’s your last name?”

“Beckett. My name is Joscelyn Marie Beckett.”

Her mother clapped. “Isn’t that wonderful for a two-year-old?”

Belle could feel her father’s arms as he held her and she could smell Old Spice, his favorite cologne. “My girl is getting big. What does Daddy call you?”

“Josie Marie. Josie Marie. Josie Marie.”

The storm ended and so did the memories. “No. No. No,” she cried. “Please let me remember more. Please.” But the blankness returned and all she was left with was a name. A name! After all this time, she knew her name.

Josie Marie Beckett.

She jumped from the window seat, eager to call Caleb. She should call Dr. Oliver, but she had to tell Caleb first. Hurrying toward the phone, she stopped in her tracks. Ms. Gertie came into the sunroom with a large hat on her head. That wasn’t unusual as Gertie was known for her hats. But in the midst of the bright flowers and feathers on the hat was a small birdcage with a live yellow canary inside. Prissy and Prudy trailed behind her, looking at the hat as if it might be their dinner.

“What do you think, Belle, darlin’?”

Gertie, a tall, big-boned woman, moved with an inherent grace. Her white hair was coiled neatly at her nape and she wore a purple suit to match the purple in the hat. As always there were pearls around her neck. But Belle kept looking at the little bird.

“Ms. Gertie, there’s a live bird on your head.” Pointing this out seemed unnecessary, but she didn’t know what else to say.

“Of course, darlin’. We’re going to auction off this hat at the charity ball. They just delivered it and I think it’s a wonderful idea. A definite attention grabber.”

She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn’t even heard the doorbell. Josie Marie. She had a name.

“Wendell has a cage for the canary and before we go to the ball tomorrow night, Wendell will put him in the hat-cage again. The highest bidder will get the cage, the hat and all the food the little thing will need for a year.” Ms. Gertie made a face. “I just hate the thought of a bird pooping on my head. But I’ll do anything for charity—at least once.”

“Whose idea was this?” Belle asked, trying to keep her thoughts on the conversation.

“Mine, of course. No one else is that brilliant.”

“Of course not,” Belle agreed. One of the things she loved about living with Gertie was that she laughed a lot. And she needed that.

Prissy reared up on Gertie’s skirt, her eyes on the bird. Prudy, fearing Prissy might get the prize, joined her.

“Look at this.” Gertie sighed. “You’d think they were never fed. Get down, you spoiled cats.”

Prissy and Prudy crept to a corner, their feelings hurt.

“Oh, my babies. I didn’t mean it.” Gertie tried to soothe the cats. “You’ll get a special treat tonight.”

Harry raced into the room, barking at the hat. Just then the doorbell rang.

Gertie straightened the hat and her suit as if she knew who was at the door. Martha, the housekeeper, showed Caleb into the sunroom. Dressed in dark slacks, a white shirt and cowboy boots with his Texas Ranger badge proudly displayed over his left pocket, he smiled a welcome. Belle’s heart rate kicked up a notch as it always did when she saw him.

He was without his gun and white hat. He usually left those in the car when he was visiting. Tall and lanky, he had soft dark eyes and dark hair. He had to be the most handsome, kindest and caring man she’d ever met. Of course, she remembered nothing of other men she’d known. She suddenly wondered if there were many.

Shaking the thought away, she wondered instead what Caleb was doing here. His office was in a town outside of Austin, but he stopped by sometimes when he was in the city. Maybe this was one of those days. Or maybe he sensed that she needed him. In a way they had an uncanny connection.

“Caleb,” Gertie said. “Have a seat. I’ve been expecting you.”

She sagged at the revelation of Gertie’s words. Gertie had called him.

Caleb just stared at the hat on Gertie’s head. “Ms. Gertie, there’s a bird on your head,” he said in his deep voice that wrapped around Belle like warm sunshine.

“Yes, Caleb, there is. Tomorrow evening this hat and bird will be auctioned off at a charity ball and Belle and I need an escort. Are you free?”

“Yes, ma’am. It would be a pleasure.”

“Good. Be here at six and a limo will pick us up. Now I have to see if I can get this thing off my head. Martha,” she called, walking gingerly from the room, her animals following her.

CALEB LOOKED AT BELLE, her long black hair pulled back, her eyes as dark as the mysteries in her head. An olive complexion stretched over high cheekbones and he thought, as he had since the first day he saw her, that she was the most beautiful, striking woman he’d ever seen.

“Hi,” he said, unable to keep the warmth out of his voice. “How are you?”

“Fine. There’s never a dull moment around here.”

“Is she really auctioning off that hat-bird contraption?”

“You know Ms. Gertie.”

“Oh, yeah.” He watched her face. She seemed excited and he sensed it had nothing to do with Gertie. At times he could almost read her expressions—he knew her that well. The first time he saw her in the hospital she was curled into a fetal position and refused to look at him. His heart broke at what had happened to her and he just wanted to help. The doctor warned him about getting emotionally attached because Belle’s emotions were very fragile, but from the first moment he looked into her dark eyes he was trapped, captivated.

“I was going to call you.” Her words came out in a rush.

“Oh.” That was unusual. He was the one who did all the calling.

“Yes.” Her hands clasped her cheeks. “I remembered something.”

“Oh.” He took a seat on the wicker sofa, moving a green-and-white-flowered throw pillow out of the way. She’d been discovering little things—she loved chocolate and old movies, she knew how to work a computer and she liked the outdoors and exercise. She jogged five miles every morning. Every piece of information was building her personality and telling her who she was. But they didn’t have the full picture yet.

“I remembered my name,” she said in excitement. “I remembered my name!”

“What!” He was at a loss for words. This was big. This could help to place her back with her family.

“Yes. I was sitting in the window seat when the storm blew through. With the thunder and lightning, my head started to throb and I remembered something from when I was two years old. I could feel my mom’s and dad’s presence, their warmth and their love. I was saying my name to my dad.”

“What is it?” His voice was hoarse.

“Joscelyn Marie Beckett. Everyone calls me Josie.”

“Josie Marie Beckett.” He said the name slowly, trying it out, the feel and the taste of it.

“Yes. Yes.” She clapped her hands. “That’s my name. I know it is.”

He’d never seen her eyes so bright or her cheeks so flushed and he knew they were on the verge of finding her true identity, her family. He was happy about that. She’d been in limbo long enough, but a part of him was sad. This would be her first step away from him and he had to let her go. It was time.

He knew this day was coming and he should be prepared, but he wasn’t. Still, he’d do what he had to. As a Texas Ranger he could do no less. He’d taken an oath to protect the people of Texas, and as a son of Texas he’d never break that oath.

“I’ll run a background check right away. I should have more information on Joscelyn Beckett soon.” He got to his feet.

“You’ll call as soon as you find out something.” A shadow crossed her face.

“Yes.” He paused at her expression. “What is it?”

She closed her eyes for a second. “I feel as if I’ve been in this deep, dark hole and I’ve suddenly glimpsed a sliver of light. But I’m afraid of the brightness and what it will reveal. Will it burn me? Will it scar me further? Maybe it’s safer to bury myself in the hole where I can’t be hurt again. After all, someone tried to kill me.”

Walking to her, he looked into her troubled eyes. He was there when they brought her in with scars on her back from being beaten repeatedly. And he was there when the tests revealed a bullet in her head. After some investigation they determined that the people in the cult hadn’t shot her. Someone else had. He was with her through all those long weeks in the hospital when he didn’t think she’d ever make it back from the abuse she’d suffered. He was there to prepare her to testify against the cult members, but when the cult leader died, the others took a plea bargain. He was relieved that she wouldn’t have to go through a trial, but she’d been ready to do whatever was necessary to keep them behind bars. Belle Doe wasn’t a quitter. She was a fighter, a survivor—that’s why she was still alive.

“You survived because you have more strength than anyone I’ve ever met. Whatever we find out about your life, you’ll be able to handle. There’s no doubt in my mind. The fear is just a part of it. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t afraid of the unknown. We all are.”

Her eyes glistened. “I don’t think you’re afraid of anything.”

Losing you. He’d been afraid of that for a long time now, and it was happening. He’d handle it just as she would—with courage.

“Ah, Belle. Don’t put me on a pedestal.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Give Dr. Oliver a call. She’ll be able to reassure you,” he finally said.

She nodded, her eyes catching his. “I’ll never be able to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Just be happy—that’s what I want for you.” He meant every word, even if that happiness wasn’t with him. “I better get going so I can make it happen.”

“Caleb.” She stopped him.

He turned to look at her and wished he hadn’t. Her sad eyes, her sweet face twisted his gut.

“I’m sorry you got recruited for another escort job.”

He grinned. “Oh. I’m looking forward to this. I want to see the fool who buys that hat.” He was being flippant, but it would be the last time that he’d go anywhere with Belle on his arm. She would soon become Josie—a completely different person.

She grinned back. “It should be fun.”

“It will be. We’ll dance the night away—probably the last time that I’ll be able to call you Belle.”

A pregnant pause followed his words; and emotions they’d been denying simmered close to the surface.

“You can always call me Belle. Right now Josie doesn’t seem quite right.”

“But it will.” They both knew that and they both were feeling that pang of change.

“Maybe.” Her eyes held his. “You’ll call as soon as you find out something?”

“Yes, and try not to worry.” He turned and walked out before his strength gave way.

Outside he took a long breath. Josie Marie Beckett. Who are you? Do you have a husband, a lover waiting for you? Those two questions were uppermost in his mind and he hated himself for that selfish reaction. He got in his car and headed for his office to find out the truth about Belle, putting his emotions aside and concentrating on her and her future.

He just wished he could get rid of the knot in his stomach, a knot that told him he was about to lose everything he’d ever wanted. But he would deal with it like a man—the man she wanted him to be. If he preached to himself long enough and hard enough, he might be able to pull it off.

BELLE IMMEDIATELY CALLED Dr. Oliver and told her about the memory. As Caleb had said, Dr. Oliver reassured her and Belle felt better knowing that finally her memory was returning. She held her name in her heart like a sacred pledge, so afraid it was going to slip away like the rest of her memories. Although she had told Caleb, and he’d make sure her future would now unfold.

She would face the light and the fears inside her. It was long overdue. Someone had put a bullet in her head and left her on the streets of Austin to die. Who had caused her all this misery? And who had hated her that much? No matter how hard it would be, Caleb would help her find the truth. It was time to stop being afraid and embrace her life—whatever it had been.

She knew she was a good person and made friends easily. Caroline Coltrane, the wife of Eli, the ranger who’d rescued her, was a very good friend, and her sister, Grace, was, too. They met for lunch every now and then and Belle enjoyed their company and their friendship. She wondered what type of friends she had in her old life. Belle was beginning to drive herself crazy with all the wondering, so she went in search of Ms. Gertie. After all, she did have a job. Some days that was hard to remember because Ms. Gertie tended to pamper her. But she wasn’t an invalid and she’d made that plain from the start.