Kitabı oku: «The Cattleman And The Virgin Heiress», sayfa 4

Chapter Four

T he Stockwells, Hope’s Texas family, and her Massachusetts family tried not to think the worst, but as time passed with no word of Hope’s whereabouts, the “worst” gradually became everyone’s greatest fear. Kate, in particular, could not stay off the phone with her mother, Madelyn. In the first place, just having a mother to talk to about anything was a miracle for Kate. She’d grown up, after all, believing the story that her mother ran off with her brother-in-law and they’d drowned on Stockwell property. Then, when her father, Caine, had lain dying just a short time ago, he’d told his four children the shocking truth—that he didn’t know their mother’s current place of residence, but he’d been certain she was still alive.

Kate and her three brothers, Jack, Rafe and Cord, had been deeply shaken by their father’s confession. They had decided to find their mother, and they’d been successful only recently, which had resulted in a trip to Massachusetts for a reunion. That was when Kate and her brothers had met their baby sister, Hope. Caine’s will was scheduled to be read when they got back to Texas, and they had convinced Hope to attend the event. There was proof that she had left Massachusetts for Texas, but then the seemingly impossible had happened: Hope had vanished without a trace.

And so Kate and Madelyn ran up huge long-distance bills by talking to each other at least twice a day, even though most of their conversations covered the same ground.

“Mother, she used her plane ticket to Grandview, so she has to be somewhere in Texas.”

“Unless someone else used her ticket,” Madelyn replied.

It was that possibility that gnawed at reason for Kate and Madelyn. Hope’s long trip from Massachusetts had included several stops and plane changes. How could they conclude unequivocally that whatever had befallen Hope had taken place in Texas?

Kate had some worries that she hadn’t yet expressed to anyone, but she knew that she couldn’t keep such basic concerns to herself for long. Was Hope, the sister Kate had only recently met and just barely knew, the kind of woman to disappear for a week or so, perhaps with a man, and not give a whit what anyone might think about it?

“Mother, would Hope decide to…to, uh, take a little side trip without…without informing anyone?” Kate posed the question as tactfully as she could, but embarrassment over broaching their mother with a query that cast Hope in a bad light caused Kate to stammer.

“Hope has always been a very considerate person. I could never believe that she would do anything to hurt or worry her family,” Madelyn said quietly.

The cold wind of reality that had been almost constantly buffeting Kate since Hope’s disappearance washed over her again. Her throat suddenly filled with tears and prevented an immediate answer.

“No,” Madelyn continued, “wherever Hope is, she’s not there by choice. Not her choice, at any rate.”

“Then, someone else’s choice?” Kate said hoarsely.

“It’s the only thing that makes any sense, Kate. Hope has been kidnapped.”

Kate gasped. “Oh, Mother, if that really is the case, why hasn’t anyone been contacted for ransom?”

“Kate, the only reason I’m staying in my own home in Massachusetts instead of hightailing it to Texas is that Hope’s kidnappers could try to contact me. Brandon and I are financially well off, but our wealth is peanuts compared to the Stockwells’ fortune. I’ve thought so much about it, Kate, and there are so many possibilities, and perhaps Hope’s kidnappers are from these parts and don’t know about the Stockwells. My name and photo are often in the art section of the new England and New York City newspapers, and an idiot inclined to get something for nothing could easily think that Brandon and I are fair game.

“Anyhow, that’s the reason I’m sticking close to my telephone. But in case I’m miles off the mark, you and your brothers should be alert to any possibility. The culprit could very well be from my side of the country, but he or she could also be from Texas. Be particularly cautious with the children.”

Kate froze. “You think the kidnapper might strike again?”

“I don’t know what to think, Kate. Just be careful. All of you.”

“You, too, Mom,” Kate whispered. She needed to talk to her brother Rafe, who was a U.S. Marshal, and get his professional input on Hope’s disappearance. The whole family was concerned, Kate already knew that, but maybe their concern was more confused than focused.

Yes, she definitely had to talk to Rafe. He would know what they should all be doing.

Hope awoke to the steady patter of rain on the roof. It seemed to her to be a softer, gentler rainfall than before, but even without its former fury, Hope felt weighted down by the determination of this storm to never end.

Her thoughts abruptly moved from the storm to last night, and she recalled that terrible nightmare and then how she’d snuggled against Matt and begged him to not leave her alone.

“Oh, no,” she groaned as her mind dredged up some very personal details of his comforting embrace and her clinging method of expressing gratitude for his understanding. “What must he think of me?” They hadn’t kissed, nor had there been intimate caresses between them, and yet, lying together, with bodies tightly interwoven and arms around each other, hadn’t there been quite a lot of unnecessary movement that could only be described as a type of sexual foreplay?

Matt had known it, too, because he’d asked her for more room. In other words, Hope thought miserably, he’d known where that much togetherness could lead and didn’t want it to go there. You should have known yourself what was really going on, you dolt! That wasn’t a cucumber you felt—and enjoyed feeling—in his shorts!

And you hardly know the man. How could you behave so…so imprudently? You could already be involved with someone you can’t remember, someone who this very minute could be walking the floor and worrying himself sick over your disappearance.

Hope stared at the ceiling and wondered what time Matt had gotten up and left her bed. She heaved a sigh. Maybe she’d behaved badly last night, but at least she hadn’t felt so alone and lost while Matt was holding her. And if there was a man somewhere—more than likely in Massachusetts—who loved her enough to worry about why she was out of touch, he would understand and even thank Matt for taking care of his beloved.

That perfectly logical conclusion made Hope’s mouth get dry. He would understand, wouldn’t he? Matt had probably saved her life! And her memory loss certainly wasn’t anyone’s fault, especially Matt’s.

Moaning in misery, Hope turned her face to the pillow and wept. Why couldn’t she remember anything? What if there was a man somewhere that she loved with all her heart? Would her body respond to another man if she was in love with someone else? Why was she thinking even now how incredible it had felt to lie in Matt’s arms last night?

“You have got to stop this,” she said out loud, angry with herself for dwelling on things better ignored. She got out of bed and realized that she felt much stronger. Except for her amnesia and just the barest amounts of stiffness in her muscles and joints, she was in good condition.

“Great!” she exclaimed, meaning it wholeheartedly. First she went looking for her underwear and shoes that Matt had told her were in the laundry room. Then, in the bathroom, she received a very pleasant surprise: the electricity was back on. She had pushed the light switch without thinking and the flood of electric lighting in the small room seemed to be a miracle that no one should ever take for granted.

After a shower, she got dressed in the jeans Matt had given her and she’d cut off to fit the length of her legs, along with a blue T-shirt that was much smaller than she’d expected. Probably shrank in the wash, she decided. From the small cache of cosmetics in her purse, she heightened the color of her cheeks with blusher and applied a light coating of lipstick. Her hair, she realized, was straight when wet and slightly wavy when dry. Except for some wispy bangs, she brushed it back and tucked it behind her ears. She was still cautious around the cut on the back of her head, but it really didn’t seem to be a problem.

Hope then searched drawers and cupboards until she found a piece of heavy twine that she wound through the belt loops on the jeans. Satisfied that the makeshift belt would keep the jeans in place, she went to the kitchen for something to eat.

The small amount of food in the cupboards and refrigerator surprised her, but after thinking about it she reasoned that the men working on this ranch must eat elsewhere and Matt probably took his meals with them.

Accepting that explanation and almost immediately letting it slip from her mind—it was hardly significant to her, after all—she took eggs, butter and cheese from the refrigerator. After looking for and locating a few other ingredients in the cupboards, she set to work making her breakfast.

She was eating when Matt came into the house. He shed his slicker and hat in the coatroom off the kitchen, then walked in. Seeing her sitting at the table and lighting up the room with her natural glow of feminine beauty, he stopped in his tracks and stared, wondering if he’d ever seen a prettier woman. And look what she was wearing. Obviously she was one of those rare people who didn’t need glamorous clothes to be outstandingly beautiful. Anyone would notice Hope just as she was.

He stared so long without saying something that Hope became uncomfortable. Obviously there was some ice that needed breaking here, and her interior become hot with embarrassment.

She cleared her throat. “Good morning.”

Matt came back to earth. “Good morning. I see you’re aware of the electricity having come back on.”

“Aware and glad,” Hope answered.

Matt’s stare became a deliberate, rather doubtful scrutiny. “Are you sure you’re feeling well enough to be up and around like this?”

“I feel fine.” She quickly added, “Physically. Nothing’s changed in the memory department.”

“Oh, too bad. I mean, I’m glad you’re feeling good physically, but it’s too bad your memory…” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh, hell, you know what I mean. What’re you eating there?”

“An omelette.”

“You made it? How come it looks so…puffy?”

“It’s fluffy, not puffy. It’s a fluffy omelette. It’s made differently than a regular omelette. Would you like some of it? I’ve only eaten a little of this one end and you could have some from the other side.”

He grinned, and he looked so handsome that Hope felt a rush of heat race through her system. Good grief, get hold of yourself! He only grinned, for Pete’s sake! What would you do if he really turned on the charm, become a gibbering idiot?

“I doubt if I’d get ptomaine if I ate off the same side of the omelette that you did,” he said with a slightly teasing tone to his voice. “And yes, I’d like to try it.” Matt got a small plate and a fork and brought them to the table. “Just give me a small piece. I had breakfast a couple of hours ago, but I’m positive I’ve never eaten that kind of omelette before and it looks especially good.”

Hope cut a portion off her omelette and put it on Matt’s plate. He took a bite and declared it to be the best omelette he’d ever put in his mouth. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

Every cell in Hope’s body froze. “I—I don’t know.”

“Let me get something straight. You made this omelette without remembering how it should be done?’

“I…just did it.”

“Without thinking about it.”

Hope nodded and felt as though she’d functioned in the twilight zone since entering the kitchen. How on earth could a person without a memory cook anything, let alone a fluffy omelette that she knew in her soul had turned out perfectly?

Matt frowned slightly. He finished his portion of the omelette in two bites, then said casually, “The cupboards in here are pretty bare. I wonder what you’d be able to cook up with more ingredients.”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Do you want to find out?”

“And how would I do that?”

“I’d bring some groceries over from the bunkhouse. It has a kitchen and ever since the cook quit a while back the men have been fixing their own meals. They have a good supply of food on hand over there, and if I brought some of it to the house, you just might enjoy, uh, cooking up some dishes that—”

Hope broke in with a flatly stated, “You need a cook.”

“Not necessarily. No, don’t get me wrong. It’s best to have one person doing the cooking, of course, but we’ve been getting along pretty darned good without one. But I see your cooking this omelette as a crack in the amnesia blocking your memory.”

“Really,” Hope said dryly.

“Yes, really, and don’t sound so suspicious. Do you think I would butter you up just to get a little free cooking while you’re here?”

“What gave you the idea I’d cook for a bunch of men for free? Assuming I could actually do it, of course.”

Matt sat back and looked at her. “There’s a pretty common phrase, which you probably don’t recall, but it goes like this. I scratch your back and you scratch mine.”

“Oh, I get it. You’ve already scratched my back by saving me from the storm, and now it’s my turn.”

“I wouldn’t dream of expecting payment on any scale for taking you into my home and saving you from God knew what fate.”

How can you say something like that and still look as innocent as a newborn babe? “But you would gladly accept a tradeoff,” she said with exaggerated sweetness.

“I’m a Horse trader from way back.” He flashed another grin, before adding, “Besides, neither of us knows if you’re a real cook or not. Maybe fluffy omelettes are it.”

“Maybe they are,” Hope agreed and picked up her fork to finish hers. It was incredibly delicious, and she had to wonder just how much she did know about cooking. Wouldn’t experimenting in Matt McCarlson’s kitchen be a better way to pass the time than lying in his bedroom? Goodness, much more of that bedroom and she’d be climbing its walls!

“Okay, fine,” she said with a lifting of her chin. “Bring over the groceries. I don’t know what you have at the bunkhouse, but I’ll give it a try.”

“Good. I’ll go and get a load right now.” Matt got up, and just before leaving the table, sent her a smile that nearly melted her internal organs.

After he was gone, she put her head back and groaned out loud. Had a man’s smile always turned her to mush, or was this a special case?

She rose from her chair so abruptly that it fell backward to the floor. Muttering to herself, she quickly righted the chair and then cleared the table. If only she could phone Madelyn, her mother, according to the wallet card. Or even that doctor Matt had mentioned.

Were things ever going to return to normal?

And for her, Hope LeClaire, what in heaven’s name was normal?

“Rafe, Mother thinks Hope’s been kidnapped, and so do I. You’re a U.S. Marshal. Has that possibility occurred to you?”

“Yes, it has, but there’s not a dram of evidence to support that theory. Kate, the police have interviewed the Grandview airport’s personnel. No one remembers seeing her. Airline records indicate that her tickets from Boston to Grandview, Texas, were used exactly as specified. That’s the sum total of information law enforcement has been able to gather on her. It’s not much to go on.”

“And no one’s contacted any member of the family for ransom,” Kate said with a ponderous sigh. “That’s more frightening than if there’d been a dozen calls demanding a fortune in ransom.”

“I know,” Rafe said quietly. “I’ve even wondered if she left the Grandview airport to stretch her legs and get a breath of air before the chauffeur could pick her up for the drive to the Stockwell compound, even though it had already started raining when her plane landed. But suppose she likes to walk in the rain, and suppose she wandered far enough away from the airport that day and got lost.”

Rafe stopped talking to shake his head. Then he said, “Kate, the police are looking for her and her picture’s been published in the area’s newspapers and on television. The best advice I have for you and the rest of the family is to try not to think the worst.”

Kate got to her feet. “I know you’re right, but I can’t stop worrying.”

Rafe walked her from his office to the front door of the federal building that housed the U.S. Marshal’s headquarters in Dallas.

“Still raining,” he said after a look outside. “There’s already some flooding in outlying areas, and it’s going to get worse if this storm doesn’t let up.” He planted a quick kiss on his sister’s cheek. “Chin up, Kate. And drive carefully. The roads are slick.”

“Talk to you later, Rafe. Bye.”

Matt quietly slipped into the bunkhouse via the back door and began loading a large box with food from the pantry. Sooner or later the men would catch sight of Hope—especially now that she was up and around—but for some deep-down unexplainable reason Matt would rather they not find out about her just yet. For one thing, those cowboys would assume all sorts of things going on in the house that were not going on.

Not that Matt hadn’t visualized those very scenarios himself last night while holding Hope in his arms, but he’d be a damned fool to deliberately get involved with a Stockwell. There’d been times in his past when the title of Damned Fool had fit him like a crown, and he didn’t intend to wear that particular hat again, certainly not now in his more mature years. He was, after all, thirty-seven years old, not some wet-behind-the-ears kid, and if he decided on a hands-off rule with a woman, then that’s how the old ball would bounce.

And the minute that telephone service was resumed, he’d call Doc Pickett and unload the burden of caring for an amnesiac without the slightest idea of what kind of treatment was best for her on the good doctor. Matt figured that since the electricity was working again, phone service couldn’t be too far off. Yes, things would be getting back to normal in the not too distant future, and Matt felt it couldn’t happen soon enough for him. Of course, it would take some time to repair the roads, but once the rain stopped and things started drying out, a four-wheel-drive vehicle would be able to get to town by cutting cross-country. It would be an immense relief to drive Hope LeClaire to Hawthorne and deposit her on Doc Pickett’s doorstep.

Matt stopped to frown over that image. It would be a relief, wouldn’t it? Hey, he wasn’t getting silly over a woman that could only mangle his nerves and his heart, was he?

“No way,” he muttered grimly, and continued filling the box again.

“What has you talking to yourself, the storm or your house guest?” Chuck Crawford asked as he walked into the room.

“Both.”

Chuck eyed the box of groceries. “What’re you doing?”

“Taking food to the house. Hope did some cooking this morning with practically no ingredients, and so I’m providing her with the wherewithal to keep busy, which every person on this ranch would be better off having. Chuck, after I deliver this box to the house, how about you and me saddling our horses and taking a ride to check the water damage to the fields?”

“I already did that, Matt. Just got back, in fact, which is the reason I came looking for you. Lawana Creek is flooding worse than I’ve ever seen. Probably worse than you’ve seen, too, but we’ve got two fenced fields out there, each with about forty head of cattle, and they’ve got no place to go to avoid the rising water. We have to move ’em, Matt.”

Matt nodded in agreement. “I’m going to get some things from the refrigerator and freezer for this box, then I’m gone. You tell the men to get off their butts and into their rain gear. We’ll all meet at the barn in ten minutes.”

“Right.”

Chuck left and Matt raced to the huge refrigerator and then the freezer for the final items for the box. Loaded down, he hurried outside into the seemingly never-ending rain and to the house. Walking in, he set the box on the kitchen table.

“Would you mind putting this stuff away?” he asked Hope.

She gaped in surprise at the amount of food he’d brought. What did he think she was, a trained and experienced chef? How dare he presume anything about her? She was about to ask him that very question when he said, “The men and I are all going to be gone until late afternoon. We’ve got to move some cattle from a couple of flooded fields to higher ground.”

Learning that some of his animals were in danger of drowning sort of took the wind out of her sails. At least, her indignation over his presuming she knew how to cook huge amounts of food for a bunch of hungry men noticeably deflated.

“Oh,” she said weakly. “All right, fine. I’ll put away this food. Don’t worry about it.”

Matt closely watched her as he worked a pair of leather gloves onto his hands. “Are you going to be all right by yourself for several hours?”

“Yes.”

“Are you as certain of that as you sound?”

“Would you rather that I fell to the floor and hung on to your leg so you couldn’t leave me all alone?”

Matt scowled. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

That biased observation irritated her. “No? Well, maybe I dote on sarcasm. Maybe I live for opportunities to put other people in their places with barbs of needle-sharp sarcasm.”

“And maybe not,” Matt snapped. “See you later.”

“Yeah, later,” she mumbled under her breath when he’d gone. After a few minutes of angry pacing, she set to work emptying the box of food.

Matt and Chuck rode together. The other men weren’t far away, but they rode in twos or threes and talked amongst themselves. Complained more than talked, actually. None of them liked the weather. They were dry-land Texas cowhands, and Seattlelike skies and rainfalls made them grouchy. Still, everyone agreed that they couldn’t leave herds of cattle trapped in fenced fields with “ol’ Lawona Creek” on a rampage.

“Ms. LeClaire must be feeling better if she was doing some cooking this morning,” Chuck said, speaking quietly so the others wouldn’t hear him. “And she must be remembering—”

Matt broke in. “No, she’s not remembering anything, or so she says. But does it make any sense to you that a person who claims to remember nothing about her past would know how to cook?”

“Do you think she’s putting on an act? Why would she do that?”

“Damned if I know,” Matt muttered. A moment later he exhaled a sigh. “I don’t really think she’s acting, Chuck, but she’s rubbing my nerves raw. Not all the time, but memory or no memory she can sure hold her own in an argument.”

“Why in hell would the two of you be doing any arguing?”

“Good question, Chuck. Damned good question. Like I said, she rubs me wrong at times, and it seems that I do the same to her.” After a few moments of silence, Matt said, “Chuck, there’s something you don’t know about Hope,” he said, almost under his breath to keep this conversation private.

“What’s that?” Chuck sent his boss a curious glance.

“It was in the newspaper you brought in with the mail and her purse. She’s a missing person.”

“Missing?”

“Apparently she was traveling from Massachusetts to Texas and just disappeared. Chuck, she’s a Stockwell. The newspaper article states her name clearly, Hope LeClaire, and she’s one of Caine Stockwell’s daughters.”

Chuck whistled softly. “A Stockwell? Hell’s bells, Matt, she’s probably richer than old King Tut. Uh-oh, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You’re feeling that she’s too much like— Uh…sorry, Matt, I know you don’t like talking about, well things.”

“You’re right. I don’t like talking about things, and we both know that in this case the word things is a substitute for two other words, my marriage.” Matt looked broodingly off into the distance. Chuck very seldom brought up the past and Matt was usually even more closemouthed on the subject of his marriage.

But Hope was the first woman to stay in Matt’s house since his marriage ended, and even for Chuck, a man who minded his own business and blatantly, sometimes rudely, suggested that other people do the same, the whole thing was just too weird to ignore completely. Especially the fact that Hope was a Stockwell and undoubtedly loaded with dough. Money had destroyed Matt’s first marriage. Was it going to cause him further misery, even though all he’d done was to carry an injured woman into his house with the very best of intentions?

“Well, I don’t normally ask questions, Matt, but I’m pretty darned curious about how Hope took hearing who she really is when she can’t remember it for herself.”

“I didn’t tell her.”

“You didn’t. Any particular reason why you didn’t?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea how best to deal with a person with amnesia. Should she be told every little thing that other people know about her, or is it best for her to uncover her past for herself? If the damned phone ever starts working again, the first call I’m going to make is to Doc Pickett. Even if he can’t get out here right away, I’m sure he’ll be able to give me a few pointers.”

“In that case, if I run into her I should keep my mouth shut?”

“For the time being, yes. It’s inevitable that the men will eventually catch on to her presence, but just let them think what they want and act like you don’t know any more about Hope than they do.”

“Well, I’m not positive that keeping information from her is the best course of action, but we’ll do it your way, Matt.”

“I’m not positive, either,” Matt said flatly. “But yes, we’ll do it my way. For now,” he added. And then after a few seconds he said, “There’s the first field up ahead. Let’s get to work.”

Hope had just finished putting everything away—except the fresh vegetables, which were in the sink to be washed—when the lights went out again. She gaped at the ceiling fixture in dismay, then realized how dismal the kitchen was without lights. It was the gray sky and rain outside causing the gloom inside, of course, and other than lighting a few lanterns, there was nothing she could do about it.

She went to the laundry room, which was where she’d seen the lanterns on a counter, then stared at them with a sinking sensation because she didn’t have the slightest idea how to light them.

“With a match, obviously,” she intoned dryly, examining one of the lanterns more closely. So, she thought, how did the darned thing come apart so it could be lighted? She hadn’t seen Matt actually light the lanterns, and she felt absolutely stupid because they looked so complicated and probably were simple enough for a child to use.

After ten minutes of self-disgust over her helplessness, she strode back to the kitchen and began washing the vegetables in the pale, dim light. Working fast, she made quick work of her chore and soon had the cleaned vegetables in the refrigerator.

Then she went to the living room and sat in a chair next to a window so she could look out. It wasn’t long when she realized the house was getting chilly.

“Obviously the furnace can’t work without electricity, you dolt,” she mumbled to herself.

Cussing a blue streak because the last couple of days had gone to hell in a handbasket, she got up, went to her bedroom, grabbed the comforter off the bed and then returned to her chair in the living room. Wrapping the comforter around herself, she sat and brooded and cried a little and positively wallowed in self-pity.

It felt good to just let go.