Читать книгу: «The Stranger Next Door», страница 2

Chapter Two

Danielle struggled for words to describe the void she lived in. Empty rooms. Frames without pictures. A book without a cover to bind it together. A life without a past. How could she expect Langley to understand? She couldn’t even comprehend the loss and she was forced to deal with it every second of the day.

But she might as well come clean with the whole truth. It would do no good to try to hide her vulnerability from a man who carried a badge. He’d make a few phone calls and find out the full story anyway.

Besides, if the man who’d attacked her in New Orleans had followed her to this dilapidated ranch house, if he’d been the man to create this havoc, she’d need all the help she could get.

Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her damp jeans, she sucked in a deep breath and met Langley’s gaze. “Two weeks ago, thirteen days to be exact, I was in the French Quarter in New Orleans. For some reason, I had left the beaten path and ended up on a nearly deserted street at dusk.”

“Do you live in New Orleans?”

“I don’t know. Just hear me out and then you can ask questions, though I doubt I’ll be able to answer them. Anyway, I was on a side street when someone dragged me into the doorway of a building and attacked me with his fists and with a knife.”

She felt the burn of Langley’s scrutiny. He was probably studying the patterns of bruises that still colored her flesh, though not nearly as vividly as they had at first. His gaze made her uneasy and she turned to face the window and stare into endless darkness.

“One of the residents of the building came downstairs and found me. He took me for dead but thankfully dialed 911. It was touch-and-go for a while, mostly due to the severity of the beating. Apparently, I’d jerked away as the man had stabbed me. The blade of the knife had veered off at an angle without damaging any internal organs.”

“Was the man who attacked you someone you knew?”

“I’m not sure.”

His mouth twisted in a scowl. “Can you identify the perpetrator?”

“No.”

“But you must have some idea what he looked like. Was he tall, short, dark?”

“I have no memory of him, Langley. None. All I know of him are his eyes. I see them in my nightmares. Cold and angry.” The words stuck in her throat, but she forced herself to continue, to say what she had to and get this over with. “I have no memory of anything beyond the attack. My past life has virtually disappeared in a thick fog of nothingness. I don’t know if I have a family. A husband? Children? A career? I don’t know who I am or where I belong.”

She hated saying the words. It was as if they deleted who she was, what she might have been. Now she was a crime statistic, one reported on the back pages of the Times-Picayune.

Her life had been shattered, the remnants of it left in pieces so tiny she couldn’t begin to put them back together again.

“A total memory loss. Amnesia.”

Langley rolled the words off his tongue as if he were having trouble absorbing their meaning. But, to his credit, he wasn’t looking at her like some sideshow freak, the way a couple of the hospital orderlies had. And he hadn’t reverted to that I-know-you’re-lying expression the New Orleans police had been so quick to adopt.

“What kind of time line did the doctors give you for the return of your memory?”

“A day, a week, a year.”

“But they didn’t say it was irreversible?”

“No. The neurologist said that the trauma to my system caused by repeated blows to my head and extensive blood loss was to blame and that my memory could return at any time. But according to Dr. Silvers, the staff psychiatrist, I am likely choosing not to face the terror of the brutal battery.”

“He thinks you’re blocking out the whole attack. That makes sense.”

The words destroyed one more fragment of the confidence she tried so hard to maintain. “I’m glad it does to you and to Dr. Silvers because it makes no sense at all to me. What I choose is to know who I am and why someone tried to kill me.”

“Probably some guy on drugs, desperate for cash. You just happened along at the wrong time.”

Danielle leaned against the counter, clutching the edge for support. She had started shaking again, a much too common occurrence over the past two weeks. “That wasn’t the investigating detective’s opinion. He thinks the man might have been someone I knew. Perhaps a jilted lover or an estranged husband.”

“Did he have any evidence to back up his theory?”

“Nothing concrete. He believes the severity of the attack indicates that it was personal rather than just a random robbery.” She swallowed hard, her throat and chest drawing tight. “I woke up in the hospital with no clue as to who I was or how I got there.”

“You must have had the letter you showed me.”

“Not until two nights ago. One of the nurses stopped in and tossed an envelope onto my bedside table. She said someone from the crime lab where they were examining my bloodstained clothes had dropped it off.”

“Odd that the police didn’t find the letter before they sent your clothes to the lab.”

“Apparently, the letter and key were stuffed into a hidden pocket inside my jacket, one neither the police nor the attacker noticed.”

“Did you show the letter to the police?”

“No. I’d had enough of bureaucracy and red tape by then. And too few results. I decided to regain some control over my life and thought my uncle would be able to provide the information I needed to start doing that.”

“So you simply walked out of the hospital?”

“Yes, and fortunately, the other patient in the room was a streetwise teenager who thought my story was fascinating. She’s the one who lent me enough money to buy a few necessities and a one-way bus ticket to Kelman.”

“How did you get your clothes back from the crime lab?”

“I didn’t. One of the nurses had some things she’d outgrown. Once I was strong enough to get around, she brought me these jeans and a couple of T-shirts. I was glad to get them. I was not about to parade through the hospital in the open-air gown they’d provided.”

She looked down at her T-shirt and noticed for the first time the way her nipples were outlined against the damp fabric. She crossed her arms over her breasts and felt an uncomfortable burn in her cheeks.

“So, now that you know as much about me as I know about myself, do you still want to take me home with you, Langley Randolph? Are you the kind of fearless man who takes chances, who thrives on being a hero?”

He nudged a loose-fitting brown Stetson back on his head. “I’m nobody’s hero, Danielle. For the record, I’m a rancher who’s just standing in as sheriff while my brother Branson is on his honeymoon. You can stay at the Burning Pear or not—your choice. If you decide to, you’ll be welcome and safe.”

“In that case, I accept your offer of a bed. For one night. Tomorrow I’ll come back over here and clean up this mess.”

“Fine, but not until after I’ve had the deputy dust for fingerprints.” He reached down and picked up a piece of jagged glass. Turning, he laid it on the counter, then let his gaze lock with hers. “You don’t have to clean up the cabin, you know. You can just take the advice scribbled on the mirror.”

“Leave? And go where? The trouble has already followed me from New Orleans to Kelman.” She stepped over an inverted pot. “Right now, the ranch is the only tie I have to my past. I’m staying.” She looked around the room again and grimaced. “Only not tonight.”

“Good. But let me warn you. My brother Ryder’s never met a pretty woman he didn’t take to.” He led her through the wreckage and out the front door. “And my mom will badger you with questions. Feel free to tell her as much or as little as you like.”

“I have no secrets. If I do, I don’t remember them.” She followed him down the steps. “How many brothers do you have?”

“There’s four of us. Dillon, my oldest brother, is a Texas senator. He and his wife, Ashley, and their son, Petey, live in their own house on the Burning Pear when he’s not in Austin. Branson is the honeymooning sheriff. His wife’s name is Lacy. And then there’s Ryder and me.”

“You mentioned your mom. What about your dad?”

“He died when I was just a boy. But he was quite a man. Mom reminds us of that often enough when she’s telling us what she expects of us.”

“Your family sounds a little daunting.”

“Us?” Langley opened the passenger-side door and held it while she climbed inside the truck. “We’re just your basic cowboys.”

Danielle knew nothing about cowboys, but she’d bet her last $26.92 that Langley was a cut above basic. Her spirits lifted as soon as the truck engine roared to life. A bed at the Burning Pear had to beat sleeping at the Running Deer. Tomorrow would be soon enough to set up camp in the house of horrors.

DANIELLE WOKE TO THE SOUND of laughter and a blinding stream of sunlight that poured through the window beside her bed. Pushing up on her elbows, she struggled to come to grips with morning.

Conversation wafted down the hall and under her closed door, but she could only catch an occasional word or phrase. She recognized Langley’s voice, though, and the deep baritone had a soothing effect, the same way the cool freshness of the sheets had last night when she’d collapsed onto the guest bed.

She’d been spared meeting the rest of the Randolph clan last night. Langley’s mother had already gone to bed and Ryder had been out. She’d been thankful. Meeting new people while disguised as a drowned rat was not her idea of fun. Come to think of it, she wondered what her idea of fun was. Whatever it was, she hadn’t had any for the past two weeks.

She stretched and yawned, wincing as her body reminded her just what it had gone through at the hands of a maniac. But every day she grew stronger. Stronger and more frustrated that she couldn’t find the key to unlock her memories and go on with her life.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, shoved her feet into her shoes and walked over to stand in front of the oval cheval glass. She squinted in the sunlight, leaning close to the mirror to get a better look at the dark circles around her eyes and the hideous coloration of the healing cuts and bruises.

But at least she’d showered and shampooed her hair last night in the homey Randolph guest bath, standing under the hot spray until the tension had finally crept from her muscles and fatigue had settled in. And then she’d slicked her body with a fragrant lotion she’d found in a basket next to the stack of fluffy towels.

Now her hair fell loose and wild about her shoulders. Grabbing handfuls of it from the nape of her neck, she made a ball of the thick locks and pinned it to the top of her head with a gold-colored enamel clip, another gift from her friendly hospital mate. The only thing missing was some clean clothing to crawl into.

But she didn’t have any and she couldn’t very well go strolling into the Randolph kitchen in her undies. Thankfully, she had purchased extra panties. They were cheap but served the purpose.

Funny, she could have sworn she’d left her jeans and T-shirt draped over the chair last night. But there they were, folded neatly. She picked up the shirt, ready to slide it over her head. It smelled of lemon. And it was clean.

Talk about service. But surely Langley hadn’t slipped into her room while she was sleeping to collect and wash her dirty laundry. But someone had, unless the Burning Pear had good fairies on the staff.

Groaning, she forced her legs back into the stiff denim of the jeans, then tugged them over her hips. By the time she had the shirt on, she got her first whiff of brewing coffee and quickly lost interest in her appearance. She stepped into the hall and followed her nose to the kitchen.

“Open up, Betsy. It’s bananas. You like bananas.”

Danielle came to a quick stop in the kitchen doorway. Langley was sitting next to a high chair, shoving a tiny spoonful of mushy yellow food into the mouth of an adorable baby. It made a heart-stopping picture, but an uneasy feeling gripped her. She hadn’t been prepared for seeing him in the role of daddy.

He turned and saw her, and his face split in a wide grin. “Good morning. I started to wake you for breakfast but figured you needed the sleep. Besides, Mom saved you some pancake batter. It won’t take but a minute to heat up the griddle.”

Langley tried to shovel another spoonful of baby food into an open mouth. This time, his young charge swung her hands, catching the end of the spoon and sending food flying onto the tray of the high chair.

“Does that mean you’re full, Miss Betsy, or just that you don’t want me paying attention to anyone but you?” The baby smiled and cooed, and the big, rugged cowboy playfully chucked her under her fat little chin before he wiped up the spilled food. By that time, he had sticky fingers to clean, as well. “Don’t let Mom see this mess, young lady, or she’ll have me bathing you before I can get out of here.”

Danielle drifted toward the coffeepot. “Mom. Is that Mom as in your wife and the mother of your daughter, or Mom as in the woman who gave birth to you?”

Langley looked up from his feeding chores. “Betsy isn’t my daughter.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I guess I jumped to conclusions. You look so right feeding her.”

“I’ve had lots of practice. That’s what happens in these equal-opportunity families.” He poked the spoon back into the jar and dug around, getting the last bit of food from the bottom.

But Betsy was through eating and ready for play. She opened her mouth for the food and then let it slide out the corner of her mouth and down her chin while her eyes danced mischievously.

“In this case, practice does not make perfect,” Langley admitted.

But the baby girl clearly had the cowboy just where she wanted him, wrapped tightly around her chubby little finger.

“Help yourself to coffee,” Langley said. “Mom put sugar and cream out in case you wanted it. We’re all straight black around here.” He bent to retrieve the toy Betsy had just flung to the floor. “And, by the way, Mom is my mom. I’m not married.”

Danielle felt a flicker of relief as she poured the hot coffee into the pottery mug that apparently had been set out for her. She wasn’t sure why. She certainly had no designs on the man herself. For all she knew, she was married and might even have a baby of her own.

She carried the mug back to the table and took a chair across from Langley. “So where does Betsy fit into the Randolph family?”

“Officially, she isn’t kin. Unofficially, she’s in the dead center of everything that goes on at the Burning Pear. For someone so little, she demands, and gets, a lot of attention.”

“I can see that. She’s a little heart stealer.” Betsy slapped her hands against the tray, then laughed at her own antics.

Langley took the damp cloth and wiped up another smear of baby food. “We don’t know who Betsy’s real parents are,” he continued, turning back to Danielle. “She was brought to us six months ago when she was just a newborn. The woman who delivered her to us believed Betsy was a Randolph. But, as best we can figure, the man who’d told her that had been lying. He was actually scheming to bilk us out of money.”

“Had he kidnapped her?”

“We thought so at first, but the man was killed before we could find out the whole story. At any rate, we’ve never been able to locate Betsy’s real family, so she’s kind of in our care until we do.”

“A mystery baby. One with a secret past. I can identify with that.”

Langley nodded. “I guess you can. But there’s got to be a way to check your past. I made some calls this morning.”

The statement didn’t surprise her. “Whom did you call?”

“Charity Hospital in New Orleans. The New Orleans Police Department. The detective who was handling your case.”

“And what did you discover?”

“The hospital staff is very upset that you walked out without being officially released. And surprisingly enough, I learned the New Orleans cops covered all the bases, checked all the available sources for finding out who you really are. They even checked all the hotels. None of their guests were missing. And there’s been no one who matches your description reported as missing either in Louisiana or anywhere across the country.”

“So, it’s just as I told you last night. Until my memory returns or someone reports me as missing, I’m merely an unidentified victim of a crime, fortunately a live victim.”

“The problem is that without a last name or a social security number, there’s nothing to hang a search on. It’s just too bad Milton isn’t still alive to fill in the details of your past.”

“I know. I was counting on that. I tried phoning him from the hospital the night the nurse brought me the letter, but the phone company reported that the number had been disconnected.”

“Even when your uncle was alive, his number was unlisted. He was not big on socializing. We can call the phone company this morning and have the phone reconnected. You’ll need it if you spend any time at all over there.”

She toyed with her cup, watching the brew swirl, a motion as useless as her coming to Kelman had been. Her uncle was dead. Her past was still floating in some nebulous vacuum.

Langley picked up on her mood shift. “Just because the NOPD hasn’t been able to learn your identity doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”

She met his gaze. “I’ll hold you to that. You said my uncle wasn’t sociable, but he must have had some friends. Maybe he told them about me.”

Langley’s expression grew grim. “I’ve also been on the phone with Joshua Kincaid this morning. He’s the man Milton worked for before he bought the ranch and retired. Actually, it turns out Kincaid gave him the ranch, a bonus for Milton’s loyalty and hard work. At least, that’s the way Kincaid put it.”

“So the Running Deer was originally part of Mr. Kincaid’s ranch?”

“Not part of his main ranch, but Kincaid has several land holdings in the area. He’s always around to help his neighbors when they’re in financial straits. He relieves them of their land at a favorable price—favorable to him.”

“But he must be charitable with his employees. He apparently was with Milton. A ranch is a generous bonus. Was Mr. Kincaid aware that my uncle planned to will the Running Deer to me?”

Langley pushed back from the table and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Kincaid had never heard Milton mention you. In fact, he said Milton had bragged when he first went to work for him that he was one of the world’s few total loners. No family. No ties.”

The all-too-familiar sinking sensation settled in Danielle’s stomach. She’d followed the one lead she had, traveled all the way to south Texas only to reach another dead end.

“Actually, Kincaid was surprised to hear that someone was claiming ownership of the Running Deer,” Langley continued. “He’s had his men taking care of the cattle while he waited to see what was going to happen, but he said he figured the place might go on the auction block. Which is likely the real reason he’s made sure the place was kept up. He’s probably interested in reacquiring it.”

“But surely my uncle left a will,” she said, grasping at straws.

“I have a man checking into that now, but don’t count on it. Like I said earlier, Milton Maccabbe was a loner. He didn’t socialize with any of the townspeople, didn’t even have a local bank account. Lots of people speculated that he was one of those eccentric misers who had a fortune hidden in his mattress, but there’s been no evidence to back that up.”

“Then that might explain the place’s being wrecked. Someone was probably looking for his hidden fortune.”

“I might buy that theory if we hadn’t found that warning on the mirror.”

“But it could be tied together.” She spread her hands on the table. “If someone knows that Milton left the ranch to me, he could be trying to make sure I don’t take over before he has time to search for the millions.”

“Say, who’s supposed to be the cop here?”

“It is possible. You have to admit that.”

“Right now, I have to believe anything’s possible, but if some crackpot expects to find millions lying around the ranch, I think they’re in for a big disappointment. According to Joshua Kincaid, Milton sank everything he had into the Running Deer. The ranch itself was as rundown as the house when he moved onto the place. He fixed all the fences and windmills, bought new equipment and invested thousands of dollars in premium breeding stock.”

“All that when he knew he was about to die? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does to a cowboy. He gets his kicks riding in wide open spaces. Knows his life is worthwhile when he nurses aching muscles at the end of the day as he watches the sun set over a well-run ranch.”

“Spoken like a true cowboy.”

“And proud of it.”

He smiled, a reaction that lit up his eyes and relaxed the muscles in his rugged face. A welcome warmth crept inside Danielle’s heart. The trip to Texas hadn’t lifted the thick fog of confusion concerning her past, but it had hooked her up with Langley Randolph. At the moment, that seemed a much better omen than anything that had happened in the past two weeks.

She just had to be careful not to grow too dependent on him. And not to let him become attached to her. Her life was already rife with complications, and she didn’t need any more. She filed those words of caution to the back of her mind as footsteps sounded in the hall.

“I don’t know how in the world a family no bigger than this one can create such a stack of—oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know our guest had joined us. She doesn’t want to hear about our dirty laundry.”

The smiling woman strode toward Danielle, wiping her hands on the embroidered apron that circled her plump waist. Her eyes were friendly and bright, her graying hair still shiny.

“So that explains the clean clothes. You really shouldn’t have.”

“Land sakes, girl, one more pair of jeans and a shirt didn’t even make a showing in this pile of laundry.”

“Mom, meet Danielle. Danielle, this is Mary Randolph, better known around here as Mom.” Langley did the introductions as he helped Betsy out of her high chair. Betsy wrapped her arms around his neck for a quick hug and then wiggled until he put her on the floor to play with the toys she’d hurled from the high chair.