A man could take only so much temptation

The house was quiet except for the pounding of Langley’s heart. He had told himself over and over the reasons he shouldn’t make love to Danielle, but right now he couldn’t remember one of them. He couldn’t think at all, not with her mouth on his. His body was going crazy with a hunger that robbed him of control and scared him to death.

She wanted him. He wanted her, wanted her so desperately that just her kiss seared into his very soul. He couldn’t understand his feelings for her. They had come on so fast and so strong, so different from anything he’d experienced before. All he knew was that he had to make love with her before they had no time left.…

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Sunscreen, a poolside lounge—and Harlequin Intrigue: the perfect recipe for great summer escapes!

This month’s sizzling selection begins with The Stranger Next Door (#573) by Joanna Wayne, the second in her RANDOLPH FAMILY TIES miniseries. Langley Randolph is the kind of Texan who can’t resist a woman in trouble. Can he help unlock a beautiful stranger’s memories…before a killer catches up with her first?

Little Penny Drake is an Innocent Witness (#574) to a murder in this suspenseful yet tender story by Leona Karr. The child’s desperate mother, Deanna, seeks the help of Dr. Steve Sherman. Can Steve unlock her daughter’s secrets…and Deanna’s heart?

Dr. Jonas Shades needs a woman to play his wife. Cathlynn O’Connell is the perfect candidate, but with time running out, he has no choice but to blackmail his bride. Each minute in Jonas’s presence brings Cathlynn closer to understanding her enigmatic “husband” and closer to danger! Don’t miss Blackmailed Bride (#575) by Sylvie Kurtz.

Bestselling Harlequin American Romance author Tina Leonard joins Harlequin Intrigue with a story of spine-tingling suspense and dramatic romance. She’s created the small town of Crookseye Canyon, Texas, as the backdrop for A Man of Honor (#576). Cord Greer must marry his brother’s woman to keep her and her unborn baby safe. But is it fear that drives Tessa Draper into Cord’s arms, or is it something more than Cord had hoped for?

Indulge yourself and find out this summer—and all year long!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

The Stranger Next Door

Joanna Wayne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Everyone loves a cowboy, and Joanna Wayne is no exception. Although she lives just a few miles from steamy, exciting New Orleans, she always enjoys her trips to the neighboring state of Texas. While there, she delights in becoming just one of the hands. From riding the range to rounding up cattle by helicopter, she finds plenty to keep her busy and lots of wonderful plot ideas to enhance her stories of romance and suspense. She is sure that as long as there are rugged men who love their cattle, their land and their lifestyle, there will be women who fall in love with them. The fact that the cowboys look so sexy in their boots, jeans and Stetsons is only icing on the cake. You can write to Joanna at P.O. Box 2851, Harvey, LA 70059.

Books by Joanna Wayne

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

288—DEEP IN THE BAYOU

339—BEHIND THE MASK

389—EXTREME HEAT

444—FAMILY TIES*

471—JODIE’S LITTLE SECRETS

495—ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

505—LONE STAR LAWMAN

537—MEMORIES AT MIDNIGHT

569—THE SECOND SON*

573—THE STRANGER NEXT DOOR*

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Danielle—A sexy Cajun lady with a past she can’t remember and a killer on her trail.

Langley Randolph—The neighboring rancher who’ll do whatever he has to in order to keep Danielle safe.

Ryder Randolph—Langley’s younger brother. He likes Danielle, but is afraid she will cause Langley trouble.

Milton Maccabbee—Danielle’s uncle and the owner of the Running Deer Ranch, which borders the Randolph spread. He’s dead but still luring Danielle into a web of danger.

Joshua Kincaid—He has his fingers in a lot of pies and they may not all be legal.

Wade Hernandez—Joshua Kincaid’s ranch foreman, but he may be following his own agenda.

Samuel Drummer—He’s afraid of losing his fiancé.

Corky Westmorland—Milton’s stepson. He wants the Running Deer for himself.

Riff—The cantankerous old ranch hand who shows up where you least expect him.

A special thanks to Dr. Cavanaugh and his lovely wife, Donna, for always taking the time to answer my plot-related medical questions. To my grandchildren, who just by being themselves, inspire me to create adorable fictional children. And to Wayne, always.

Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

Danielle strolled down a side street of the famed New Orleans French Quarter. She shifted the bulk of her packages from one shoulder to the other and stretched the muscles in her neck. She was tired from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, but it was a good kind of tired. She’d spent the day sightseeing and shopping.

And, of course, eating. Sugary beignets, steaming café au lait, shrimp po-boy sandwiches. By late afternoon, when she’d finally eaten and shopped her way from Jackson Square to the far end of Royal Street, she’d ducked into an open-air café and treated herself to a rum-and-punch drink that tasted far more innocent than it felt. She was just a tad giddy now, ready for a quick shower before she collapsed in front of the TV.

By this time tomorrow, she’d be in Kelman, Texas. She’d be opening long-shut closets and rattling family skeletons that might be better left hidden away. She’d have been there today if she’d known her friend Beth was going to have to rush out of town on an unexpected family emergency. But there was no reason to change her flight plans. The day’s break gave her a chance to spend time in one of her favorite cities.

She stopped at the corner to get her bearings. Her hotel was nearby—at least she thought it was. Fishing in her pocket, she pulled out the map she’d picked up at the hotel. She unfolded it, manhandling the unwieldy square of paper until she could catch enough illumination from the streetlight.

Running her finger down the crease, she located the X that marked the location of the hotel. It was two blocks west of where she was standing and one block back toward the river. About two blocks more than she felt like walking but not far enough to justify taking a taxi.

She turned down the side street, the most direct route. It was the same street she’d taken this morning when she’d left the hotel, but it looked different at dusk. Without the warming glow of the sun, the century-old buildings were stark and intimidating. Worse, the daytime crowd had gone home and the night revelers hadn’t appeared on the scene.

Actually, there was no one around except a skinny guy leaning against a balcony support post a few yards in front of her. He stared at her openly and then took the cigarette that dangled from his mouth and dropped it to the street, grinding it beneath the toe of his scuffed shoe.

The concierge’s warning ran through her mind. The Quarter is safe as long as you stay on the main streets, the ones populated with tourists.

Apprehension quickened her pulse. She considered going back the way she had come, but the man turned and disappeared inside a doorway right behind him.

She stopped at the corner, then crossed the street. One more block to the river. A boat whistle blasted in the distance. A series of car horns blared from the direction of Canal Street and footsteps sounded behind her. She spun around just as a man’s arm wrapped around her neck.

“Let go of me!” His fist pounded against her skull. She stamped her feet and tried to twist free, but the man’s grip was like iron. “Who are you? What do you want?”

He hit her again, and then she saw the blade of his knife. She kicked and tried to jerk away as he aimed it toward her chest. He missed his mark, but not completely. The blood was dripping from her side, running down her skirt and legs. She stretched her neck to get a glimpse of her attacker’s face. But he wore a ridiculous Mardi Gras mask. All she could see were his eyes. Cold. Angry.

Her head was spinning. Her eyes refused to focus. And still he was hitting her with his horrible fists and dragging her away. Black walls closed in around her. And she was falling. Falling…falling…

And finally there was…nothing.

Chapter One

Langley Randolph ducked out of the rain and into the front door of Gus’s Corner Café. He shook the moisture from his Stetson hat and stamped the mud from his boots.

“Not a fit night out for man nor beast,” Gus called from behind the counter. He wiped his hands on the white work apron that stretched over his ample paunch. “What brings you into town?”

“Work. The storm triggered the alarm at Higgins’s Supermarket. I expected as much, but I had to eyeball the place and make certain it was nothing else.”

“Higgins needs to shell out a little cash and update that system. His alarm goes off if the wind blows crooked. Still, I’m glad for your company. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“You can.” Langley shed his jacket and tossed it over one of the spare hooks supplied for the purpose. “I can use the caffeine. I’ve got a little more work to do before I can call it a night.”

“Looks like you’re serious about your temporary stint as sheriff.”

“Not by choice. I’ll take my cud-chewing critters to trouble-causing humans any day.”

“Well, you can’t blame your brother for wanting a honeymoon. If I had a wife half as pretty as Lacy, I might even chuck my boots under the bed and pull on one of them flowered Hi-waiian shirts.”

“Yeah, well, it would take more than a woman for me to wear that getup.”

“You just haven’t met the right woman yet. Everyone said Branson would never take the plunge and he was grinnin’ like a mule eatin’ thistles when the preacher tightened that marriage knot around his neck.”

“That was Branson. This is me.” Langley settled onto a bar stool at the counter.

“This is a new brand of coffee,” Gus said, setting a mug of steaming brew in front of Langley. “All the big restaurants in San Antonio have switched to it. At least that’s what my supplier said.”

Langley tried it while Gus watched.

“How’s it taste?” he asked before Langley placed the cup back on the counter.

“Like a new brand.”

“I mean, do you like it?”

“It’s coffee. I liked the old brand just fine.”

“You’re stuck in your ways, Langley Randolph. Do you know that?” Gus leaned over the table and wiped at a stain that didn’t want to give up. “Just plain stuck in your ways about everything except your cows. You got to have all the latest breeding methods on your ranch, but you want everything else about your life to stay the same. That’s why you don’t have a wife.”

“Right. So how about one of those same old cheeseburgers you make? And a side of those same old onion rings?”

Gus grinned. “Well, at least you’ve got good taste. I’ll fix me one and join you. I doubt I’ll get any more paying customers tonight in this downpour. Everybody’s home propping their feet under their own table.”

“Yeah. Too bad we didn’t get this rain about August when my grass was dying from the drought.”

“Well, then we wouldn’t be living in south Texas, would we?”

Gus grabbed a couple of beef patties from the cooler and plopped them onto the hot grill. They spit and sputtered, and Langley’s stomach reacted appropriately. He’d have preferred to be one of the folks with their feet stretched under their own table tonight, but if he had to be out, Gus was as good company as any. Actually, better than most he’d talked to today. At least Gus didn’t have any complaints he wanted to report to the acting sheriff.

Three days into his new role and Langley was eager to hand the lawman’s duties back to Branson. He’d never wanted to be deputized again, but he was the only available man with any kind of experience. He’d worked as deputy for almost a year right after he’d graduated from college and filled in from time to time since then.

But he had lost his taste for the work. Now he liked running the ranch, tending his cattle, researching the latest methods for producing the best beef in the most economical fashion.

But the Randolphs always stuck together, so he couldn’t very well turn down his brother’s request to fill in for him for two weeks while he honeymooned. Branson had his young deputy, Gordon, on the payroll, but Gordon claimed he wasn’t ready to take charge just yet. That left the job of acting sheriff to Langley.

The bell over the door tinkled, and Langley stretched his neck and looked around. Gus had been wrong when he’d said no one would be out in the storm. One more person had ventured out. A stranger. Drenched, but still attractive enough to make any red-blooded male take notice. He was no exception.

She raked a handful of wet hair from her face, tucking it behind her right ear before crossing her arms over her chest. The pose successfully hid the soft mounds of her breasts that the wet T-shirt had revealed. What she couldn’t hide were the tinges of purple and dark blue, remnants of bruises that covered her face and arms. Instinctively, Langley’s guard went up.

The woman stepped toward the counter. “Can I help you?” Gus asked. “You surely didn’t come out in this thunderstorm for a burger and fries.”

“No, I’m looking for the sheriff. I was told he might be able to help me. Do you know where I could find him?”

Trouble. Langley knew it the way a man knows his horse is about to buck or that the branding iron is not quite hot enough to do the job. He didn’t know how he knew it. He just did.

He slid from his stool. “I’m Langley Randolph,” he said, “the county sheriff—at least I am this week. What can I do for you?”

“I hate to ask on a night like this, but I’d appreciate a lift to the Running Deer Ranch.”

He studied the woman. Even soaked through to the skin, she had a sophistication about her. And an accent he didn’t recognize. “Do you have business at the Running Deer?”

She nodded. “I’m Danielle, Milton Maccabbe’s niece. I’m here to see him.”

Langley ran his hands deep into his front pockets, debating with himself on how he should tell the dripping stranger with a strange accent that the man she was planning to visit had died two weeks ago. “I’d be happy to give you a ride, but—”

“Good,” she broke in. “I’m anxious to get out there and I’m without transportation.”

“Then how did you get to Kelman? We’re a long walk from nowhere.”

“I came by bus.”

So that explained why she was soaking wet. Kelman didn’t have a regular bus station, but if there was someone to pick up or let off, the bus stopped at Phil Klinger’s feed store. But it was half past seven. The place would be locked up tight this time of night.

“The driver suggested I call the sheriff from the pay phone where he dropped me off, but it wasn’t working. I guess the storm knocked it out. I saw the sign for the café and took a chance it would be open.” She hugged her arms more tightly around her. “I didn’t expect to be lucky enough to walk right into the sheriff.”

“If Langley hadn’t been here, I’d have given you a ride,” Gus hastened to assure her. “We Texans don’t leave a woman on her own if we can help it.”

“I’ll drive you wherever you’d like to go,” Langley said. “But I’d like to eat that burger Gus is cooking before I take off in the storm again. You might like to do the same. Gus makes the best burger in south Texas.”

“The best burger in all of Texas,” Gus corrected.

The woman turned toward the sound of the sputtering meat, her eyes wide. But she shook her head and directed her gaze back at him. “I’m not hungry, but you go ahead. I’ll wait and eat something at the ranch.”

Of course, she expected to have dinner with her uncle. Which meant he couldn’t put off the inevitable. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Langley said, deciding the straight approach was the best.

“What kind of bad news?”

Langley swallowed hard and wished there was a way around what he had to say. But there wasn’t. “Milton Maccabbe died a couple of weeks ago.”

She lowered her head and directed her gaze to the toes of her muddy tennis shoes. “I knew he was sick,” she said. “I just hadn’t heard that he’d died.”

“In his sleep. The doctor said it was a peaceful way to go.”

“I’m glad. I just wish I’d been here.”

Her voice cracked on the words, but she didn’t cry. For the first time in a long time, Langley wished he was more like his brothers, wished that talking to strange women came easier to him. Instead, he was standing around like an awkward schoolboy, wondering if he should say something more or offer a shoulder to cry on.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Who’s staying at the ranch now to look after the cattle?”

“Joshua Kincaid’s hands are taking care of the place. Milton was foreman at Kincaid’s ranch before he retired and bought the Running Deer. But no one lives there. The place is deserted once the sun goes down.”

“Then I’d still appreciate a ride to the ranch, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s not the sort of place to visit at night,” Langley advised.

“I won’t be visiting. I’ll be moving in.”

Langley rocked back on his heels. His gaze lowered from her dripping hair to the wet clothes that clung to her body like a second skin and then back to her bruised face. “I’m not sure I heard you right,” he said, knowing that he had but hoping he was wrong.

“If Uncle Milton is dead, then the ranch is mine. He left it to me. I have it in writing.”

“Are you a rancher?”

“No, but I can learn.”

“Yep,” Gus interrupted, “and if you have any trouble, you can call on Langley. He lives practically in hollering range. If there’s anything about cows he don’t know, it hasn’t been discovered yet.”

She propped a foot on the boot rail of one of the stools and leaned against the counter. “It’s nice to know that expert advice will be so readily available.”

“I’ll be glad to help out if you have questions,” Langley said. “Any of the Randolphs will, but don’t put any stock in Gus’s claims. Every rancher around these parts has his own way of doing things, and we all think our way’s best.”

“Nonetheless, I appreciate the offer.” Danielle looked up at Langley, her dark eyes shadowed and mysterious, her lips parted, the flesh beneath the bruises raw. “But I’m sure I’ll be selling the place as soon as I can.”

Something in the way she spoke and moved reminded Langley of a frightened calf. It might just be the news of her uncle’s death, but he had the strange suspicion that it was something more than grief that strained her voice and haunted her ebony eyes. More like fear. After all, someone had recently branded her with the telltale signs of violence.

“You can call on me as a rancher or as a lawman,” he said. “We don’t cater to abuse or abusers in Kelman.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stepped closer and trailed a finger along the purple marks that ran the length of her arm. She trembled at his touch and then backed away. An unfamiliar sensation swept through Langley, an awareness that set his nerves on edge. A beautiful woman with dangerous secrets—one who was about to become his neighbor.

And suddenly, Langley knew exactly how it must feel to be caught standing in the middle of a stampede with no way to escape.

HER UNCLE WAS DEAD. The news hit hard, a blow that knocked the last smidgen of confidence right out of her. All her hopes had been tied up in finding the one man who might be able to give her back her life. Now those hopes had been dashed with a single sentence out of the sheriff’s mouth.

Danielle slid the wet backpack down her arms, then scooted into the booth across the table from Langley Randolph. She faked a smile and hoped the rugged cowboy couldn’t hear the grumbling of her stomach when the man called Gus set a plateful of crispy onion rings between them. The last meal she’d eaten had been the lumpy oatmeal and cold toast the hospital had served for breakfast yesterday. Since then, she’d made do with a couple of cartons of milk and the crackers she’d picked up when the bus had made its pit stops.

Still, the little money her teenage roommate at the hospital had lent her would disappear fast enough without wasting it on restaurant food. Especially after she’d already used half of the meager funds to buy a bus ticket, an inexpensive backpack and a few other necessities.

Her mouth watered. She turned and stared out at the storm, but it was no use. The aroma was like a magnet, pulling her gaze back to the golden-brown slices of battered onion.

Langley pushed the plate in front of her. “Have some,” he insisted. “I hate to eat alone. Besides, Gus is a very sensitive man. His feelings will be hurt if you don’t rave over his speciality of the house.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to try them.” She lifted one from the plate and slipped it into her mouth. She chewed it too fast, but once her stomach had food that close, it refused to hold out any longer.

A minute later, Gus placed two more plates in front of them, each holding an oversize cheeseburger with thick slices of tomato and crisp lettuce.

“I know you said you weren’t hungry,” he said, “but I had this cooked already. It’s on the house. Just eat what you want.”

So she hadn’t fooled anyone. Obviously, she wasn’t a good actress. She hoped that wasn’t what she’d done for a living before…before she’d almost wound up dead. Before her life had slipped away in a black cloud of desperation.

She forced her mind back to the present. “Thanks, Gus,” she replied, her fingers already closing around the sesame-seed bun. “If the burger is as good as the onion rings, I’ll be able to eat it even if I’m not hungry.”

“Good. You eat up. Keep Langley here company, but don’t let him bore you with talk about those cows of his.”

“I promise not to get bored.” She bit into the burger as Gus walked away. Her taste buds danced deliriously. After two weeks of hospital food and two days of starvation, the thick, juicy beef was like manna from heaven.

She felt Langley’s eyes on her while she ate and knew he was sizing her up, but even that wasn’t enough to squelch her enjoyment of the meal. With all the problems she had, any pleasure at all was a cause for celebration.

Langley didn’t say a word until she’d finished everything on her plate, but the second the last bite was swallowed, he propped his elbows on the table and leaned in close. “I’m kind of surprised to hear that Milton had a niece. I’d heard he didn’t have any family.”

She stared him down. “I guess you heard wrong.” His attitude annoyed her. More to the point, it made her nervous. As nervous as the badge on his shirt did. She’d had enough of arrogant lawmen over the past two weeks.

They’d interrogated her endlessly and then doubted her answers. They’d poked into her affairs and then questioned her integrity.

“Were you a friend of my uncle’s?” she asked, hoping to throw the focus of the conversation on something other than herself. Besides, she needed all the information she could get, and the sooner the better.

Langley leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t say your uncle and I were friends. More like acquaintances.”

“But you did know him?”

“We were neighbors. My family owns the Burning Pear Ranch, and it borders the Running Deer. We’re separated by a creek that’s dry about half the time and by miles of barbed wire.”

“So you live by the theory that good fences make good neighbors?”

“Absolutely. Especially in cattle country.”

The sheriff was smiling now, a nice open smile that curled his lips and touched his dusky gray eyes. Maybe she’d been too quick to judge. But then, she was in no position to trust anyone, especially a stranger who, like it or not, was probably going to know as much about her as she knew about herself before long.

Langley swirled the coffee in his white mug, then drank it down to the last drop before pushing the empty cup to the side. “Have you ever been to the Running Deer?”

She managed a smile, thankful the sheriff had asked one of the few questions that fitted her standard reply. “Not that I remember.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin, then placed it on the table. “But I’m anxious to see it. Can we get started now?”

He met her gaze but made no move to get up. “Are you planning on spending the night there?”

“Of course.” Something in his expression sent new waves of alarm careening through her senses. “There is a house, isn’t there?”

“Of sorts. It’s a little run-down and short on modern conveniences.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“As long as you don’t mind roughing it.”

Langley reached into his back pocket and pulled out a few bills. He tucked them under his plate, then finally stood, moving in a slow, languid manner that was strangely seductive. Or maybe it was the bronzed flesh beneath the sun-bleached hair or the rugged cast to his youthful face that generated the masculine appeal.

“I’ll drop you off and stay while you check out the condition of the place,” he proposed. “If you change your mind about wanting to stay out there, I’ll run you back into town to the motel.”

“I’m tough. I can handle a few nights without luxuries.” At least she hoped she was tough. If she wasn’t, life was about to become even more unpleasant than it already had been in the past couple of weeks. Because like it or not, the Running Deer was now home. The only one she had.

She joined Langley in saying goodbye to Gus and offered a genuine thank-you for her food, assuring him it was the best she’d eaten in a long time. It was nice to be totally honest for a change.

Langley held out his jacket and then slipped it over her shoulders when she accepted. The early November wind was cutting, but the downpour had slowed to a drizzle by the time they left the café and walked the few steps to Langley’s pickup truck. He opened the door and she climbed inside. She waited for the chills of apprehension to close around her heart as Langley slid behind the wheel and slammed his own door shut.

But for the first time in two weeks, her pulse didn’t race and her stomach didn’t tie itself into ratty knots at the prospect of being alone with a strange man. Maybe her psychological scars were starting to heal the way her physical ones had. Or maybe a stalwart cowboy lawman in a small Texas town far away from New Orleans didn’t unnerve her the way every man who’d entered her hospital room had.

Now all she had to worry about was what she was going to do on a ranch when all she knew about cows was that they gave milk or became steak. And all she knew about herself were the images that haunted her mind, like a video that played the same terrifying scene over and over again.

She shivered, suddenly all too aware that she was about to be alone on a ranch in the middle of nowhere with only the ever-running tape in her mind for company. It wouldn’t take long to find out just how tough she really was.

LANGLEY TURNED IN AT the Running Deer Ranch, surprised to find the gate unlatched and swung open. He got out of the truck and closed it behind them, suspicion running rampant in his usually trusting mind. Maybe it was the badge that had changed him, or maybe it was just that in trying to fill Branson’s shoes, he had adopted the same doubting-Thomas nature that had always ruled his older brother.

At any rate, the open gate wasn’t the only thing troubling him. He had serious doubts that the woman sitting beside him had told him the whole truth. She’d come by bus to claim a ranch she’d said her uncle had left her, only she didn’t even know the man had died. Her declared intentions were to stay at the ranch, but the only thing she carried that resembled luggage was the soaking wet backpack.

She’d also claimed she wasn’t hungry back at Gus’s, but he’d never seen a woman eat quite that fast or appear to enjoy her meal more. And she was nervous, constantly rubbing the back of her neck or wringing her hands. When she caught him looking at her, she’d stop and sit straight, staring out into the darkness.

He’d do some investigating in the morning, find out if the Running Deer had been turned over to her. Of course, first he’d have to find out her last name. She’d been stingy even in that department, changing the subject when he’d asked.

A few minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of the cabin. It looked even worse in the dark than it did in the daylight, if that was possible. Most of the shutters were missing, part of the railing was off the narrow porch, and the edge of the bottom step had rotted away.

“This is it,” Langley said, turning the truck so that his headlights illuminated the front door. He adjusted the delay on the lights so they’d stay on until Danielle had time to maneuver the dilapidated stairs.

She stared at the cabin. “Milton lived here?”

“He did. Right up until the day he died. But then, your uncle didn’t seem to require much in the way of creature comforts. He liked to fish and he liked to raise cattle. Actually, the ranch buildings are in much better shape than his cabin.”

“That’s Uncle Milty for you.”

But in spite of her flippant reply, her step was hesitant as she climbed down from the truck. Langley studied her profile, the bruises on her cheeks and chin taking on an almost ghoulish appearance in the glow of the headlight beams.

He walked over and took her elbow, half-expecting her to pull away. She didn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Looks like I’m home,” she said. “I appreciate your giving me a lift out here, but you don’t need to stay. I’m sure you have work to do.”

“I’ll go in with you and have a look around, make sure no wild animals have taken over the place since it’s been vacated.”

She whirled around. “What kind of wild animals?”

“I don’t know. Polecats. Coyotes. Rats.”

“You’re joking, right?”

A coyote bayed in the distance as if in answer to her question. She shuddered.

“Do you still want me to leave you on your own?” he asked.

She shook her head, and her hair tumbled over her face. Tangled and disheveled, it was beginning to dry, falling waywardly about her cheeks and giving her the appearance of an impish nymph.

She fished a brass key from the pocket of her jeans. “This should open the door.”

“I doubt it’s locked. You don’t get a lot of uninvited guests this far off the main road.”

He led her up the steps and turned the knob on the front door. It squeaked open as he expected. The expectations ended there, dissolved by the acid that gnawed at his stomach. A string of curses flew from his mouth as he assessed the damage.

The upholstery on the couch and an ancient recliner had been ripped to shreds, the stuffing scattered over the floor like clumps of yellow snow.

“I guess I spoke too soon,” Langley said, walking to the center of the room and turning slowly so that he could better digest the sick destruction. “But I doubt whoever vandalized this place would have been deterred by a lock on the door.”

Danielle took a deep breath and then walked past him.

He followed her into the kitchen and to more chaos. If a twister had picked up the house and turned it upside down, it probably wouldn’t have wreaked any worse havoc. The floor and counter were littered with broken glass and scattered pans and utensils, and a steady stream of ants marched through trails of sugar and streaks of syrup that painted the floor.

Bits of glass cracked and skidded under Langley’s boots as he circled the kitchen. They’d had vandals strike in Kelman before. Paint sprayed on the water tower, four-letter words carved in inappropriate places, fences cut.

But he couldn’t remember hearing about anything like this, and the sight of it ground in his gut the same way the glass cut and scratched into the linoleum beneath the thick soles of his boots.

He looked up as Danielle returned from a peek at the bedroom, her face ashen, her eyes wide. He laid a hand on her shaking shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I don’t know who’s behind it, but right now I’m having a hard time believing this was a group of kids out looking for excitement.”

She looked up at him, her large dark eyes haunted pools of fear. “No, this was done by someone who doesn’t want me here.”

“I’m sure this isn’t personal.”

“Take a look in the bedroom.” Her voice was hollow but steady.

Langley walked to the bedroom door. The mattress had been torn off the bed and ripped to shreds. The doors of a small wooden chest hung open, their contents scattered about the floor. And red paint dripped from a cracked mirror that hung over an unpainted dresser. The letters were distorted, but the message was clear.

Get out, Danielle, or die!

Langley strode back into the kitchen and stopped in front of the mystery guest. “I don’t want any games or double-talk. I’d like to know what the hell is going on. If you have a clue, and something tells me you do, now’s a good time to start talking.”

She unzipped the backpack, pulled out a folded piece of smudged paper and handed it to him without a word. He unfolded the letter and read it.

Danielle,

My days are numbered. The cancer is growing fast. The doctors want me to take a lot of pills and treatments, but I’m not doing it. I’ve lived my way. I’ll die my way.

I’ve made a career of making poor decisions. But my only real regret is that I never got to know Colette’s daughter. You are my only living relative, and I’m leaving Running Deer Ranch solely to you. I hope you choose to live on the ranch, but that decision will be yours. You may find Kelman boring after the life you’ve led.

Your uncle,

Milton Maccabbe

P.S. I’m enclosing the key. You know what to do with it. I’m sorry to draw you into this, but I see no other way.

Langley folded the letter and handed it back to her. “Exactly what was it that he hated to draw you into other than this vicious destruction?”

She rubbed the back of her neck, burying her long fingers in the tangle of thick black hair. “I don’t know.” He started to question her response, but she held her hand up to stop him. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not lying. I just don’t know.”

Only he was sure she knew more than she was saying, and whatever it might be was scaring her half to death. He could read the fear in her eyes. “Let’s get out of here.” He touched a hand to the small of her back. “This is no place to talk.”

“You can get out of here. I have no money and no place to go.”

Her voice broke on the words, and Langley’s protective side surfaced in a suffocating wave. He should maintain a professional distance from Danielle, but he wasn’t Branson and he wasn’t a sheriff. He was just a man who couldn’t bear to see a desperate woman fighting back tears.

He reached for her hands. They were as cold as ice. “You can come home with me for the night,” he said.

“You don’t know me. Why would you offer to take me home with you?”

He sensed the suspicion that seemed to shadow everything she said and did. “I have no ulterior motives if that’s what you’re thinking. My family will be there. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

“So if I go with you for the night, you won’t expect anything from me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Anger flared in her dark eyes. “Then leave.”

“I don’t think so, Danielle. What I’ll expect from you is plain talk. We can do it here or at the Burning Pear, but I want answers. If you’re involved in something, you may as well tell me. I’ll find out anyway.”

“Good. Then you’ll accomplish more than the police have done so far.” She backed away from him. “I don’t know why I should trust you, Langley Randolph, but right now, I don’t have a lot of choices.”

“Does that mean you’re going to tell me the whole truth?”

“Yes, but let me warn you, it sounds like something straight out of a mystery novel. And if you look at me even once as if I’m lying or nuts, I’m through explaining. I’ve had far too many of those looks over the past two weeks.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal. Start talking.”

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.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Danielle said, extending her hand. “Your hospitality is overwhelming. And you have an extremely helpful son.”

“Thank you.” Mary looked at Langley and beamed. “All my boys are pretty special even if I do say so myself. Ornery at times, but special.”

Langley put an arm around his mother’s shoulders. “We have to be special. If we aren’t, she takes us behind the woodshed and gives us what for.”

“You’re not too big for paddling, young man. You just think you are.” She gave him a playful pat on the backside, then turned her attention back to Danielle. “I’m sure sorry I wasn’t up to welcome you to the Burning Pear last night. I’ve been going to bed when Betsy does these days so I can keep up with her.” She walked over and lifted the coffeepot as if to assure herself it wasn’t empty. “Langley told me what the two of you ran into at the Running Deer. That must have been quite a shock for you, especially on top of everything else you’ve been through.”

So Langley had told his mother everything. That was just as well. It would spare Danielle the pain of relating the sordid details all over again.

“It was a shock,” Danielle admitted, “but don’t feel bad about not being awake. Langley was the perfect host. I really appreciate your sharing your home.”

“That’s what neighbors are for. And you must be starved. I hope you like pancakes. I saved some batter. And there’s plenty of bacon. I can fry you up some in no time. Or I can scramble you some eggs if you’d rather.”

“I love pancakes, but I can’t let you cook for me, not after you’ve done my laundry.”

“Nonsense. You can’t go tackling that mess at the Running Deer on an empty stomach.”

“Give up easy,” Langley said, walking toward the door. “No one ever wins an argument with Mom.” He grabbed his Stetson from the shelf by the door and plopped it on his head. “I’m going out to find Ryder. He’s agreed to drive you into town for supplies, then help you clean up the mess at the Running Deer.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“No, but I like the idea of my baby brother toiling at cleanup detail. Besides, he’s dying to meet you. He’ll pester you anyway. You might as well get some work out of him.”

Langley left without waiting for her to comment. A few minutes later, the kitchen was filled with the mouthwatering smells of bacon frying on a cast-iron griddle. Mary cooked, moving about her roomy kitchen effortlessly, talking and smiling, with a manner that made Danielle feel as if they were old friends.

Betsy started to fuss, and Danielle picked her up, settling her in her lap. Betsy wiggled around to face her, then poked her pudgy fingers in Danielle’s face. She touched Danielle’s nose and grabbed for a handful of hair, pulling her topknot loose.

Gently, Danielle unwound the tiny fingers from her thick locks. So precious. Somebody’s baby who’d just landed on the Randolphs’ doorstep. A nice place to land, but she’d like to hear the rest of that story. She was sure Langley had omitted some interesting details.

She hugged Betsy to her chest. Somewhere she might have a baby like this. She might have a husband, a full life that had slipped through her fingers. She might have been happy.

Or maybe not. She might have been living with the madman who’d attacked her and left her for dead.

But she wouldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t. She needed her strength and determination to keep functioning until her memory returned. If the letter was accurate, and if she was the Danielle it had been written to, she was the new owner of the Running Deer.

She guessed that made her a rancher. She already had the aching muscles Langley had talked about. But dealing with cows, or worse yet, a bull, was out of the question. Even a woman without a memory had to set some limits.

DANIELLE FOLLOWED the sexy young cowboy down an aisle of Higgins’s Supermarket. “Ryder, you have to stop putting things in this grocery basket. I have no money.”

“Sure you do. It’s just all tied up in cows. When you manage to get the title to Running Deer free and clear, you’ll sell off some of the steers and pay your debts.”

“I don’t think the clerk at the register will buy into that.”

“Actually, she probably would if you talked to Higgins. Lots of folks around here run a credit line. But don’t worry. I’m taking care of this. You can pay me back when you’re solvent.” He flashed a seductive smile. “In cash or favors.”

“It’s a good thing Langley warned me about you.”

“Whatever he told you, don’t believe it.”

“Are you suggesting Langley would lie?”

Ryder bent to grab a giant-size bottle of bleach from the bottom shelf. He stuffed it onto the low-riding wire shelf beneath the basket. “All joking aside, Langley is probably the most honest, unassuming Randolph of all of us. I doubt if he even knows how to flirt.” Ryder grinned. “Maybe you could teach him.”

“I don’t know if I know how.”

“My guess is you do.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It’s a compliment. You have that fire in your eyes, the kind of spark that goes with passion. I’ve seen it before. It’s not something you forget.”

Ryder pushed the basket to the side so that a young woman could pass. She spoke to Ryder and flashed him a wide smile. The look she gave Danielle was less than friendly.

“That lady certainly had a gleam in her eye for you. Was that the fire you were talking about?”

“No way. That was Carrie. Her dad owns a ranch just north of town. She’s a sweet girl, but not my type.”

“What is your type?”

“Smart. Fun. Loving. Passionate.”

“And have you ever met a woman like that?”

“Once. I wasn’t her type.”

In spite of Ryder’s teasing tone, she picked up a touch of bitterness. Evidently, even gorgeous cowboys sometimes had woman trouble. “Tell me, Ryder, does Langley have a significant other in his life?”

A stupid question. Before it was out of her mouth, she was sorry she’d asked it. She didn’t want either Ryder or Langley to get the wrong idea. She definitely wasn’t shopping for a man. For all she knew, she might have one already.

“Does Langley have a significant other in his life?” Ryder repeated the question, nodding his head and screwing up his mouth as if he were deep in thought. “Yeah. I’d have to say he does. A bunch of them. They all have four legs and hooves.”

Ryder was teasing again, and his easy humor made the awkwardness of the moment disappear. She liked his way. It made her feel normal, let her almost forget that she was the only one walking around the grocery store who didn’t have a clue as to who she really was.

“Hey, Ryder.”

She turned as a lumbering giant of a man hurried toward them. He tipped his cowboy hat to Danielle but didn’t bother to wait for introductions.

“What’s up, Buck?”

“There was a man come by the bank a few minutes ago looking for Langley. He was on the trail of a woman and, for some reason, he thought she might be in Kelman.”

“Did he mention her name?” Ryder asked.

“Yep, he did. He said her name was Danielle Thibo…Thibo something. A Cajun name, I think.” Buck turned and pointed. “That’s him over there at the checkout counter. The guy with the brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses.”

Danielle looked at the young man and struggled for breath. “Did he say why he was looking for the woman named Danielle?” she asked, her voice dry and scratchy.

“Yep.” Buck pinned his gaze on her. “He said they’d had a lovers’ quarrel and she’d run out on him. He’s afraid something happened to her and he’s awful anxious. She’s his fiancée.”

Chapter Three

Danielle stood in the sheriff’s small office and tried to find something familiar about the stranger who was staring at her across the room. Ryder had taken over in the grocery store, introducing himself and instructing the man to meet them at Langley’s office. If he hadn’t, they might still be standing there. Her mind and body had refused to function. Even now, she found it difficult to breathe.

The man walked over and stopped in front of her. “What’s wrong, Danielle? Why won’t you look at me?”

“I’m sorry.” She tried to say more, but her throat closed around her words. The initial anxiety had been swallowed up by a cold, hard numbness that defied reason. She longed to find out who she was and yet all she could grasp was that this man who claimed to be her fiancé was a total stranger. “I don’t remember you.”

The man stared at her, doubt and confusion written all over his face. “I don’t understand.”

She all but fell into the chair a few inches behind her. “I don’t even know your name,” she murmured.

“It hasn’t changed in the past three weeks. It’s still Samuel Drummer.” He turned back to Langley. “Where did she get those bruises on her face and arms? Has she been in an accident?”

“She was brutally attacked in New Orleans.”

“Oh, no.” He knelt in front of Danielle, taking her hands in his. “I should have known it was something like this when you didn’t come home and didn’t call. What were you doing in New Orleans?”

“I don’t know.” She studied the man’s face, then stared into his eyes, hoping that she’d feel some spark of recognition, praying some fragment of recollection would flash into her brain. There was nothing. She pulled her hands from his.

He exhaled sharply. “Help me, Danielle. It’s so hard seeing you like this when I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I’m sorry, Samuel. I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just that I’m having trouble remembering things. And people.” She took a deep breath and forced the diagnosis from her dry throat. “I have amnesia.”

“Amnesia.” He stood and backed away as if she’d named some dread, contagious disease. “Exactly how much do you remember?”

“Basically nothing. I don’t even remember who I am.”

He dropped into the chair next to hers and buried his face in his hands. “This is my fault,” he mumbled. “I knew you were upset. I should never have let you pack a bag and leave the house alone that night. I know how you are when you get that way.”

Langley leaned forward in his chair. “Placing blame won’t change anything. Danielle needs information about who she is. She needs your help in remembering her past.”

“Of course. I’ll help all I can. I’ll get her the best doctors in Fort Worth. I’ll take a night job if I have to in order to pay the bills.”

“She’s seen a doctor. Facts are what we need now.”

“I’ll tell you anything I can.” He twisted his hands and stared at the toes of his brown loafers. “What do you want to know?”

Danielle scooted her chair around in order to face him. “I know my first name is Danielle. What’s my last name?”

He hesitated. “Thibodeaux. Danielle Thibodeaux.”

A Cajun name. That explained her accent, but the name was no more familiar to her than the man who had said it. “Do I have a family?”

“Not anymore. You were an only child. Your parents are dead, at least that’s what you told me. If there’s anyone else, I don’t know about them. I didn’t even know about this Milton Maccabbe fellow whom you wanted to visit in Kelman until he started sending you letters. Frankly, I had my doubts about a man surfacing out of the blue and claiming to be your uncle.” He straightened and stared at Danielle, his eyes flashing as if he’d just hit the jackpot. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s Milton Maccabbe. What did he do to you?”

Danielle’s fingers dug into her palms. She unclasped her hands and ran them along the rough denim of her jeans. “Milton is dead, Samuel. He has been for two weeks now. He’s not part of the problem.”

“At least he’s not the one who attacked her,” Langley corrected.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Samuel shifted in his chair. “I didn’t know.”

“How long have you known me, Samuel?”

“About six months. You moved to Fort Worth from some little town in south Louisiana. I met you in a club downtown. I bought you a drink. We danced a few times. You know how it is. We just hit it off.”

“What kind of work did I do?”

“You were unemployed when I met you, but you were looking for a job.”

“What kind of work was I looking for?”

“Waitressing. Or whatever you could find. You were low on funds.” He stood and paced the small room. “Look, we don’t have to go into this now. I’ll take you home. We’ll get you medical care. You can rest in your own bed with your own things around you. I’ll take care—”

Langley broke into his frantic rambling. “We need Danielle’s social security number, Samuel. Do you know it or know where we can find it?”

He stopped pacing. “I don’t have it. It’s got to be in her purse. Did you check her driver’s license?”

“My purse was stolen when I was mugged in New Orleans.”

Samuel threw up his hands in frustration. “Of course, I should have realized. If you had your purse or even your luggage, you’d at least know your name and where you live.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “All this has taken me by such surprise. I mean, I never expected to run into anything like this.”

“You can’t be any more confused than I am, Samuel,” Danielle said.

“What about friends?” Langley asked, breaking into the conversation. “Did Danielle have any close friends?”

“Not in Fort Worth. She was…” He hesitated. “She stayed at home a lot after we moved in together. She was going through some hard times.”

“What kind of hard times?” Langley tapped the eraser end of a yellow pencil against the legal pad that rested at his fingertips. “Was she sick? Upset? Give me some specific details.”

Samuel walked over and stood behind Danielle’s chair. He dropped his hands possessively to her shoulders. “I don’t see why we need to go into any of this right now. Danielle has been through enough. I’d just like to take her home.”

“It’s not quite that simple.”

Samuel’s grip on her shoulders tightened as his muscles tensed. “I’d like to know why the hell it isn’t. I don’t know what’s going on here, but Danielle’s obviously the victim, not the suspect. You can’t hold her in this one-horse town.”

Danielle felt they were talking as if she wasn’t in the room, the same way she’d felt the first few days in the hospital. Then, she’d been too weak and confused to protest. She wasn’t anymore. “I’m not being held here, Samuel. I’m staying of my own accord. And I’m not ready to go home with you. Not yet.”

“I see.” Samuel lifted his hands from her shoulders. “That’s fine. If you want to stay here, I’ll take a few more days off work and stay with you.”

“There’s one little complication there, Samuel.” Langley rose from his chair and walked to the front of the desk. “The police believe the man who attacked Danielle might know her. The evidence suggests it could have been an estranged lover.”

Samuel shook his head. “You surely don’t suspect me. I don’t have a violent bone in my body. Danielle can tell you that.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “At least she could if she were herself.”

“I’m not doubting you.” Langley leveled a gaze at Samuel. “Not yet anyway. But for now, I think it’s best if you see Danielle only when either I or the deputy can be present.”

Samuel’s stance grew rigid. “And what about you, Danielle? Is that the way you want it?”

Her heart went out to Samuel. It truly did. He seemed like a nice guy and genuinely frustrated. But he was still a stranger. And the New Orleans detective’s theory still sent chills down her spine.

She considered her options. Go back to the Running Deer with Ryder and spend the day cleaning up a humongous mess. Or go back with Samuel and deal with feelings she was supposed to have for a man she didn’t remember. Go back to the ranch and expect him to touch her with at least the familiarity he had shown in this room. Go back to the ranch and wonder if the man she was alone with was the one who’d tried to kill her.

An estranged husband. A jilted lover. The words of the New Orleans detective whirled in her mind.

“You didn’t answer, Danielle.” Samuel repeated his question, his tone bordering on pleading. “What will it be?”

She took a deep breath and hoped she was making the right decision. “I can’t go with you, Samuel.” She somehow managed to keep her voice steady. “And I can’t let you stay with me.”

Samuel started to argue. Langley cut him off.

“The lady said no, Mr. Drummer. If you have a problem with that, you’ll have to take it up with me later. Right now, I’m going to have my brother drive Danielle back to the ranch she inherited and you and I are going to have a talk.”

Danielle observed the semipolite battle of wills being waged between the two men. With one of the men she felt a strange kinship, a trust, a feeling of security as if she had known him for a long time. The other man was a stranger, one whose touch disturbed her. The problem was her feelings seemed to have switched wires and attached to the wrong person.

She fought the impulse to bolt from this small, confining room and run out into the sunshine. For two weeks she’d known nothing but doubts and fears. The only reprieve she’d experienced had been the few hours she’d spent at the Burning Pear.

Langley, Ryder, Mary, even little Betsy, the unofficial Randolph. From them emanated a warmth that reached clear to the frigid chill that had settled in her soul. And Samuel Drummer, no matter what he had meant to her in the past, didn’t project that kind of warmth. Worse, she didn’t have the strength to give him the attention he obviously wanted and probably deserved.

Ryder picked that moment to knock on the door, or more likely, Langley had instructed him when to show up. He ambled inside, sporting his cocky smile and tipping his black Stetson. The tension diminished appreciably. Evidently, Samuel realized that he was outnumbered by Randolphs, and that no matter how guilty he made her feel, she wasn’t about to walk out of the office with him.

She might be sorry later that she hadn’t gone with Samuel. But the only thing she could depend on now was her instinct for survival.

Langley walked to the door as she and Ryder were leaving. She looked up and their gazes locked. Strange, but the look they shared was far more intimate than the touch Samuel had attempted, and yet she didn’t draw away. He was part of a new life, the only life she could remember. He’d become part of the world she was trying to fit into.

“I’ll come by the Running Deer when I’m through here,” he said. “In the meantime, you’re in good hands with Ryder.”

“I know. I just chose a mop at the store that will fit his ‘good hands’ perfectly.”

“Then I’ll hurry. I want to be there in time to see my little brother wield it.”

She walked out the door. All of a sudden, even the mess at the Running Deer seemed like a welcome change.

LANGLEY TRIED the hotel room in Hawaii where Branson was staying one more time. No answer. Finally, a computerized voice came on the line and told him to punch one if he wanted to leave a message.

He didn’t bother. He’d already left a message, one of quiet desperation.

He’d checked out the info Samuel Drummer had given him. He’d verified the man’s address, his phone number, his social security number. He lived in Fort Worth, just as he’d said. He had a checking account, a job as a traveling salesman, a car payment that he was usually late in making. In short, Samuel Drummer existed.

Danielle was a different story. She had no employer except Samuel, who claimed she helped with his sales reports and record-keeping. She had no landlord and no friends he could locate. Worst of all, he could find no social security number that would make it easier to run a paper trail on her.

But the fact that kept gnawing in Langley’s gut was the detective’s theory that Danielle’s attacker had probably known her, that the attack had been too vicious for a mugging gone bad. Judging from what he’d learned from the hospital, he would have come to that same conclusion.

And if he found out Samuel Drummer was the man who’d stabbed Danielle and left her to die on a back street in New Orleans, heaven help him.

Badge or not, Langley was a man, and a man could only stomach so much. He stood up, sending his chair careering backward in the process. He had to get out of Branson’s office for a while, get out of town and see some wide open spaces. Grabbing his hat, he shoved it down on his head and strode out the door.

He crawled behind the wheel of his truck and started the engine. Without even thinking about it, he headed for the outskirts of Kelman and the highway that led toward the Burning Pear. Only he knew that this time it wasn’t his own ranch that was pulling him in that direction.

He was going to the Running Deer. But he had one stop to make first.

DANIELLE SCRUBBED the kitchen wall with a vengeance. Her fingernails were chipped, her hands chapped from strong cleansers, her hair falling from one of Milton’s bandannas that she’d used to bind her flyaway curls into a ponytail.

Stopping to rest, she sucked in a deep breath. The injuries she’d received in New Orleans were still taking their toll, but in spite of aching muscles, she felt better than she had since the assault. Physical labor was obviously good for the soul if not the muscles.

And once she’d gotten started, there was no place to stop. The sofa, recliner, mattress, pillows—in short, every place Milton might have hidden something of value—all had been gutted. The kitchen cabinets had been cleared with abandon, as if someone had just raked his hand across the shelves and sent the contents flying.

But there were still quite a few dishes that hadn’t been broken, as well as a nice supply of canned goods in the pantry. Ryder had made several trips back to the big house at Burning Pear to pick up cleaning supplies, and every time he returned, he’d been loaded with food items Mary thought she might need. On the last trip, he’d even turned up with a sleeping bag and a couple of quilts to ease the discomfort of sleeping on the floor.

She could stay there for a while if it came to that. Of course, there were still some legal details to settle. But Langley had said he would look into the records that had been filed with the courts. It was possible that Milton had put the ranch in her name before he died or that he had filed a will.

As soon as everything was legal, she’d sell the ranch. She couldn’t stay there. Even though she didn’t remember anything specific about her life, she did remember how to do certain things. But absolutely nothing came to mind when she looked at cattle. They were big, especially the bulls. Ryder had pointed out a couple on their way back to the ranch.

She wasn’t exactly sure what a rancher did with bulls, but whatever it was, she had no intention of tackling that chore. Not unless you could do it from the other side of the rows of prickly barbed wire.

Bending over, she dipped her cleaning rag back into the bucket of warm, sudsy water and wrung it nearly dry. One more section of wall and the kitchen would be finished. Two rooms down. It was a start.

She broke into a song, amazed that her uncooperative mind could locate lyrics when it couldn’t retrieve personal facts. And even more amazed that she felt like singing.

She belted one out. No use worrying about disturbing the neighbors. There weren’t any.

A round of appreciative applause sounded behind her and she jerked around, expecting to see Ryder. Instead, it was Langley who stepped through the door.

“Excuse me, Bonnie Raitt, but I was looking for a woman named Danielle Thibodeaux.”

“Bonnie Raitt. Now that rings a bell. A singer, right?”

“You got it.”

“Go figure.” She dropped her rag into the pail of gray water and wiped her hands on the legs of her jeans. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to decide you’re the best-looking cleaning woman I’ve ever come across.”

His compliment took her by surprise. But this time she didn’t blush or feel ill at ease. The truth was, she liked the way he was looking at her, as if she was an attractive woman and not some medical specimen in a science project.

“You’re efficient, too.” He glanced appreciatively around. “I can’t believe what you’ve done with the kitchen.”

“Ryder helped. Mostly, we just hauled out the trash, but we did enough scrubbing to earn a few blisters.”

“Where’s Ryder now?”

“He’s out back, hosing down the kitchen chairs. But he’s told me more than once that cleaning house is not fitting work for a previous World Rodeo Champion.”

“Oh, he did, did he? Did he also tell you he’s going bonkers sitting this year out while his knee heals? Apparently, life at the Burning Pear is not quite as exciting as life on the suicide circuit.”

She laughed, and the sound of it took her by surprise. It was a new experience. A nice one.

“Lacks excitement. I believe Ryder did mention that,” she said. “Something about a crying baby and bellowing calves, and a severe shortage of beautiful women.”

“That’s Ryder. Ride ’em and rope ’em, and love ’em and leave ’em. He’s made a career of all the above.”

Nice, easy talk, but sooner or later they had to get back to the business at hand. She decided on sooner. “So how did the second half of the meeting with Samuel go?”

“About like the first half. Apparently, he didn’t learn a lot about your past life during the six months you were together. He says you were given to sudden irrational mood swings and periods of depression. Other than that, you were Miss Wonderful.”

Twinges of apprehension dampened Danielle’s good spirits. She was sorry she’d asked about Samuel. It brought all her concerns to the forefront once more. Had she been in love with Samuel? Had she run out on him? Had he found her in New Orleans with another man and gone berserk?

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