The Heiress and the Sheriff

About the Author

STELLA BAGWELL

sold her first book to Silhouette in November 1985. More than fifty novels later, she still loves her job and says she isn't completely content unless she's writing. Recently, she and her husband of thirty years moved from the hills of Oklahoma to Seadrift, Texas, a sleepy little fishing town located on the coastal bend. Stella says the water, the tropical climate and the seabirds make it a lovely place to let her imagination soar and to put the stories in her head down on paper.

She and her husband have one son, Jason, who lives and teaches high school math in nearby Port Lavaca.

Meet the Fortunes of Texas

Wyatt Grayhawk:
The rugged sheriff didn't trust strangers, especially the young lady who claimed to have no memory and found a haven on the Fortune ranch. But would Wyatt's mission to uncover Gabrielle's past be sidetracked by the allure of the mysterious beauty?

Gabrielle Carter:
She didn't know who she was or why she had come to Texas. Although she knew she shouldn't fall for a man who doubted her intentions, she couldn't deny the longings of her heart.

Clint Lockhart:
He had a lifelong obsession for revenge on the Fortunes and he'd do whatever it took to get a piece of their family empire.

Hannah Cassidy:
When Ryan Fortune proposed to Hannah's mother, Lily, this daughter-of-the-bride decided to plan the perfect Texas wedding. Little did Hannah know that she would soon be meeting the groom of her dreams….

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

G
abrielle Carter gripped the steering wheel, certain the next bend in the road would bring her in view of the Double Crown Ranch. But the curve only opened up to more gentle rolling pastures shaded with huge oaks and dotted with fat, sleek cattle.

She'd never been to Texas. The massive size of the state had surprised her—along with the heat. When she'd stopped earlier in San Antonio for gas, the humidity had been oppressive. Her blouse was still glued to her back, and she didn't have to look in a mirror to know her hair was hanging in limp strands on her shoulders.

She probably should have stayed in San Antonio long enough to rent a room and freshen up before she presented herself at the Fortune family ranch. But she'd already been traveling for nearly four days. Now that her destination was so close she was determined to drive on.

Sweat slicked her palms and her mouth was so dry she could hardly swallow, but Gabrielle knew neither condition was caused by the heat outside the closed windows of her car. She was nervous. Desperately nervous. And as the rental car traveled deeper into the countryside, her mother's words of warning continued to roll through her mind.

I forbid you to go there, Gabrielle! Those people—that family—they're not what you think. They're nothing to you! You're only going to get yourself into a lot of trouble. And when you do, don't expect me to come after you!

Gabrielle's sigh was drowned out by the twangs of country music on the radio. Maybe the Fortunes were nothing to her, she mused. After all, she was a total stranger who lived more than a thousand miles away. Showing up on their doorstep unannounced was probably going to look strange.

Peculiar-looking or not, though, she had to take that chance. Gabrielle tried to swallow the growing lump in her throat.

The road made another slight bend around a group of ancient oaks, and her heart suddenly raced with anticipation. In the far distance she could see a group of buildings. It had to be the Double Crown Ranch. At last! Eagerly she leaned forward and pressed harder on the accelerator. Who was she finally going to meet? What would she say—?

The questions in her head roared to an abrupt halt. A black horse suddenly galloped out of the trees. It wore a saddle, but there was no rider to guide its crazy trek.

Oh, Lord, it was headed straight at her car!

A scream ripped from her throat. She stomped the brake pedal and jerked the steering wheel. Instantly the car spun into a wild skid, and broken images whirled in her vision. The black horse, the green grass and trees, the blue sky all blurred together like an abstract painting.

Frantically she twisted the wheel, any second expecting to hear the sickening
thud
of metal against animal flesh. Miraculously, the car managed to miss the startled horse. But Gabrielle could see the massive tree coming straight at her, and too late she remembered she'd not buckled her seat belt. The impact came before she had time to brace herself. She felt her whole body being pitched forward, and then something hard slammed against her forehead.

Seconds, or minutes, could have passed before Gabrielle returned to consciousness. Hot dusty carpet was pressed
against her face. Her legs were twisted awkwardly beneath the steering wheel. Pain hammered behind her eyes and burned like a torch at the back of her skull.

With great effort she pushed herself upright until she was half sitting, half kneeling in the seat. Lifting a hand to her forehead, she tried to focus on her surroundings, but her vision was so blurry she could hardly make out her own fingers.

She'd hit her head. But how? she wondered. Where was she? The pain in her head was so great she could hardly think.

All at once her fuzzy brain managed to register the sickening smell of gasoline. It was all around her, robbing her breath in the tightly closed car.

It took Gabrielle three attempts to get the door open. Once it finally swung wide, she practically fell into the hot, humid air. Outside, she leaned for long moments against the crumpled fender while everything swam around her like an out-of-control carnival ride.

Even outside the vehicle the smell of gasoline was heavy. She had to get away from the foul stench. She had to find someone—anyone—to help her.

Grass, thick and deep, tangled around her ankles as she stumbled away from the car. With each step, her shaky legs threatened to give way, but she forced herself to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

By the time she reached a narrow dirt road, her vision had cleared somewhat, but the pain in her head was still just as fierce. She touched the pads of her fingers against her forehead and felt something wet and gooey. Blood? Had she been in a car wreck? Oh, God, someone help me, she prayed.

“Are you all right?”

The faint sound of a female voice penetrated Gabrielle's
terror, and she turned toward the sound. A petite, dark-haired woman was running toward her. She was panting heavily, and her dark eyes were glazed with fear.

“Who—are you? What happened to me?”

The woman stepped forward and took Gabrielle by the arm. “I'm Maggie Perez Fortune. Here, let me help you get to some shade. My horse bolted away from me and ran right in front of your car. You swerved to miss him and then your car went out of control.”

“My car?” she repeated vaguely.

Maggie Fortune motioned behind them. Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a car burst into giant flames.

“Oh, no!” she gasped.

“Oh, God!” Maggie cried. “I've got to call for help!”

The woman helped Gabrielle to the closest tree, where she sank to the ground and leaned weakly against the trunk. She watched the dark-haired woman punch numbers on a cell phone. Where was this place? Gabrielle wondered. She felt so lost, so totally blank.

Though her vision had cleared somewhat, everything was still blurred at the edges. She was obviously out in the countryside somewhere. The grass was green and long—a meadow. And the air was heavy and hot. Very hot.

She glanced back at the burning car. It was totally engulfed in fire now, the flames licking high enough to scorch the overhanging branches of the tree she'd crashed into.

Where had she been going? Where had she come from?

The questions made her head ache even worse, and she dropped her face in her hands and tried to calm the fear that was threatening to consume her.

Her name was Gabrielle Carter. She knew that much. Surely the rest would come to her when the pounding in her head stopped.

She didn't know if she dozed or fainted, but some time later, the sound of Maggie's voice roused her.

“Help should be here very soon.” Kneeling down beside her, the woman pulled a white handkerchief from her jeans pocket and dabbed away the blood on Gabrielle's forehead.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I don't think so. My head hurts so badly I can't think. Where am I?”

The woman's lovely features, which looked to be part Mexican, crumpled into a frown. “You mean, you don't know?”

Gabrielle shook her head. “I'm sorry. I—don't. I have no idea where I am or where I've come from.”

“You're on the Double Crown Ranch, in Texas. You don't remember driving out here?”

She didn't remember anything! The state of Texas meant nothing to her. Her mind was black, and she was terrified.

“No! Oh, God, what am I going to do?”

The woman gently took her hand and squeezed it.

“Please don't worry. It will all come back to you, I'm sure.”

She had barely spoken the words when the sound of a siren wailed in the distance. Gabrielle watched with hopeless despair as a fire engine pulled to a stop near the burning car. Two firemen quickly spilled out of the cab, and in a matter of seconds they were dousing the flames with a high-pressure hose hooked up to a water tank.

“Here comes the sheriff,” Maggie said, sounding relieved.

Gabrielle looked away from her charred car to see a pickup—sheriff's emblem emblazoned on the side door—roaring up the road. The vehicle pulled to a jarring stop a few yards from where she and Maggie stood in the shade.

A man wearing blue jeans, a white shirt and a black
cowboy hat stepped down from the truck and approached them with long, purposeful strides. He was tall, with long muscular legs that strained against his jeans. His white shirt covered a broad expanse of strong shoulders, and his torso narrowed down to a flat waist and lean hips. Beneath the wide brim of his hat, his features were sharp and angular with high cheekbones and very dark skin. What little Gabrielle could see of his hair was black and cropped close to his head. She thought he looked Native American or Mexican—she wasn't sure which. But she was certain of one thing. She'd never seen a more striking man. No woman could forget a man who looked like this Texas sheriff.

Without smiling, he nodded briefly at Maggie as though he knew her, then turned his attention immediately to Gabrielle. “I'm Sheriff Wyatt Grayhawk,” he informed her. “Can you tell me what happened?”

She felt, more than saw, his hazel-green eyes shrewdly sizing her up, and for an instant a flash of resentment joined the throbbing in her head. Couldn't he see she was hurt? Wasn't her physical well-being more important than the details of the accident?

“No. I didn't know what had happened until Ms. Fortune came along and told me.”

He looked at the other woman. “You saw the accident?”

“I'm afraid I was the cause of it, Wyatt. I'd been riding down by the creek and had gotten off to rest and water my horse. I didn't see the snake until it struck at him. He jerked away from me and ran off in a mad gallop across the field, and right in front of Gabrielle's car. When she swerved to miss it, the car went into a spin and crashed into a tree. By the time I finally made it up here, she'd gotten out of the car and was wandering down the road.”

The sheriff looked back at her, and Gabrielle felt the hair
on the back of her neck rise as though a thunderstorm was mixing in the air.

“Your name is Gabrielle?”

His voice was low, rough and timbered with a Texas drawl. She resisted the urge to shiver. “Gabrielle Carter.”

“Where are you from, Gabrielle?”

She swallowed as another wave of helpless fear swamped her. “I don't know.”

His eyes, which seemed unusually light for such dark skin, narrowed with suspicion. “What do you mean, you don't know? Surely you know where you live?”

“I don't know,” she repeated.

Maggie Fortune said, “Wyatt, I think Gabrielle has hurt her head.”

He stepped closer, and Gabrielle had to force herself to stand her ground and endure a closer scrutiny of his unnerving gaze.

“Yes, that's quite a cut you've got there. Let me grab my first aid kit.” He sprinted back to his truck and came back with the kit. “I'm no doctor, but I do know a little something about cuts and scrapes. Here's some gauze with some antiseptic. It'll do for now, but I definitely think you'll have to go to the hospital.”

Maggie was grateful for his help, more grateful for the distraction from his rapid-fire questions. How come he kept looking at her like he didn't believe she truly couldn't remember anything? Why would she lie?

“So, Gabrielle, do you have any identification on you?”

Identification!
She glanced down at her somewhat faded jeans, then quickly jammed her hands in all the pockets, searching for any scrap of paper. There was nothing. No coins or tissues or lipstick. Nothing.

She lifted shocked eyes back to his face. “No. I suppose my purse was in the car. Oh, and now it's burnt!”

The young woman appeared to be genuinely distraught, Wyatt thought. But anyone would be after the jolt she must have taken when her car slammed into the oak. She was not a Texan. At first glance her appearance had told him that much; her voice had proved it. There was no wedding band, no rings of any sort on her fingers. In fact, the only jewelry she was wearing were slender gold hoops in her ears.

“Maggie, were the Fortunes expecting any visitors from out of state?” he asked.

The other woman shook her head at his question. “Not that I'm aware of. But then, people are always dropping in unannounced. You know that, Wyatt.”

He looked back at Gabrielle Carter. He'd been friends with the Fortune family for years, and he'd never heard the name Carter mentioned. And if he'd ever seen Gabrielle, he would have remembered. She was not a woman any man would likely forget. He was struck by her beauty, even in this disheveled state.

Her long brown hair was naturally streaked with gold from the sun. The silky strands waved about her shoulders and framed an oval face that was dominated by huge hazel-green eyes fringed with thick dark lashes. Full pink lips quivered as she glanced from him to the smoldering car. Her skin—and he could see plenty of it with the skimpy top she was wearing—was smooth and tanned to a deep golden brown. He tried not to think about the luscious curves beneath the jeans and ribbed knit blouse.

“Well, I think right now, Miss Carter, you'd better let me drive you to the hospital. We'll deal with your identity later.”

Gabrielle stared wildly at him, then turned a helpless look on the Fortune woman. “I'm not sure I want to go to
the hospital with him! I don't know where I am! I don't have any money—”

Wyatt held up a hand to halt her protest, while beside her the woman said gently, “Please let him take you. In my panic, I didn't even think to call an ambulance. And don't worry about the hospital bill, Gabrielle. The ranch's insurance will certainly cover it. Especially with me being the cause of the accident. I really feel just awful.”

“You don't have any choice in the matter, Miss Carter,” Wyatt Grayhawk informed her none too gently. “As sheriff, I'm required to see you get medical attention. It's the law.”