The Heiress and the Sheriff (10 page)

“Has Lily decided to wear the engagement ring yet?”

Mary Ellen's lips pursed with disapproval. “I don't think so.” She waved one hand in a complacent gesture. “And I can understand the woman's reasoning, up to a certain point. But it would make Ryan so very happy. After all he's been through, you'd think she'd want to give the man that much.”

Gabrielle's brows lifted. “You don't like Lily?”

Mary Ellen looked properly stunned by the question. “Oh, of course I do. I guess it didn't sound that way, though, now did it?” Before Gabrielle could reply, Mary Ellen waved her hand again and went on, “I think Lily is perfect for Ryan. And she loves him. That's what really counts. I guess…well, I'm trying to say Ryan is more like a brother to me than a brother-in-law, and I don't like anyone putting extra worry on his shoulders.”

Gabrielle nodded. “I understand. And sometimes I worry that my being in the house is only adding to the problems
around here. I talked to Matthew last night about going home, but he advised me to forget it for now.”

“And so you should,” Mary Ellen agreed. “Two days ago you were bedridden with a headache and dizziness. You're not completely well yet, Gabrielle. And besides, you're not causing anyone around here problems.”

Only
him,
Wyatt thought, as he caught the last of the two women's conversation. Gabrielle was causing him all sorts of problems. But as of yet, none of them were criminal. They only felt that way.

His boot steps echoed on the tile, and both women turned their heads to see him entering the room. Mary Ellen instantly stood and, with a smile radiating on her face, crossed the floor to greet him.

“Wyatt!” Taking both his hands in hers, she raised on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “You look exhausted. When are you going to get some rest?”

He smiled down at her. “There is no rest for the wicked, Mary Ellen.”

Then you must never sleep,
Gabrielle wanted to say. Instead she watched Wyatt touch fingertips to the spot Mary Ellen had kissed. From the sheepish grin on his face, he obviously didn't always get such an affectionate greeting from the woman.

“What was that for?” he asked.

Mary Ellen laughed softly. “For all the time and hard work you put in on this family. Maybe one of these days everything will get quiet and back to normal around here, and you can have a nice, long rest.”

“After two days I wouldn't know what to do with myself,” he joked, then his expression grew serious. “I really don't care how many long hours I have to put in, Mary Ellen. I'd do it all over again and more to get little Bryan back.”

Mary Ellen sighed and patted his hand. “Yes. We all would.”

Wyatt glanced at Gabrielle, who'd left the couch to join them. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, and Mary Ellen's brows lifted as she glanced back and forth between Wyatt and Gabrielle. “You two going somewhere?”

“Wyatt is taking me out for supper. Or maybe it's to jail and I just don't know it yet,” Gabrielle joked with the other woman.

Mary Ellen laughed. “If Wyatt puts you in jail, I'll be the first one there to get you out.” She gave Wyatt a look of warning. “Take her somewhere special, Wyatt.”

A sly grin on his face, Wyatt reached for Gabrielle's arm. “I intend to, Mary Ellen.”

When they drove away from the ranch a few minutes later, the sun was still blazing on the western horizon. Gabrielle slid her sunglasses on her nose, then glanced at Wyatt as she explained, “I'm not really trying to hide behind these things. The bright light seems to aggravate my headaches, and Matthew said I should keep my eyes protected when I go out in daytime.”

“He's a good doctor. You should do what he says.”

He reached to turn the air conditioner to a colder setting, and Gabrielle welcomed the icy air on her face.

“Is it always this hot and humid here? When does it cool down?”

“We don't have much cool weather here. We're not all that far from the Gulf of Mexico, so it's almost always humid. In the dead of winter you might need a light coat.”

“I'm sure it must have been hot in Los Angeles, too,” she remarked. “I just don't remember it.”

“I doubt Los Angeles heat feels like Texas heat.” He glanced at her, amazed that she'd done so much to herself
while he'd been talking to Ryan. The figure-hugging jeans had been replaced with a clingy little dress that stopped just short of her knees. The white background was splashed with blue flowers, and the color was a bold contrast against her tanned skin. Other than a few wisps of bangs swept to one side of her forehead, her hair was bound in an elaborate braid. Her skin glowed fresh and dewy, and her lips and cheeks blushed with just a hint of rosy brown. He couldn't imagine a plate of food that could look any tastier than she did at this moment.

“What do you think you did back in Los Angeles?” he asked.

She shrugged, wondering who was asking—the sheriff in him, or the man. “I've been asking myself the same thing. If I had a house or apartment, I must have had a job of some sort. And I don't appear to be ignorant. Since I've been on the Double Crown, I've done quite a bit of reading, and I seem to be knowledgeable in a wide variety of subjects. It makes me wonder if I have a college education, or maybe was in the process of getting one. But nothing has gone through my mind to tell me if my wonderings are actually right or wrong.”

Sighing, she folded her hands in her lap, then glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Wyatt, have you thought of having someone search my apartment? There might be something in there that could tell us things. Like my bills or bank statement.”

His gaze remained on the highway as he contemplated her suggestion. “The idea has crossed my mind,” he admitted. “But what good would a bunch of facts do you? Sure, it would tell you where you banked, if you went to school or where you worked. And you would probably learn who your friends and family are. But what would those names mean, if you didn't remember them?”

She pressed her lips together and tried not to feel so lost and forsaken. “I suppose you're right. None of that would tell me who I really am inside. But at least I wouldn't be totally in the dark about my life.”

He turned his head and cast her a quizzical look. If she was willing to chance exposing herself, then she couldn't be hiding much. But then, maybe she already knew there was nothing in her apartment to give her plans away, and this was all just a ploy to gain his trust. Dear God, he wished he knew. “Do you really want to know that badly?”

“I'm not sure I can keep going on like this,” she said quietly. “My whole life is in limbo.”

“Have you been that miserable at the Double Crown?”

The thing that was causing her the real misery was him. But there was no way she could tell him such a thing. To do so would admit he was an important factor in her life. And she didn't have to be told to know that Wyatt Grayhawk didn't want to be an influence in
any
woman's life.

“No. But—”

“Then let it go for now, Gabrielle,” he interrupted roughly. “I figure it will all come back soon enough.”

And when it did, she would be out of his life. He was shocked at how barren the idea left him feeling.

 

Wyatt took her to an older part of town where a little café was tucked between a saddle shop and a tavern. Above the wooden screen door covering the entrance was a faded sign that read Jose's.

Inside, Gabrielle looked around her with charmed interest. The ceilings were low and the floor no more than bare board planks. Small round tables covered with white tablecloths were scattered throughout a main area and smaller connecting rooms. Succulents, many of which Gabrielle
didn't recognize, grew in large pots alongside the windows and anywhere else there was available space. Brightly striped serapés, battered sombreros, old bits, spurs and bridles all adorned the stucco walls.

A hostess quickly greeted them at the door and, after a quick exchange in Spanish with Wyatt, led them to a secluded room with one private table. After lighting a fat candle in the middle, she passed them each a folded menu, then left with a promise to quickly send a waitress for their orders.

“I didn't have any idea you spoke Spanish,” Gabrielle said as she opened the worn menu.

“When you live around a language all your life, you naturally pick it up. And in my line of work it's practically a necessity to be able to communicate.”

“What about the Cherokee language? Do you know any of it?”

His eyes remained on the menu. “No,” he said curtly. “My father could have cared less about his heritage.”

“That's a shame,” Gabrielle replied.

“Where Leonard Grayhawk was concerned, there was a lot to be shamed.”

She forgot the menu as she studied his face. “Was? Is your father dead?”

One of his shoulders lifted, then fell. “Who knows? He left this area years ago to go back to Oklahoma. I haven't heard from him since. And I don't want to.”

There was nothing but bitterness in his voice. Gabrielle decided it would be best to let the subject of his father alone for the time being. He'd been kind enough to ask her out for supper. She didn't want to ruin their evening by opening old wounds.

She turned her attention to the menu. It was written in Spanish, and she could only manage to translate a few
words here and there. “I'm afraid you're going to have to order for me, Wyatt. I don't know what any of these things are.”

Across the table, he gave her a wry smile. “Do you like your food hot?”

“How hot is ‘hot'?”

He chuckled. “You know what it feels like outside. Well, double or triple that temperature.”

“Oh, well, I definitely couldn't handle hot. Get me something mild.”

His smile turned sly. “So you're not feeling adventurous tonight?”

As her gaze lingered on the sharp angles of his face, she was suddenly swamped with broken images of his lips pressed to hers, the look in his eyes when he'd tossed her dress aside, the feel of his hands on her breasts and belly. That brief time with him seemed like weeks ago rather than days. Yet she remembered every second of it as though it had happened yesterday.

“Not
that
adventurous.”

He chuckled. “Then I'll try to find something that won't burn your tongue.”

She drew in a deep breath, then released it as she tried to push away the lingering erotic images of the two of them. “Do you come here often?”

He shook his head. “I would if I had more time. It's my favorite place to eat. But this past year has been too busy. Usually I throw something into the microwave and call that supper.”

“I think when I finally do leave the ranch, I'm going to be very spoiled from Rosita's cooking.”

“Living on the Double Crown would spoil most anybody,” he said.

She sighed. “Having someone waiting on me or doing
my housecleaning isn't important to me. I don't believe I came from that sort of life.”

“Why do you think that?” he asked, his eyes narrowed keenly on her face.

“Because it doesn't feel natural for someone else to be making my bed or cooking my meals. I feel as though I should be doing it myself.”

“Maybe that's subconscious guilt.”

Her eyes filled with shadows as they lifted and met his.

“Did you have to say that?”

For once Wyatt wished he hadn't. He didn't want to keep thinking of her as a potential criminal. Yet if he didn't, he might find himself in the bottom of a deep pit before he ever realized he'd fallen.

“It's second nature to me, Gabrielle. It's my job to be suspicious.”

“Especially of women,” she said with disgust.

He opened his mouth to warn her that she was treading on dangerous ground, but the sudden arrival of a waitress forced him to turn his attention to ordering.

Once the young woman disappeared from the cozy little room, Wyatt leveled his gaze back on Gabrielle. “Now, you were saying something about me and women…”

There was something in his voice that taunted her to speak her mind even though she knew it was bound to rile him. “What can I say—other than the fact that you don't trust females? You put them in the same category as a toothache or a honey locust thorn in your foot. Why?”

He tapped his fingertips atop the table in a slow, menacing rhythm. “You don't want to know why.”

“That's where you're wrong, Wyatt. I've never known a man like you. I want to know why you are like you are.”

His brows pulled together. His eyes narrowed even more.
“How do you know you've never known a man like me? You say you have amnesia.”

“Damn it, Wyatt! You're changing the subject. I do have amnesia, but I think the memory of a man like you would be…impossible to forget. Anyway, we were talking about you.”

He glanced around at the open doorway as though he expected to see the waitress returning at any second.

“What's the matter?” she asked. “Are the women you've been connected with a secret?

He glowered at her. “Do you think if you'd had your heart broken and stepped on by a man, you would want to talk about it?”

His words stunned her, and she stared at him for what felt like a long time. “Am I supposed to believe you've had your heart broken?”

“Why does that seem impossible? Because you think I don't have one?” Disgust twisted his face. “Maybe I don't have one. At least not a whole one.”

“Why?”

He muttered a curse under his breath, then looked up just as the waitress appeared with their drinks of iced water and coffee.

Gabrielle waited until the woman had served them and left the room before she repeated, “Why is your heart not whole?”

His eyes bore into hers. “Because I believed a woman. First in high school. I fell in love with a girl my age. I wanted to marry her, have a family with her. And she swore she would always love me. But her affluent parents would have no part of their daughter marrying a half-breed.”