The Heiress and the Sheriff (3 page)

For some reason Matthew's words spread a dull flush over Wyatt's dark face. The idea of Gabrielle Carter being pristine and untouched had never occurred to him.

“That doesn't make her innocent in other ways.”

The young doctor sighed as he pinned Wyatt with a regretful look. “You'll never trust women, will you?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

Matthew threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“All right, Wyatt, so what if you find out Miss Carter was up to no good when she headed out to the ranch? What are you going to do—arrest her on suspicion?”

Gabrielle's pale, haunted face crept into Wyatt's mind, but he pushed it out. If he wasn't careful, that lost, vulnerable look in her pretty eyes would lead him right down a path to ruination.

“I don't know,” Wyatt answered. “I'll have to see what tomorrow brings.”

 

Gabrielle could leave the hospital. The doctor had given her the release a few minutes ago. But what was she supposed to do? The only things she possessed were her jeans, top and a pair of clunky sandals. She had no money or car. No home to call for help. At least, if she did, she couldn't remember who her family was, or where they were.

At the moment Gabrielle could only think of two options. Walk until she found a shelter. Or throw herself on the mercy of the Department of Human Services. Neither choice held any appeal. But she had to have some sort of shelter until her memory returned, or until she could find a job and care for herself.

There was a telephone beside the head of the bed. She supposed she could use it for local calls. But there was no directory that she could find. And besides, she had no one to call.

You could call Sheriff Wyatt Grayhawk.

She cringed at the sound of the little voice inside her head. The man had promised he'd be back, but it was nearly noon and she hadn't seen him yet. It was pretty obvious he'd decided she wasn't worth bothering about. Besides, she'd rather ask a stranger on the street for help than ask that man.

“Gabrielle! Great—you're up and all ready to go!”

At the young woman's voice, Gabrielle swung around from her spot at the window. Maggie Fortune stepped into the room.

Relief flooded through Gabrielle. “I'm so glad you came! The doctor has released me and I need a ride to some sort of shelter. Would you mind dropping me off?”

The dark-haired young woman walked over to Gabrielle.
“I would mind very much. I wouldn't think of allowing you to go to a shelter.”

Gabrielle's brow puckered with confusion as she looked at the other woman. Maggie Fortune was casually dressed in white slacks and a red blouse, but Gabrielle could see her clothes were expensive, as was her wedding ring and the rest of her jewelry. She was obviously well-to-do. Surely she wasn't going to suggest that Gabrielle go with her!

“I have to do something, Ms. Fortune, until I get my memory back. And so far it's no better than it was yesterday.”

“Call me Maggie. Does your head feel any better?”

Gabrielle nodded. “It still aches, but the throbbing isn't fierce like it was yesterday. The doctor read my brain scan this morning, and he says there is no serious injury.”

“But what about your memory? Can't he do something about that?”

Gabrielle grimaced. “He believes it will gradually come back to me on its own after my brain gets over the shock of the accident. That's why, for now, I've got to find a place to stay.”

“Of course you do. That's why you're coming out to the Double Crown Ranch with me.” Gabrielle opened her mouth to protest but Maggie was waving her hand before she could utter one word. “Don't argue, Gabrielle. I've already talked it over with my husband and father-in-law. They and the rest of the family want you to come. We all feel guilty about putting you in this awful situation.”

Feeling suddenly weak, Gabrielle walked over to the bed and sank down on its edge. “I—don't know what to say. From what you said, the whole thing was an accident. I certainly don't hold you or your family accountable.”

Maggie smiled gently at her. “I told them all that you
would feel this way. And I also assured them I wouldn't come home without you.”

“But…I'm sure I'll be able to stay a few days at a shelter. And by then I'll probably remember everything and be able to go home. If not, I can surely find a job somewhere.”

Maggie shook her head. “You can't work in your condition. You need time to recuperate.” She walked over to Gabrielle and gently squeezed her shoulder. “I promise—my family is nice. And the ranch house is so big you won't possibly be in the way. Now get your things and let's go.”

Gabrielle suddenly chuckled and held up her empty palms. “I don't have any things. Whatever I had with me must have burned in the car.”

“Oh, my goodness! I wasn't thinking. You poor thing, you don't even have a toothbrush. Well, never mind, we'll go shopping for whatever you need.”

“Oh no! I—” Gabrielle's words halted as a knock sounded on the door.

Both women turned to see Sheriff Grayhawk entering the hospital room. Today he was dressed more like a lawman. A revolver in a hand-tooled, leather holster was strapped low on his waist. His shirt was khaki with a sheriff's department emblem on the sleeve. On the pocket over his heart was a shiny round badge with a star in the center.

Gabrielle had thought he looked tough yesterday. Today, he was formidable.

“Hello, Wyatt,” Maggie greeted him.

Not bothering to remove his black Stetson, he nodded at the woman, then planted a direct stare on Gabrielle. “I see you're dressed. Are you leaving the hospital?”

Her heart pounding madly, she nodded at him.

Maggie spoke up, “Gabrielle has been released by the doctor, so I'm taking her out to the ranch.”

“Is that what you want to do?” he asked Gabrielle.

She opened her mouth to speak, but once again Maggie beat her to it. “She wanted me to take her to a shelter. But I wouldn't hear of it.”

The sheriff's eyes narrowed on Gabrielle's newfound friend. “Does the rest of your family know of your intentions to take Gabrielle out to the Double Crown?”

He made it sound as though she were a leper who should be banished to a dark cave somewhere, Gabrielle thought.

Maggie frowned at him. “We discussed it last night. Ryan and Dallas insist on it. They think it's the least we can do to help Gabrielle. And so do I.”

“I see,” he said.

Did he? Gabrielle wondered, then choked back a sigh as he glanced at her, then back to Maggie.

“I want to talk with you alone for minute,” he told Maggie.

She excused herself, and Wyatt ushered her out of the room.

Gabrielle remained on the bed, staring at the door he'd carefully closed behind him. She had no idea what, if anything, he'd discovered in her car. But two things were becoming very clear to her: he still mistrusted her, and he did not want her going to the Double Crown Ranch.

But why? she asked herself. What was going on out there that could possibly involve her?

Neither Wyatt nor Maggie appeared too happy when they returned to the room, and Gabrielle felt even worse than she had before the Fortune woman had shown up to help her.

“Look, Maggie, I don't want to cause any problems for you. I'm sure Sheriff Grayhawk agrees that I should stay at a shelter and—”

“Don't worry about Wyatt,” she said to Gabrielle. “He understands the situation. In fact, he's going to drive you
out to the ranch himself while I go do some shopping. So I'll see you in a little while.”

Maggie quickly left the room, and Gabrielle's eyes flew to the sheriff's face. His dark, chiseled features were stoic, giving her no clue as to what was going on behind his intense eyes.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

She slipped from the bed, but was instantly swamped with dizziness. Her hand instinctively shot out for something to steady her and landed smack in the middle of Wyatt's chest. She jerked back as if she'd touched fire.

Wyatt instantly grabbed her by the shoulder. “What's wrong? Are you going to faint?” he asked roughly.

She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for the spinning in her head to stop. It would be bad enough to faint. But to helplessly wilt in front of this man would be totally humiliating. “No. I'm a little dizzy. Just give me a moment.”

“This is a hell of a way to be leaving the hospital,” he muttered. “You can't even walk down the hallway. Who is the idiot doctor that signed your release papers? I'm going to go find him—”

“I'm all right!” Her eyes flew open and she straightened away from him with a weak jerk. “There's no need for you to get so angry.”

Her words brought him up short. He wasn't angry, but he supposed he probably appeared that way to her. Well, that was okay with him. It wouldn't do to let her think he was actually concerned about her. She needed to know he was a hard man, who wouldn't blink an eye about cuffing her hands behind her back—if she turned out to be a criminal.

“S
tay here. I'll get a wheelchair,” he ordered.

Moments later Wyatt was back, and Gabrielle had no choice but to allow him to push her to the elevator, then out to the sidewalk to his waiting truck.

As they traveled away from the hospital, Gabrielle focused her attention on the passing buildings and streets, hoping something might spark her memory. But after several blocks whizzed by, her spirits sank to her feet. Nothing about the city looked familiar.

As though he were reading her thoughts, he asked, “Recognize anything?”

“No. But I have a feeling I don't recognize this place because I'm not from around here.”

His expression remained unmoved as he negotiated the pickup truck through heavy traffic. “I could have told you that yesterday.”

She thrust a heavy wave of hair back from her face before fixing him with a stare. “How?”

“You hardly sound Texan. Californian, I'd wager. You have that West Coast look about you, too. Tanned skin, sun-streaked hair.”

“I'm sure there are tanned women with streaked hair around here,” she pointed out.

“Yeah. But you're different. And I think you know it.”

She was different because she had amnesia! she wanted
to yell at him. Instead, she asked, “What did you find in my car?”

The pickup was a four-wheel-drive vehicle with a shift stick in the floor. She watched the corded muscle in his arm work as he shoved the stick into a lower gear. She instinctively knew he was a strong man. She could still feel the grip of his fingers on her shoulder when he'd steadied her in the hospital room.

“It's in that sack beside you. That was all I could find. I'd say the only reason it didn't burn was because it was sheltered by the metal glove compartment. Also I managed to find the VIN number on your car,” he said. “It's being run through a computer.”

“What will that tell you?”

“Where the vehicle came from. Who owned it.”

A pent-up breath whooshed out of her. “Then you might find out who I am.”

His lips twisted as he glanced at her. “You said you're Gabrielle Carter. Is that not true?”

He saw her fingers grip the paper, saw her gaze at the clump on her lap as though it was the only thing she possessed in her life. And maybe it was, he thought. The notion bothered Wyatt. Way too much.

“I
am
Gabrielle Carter,” she said resolutely. “But who is she?”

He motioned toward the sack. “Maybe that will give you your answer.”

Slowly, she unrolled the top of the brown paper bag and peeked inside. “A book?”

“More than just a book.”

Gabrielle carefully lifted the article out of the sack. The leather cover was charred around the edges and streaked with smoke, but the words on the front were still visible: Holy Bible. What had she been doing traveling with a Bi
ble? she wondered. Was she a religious zealot? She didn't feel like one. Then again, she was obviously spiritual. Several times in the past two days she had found herself silently praying. Perhaps the book was a family heirloom that she hadn't wanted to part with.

Trying to ignore Wyatt's watchful eye, she quickly opened to the front pages of the book where a family tree would normally be registered. Her heart sank when she saw the entry lines were empty.

She rubbed her fingers back and forth across her forehead. “What do you think I was doing with a Bible?”

“Who knows? Maybe you came here to do missionary work.” His gaze cut a skeptical path from her neck all the way down to her feet. “But in that getup, I very much doubt it.”

Her face flaming from his blatant inspection, she looked down at herself. Even though her black ribbed top had a scooped neck and no sleeves, there was nothing indecent about it. Nor about her jeans. The sandals were a little funky and the heels a bit high, but from what she'd briefly seen on a few women in the hospital lobby, they were in style.

“You have a certain image of a missionary woman?”

The faint smile on his face was more smirk than anything. Gabrielle wished she had the strength and the nerve to reach across the seat and slap his jaw—lawman or not.

“Yeah. And it sure doesn't fit you.”

She breathed deeply and tried to stem her rising temper.

“Why don't you want me to go to the Double Crown Ranch?”

“Are my feelings that obvious to you?”

“Very.”

They were finally leaving the city behind. Wyatt reached to shove the gearshift into overdrive, and, once again,
Gabrielle watched the rhythmic movements of his body. For the first time she noticed there were no rings on his fingers. A watch with a silver band encrusted with squares of green malachite circled his left wrist, but other than the distinctly Native American piece, he wore no jewelry. She was not surprised at the absence of a wedding band. There was nothing about the man that said he belonged to a woman. Or ever would.

“The Fortunes are my good friends,” he told her. “I don't want them to be taken advantage of.”

His words stung her hard. Why, she didn't know. What this arrogant sheriff thought of her shouldn't matter one iota. But it did. “Do I look like an ax murderer or something?”

“Or something.”

She wanted to scream at his short, noncommittal answers. “What does that mean?”

“The Fortunes have had their share of troubles lately. I don't want your presence adding to them.”

Still gripping the Bible, she squared around in the seat to look at him. “What sort of troubles?”

“I'll let them tell you.”

She sighed and turned her gaze back to the passing landscape. They were in the countryside now. The land was gentle and rolling with thick green pastures shaded by large hardwood trees. Cattle and horses could be seen on either side of the highway. Cowboy country. Sheriff Wyatt Grayhawk certainly looked like one.

“You're not a man of many words, are you?”

He glanced at her, and Gabrielle was instantly bowled over by the grin on his face. His teeth were a startling white against his dark skin, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with faint amusement. She couldn't imagine how potent he would look if he were to really smile.

“Sometimes it takes more than words to get your point across,” he said.

Well, he'd certainly been getting his point across to her loud and clear. In his opinion she belonged in a police lineup rather than as a guest at the Double Crown Ranch.

Sighing, she put the Bible back in the paper sack. “So this is it? This is the sum of what I have in the world.”

“It was a miracle the Bible survived the heat. Count yourself lucky you were conscious enough to have gotten out when you did.”

She'd been so busy concentrating on her memory that she hadn't thought much about the accident. Wyatt's suggestion reminded her just how blessed she'd been to survive the fiery crash.

“I do. And I will remember…everything. Eventually. The doctor said I would. And when I do I'm going to take great pleasure in telling you so.”

His brows lifted skeptically. “Telling me what, Miss Carter?”

She drew in a deep breath, then heaved it out. “That I—I'm not a criminal!”

He shrugged. “I never said you were.”

The drawled words had her teeth grinding together. “You didn't have to. I could read it all over your face.”

Beneath the brim of his hat, she could see his dark brows arch ever so slightly.

“I'd be careful if I were you, Miss Carter. You might just read me wrong.”

Her gaze was drawn downward to the chiseled lines of his lips and she wondered how many women had looked at this man and wanted him. Plenty, no doubt. His long lean body and hard-edged features oozed with sensuality. But Gabrielle knew a sexual romp was all any woman would get from this man.

“What does that mean?”

He flipped on the turn signal, then glanced at her with narrowed eyes. “It means you'd better not try to second-guess me.”

“You're infuriating!”

His smile was menacing. “I've been called much worse things. And most of them by women. Your words can't hurt me, Miss Carter.”

She suddenly felt sick and cold inside, and it had nothing to do with the ache in her head or the freezing air blowing from the vents on the dashboard. It wasn't right for any human to be as hard as Wyatt Grayhawk. Surely beneath the badge pinned to his breast was a beating heart. There had to be something or someone in this world he cared about. But so far she could see no sign of compassion in the man.

“No. I'm sure they don't,” she murmured as she deliberately turned her gaze away from him and fixed it on the narrow country lane they were now traveling. “A person has to
feel
to be able to hurt. And I can see you're not capable of either.”

She felt, more than saw, him look at her. But he said nothing. After a moment she felt something inside her wilt like a thirsty flower. Whatever happened in the future, she knew she would never forget this man. His dark stern looks, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand had all burned themselves into her wounded memory.

Less than five minutes later Wyatt parked the truck outside a large house surrounded by a wall built of sandstone. Except for a few shade trees, the structure sat on flat, open land. In the distance, she could see a large barn of weathered wood and another long building that appeared to be horse stables. Nearby were several working pens and numerous outbuildings.

Since she had no memory, she had no way of knowing if she'd ever been on a ranch before. But in any case, she could see this place was a grand-scale operation.

“Is this the Double Crown Ranch?” she asked, as Wyatt helped her down from the cab of the pickup.

A southwest wind was blowing, wet and hot. It tugged at her hair and fluttered the leaves of a nearby cottonwood. She pushed the pestering strands from her face, then glanced at him as she waited for an answer. As usual, she found his hazel eyes watching her, weighing her reactions.

“Yes. This is the Double Crown Ranch. It's the Fortune family homestead.”

From what she could see of the house, it was a huge structure with sand-colored adobe walls. Several stone chimneys jutted above the flat tiled roof. In this heat she couldn't imagine needing fireplaces, but maybe Texas didn't always feel like a sauna.

They passed through a wrought-iron gate fastened beneath an arched entryway connecting the sandstone walls. As they walked along a curving stone walkway, she was immediately struck by the lush plants growing all around them. Roses as big as saucers hung from thick green bushes, while clematis and honeysuckle vines draped the heavy beams that thrust from the eaves of the roof.

Gabrielle hadn't thought she was nervous about coming to this ranch, but as she and Wyatt crossed a covered entryway and approached a large, antique wooden door, she realized her mouth was dry and her pulse was racing.

Nothing about this beautiful place seemed familiar, but for some odd reason, she felt a connection to it. As though she were supposed to be here, but didn't know why.

“Maybe someone here will recognize me.” She spoke the thought out loud.

Wyatt punched the doorbell. “I wouldn't hold my breath.”

“You don't say very much, and when you do it's always pessimistic. Are you always this way? Or am I the only one who sees this side of you?” she asked.

“I'm not pessimistic, Miss Carter. I'm realistic.”

Her lips pressed together. “You know, I don't think it would hurt anything if you called me Gabrielle. ‘Miss Carter' makes me sound like a dowager.”

“I only call my friends by their first name. And I don't know you at all.”

Gabrielle felt as if he'd actually struck her across her face. She was alone and lost. Any sort of warmth from him would have been welcome, but it was very obvious he didn't care about her feelings. To him, she was nothing but an unfinished job.

She quickly looked away from him and tried to swallow the hurt. The pain was oddly familiar, as though she were used to rejection. By her family? she wondered. Or a sweetheart? Or maybe, God forbid, she didn't have anybody. No parents or siblings. No boyfriend or lover.

“No. I don't guess you could know me. I don't even know myself,” she said quietly.

He was being a bastard. Even he knew it. But something about this young woman was different. She made him itch in all the wrong places, and he couldn't afford to let himself get friendly with her.

Still, the crushed look on her face left him feeling like he'd been kicked in the gut. He didn't want to hurt her. He just didn't want her getting close.

“Look, Miss Carter, I—”

The massive door suddenly swung open and a short middle-aged Mexican woman peered across the threshold at the two of them.

“Good afternoon, Wyatt. I see you've brought our new guest.”

“Hello, Rosita. This is Gabrielle Carter. She's just been released from the hospital. Maggie assured me you'd be expecting her.”

Except for one white streak at her temple, the plump woman had very dark hair that was pulled to the back of her head in a heavy bun. She had what looked to be a maid's uniform on; so Gabrielle assumed she must be a housekeeper of some kind. She stepped up to Gabrielle and studied her with keen but kind eyes. “Yes. We're expecting Ms. Carter,” she said to Wyatt, while continuing to regard her new houseguest. To Gabrielle she said, “I'm Rosita Perez. My daughter Maggie tells me you've lost any possessions you may have had, that everything was burned in the car. I'm very sorry to hear it.”

Gabrielle nodded down at the paper sack she was clutching in one hand. “All Sheriff Grayhawk found was my Bible. I think I'm just lucky to be alive.”

“I think you are lucky, too,” she said, then glanced at Wyatt. “I'll show Gabrielle to her room. Did you want to see Ryan?”