by Judy Duarte
“I shouldn’t force you to remember things.”
“I think I’m ready now. I keep getting some fleeting thoughts about that evening. I just want you to help me connect them. Did we end up on good terms?”
“To be completely honest, I’m not sure.”
He wiped a hand over his face. Something must have gone wrong, but Alana wasn’t being much help. Betty Sue said he’d asked for directions to the Lazy M. So he’d obviously been on his way to see her. But four months later? That didn’t make sense, even in his fuzzy state.
“Why did I come looking for you?” he asked.
“I really don’t know.” She inched away.
“You must have an idea. Why would I show up after four months? You know more than you’re telling me, don’t you?”
She took a half step back. “I’m just following doctor’s orders. Remember? It’s best if we let your memory return naturally. I don’t want to force it.”
Okay, then. Maybe he’d do the forcing. See if his gut feeling was true.
He moved forward, backing her against the counter, his eyes locked on hers. He lifted his hand to cup her jaw. His thumb brushed her cheek, stroking it. Caressing it.
Her lips parted, and he could see it in her eyes.
Dear Reader,
A year ago, my husband and I traveled to Bigfork, Montana, and I fell in love with the area. I’d barely stepped off the plane at the Kalispell Airport when I realized I’d just found the setting for my newest series, Rancho Esperanza. In the fictitious town of Fairborn, with its quaint shops located along tree-lined streets, you’ll meet an array of colorful and memorable characters.
If you read the first book, A Secret Between Us, which came out last month, you might recall that Alana is trying to make a go of Rancho Esperanza, her inherited ranch. She’s also dealing with the news that she’s pregnant, thanks to a romantic night with a handsome stranger in Colorado. Her only regret is leaving without learning her lover’s name. Nearly four months later, the same man stumbles onto her property, battered and bruised. Unfortunately, Clay Hastings has no clue who he is, either.
I don’t know about you, but I love an amnesia story. And while I’ve written several in the past, Their Night to Remember is my all-time favorite. I hope it’ll be on your keeper shelf, too.
Happy reading!
Judy
PS: I love hearing from my readers. You can contact me through my website: judyduarte.com. Or on Facebook: Facebook.com/judyduartenovelist.
If you’re a fan of Western romances, check out Wild for Westerns from Harlequin, a Facebook page where many of my Harlequin author friends hang out: Facebook.com/groups/290667098916318.
Their Night to Remember
Judy Duarte
Since 2002, USA TODAY bestselling author Judy Duarte has written over forty books for Harlequin Special Edition, earned two RITA® Award nominations, won two Maggie Awards and received a National Readers’ Choice Award. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she enjoys traveling with her husband and spending quality time with her grandchildren. You can learn more about Judy and her books on her website, judyduarte.com, or at Facebook.com/judyduartenovelist.
Books by Judy Duarte
Harlequin Special Edition
Rancho Esperanza
A Secret Between Us
Rocking Chair Rodeo
Roping in the Cowgirl
The Bronc Rider’s Baby
A Cowboy Family Christmas
The Soldier’s Twin Surprise
The Lawman’s Convenient Family
The Fortunes of Texas: Rambling Rose
The Mayor’s Secret Fortune
The Fortunes of Texas: All Fortune’s Children
Wed by Fortune
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
To Jeanne M. Dickson, who has been one of my biggest supporters over the years, first by buying my books and then by reading the drafts of troublesome scenes. Jeanne is a talented author and offers a variety of suggestions that never fails to jump-start my creativity.
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
Epilogue
Excerpt from His Secret Starlight Baby by Michelle Major
Prologue
Clay Hastings sat at the massive dark oak desk in his personal office at the family ranch, going over a legal brief. He was knee-deep into the document when the door creaked open and his father walked in without knocking, a crystal glass of his favorite bourbon in his hand.
In true Adam Hastings–style, he didn’t apologize for the interruption. He merely launched into his reason for it. “You need to fly to Randolph, Colorado, tonight, Clayton. I told the pilot to file a flight plan and fuel the plane.”
“What’s up?”
“I just got off the phone with my private investigator. He told me Alana Perez is attending a cattle symposium there. I’ve approached her with several generous offers to buy her ranch, but she’s turned her nose up at each one. And now she’s not taking my calls.”
Clay leaned back in his desk chair and crossed his arms. “Apparently, she doesn’t want to sell.”
“I get that. But the investigation revealed that the Lazy M is run-down and needs a lot of work. On top of that, this Perez woman doesn’t know squat about ranching. It makes no sense for her to hold on to a property she can’t afford. So I want you to meet with her in person and convince her that it would be in her best interest to sell.”
Clay’s father had built a cattle dynasty in Texas, which was impressive in its own right. But for some reason he’d yet to reveal, he was hell-bent on picking up multiple ranch properties near some out of the way town in Montana.
Most people who worked for Adam Hastings didn’t question his orders, but then again, Clay wasn’t like most people. And the youngest son of the Hastings family felt his differences every single time he talked to his father.
“What’s so important about the Lazy M?” Clay asked.
“That particular ranch is the key to my new real estate venture. The state is very likely to build a new highway through that area. And if that happens, a couple more towns are bound to pop up and the land values are going to quadruple—at the very least.”
So, that’s what he had on his mind. “I take it the locals don’t know about the highway.”
“No.” His father lifted his glass and swirled the bourbon, ice cubes clinking. “At this point, it’s just a strong hunch on my part. So keep your mouth shut.”
That made sense, but his father’s plans often tended to straddle the line, and it was Clay’s job as the family attorney to make sure his old man didn’t take a step on the wrong side.
“All right, Dad. I’ll go to Randolph. And I’ll do what I can.”
His father chuffed. “I’m not asking you to give it a try, Clayton. I’m telling you to close the deal.”
Other than the tick-tock-tick of the clock hanging on the wall, the room went silent. Clay merely studied his father.
When Adam Hastings wore his gator-skin, custom-made Lucchese boots, like he did today, he stood nearly five foot nine. And thanks to a private gym on the ranch and a paleo diet, his weight never to
pped 156 pounds. Yet the cattle baron didn’t need to be a big man to command—and demand—respect. Needless to say, when he gave an order, he expected it to be followed.
“The private investigator sent me Alana’s picture. I’ll send it to you along with the PI profile.” His father took out his iPhone, pulled up a saved photo and sent it to Clay in a text. “She’s a brunette, unattached and damn good-looking. Charm her. Do whatever it takes. Just convince her that it’s in her best interest to take the money I’m offering her and buy a nice place in town, something she won’t have to repair or renovate. I’ll be doing her a favor.”
Clay reached for his own cell, opened his father’s text and studied the photo of a pretty woman in her late twenties or early thirties standing next to a dented old pickup, which was parked near a feed store. She wore a pair of faded jeans and a red plaid blouse. It was hard to tell how long her hair was. Long enough for her to pull it back in a messy ponytail. But there was no denying it. Alana Perez was attractive.
His father eased closer to the desk and placed his hand on the back of a tufted-leather chair, where he sometimes sat when discussing a lawsuit or a contract. He pointed to the brief. “What are you working on?”
“That countersuit against Ray Jennings and the Graham Group.”
“That can wait.” His father glanced at the clock on the wall, an antique that had been in the Hastings family for generations. “It’s getting late. You’ve got a long drive back to Houston.” Then he said, “I’ll never understand why you refuse to move back home. There’s more than enough room for you to live on the Double H.”
True. His father had plenty of space for Clay in the sprawling ranch house, but he’d never been able to find much room for him in his heart. As a kid, rather a teenager, Clay once had tried to earn that kind of relationship with his father. It hadn’t worked. But now he’d settle for his respect. If he pulled off closing this deal, his dad would be more than pleased. And deep down, Clay wanted nothing more than to oblige the father he’d hardly known until he’d turned thirteen, and he’d been trying to live up to his new surname ever since. And to prove he was more than a dirty little secret.
“I prefer living in the city,” Clay said. But in all honesty, putting some distance between his family, his work and his personal life had been one of the smartest things he’d ever done.
“I still think it’s foolish for you to waste the time and the gas on an unnecessary commute. You spend a lot of your free time out here anyway.”
That’s because, while Clay may have implied that he liked nights on the town, he’d much rather unwind on a Friday evening by riding Titan, the gelding he kept in the Double H stables.
But there was always a trade-off with his father, wasn’t there? Life seemed to be one negotiation and compromise after another with the man that he never really felt like he understood. After all, he was the illegitimate son—the black sheep who’d been hidden from the rest of the family.
His father pointed to the legal brief resting on Clay’s desk. “Put that countersuit on hold. I want you in Colorado tonight. So go home and pack.”
Clay sucked in a deep breath and blew it out softly as he pushed aside the paperwork and got up from the desk. If truth be told, attending that symposium would be a lot more interesting than being cooped up in his office.
He gathered the papers on his desk and slipped them into the file. “Whatever you want.”
“This land deal is very important to me,” his father added. “And to this family. Just make it happen. I don’t care how you do it. Hell, charm the pants off of her.”
Clay’s gut clenched. He’d never resort to that tactic. Using a woman—or anyone, for that matter—went against his moral code, which he must have inherited from his mother, since neither of his two half brothers would have balked at the assignment.
“I’ll close the deal,” Clay said. “But I won’t resort to seduction.”
“Dammit, Clayton. Don’t get your hackles up. It’s just a figure of speech. The last thing I want you to do is hop into bed with that woman.”
That was the last thing Clay wanted, too.
Chapter One
Bent over the porcelain throne in the guest bathroom and holding her long black hair out of the way, Alana Perez lost her breakfast once again.
Callie, her best friend and roommate, stood beside her, a cool, wet cloth in her hand, securing her role as the best friend ever.
Puking her brains out was a pain, but Alana didn’t mind the inconvenience. When she was twenty-two, she’d had a tubal pregnancy and an emergency surgery. Losing the baby she’d dearly wanted had broken her heart. But there’d been complications and an infection. And when the surgeon told her it was unlikely that she’d ever conceive again, she’d been crushed.
For the past ten years, she’d never had a reason to question that diagnosis, but during one romantic evening in Colorado, a handsome stranger named Clay had swept her off her feet and proven the doctor wrong.
As the dry heaves came to an end, Alana felt Callie’s fingers splayed gently on her back.
“Are you okay now?”
Alana swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, then nodded and straightened. Her gaze sought Callie’s. “This part of pregnancy really sucks. Tell me it’ll be over soon.”
“That’s right.” Callie wiped her brow with the soothing cloth. “Just a few more weeks. Then you can enjoy the second trimester.”
“Believe it or not, I’m enjoying the first one.” Alana flushed the toilet. “Well, not this part of it. But the doctor told me the baby looks good and the pregnancy appears to be normal. So I have no complaints.”
“I’m happy for you,” Callie said. “I know how badly you’ve wanted a baby and a family of your own.”
After washing her face and hands at the sink and drying off, Alana followed Callie out of the bathroom and into the small, cozy living room with its scarred hardwood floor, dingy white walls that could use a coat of paint and rustic fireplace, the stones stained from smoke and soot, the mantel a rough-hewn beam.
“Your baby will never want for love and a happy home,” Callie said, “like you and I did.”
Alana smiled. “That’s true. I just...” She sighed. “I wish I had some way to tell Clay about the baby. I don’t expect anything from him, but he deserves to know that he’s going to be a father. Unfortunately, that’s out of the question.”
“You can’t remember his last name?” Callie asked.
“No, it never came up. And I was too dazzled by his smile, by the fact a gorgeous and apparently rich guy would want to buy me a drink in the hotel bar. I knew nothing could possibly come from that night. He’s an attorney, and I barely finished high school.” She sighed. “You should have seen the expensive clothes he wore—from his Stetson to his fancy boots. And I barely have a pot to pee in or a window to throw it out of. Besides, we live in different states, and I had a ranch to run. So I didn’t want to jinx it.”
From the moment he’d caught her eye, something wildly romantic had sparked between them, shooting off a flurry of pheromones to dance in the candlelight, sending her hormones spinning dangerously out of control.
She could blame it on the drinks, on the fact that he seemed to be nearly as mesmerized by her as she was by him, but she’d known exactly what she’d wanted and how she’d hoped the night would end.
And it had.
Now here she was, three months later—pregnant with a baby she’d never imagined possible.
She’d told herself that the memory of a magical night with a handsome stranger would be enough for her. But it hadn’t been. She’d regretted her decision to slip out of his room the next morning without talking, without getting his last name—or giving him hers.
But she’d come away with more than a memory of that night; she’d been given a miracle to have and to hold.
; “Where does Clay live?” Callie asked.
“I’m not sure.” Alana plopped down on the faded tweed recliner that had been her grandfather’s favorite chair. “All I know is that he lives someplace in Texas. He told me he was an attorney, but I don’t know what his specialty is.” Alana shot a glance at Callie. “I’d like to tell him about the baby, but I have no way of finding him.”
“Hmm,” Callie said. “Maybe we can come up with another way to find him. Did he mention which law firm he belonged to?”
Alana slowly shook her head. “Not that I remember anyway. I have to admit, I was a little dazed that night—and clearly running on hormones alone. So he might have said something, but if he did, it went poof.”
Admittedly, she’d known leaving—not just his room but the hotel—and heading to the airport in the wee morning hours before he’d woken up had been stupid. But making love with him hadn’t been a mistake. Their meeting had been predestined, it seemed. Because Alana was having a baby, a wonderful surprise—a gift—and she would finally have the biological family she’d always wanted.
* * *
Clay sat behind the wheel of the black Range Rover he’d rented at the airport in Kalispell and headed toward Fairborn. His GPS wasn’t tracking the Lazy M—which he’d learned one fateful night in Colorado was also called Rancho Esperanza—so once he was in the general vicinity, he’d have to stop along the way and ask one of the locals for directions.
He should have made this trip to Montana three months ago, but he’d convinced himself that he’d done the right thing by waiting to contact Alana. And at the time, it probably had been the best move.
Having sex had been her idea, and she’d clearly meant it to be a one-night stand. That was all well and good, but Clay should have been a gentleman and suggested they wait until morning, when their heads were clear and he could reveal who he really was and his purpose for finding her. Unfortunately, several glasses of Patrón on the rocks had affected his better judgment.