“Oh, no, chérie. Wish I could, but I’m picking up take-out dinner for Waldo and Frenchy and myself. They’re my brothers,” he added for Harley’s benefit. His craggy eyebrows wiggled in self-deprecating humor. “Somehow—in the cruelest of ironies—we’ve ended up together in our old age. Three Frenchmen who never learned to cook because we smugly told ourselves we’d have women falling over themselves to take care of us in our twilight years.”
Andi hugged him again. “You know you were at the top of my list for years.”
“Ah, missy, if you only knew how often I’ve regretted turning down your offer. Perhaps if it had come from Ida Jane instead of her niece we might have worked something out,” he said with a wink.
Pascal looked at Harley, and in true teacher form, proceeded to explain in great detail about Andi’s mission to find a man for her great-aunt to marry. “Nowadays, if a student walked around with a list of teachers’ names in their notebook, someone would probably call the police,” he said sadly. “How is Ida, by the way? I heard she’d moved home from the ranch.”
Andi gave him a quick briefing then added, “You’re coming to the wedding, aren’t you?”
He made a face. “Alas, the Fournier brothers will be in Chicago. A family reunion.”
A young server from the kitchen signaled Pascal that his order was ready, and the man said his goodbyes. Andi gave the big, friendly dog another hug then returned to her chair.
Harley was eyeing her with a serious look on his face.
Andi felt herself blush. “What? Ida Jane told you about my Daddy List.”
“I know, but I just realized what a determined person you are. You see a goal and map a course to take you there.”
Andi detected an undertone she didn’t recognize. Trying for a lighter take on the subject, she said, “Setting a goal is one thing; achieving it is another. In case you hadn’t noticed, I never succeeded in finding a husband for Ida Jane. I’m not an officer in the marines, and, even though I found your bike, I didn’t help you get your memory back.”
He reached out and took her hand. His calluses were somehow reassuring—they made him more Harley than an unknown entity called Jonathan.
“Aren’t you the person who gave me a hard time for bad-mouthing myself?” he asked. “Number one, you can’t make a person fall in love—no matter how perfect the potential candidate. Two, you chose family over career—not an easy choice, but an admirable one in my book. And three, there are no miracles where amnesia is concerned. My doctor says the mind heals at its own rate. This—” he tapped his temple “—is out of your control, sweetheart.”
Harley squeezed her fingers then let go. She felt oddly unsettled and a little sad. If she were looking for candidates for a husband list of her own, she knew who’d shoot right to the top.
HARLEY PAUSED at the door of the old bordello. Jenny’s minivan was in the parking lot, so he had no choice but to go inside if he wanted a ride to the Rocking M. But at the same time he was hesitant to share the news of Andi’s find.
“Cold feet?” Andi asked, just inches behind him.
Her soft snicker made him want to grab her and run in the other direction. Ever since she’d handed him the makeshift knapsack filled with someone’s personal belongings, Harley had felt as though he were slogging through quicksand. He now possessed a name, several credit cards and photos of people he didn’t recognize. He could walk into a video store and rent the latest flicks—if he owned a TV and VCR. He could pay for gas with plastic. He even had an ATM card. If only he could recall the code, he’d have access to funds.
But none of those things brought him any closer to understanding who he was. He might not be Harley Forester, but he sure as hell wasn’t Jonathan Newhall.
“Come on,” she cajoled, lightly touching his shoulder. “It’s not going to get any easier.”
Harley bit down on a grin. One thing he’d learned about Andi Sullivan—she met life head-on, and she took anyone loitering in her path with her.
Harley followed her to the parlor he’d been in earlier. An assortment of lamps—including a 1920s molded-brass figure of a naked woman holding aloft a fringed lampshade—cast the room into warm shades of gold. Jenny and Ida Jane were sitting on the velvet settee, their booty at their feet.
“You’re back,” Jenny exclaimed. “How’d it go? Did you have as much luck as we did?” she asked, motioning toward the boxes of shoes and garment bags.
Andi dropped her gear just inside the door. She motioned him forward. “I’ll let Harley—or should I say, Jonathan?—tell you about it.”
Her bombshell had the desired effect. Jenny leaped to her feet and flew across the room. “You found your bike?” she exclaimed, hugging him enthusiastically. “Congratulations. That’s fantastic. Did seeing it trigger your memory?”
Ida Jane rapped a shoe box against the spindly-looking end table. “Give the man a moment to catch his breath before you bombard him with questions. Goodness me.”
Jenny stepped back. “Sorry. I just didn’t expect—”
“You didn’t think I could do it, did you?” Andi challenged, her hands on her hips.
“It’s not that. I just thought it would take longer. That area is practically all wilderness.”
“Sit down,” Ida ordered. “I want the whole story.”
Harley took a chair near Ida Jane. The armchair was upholstered in animal hide of some kind; its springs were so weak his bottom sunk to within an inch of the floor. His elbows on the armrests were higher than his shoulders.
“Uh-oh. The bad chair,” Jenny said. “Auntie, I thought you sold that chair to Pete Petersen.”
“I did,” Ida Jane replied. “How’d it get back?”
“Maybe it’s a homing chair,” Harley quipped.
The trio was laughing, when a knock sounded at the door. Harley saw the sisters exchange a look. Apparently, they weren’t expecting visitors. Before either could respond, a voice called out, “Anybody home?”
Jenny’s face lit with joy. “Sam,” she cried, disappearing in a flash.
Andi looked confused. “I thought he wasn’t due back until tomorrow?”
“Hank told me Sam was shooting for today,” Harley told her. “If his meeting ended early enough.”
Harley knew his employer was a family man—and something of a recluse—who hated to be away from Jenny and the twins. He’d undertaken a campaign to alert the public to the dangers of grassland wildfires and had been asked to speak on behalf of legislation introduced by his local congressman.
A few moments later, Sam and Jenny entered the room. Jenny’s cheeks were a pretty pink, her lips showed telltale signs of kissing. Sam looked as happy as Harley had ever seen him. “Hello, Andi. Miss Ida.” He crossed the room to give the older woman a kiss on the cheek, then turned to shake Harley’s hand. “Don’t get up—even if you can. I’ve gotten stuck in that chair once or twice myself.”
Sam and Jenny squeezed together on the sofa, then Sam looked at Harley and said, “Jen tells me you’ve found your bike.”
“Andi found it.”
Andi made a preening motion, then winked. “Piece of cake. There’s only one road.”
Sam chuckled. “That twists and turns for ten miles. No small feat. Congratulations.”
Harley smiled at her blush. He wished he didn’t like her so much.
Knowing there probably would never be a better time to discuss their discovery, he dug in his hip pocket for the wallet. “The good news is I’ve got a driver’s license. The bad news is I’ve probably got a couple of hundred overdue parking tickets somewhere.”
Andi gave him a stern look.
“Turns out my name is Jonathan Jackson Newhall.”
“That sounds vaguely familiar,” Jenny said.
“Wasn’t there a Newhall family that lived on the old Ragsdale place when you girls were in school?” Ida Jane asked.
Andi shook her head. “Newhouse. Charity and Carla. Char was a junior cheerleader.”
>
Ida looked ready to argue the point, but Sam spoke first. “What about the bike? Is it salvageable?”
Andi rose from where she was sitting to hand Sam the wallet, then perched on the arm of Harley’s chair.
Harley smiled at her back and said, “Ask the daring young woman who dangled from a rope on my behalf. One thing I learned today is I’m not partial to heights.”
Jenny laughed. “Me neither. Josh and I were both cowards when it came to high places. Sam wants us to get married on the summit overlooking the ranch, and I get a little queasy just thinking about it.”
“My brother may have hated heights, but he loved a great view. He wanted me to build the ranch house on the summit, but it wasn’t practical. I think he’d be pleased to see us exchange our vows up there.”
Harley spotted the tender, loving look Jenny gave her intended. Although he didn’t know the whole story behind their relationship, he sensed it was founded on true respect and love. He wondered if he’d ever known that in his life. Somehow he doubted it.
“Before we get sidetracked into wedding talk,” Andi said, “Harley will need a little help retrieving the bike. It’ll take a crane to haul it out. Right now, the bike doesn’t look bad—it’s thirty feet up in a tree, but if it falls…splat.” Her graphic hand slapping made everyone jump.
Sam’s mouth dropped open. “A tree?”
“Hanging nose down. Harley’s lucky to be alive given where the bike landed up.”
Sam gave a low whistle. “Downright miraculous. Why don’t I give Ron Jensen a call in the morning?”
“Beulah’s grandson?” Ida Jane asked.
“His salvage company is the best in the area.”
While Jenny, Ida Jane and Sam discussed the Jensen family’s trials and tribulations, Harley focused on blocking the noise in his head. His ears felt hot and his scalp itched—even though he’d left his hat by the door. Watching Sam’s casual examination of the wallet was triggering some kind of emotional response.
“I take it this didn’t produce any miracle memories,” Sam said.
Harley stretched against the tension in his neck. “Nope. Not even a glimmer.”
Jenny took the wallet next. She quickly flipped through the pictures, studied the driver’s license briefly then checked the money compartment. “Hmm. Not bad. Three big dogs and six Andrew Jacksons.”
Andi passed it back to Harley. “I think he should go on the Internet and see if his name is on any list of missing persons. Maybe his family has a Web site set up,” she said.
Jenny nodded. “Good idea. And I bet Donnie could help you—now that you have a name to run through the data banks.”
Harley and Andi exchanged a look.
“Maybe actually touching the bike will trigger something,” Sam said. “When do you want to go after it? Tomorrow?”
Harley was overwhelmed by the generous offer. “What about your wedding plans?”
Jenny answered. “The wedding is under control. We’re keeping it simple—for obvious reasons. The ceremony will be small—family only. We’ve combined the reception with the annual St. Patrick’s Day bash, and the Garden Club is handling that. So we can certainly make time to help a friend.”
Harley looked down. He wanted to ask how any of them knew he was worthy of their friendship, but the words wouldn’t come.
As if reading his mind, Sam said, “Harley, I learned a long time ago not to judge a man by his car, his house or his bank account. His wife, his horse and his dog are a lot safer bets, but even those can be misleading. Since you started out with none of those things, I had to go with my gut. And my gut tells me you’re a good man. Reliable and smart. And I consider you a friend.”
Harley was moved. “Thanks, Sam. I don’t know how I got so lucky. No memory. Not much more than the clothes you see and a few bucks in a tin can, but I’m not complaining. Today I feel rich.”
Sam held out his hand. “Hell, buddy, you could be rich. I don’t know too many paupers who drive a Hog.”
Harley looked at Andi. “It might be stolen.”
She slugged his arm. Hard. “Or you mighta paid cash for it. I guess we won’t know till we get it out of that tree and run the serial number on it, will we?” Her tone dared him to contradict her.
“Let’s drive to the site tomorrow and take a look,” Sam said. “I need to stop by the Blue Lupine, anyway, and make sure Lars knows he’s expected at the reception.”
“Good,” Harley said. He’d swung past the mine last Thursday after delivering some hay, and Lars hadn’t been around. Only Sarge, Lars’s hound dog had been there, baying as if Harley were a robber out to sack the place. Dogs made him nervous, so Harley had headed on without even getting out of the truck.
Suddenly, Harley’s headache returned. Anxious for a little privacy, he tried to get out of the chair. Andi came to his rescue—again. She braced her feet a shoulder width apart then held out her hand.
He had no choice but to accept. “Sam, do you want Harley to take your truck so you can ride home with Jenny?” Andi asked. Harley had had the same thought, but wouldn’t have dreamed of suggesting it.
“Good idea,” Sam said. “The keys are in it.”
Harley tipped an imaginary hat to Ida Jane. “Miss Ida, take care.”
She smiled and nodded, but Harley thought she had a preoccupied look about her. As if she might be trying to place him. His heart ached for Ida Jane and her family.
“I’ll walk you out,” Andi said. “Your other stuff is still in the car.”
She wasn’t about to let Harley slink off without a pep talk. She’d seen how powerfully he’d reacted to Sam’s suggestion that they proceed with the recovery operation. Things were moving fast, and he needed to know that everyone was in his corner.
She slipped her arm through his and escorted him back the way they’d come. The hallway was narrow and they had to squeeze together to walk abreast. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.
He sighed. “I feel like I’ve got one hand on the lip of Pandora’s box and the other on an unbroken stallion trying to pull me in the opposite direction.”
“Spoken like a true cowboy.”
His wry chuckle was pure Harley. Andi guessed that in the weeks to come this new identity would slowly become more real to him. What that meant was anybody’s guess, but there was no turning back now.
“Do you believe in destiny, Harley? I thought I could change mine by leaving Gold Creek, but it didn’t work. I’m back where I started, running my great-aunt’s antique shop.”
They stopped—as if by mutual consent—in the shadow of an artificial palm. “You might not know this, but Ida went to college somewhere back East. She had a good job in Oakland, but when her parents needed her, she came back to Gold Creek. She opened the store and years later made a home for my mother after my grandmother became ill. Then we came along. That’s why I’m here. It’s my turn, and I’ll stay as long as she needs me.”
He was close enough that she could smell the beer on his breath. “And when Ida’s gone?” he asked.
“Haven’t a clue.” Which, at the moment, was true. She’d had a plan once, but that was when she’d been young and cocky. Now she understood that even the best-laid plans were subject to change.
When he pulled her to him, Andi didn’t hesitate. Yes, it was a dumb idea, but it felt right. Her arms went around his neck; her body leaned into his. His kiss was tender and inquisitive. She might have been tempted to ask him upstairs if a sudden knock on the door hadn’t interrupted them.
Andi jerked back. Harley dropped his arms to his sides. She looked into his eyes. Instead of chagrin or embarrassment, she saw desire.
The knock came again. Louder. A man’s voice called, “Andi, open up. It’s me. Donnie.”
Through the etched glass oval in the door, she could see the fuzzy silhouette of a man in a tan-and-black uniform. She recognized the voice. “Hi, Donnie,” Andi said, throwing open the door. “What’s going on?”
&nbs
p; Donnie had retained his quarterback physique. His broad shoulders and powerful build combined in a handsome, very masculine way that had driven the girls in Gold Creek High—including Kristin—crazy. When he removed his hat, Andi spotted a few silver threads in his closely cropped hair. For some reason a snippet of Gloria’s most recent column came back to her—something about Donnie’s ex-wife’s European sojourn and Donnie’s struggles with being a single parent.
“I was on my way out to the Rocking M when I spotted Sam’s truck.”
Donnie had a deep, resonant voice. Not as sexy as Harley’s but pleasant nonetheless. He’d served as Andi’s Search-and-Rescue unit commander until he graduated—a year ahead of her and her sisters. They’d been good friends—until that disastrous party they all wanted to forget.
“Is something wrong? Sam and Jen are in the parlor.”
He stepped inside but went no farther. “Actually, I haven’t come to see Sam.” Suddenly all business, Donnie stated in a very cop-like voice, “Harley Forester, I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Lars Gunderson.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HARLEY STARED at the painted block wall across from him. The pockmarked texture reminded him of a moonscape, except for the color—a cross between beige and institutional green. It might have been the color of the moon if it were really made of cheese, he thought.
The view hadn’t changed in the fourteen hours since his arrest. He’d been apprised of his rights and had met with a court-appointed attorney who’d advised him to plead not guilty.
Not guilty of what? Harley had longed to yell. He only knew the basics. Lars was dead. A witness had placed Harley at the scene at the time of death.
Dead. While he understood the concept, Harley couldn’t name a single person of his acquaintance who was dead. He didn’t doubt for a minute that his alter ego, Jonathan, could name a few, but Harley hadn’t even handled a dead animal in his tenure on the ranch.
How did Lars die? He’d wanted to ask, but his attorney—a man of twenty-six with a blond goatee and thick glasses—had only a smeared copy of the arrest warrant to go by.
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