Without a Past

by Debra Salonen

  Andi chuckled softly. Donnie was a terrific guy. Too bad his history with Kris precluded any chance that he might become Andi’s brother-in-law. “When will you release the bike?”

  Donnie shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. But I’m willing to bet things start popping once Har…Jonathan’s father arrives.”

  “His father is coming?”

  “Yes. We had a little trouble tracking him down since he was on a fishing boat somewhere off the Florida Keys. Mrs. Newhall was a bit reluctant to contact her husband. Apparently Jonathan and his father had words before Jonathan left. They had no idea he was missing.”

  Andi felt saddened to hear that.

  “Once Mr. Newhall got back to shore and contacted me, he made plans to get here immediately. Sam invited him to bring the family and stay at the Rocking M, but he said his daughters couldn’t come because of school. And when he heard about the wedding, he opted to get a motel room.”

  Andi followed Donnie to the orange-and-white SAR van across the road. “I read about the family online,” she said. “Third-generation newspaper publishers. Jonathan’s dad sold the family paper last summer and moved to Florida. He and his wife have two young daughters. Jonathan’s mother died in a car accident when he was ten.” Although there weren’t photos to support the article, Andi had allowed herself to hope that the gorgeous blonde with the kids in Harley’s wallet was his stepmother and much, much junior siblings.

  “That’s what my sources said, too.”

  “What else did your sources say?”

  He reached into the driver’s-side area and pulled out a black, brick-shaped walkie-talkie. “Nothing I’d care to share with you. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “It was my find.”

  “Well, now it’s mine. Get lost.” His big-brother tone was starting to wear on her nerves.

  Andi gave him a serious look. “Someday you’re going to run for sheriff and you’re going to need my vote, mister. And I’m going to remember this moment.”

  Donnie threw back his head and laughed. “Is that a threat?”

  A sudden crackle on the radio made her jump. She’d never been good at interpreting static-charged radio communications, so she had no time to prepare for Donnie’s next comment. “Harley’s bail came through. He and Sam are on their way here.”

  Andi gulped. Soon, she’d have a chance to throw her arms around the man who slept with her—in her dreams—every night. Unfortunately, her momentary burst of joy was accompanied by an impulse to run. Their stilted conversations of late told her Harley wasn’t Harley anymore.

  WHILE SAM CALLED Jenny to give her the good news about the judge’s decision, Harley used the chance to talk to his lawyer alone.

  “I appreciate all that you’ve done, James. I didn’t kill Lars and I hope like hell you can prove my innocence, but—”

  Rohr interrupted him. “Actually, the prosecution has to prove you committed the crime, not the other way around. Fortunately for us, the D.A.’s case is built on supposition and greed. I have absolutely no doubt we’ll be able to prove that you had neither the motive nor the inclination to commit murder.”

  Harley swallowed sharply. “I wish I could be sure of either of those points, but I can’t. All I know is I didn’t kill Lars.”

  The man’s crow’s-feet became more pronounced when he squinted. “What are you trying to say?”

  “Ever since the crash, I’ve had nightmares. Violent. Ugly images. Gutted buildings. Slain bodies,” he added harshly.

  His lawyer didn’t bat an eyelash. “Perfectly understandable given your career. You were in Bosnia, the Middle East and Central America. One of your last pieces was on serial killers. I’m no shrink, but I’d say that kind of stuff gets repressed then jumps out when you least expect it.”

  Harley shook his head. “Although I’ve read those articles, I don’t remember writing them. A part of me—I guess that part that’s Harley—can’t conceive of wanting to write those kinds of stories. I turn off the news whenever I get the chance. I hate fighting. I can’t wait to get back to the ranch. It’s peaceful there. Why would anybody live anywhere else?”

  His lawyer smiled slightly. “I guess it’s all in your perspective.” He glanced at his Rolex. “Your father will be here later this afternoon, maybe he can help fill in some of the gaps.”

  Sam joined them. “Jenny needs Andi back at the bordello right away—something to do with the wedding.”

  “Did you try her cell phone?” Harley asked.

  “Can’t reach her. Maybe she rappelled down into the ravine again,” he suggested with a casual shrug.

  Harley’s stomach flip-flopped. “If you’re headed that way, Sam, I’d like to ride along.” He looked at his attorney. “Are we through here?”

  They made an appointment to meet on Monday or Tuesday of the following week to discuss strategy. After shaking hands with Sam, Rohr headed to his Lexus. “Nice car,” Harley said idly, to fill the silence. He and his boss hadn’t been alone since this started. He didn’t know where to begin.

  “You have a Mercedes in storage in Missouri,” Sam said matter-of-factly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Jim showed me a list of inventory from a climate-controlled storage unit you rented before heading west.” He gave Harley an odd look that ended with a smile. “You’ve got money. Property. A farm that belonged to your grandparents.”

  “A farm?”

  “It’s rented out. My point is, you’re not my employee anymore, Harley.”

  “I’m fired?”

  Sam chuckled softly. “You’re a man of means. You don’t need to work at the Rocking M.” He gripped Harley’s shoulder and squeezed. “But it’s your home for as long as you want.”

  Harley was too choked up to speak.

  “Should we go?” Sam asked then turned away without waiting for a reply. Harley followed.

  The trip to the accident site was much quicker in Sam’s four-wheel drive truck than in Rosemarie. Neither man spoke much. Harley appreciated his boss’s restraint. But one question needed an answer, “Who do you think killed Lars?”

  Sam shook his head. “Donnie hasn’t given up looking. Our esteemed D.A. was hoping for a quick conviction to help with his reelection bid, but Donnie’s one smart cookie. He doesn’t take the easy way out or succumb to political pressure.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  “It should be. I trust him and so can you.”

  As he turned on the gravel road that led to the recovery site, Sam cleared his throat in an ominous manner. “There is one thing I need from you, Harley.”

  “Anything.”

  Sam looked at him. “Without sounding too melodramatic, Jenny and I’d like some assurance that Andi doesn’t come out the loser in this…situation.”

  A sunburst of pain exploded behind Harley’s eyes. He grimaced, rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead. “What do you mean?”

  “Bluntly? Andi cares about you, Harley. You’d have to be blind not to see it. But the moment you get your memory back, you’ll be Jonathan. A stranger. And Jenny’s worried what that will do to her sister.”

  Me, too. None of what he’d read about his former life suggested that he was the kind of man who would be good for Andi.

  Harley didn’t know much about love—either the concept or the feeling—but he could tell by the cynical tone of JJ Newhall’s articles that Jonathan was no fan of the emotion. Any way you looked at it, the decent thing would be to nip this relationship in the bud. For Andi’s sake. But could he? His memories of being with her were the only ones that held any true significance.

  Maybe he could go back to his old life, but did he want to?

  ANDI SPOTTED the extended cab pickup the minute it pulled up to the barricade, but neither Harley nor Sam made any effort to get out. Even from a distance, they looked grim. Andi’s stomach tightened as she headed that way.

  Sam apparently saw her and said something to Harley. Her future brot
her-in-law opened the door and hopped to the ground. As he walked toward her, he said, “Hey, beautiful, you’re needed at the bordello.” He held out the keys. “Your cell isn’t working, so I told Jen I’d track you down.”

  Something about his demeanor put her on edge, more than she already was. “They’re just about done here. Shouldn’t I drive Rosemarie?”

  He kept walking. “I want to talk to Donnie a minute. Are the keys in it? I’ll take the old girl.”

  “The big pink keybob is on the seat.” She looked toward the pickup. Harley was watching her. Her heartbeat sped up. For some reason, she felt nervous.

  She took two steps then paused. “Sam, is there anything I should know?”

  His sympathetic smile made her knees buckle, but he shook his head. “Go home, Andi. Tell Harley I’ll pick him up there on my way to the ranch.”

  Andi wiped her damp palms on her jeans. She fluffed out her hair, loosening the moist curls at the nape of her neck and her forehead. Although the sun had felt blistering for a few minutes, she actually hadn’t started to sweat until now.

  What am I supposed to say? She went for casual. “Hi. How’s it going? Sam said to tell you he’d pick you up at the bordello,” she said, hopping into the driver’s seat.

  She started the engine, and easily backed up the truck.

  “I asked him to give us a few minutes alone,” Harley said.

  Even though she knew it was her imagination, Andi’s first thought was he’s changed. His voice is different. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I heard the judge set bail.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod. Dang, he looked good in a suit. The charcoal-blue made his eyes even more intense—or maybe that was the emotion behind them. She swallowed loudly.

  “My lawyer thinks the charges will be dropped. Lack of evidence. Especially if we get a change of venue.”

  “Good,” Andi said, the word getting strangled by the tension in her throat. “That’s great.”

  For a man who’d just been given a get-out-of-jail-free card, he didn’t look terribly happy. “Is something else wrong?” she asked. “As if an impending murder trial wasn’t bad enough?”

  “Can we stop someplace and talk?”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. “Sam said Jenny needs me at home. It might be something to do with Ida Jane or the twins.”

  “Wedding issues. Not life-threatening.”

  Why did she get the impression what he wanted to say was going to hurt? “Okay. There’s a fire station right up the road.”

  Neither spoke until she pulled to a stop beneath a sprawling buckeye tree. She turned off the engine. “What’s up?”

  He didn’t answer right away. The sun made the air inside the cab warm and intoxicating—filled with Harley’s scent. She knew it wasn’t cologne, and she doubted that the Gold Creek county jail provided exotic soap or shaving lotion, so it had to be him.

  “Harley, cut to the chase.”

  “I’m not Harley.”

  She nodded impatiently. “Okay. Jonathan.”

  “No,” he said, his tone bleak. “It’s not okay.”

  Andi sat back. “I don’t understand.”

  He made a gesture she’d never seen him use before—he scratched the nail of his index finger under his jaw. His forehead was creased. “I appreciate everything you’ve done to help me, but—”

  Pain of unbelievable magnitude pressed down on her chest. This is the brush-off. She wouldn’t have believed it possible to feel this empty. She couldn’t even cry. Besides, she was a marine. Marines didn’t cry.

  “So, that’s it? We’re history. Short but sweet?”

  His erect posture gave way, and he slumped, his chin facing the window. “I don’t know. Sam said it wouldn’t be fair to you if I couldn’t declare my intentions. But, how can I do that when I don’t know what they are? All I know for certain is I don’t want to hurt you.”

  By his rough intake of breath, she knew he wasn’t happy, either. “My father is arriving today.”

  The words seemed ominous. “Donnie told me. What then?”

  “I don’t know. On the phone, he suggested I needed to see the best psychiatrist in the country.” He laughed ruefully. “I don’t think he meant that to sound like a slam, but it’s hard to know, because I can’t remember our relationship. I can’t remember how I feel about him. You provided the facts, but I’m still missing the emotional connection.”

  Andi heard the aching loneliness in his voice. It wasn’t difficult for her to imagine what she’d feel like if she became estranged from her family. Like Kristin.

  He went on. “Logic seems to dictate that—at some point—I’ll leave. We both know—hell, you knew before I did—that I’m not a cowboy. I’ve been told I have commitments. An agent.”

  He made it sound like a disease.

  This was the downside she and Jenny had discussed that morning. “You knew he wasn’t a simple cowboy, Andi. You ran the risk of losing him the minute you set out to find his bike, but you had no choice. It was the right thing to do.”

  Somewhere in her head, she heard a voice say, “And the truth will set you free.” She didn’t believe it for a minute.

  I wish… But Ida Jane always said wishes were for the weak. The strong went out and made things happen.

  “This isn’t about how I feel, Andi. It’s what I need to do. For your sake.”

  She started to turn the key, but Harley stopped her. His hand covered hers. His touch made her toes curl inside her hiking boots. She tried to jerk back, but he closed his fingers, trapping her in a shell of warmth.

  “My sake? This is some kind of charity breakup?” She yanked harder. “Hey, don’t do me any favors, all right?”

  He released her hand, but instead of backing away, he leaned across the console between the seats, crowding her. “This isn’t easy for me, Andi. I like you. A lot. I like my life here, and I thought I had a chance…” His voice faded.

  “A chance to start over? What’s stopping you, Harley?”

  His handsome face contorted in pain and frustration. “Didn’t you read those articles you gave me? Couldn’t you sense the kind of person I was—am.” He swore. “I don’t even know which it is anymore. But that person sounds like a cold, arrogant ass. You wouldn’t like him.”

  Andi started the engine. “If he’s anything like you’re being right now, then, guess what? You’re right. I don’t like him.”

  Once they were on the road and she had her breathing back under control, she said, “I’m not some loopy romantic, Harley. I know from experience that the primrose path is mined, but I was willing to risk it because I like you.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. So we’ll just leave it at that.”

  “Okay.”

  Not another word was spoken until the car pulled into the parking lot at the bordello. Andi quickly scanned the area. Two obvious rental cars, possible shoppers, but the bulk of the vehicles belonged to the construction workers who were very nearly done with her new roof. And it looked great. Thank goodness one thing in her life was going right.

  She turned off the engine and pocketed the key. As she started to open the door, her passenger suddenly sat up straight. She braced herself for more bad news. “What?”

  Harley pointed to the two figures standing on the porch. One was her sister, the other a stranger. “Who is it?”

  He looked at her, his blue eyes glittering with unfamiliar sharpness. “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that’s my father.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “THEY CALL THIS a newspaper?” Andrew Newhall barked. A rude snort and a rustling sound of paper being scrunched in a ball followed his rhetorical question.

  In the six hours that Harley had spent in his father’s company, bits and pieces of memory had begun to filter through the screen of his amnesia. He’d caught a glimpse of an iron-willed workaholic who’d never seemed to have time for his son,
but there was also an image of the same man—an older version this time—playing hide-and-seek with his young daughters.

  “The Ledger’s the only game in town,” Harley said. Newspapers seemed like a neutral topic. Safer than any other subject.

  “The editor is an opinionated ass,” his father complained. “Who the hell is this Glory woman and why does anyone care what she thinks?”

  Harley turned from his sentry position at the window. His father had insisted on getting a room at the motel after they’d driven to the Rocking M to pick up Harley’s things. It hadn’t seemed to matter what Harley’s wishes were. Andrew Newhall reminded him of Andi in some ways. He moved forward with purpose, come hell or high water.

  “Jonathan, listen to this crap,” Andrew demanded. His voice took on a girlish tone that didn’t jibe with his dignified persona. At sixty-one, with a full head of silver hair and tanned from the Florida sun, Andrew Newhall still emanated power. “‘Murder and mayhem has come to our dear town in the shape of a drifter named Harley Forester, or rather, that’s the alias he’s been using while worming his way into our good graces. And, Glory, for one, is worried about his relationship with Gold Creek’s native daughter, Andi Sullivan, who went so far as to buy him a suit to wear to his murder trial.’”

  Harley winced.

  “The damn-fool woman doesn’t know the difference between an arraignment and a trial? What kind of crock is this? I’m calling the editor and getting Glory fired.”

  “I think she’s his wife. Or sister,” Harley warned.

  “Then I’ll buy the damn rag and fire them both.”

  Harley almost smiled. That sounded like the kind of imperial temper Andrew’s son—Harley’s alter ego—was renowned for. On the drive to and from the ranch, Andrew had expounded on Jonathan’s exploits and accomplishments—his brash temper, his dogged focus when following a story and the awards he’d received for investigative journalism.

  When asked about Jonathan’s—his—social life, Andrew had been less effusive. “You’d just broken off an engagement, which I never saw the point of to begin with. It seemed a cold, bloodless relationship. I spotted more sparks between you and that Sullivan woman than I ever saw between you and…Miranda. I almost forgot her name.”