by Eve Gaddy
Rolando Villareal was heir to an empire. When his father had taken ill a couple of weeks before, Rolando had come home to take over the family business—running the enormous ranch. The cattle business had been going well until a couple of months before. It started faltering first, for no discernable reason. Then the animals fell prey to a disease that in the end wiped out three-quarters of the herd.
At his father’s request, so she’d heard, Rolando came home to save the family ranch. She didn’t know exactly what he’d been doing since he arrived home, but he hadn’t concerned himself with the part Glenna managed—the cattle business. Maybe he’d come to discuss it with her. Or fire her. Probably fire her, even though she’d come to the conclusion that Jorge had been siphoning off money, though she didn’t know why.
At any rate, here was Rolando, watching Glenna get her butt kicked by an ornery horse. At least she’d won out in the end. It would have been humiliating if she’d had to give up. She wished she didn’t look as bedraggled as she felt, but she didn’t need a mirror to know that she did.
“Forgive me,” Rolando said, adding a winsome smile, “but aren’t you the ranch cattle manager? Is breaking horses one of your duties?”
“Not normally. But I have a—a knack for getting into the heads of the really stubborn ones.”
That was the beginning of what developed into a passionate affair. Far from firing her, according to Rolando, he fell in love with her in the moment he saw her.
Later, Glenna discovered Rolando didn’t admire her determination. He wanted to destroy it. Wanted her to be his, under his thumb, under his control. Much of the pleasure he took was in turning a strong, independent woman into his willing slave, dependent on him for the very food she ate.
But she saw none of that. At first. She saw the illusion Rolando presented. The handsome, suave and charming playboy who finally met his match and wanted to commit to her. Yet something held her back.
Honestly, she’d thought once they slept together Rolando would lose interest. But he didn’t. Whether it was because he was stuck at the ranch for the foreseeable future, or because he really had feelings for her, she couldn’t be sure.
He said he loved her. Wanted to marry her. Wanted her to bear his children. His children...
When she came back to herself, Mitch was sitting on the ground, holding her, and both he and Dylan were looking at her anxiously.
“Good God, Glenna, what happened?” Mitch asked. “You turned white as snow and damn near passed out.”
“You’d have hit the ground if Mitch hadn’t caught you,” Dylan added. “Are you sick?”
Her ability to breathe was slowly returning. “Not—not physically. I remembered. Oh, God, I remembered.”
“What did you remember, Glenna?” Mitch asked. His tone was gentle and soothing. “Just breathe. Take a few breaths and tell us when you’re ready.”
Glenna clutched Mitch’s hand. “Rolando. I remembered the first time I met him.” She went on to tell them about Volcán and the rest of her flashback. And about her certainty that at the least, she’d been involved with Rolando.
“Did you marry him?” Dylan asked.
“I don’t think so. But he wanted me to. I don’t know why I held back. Maybe I sensed something was off about him. Maybe I knew something about the counterfeiting by then. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready to commit to him.” She spread her hands in a gesture of futility. “But if I did marry him, it wasn’t part of what I remembered.”
“Your memory is coming back, though,” Mitch said. “That’s a good thing.”
“Is it? I’m not so sure,” she said slowly.
“Why?” Dylan asked.
“There’s something there, in the back of my mind. Just out of reach.” She let go of Mitch’s hand and rubbed her temples. “Whenever I think about it, or try to remember it, a door slams shut in my mind and all I know is that I’m scared. Scared to death.”
“Of Rolando?” Mitch asked.
Glenna shook her head. “I don’t know. But who or what else would it be?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
They went up to the house after that, both men insisting Glenna needed to take a break and have a cup of coffee or at least some water. Glory was there, broken arm and all.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” Dylan asked Glory.
“I work here.”
“Not for at least a week, you don’t. Shit, Glory, you’re still in a splint. You don’t even have a cast yet.”
“Don’t think you can tell me what to do, Dylan Gallagher. Why, there’s no telling what the kitchen will look like if I leave you to your own devices for that long.”
“You’re supposed to be taking it easy. We don’t need you. We’ll survive without your cooking for a few more days.”
“Ha! No, you can’t. And don’t think you’re going to make Sam do all the cooking. She’s got her hands full with the hospital.”
“I know that. We’ll scrounge until you get back. Now go on home.”
“I can cook until you come back,” Glenna offered.
“Since when?” Glory asked.
Dylan choked off a laugh.
“What? I can cook,” she said, looking from one to the other. “Can’t I?” she asked Mitch.
“Don’t look at me,” Mitch said. “Cooking hasn’t been high on our list of priorities.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Glory said. “But you never could cook a lick. Unless you’ve changed.”
“Just because I burned a few cookies a time or two—” Glenna began.
“A few cookies?” Dylan laughed so hard he had to hold his sides.
Glory laughed too. “Oh, honey, you burned everything you ever touched.”
Insulted, Glenna put her hands on her hips and glared at both of them. “No, I didn’t. I only burned the cookies once and that was Dylan’s fault for distracting—” She stopped mid-sentence. “I was fourteen,” she said slowly. “Dylan was thirteen and I was making slice-and-bake cookies to take to school. He wanted me to come look at one of the horses. So I did and I...I forgot about the cookies.”
“And started a fire in my oven,” Glory said.
“You were so mad you wouldn’t let me near the oven for months.”
“That’s right. And the next time I did, you burned a casserole we were having for dinner.”
“I remember,” she said, staring at the two of them. “I remember you,” she said to Dylan and hugged him. Turning to Glory, she threw her arms around her, but carefully. “And you.” She let go and hugged Dylan again. “I remember all of you. Jack, Sean, and Wyatt, too. Oh, my God, I remember all of you.”
Dylan’s grin was a mile wide. “Looks like you do. About time.”
Mitch was grinning too. “Congratulations. You broke the jam.”
“Some of it. I’m still hazy on the details of what happened in Argentina. But I remember everything about home.” She frowned and added, “Including why I left. We were right. Dad and I had a huge fight. I told him I was going to be a rancher and he laughed at me. When he realized I was serious, he told me I never would be. But I could be a rancher’s wife. That’s when he decided on the terms of his stupid will.”
“Exactly what we suspected,” Dylan said.
They called the rest of the family to tell them about Glenna’s breakthrough and arranged to all get together the following night to celebrate her recovery.
“You look happy,” Mitch said when they got back to the hotel.
“That’s because I am. I have my family back. Even though I hadn’t seen them in a long time it has always helped to know they were there. It’s very disconcerting to know you have a family and not remember anything about them.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“But...” she said, beginning to unbutton her shirt, “that’s not what I want to talk about right now.”
Mitch sat on the bed and took off his boots and socks. “No? What do you want to talk about?”
“S
illy man,” she said, climbing onto his lap and straddling him, her shirt hanging open. “I don’t want to talk at all.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him.
Hot honey. That’s what she tasted like. As potent as a straight shot of bourbon, burning its way to his gut.
Clothes went flying. He stripped off her shirt and bra. She pushed his shirt up so he could yank it off over his head. She kissed him again, bare breasts to his bare chest, and rocked her sex against his.
Mitch groaned, going from half-aroused to fully erect in a heartbeat. “Whoa, Tiger. Slow down,” he managed to get out between hot, open-mouthed kisses.
“I don’t want to slow down.” She climbed off his lap, stripped off her jeans and panties, then stood in front of him. Naked. Tempting. Beautiful.
He took a long look at her from top to bottom. She reached for his jeans, rubbed her hand up and down his cock.
He sucked in a breath. “Forget slow.” He stood and pushed jeans and boxers off in one move, then sat and reached for her.
Glenna grabbed a condom and rolled it down his length, excruciatingly slowly. Then she pushed him onto his back, poised herself over him and sank down on him until his cock was buried deep inside her. She rode them both to a screaming climax that seemed to last forever, then collapsed in a boneless heap on top of him.
Later, they lay on the bed together, his arm around her, her head on his chest, her hair streaming over her shoulders and his chest in a gorgeous red cloud.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked softly.
Glenna didn’t know it but that was a loaded question. Because for the first time since his ill-considered and ill-fated marriage he was thinking about...settling down?
Not exactly. You’re thinking about what you’re going to have to do to keep Glenna. Because you’re not done with her. Hell, you don’t want to be done with her. Ever.
Damn, man, yesterday was the first time you had sex with her and now you’re ready to change your whole life for her?
Not just sex. The best sex of my life.
You’ve been through that before.
No. Because this time I’m in love. Totally crazy in love with Glenna.
The short answer was yes.
“Mitch?”
It’s too soon, dumbass. Way too soon. Which he knew, but he ignored his common sense. He tugged gently on her hair until her head tilted back and she was looking into his eyes. “I’m in love with you, Glenna.”
Her eyes widened and then she smiled. A smile of pure, joyous sunshine. “That’s handy. Because I’m in love with you.”
Feeling encouraged for the first time, Glenna left Dr. Hardeman’s office. All of her tests had come back negative, which the doctor had expected, but it was still a relief to hear. Dr. Hardeman thought that her recent breakthroughs were a very good sign that most of her memory would return, but of course, he couldn’t predict when that would happen.
Mitch had come with her, but he’d said he had something to handle while she saw his brother.
Poised to open the truck’s door, a hand covered hers, and a familiar voice said, “Surprised to see me, querida?”
She turned and looked into Rolando Villareal’s eyes. Cold steel jabbed into her neck, hot breath in her ear, his hand gripping hers painfully. “¿Dondé esta mi hijo?”
Where is my son? Clearly, Rolando had known or figured out she’d been pregnant when she left. But just as obviously, he didn’t know about the accident and the miscarriage.
He jabbed the gun hard against her neck and asked again. “What have you done with my son, puta?” A curtain lifted and the scene played out her mind.
Glenna was late meeting Valencia. She’d thrown together a few clothes, a few toiletries, her IDs and as much real cash as she could find, which was damn little. Then she’d put the stack of fake currency and the jump drive in a plastic bag and tossed it in her backpack. Knowing Rolando would trace her, she’d left her phone out in a far pasture. It wouldn’t fool him for long, but it was the best she could do.
She’d been to the stable earlier to tell Volcán goodbye. Made that much harder by not being able to let anyone know that’s what she was really doing. She entered the stable, expecting to find Valencia, wondering what had kept her, but there was no sign of her.
Moaning. She heard moaning coming from one of the stalls, and it wasn’t a horse. Her stomach jittered as she opened the door and looked inside. “Valencia! Oh, my God, Valencia!”
Her friend lay on the straw in the empty stall. Her blood ran freely from between her fingers as she pressed her hands against her stomach. Glenna ran to her and cradled Valencia in her arms. She felt for her pulse and sagged with relief that she found it. “Thank God. Valencia, look at me.”
Her relief was short-lived.
Valencia opened her eyes. “Go. You must go. Rolando knows you’re pregnant.”
“Did Rolando do this to you?”
“Sí. The money...he knows you...found the building. I’m sorry, so sorry.”
Tears streamed down Glenna’s cheeks. “I’m not leaving you. We have to get you to a hospital.”
“No, chica, it’s no use. I’m...dying.” She moved her hands away so Glenna could see the blood spilling rapidly. “I hoped...you’d find me...before he... Get out. Leave now, before...he comes back. Save yourself...and your child.”
Valencia spoke with an effort, her sentences halting, pausing to gather her strength. Watching the blood drain out of her, Glenna feared she was right. “Come with me. I’ll take you to a hospital. I’ll take one of the cars.”
“No. Too late. Run.”
Moments later Valencia was gone.
The memories formed a kaleidoscope in her mind. Each one flashing a snapshot and fading into the next. Rolando...Valencia...Volcán...Rolando... All with a healthy dose of fear growing stronger with each memory. With a jolt, she came back to the present. “Oh, my God. I remember.”
“What do you remember, querida?”
His voice was smooth, silky, and evil. Valencia. Rolando had shot her in cold blood. And if Glenna told him she’d lost his child, he’d kill her too.
She turned to face him, ignoring the gun he held. “If you kill me you’ll never find your son.”
His face darkened with fury. “You have no right. No right to keep him from me.”
“I have every right to keep him safe.”
“Keep him safe? My men say they never saw him. You sent him away because you couldn’t be bothered.”
“I sent him away to keep him safe.” Keep him talking. Keep him busy long enough for Mitch to show up.
And then what?
Never mind that. Just talk.
“Safe from what?”
“From you.”
His stunned silence told her she’d managed to shock him. “Why would you want to protect my son from me—his father?”
“Gee, I don’t know, Rolando,” she said, dripping sarcasm. “Perhaps because I don’t want him to grow up to be a criminal.” Or a murderer, but she didn’t add that. Not yet.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mitch coming. Relief was followed quickly by fear. For Mitch. What was to stop Rolando from simply turning the gun on Mitch before Mitch could do anything to stop him?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Once Mitch had made the decision to stay in Marietta, the rest was easy. He didn’t need to close down his PI practice right away, or even at all, if he didn’t want to. But if he intended to make Marietta his home base and not travel constantly he needed to either change his base of operations and change his focus or look for a different job. So while Glenna was seeing his brother, Mitch had an informal interview with hospital security. Unfortunately, the job didn’t sound like anything he would be happy doing. But hell, he’d only just started thinking about it, and he wasn’t on a timetable.
Not to mention, although she’d admitted she loved him, he had no idea what Glenna wanted to do. Except now that she’d remembered
her family he had a feeling she’d want to stay in Marietta. At least for a while.
As he walked out in the parking lot and headed to the truck, he saw Glenna talking to a tall, dark-haired man. Inside of a minute Mitch realized it was Villareal. And he held a fucking gun on her. Mitch ducked behind the adjacent row of cars, trusting that Glenna had seen him and that she’d keep Villareal distracted long enough for Mitch to get the jump on him.
“You know nothing,” Villareal snapped. “I’m no criminal.”
“Oh, really? I suppose that counterfeiting ring operating from your ranch has nothing to do with you? You know the FBI now has the information I downloaded from your computer, don’t you?”
“Bitch,” he snarled, furiously. “You’ll pay for that.”
“No, I don’t think I will. Unless you kill me right now, and you won’t do that because you want your son.”
“Why don’t I kill you and get the information from your family?”
She laughed. “I’d like to see you try. They don’t even know I was ever pregnant, much less that I have a child or where I’ve sent him.”
Villareal stepped forward. Glenna stepped forward at the same time, grabbed his gun hand, and yanked it toward her, bending back his wrist and sliding the gun out of his hand, exactly like Mitch had taught her. Before Villareal could react, Mitch jumped him and took him to the ground. Villareal wasn’t nearly as easy to subdue as his thugs had been and he landed a few good blows before Mitch finally pinned him down.
Mitch glanced at Glenna and smiled. “I was going to ask if you were all right, but I can see you are.” She held the gun unwaveringly pointed at Villareal.
“Yes, but I’m glad you’re here.”
Villareal cursed in Spanish. Mitch and Glenna spoke at the same time. “¡Cállate, pendejo!”
“Call the cops, Glenna.”
“My hands are full right now.”
“I’ll take the gun.” He got up, snarling at Villareal when he moved. “Stay right there. Better yet, don’t, and give me an excuse to shoot you.”