Marcy shook her head and smiled. “Tell me I’m being a typical woman thinking I know what’s good for every man I meet, but—” her smile faded as she leaned forward in the booth “—I think he needs more than that. I’m not saying I think you should stay there forever, but I seriously doubt you’re in the way out there. You’re good for him. You give him something other than Mesa County and those horses to think about.”
Rain wondered if Nevada was susceptible to earthquakes because she was certain the ground beneath her had trembled. She didn’t know what to say, was barely able to think. As much as she wanted to believe what Marcy said was true, it seemed impossible given the cold, distant way Joe had been acting lately.
“Do you know what happened to her?” Rain asked after a moment, changing the subject. Talking about her relationship with Joe was too awkward, too uncomfortable, especially when she wasn’t entirely sure there was much of a relationship to talk about. “His wife I mean?”
“No,” Marcy said, shaking her head. “Nothing more than she left Mesa Ridge lock, stock and barrel—except for those awful clothes.”
“Well, I won’t miss them,” Rain admitted, picking up one of the bags from beside her and peeking inside.
“I know I didn’t,” Marcy said, spearing the last morsel of cheesecake from the plate.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Rain said, stopping as she reached for another of bag, and turned to Marcy. “You wore Karen Mountain’s clothes?”
Marcy laughed as she reached for the check. “It’s a long story and I’ll tell you all about it sometime, but not now.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out several bills, leaving them on the small tray for the waiter. “Now, we’ve got more shopping to do.” Gathering up her bags, she slid out of the booth. “But just make sure if Joe starts talking about taking you up to ‘the boonies,’ that you pack your own things. Otherwise you’ll be stuck with more of Karen’s frumpy frocks.”
“The boonies?”
“I told you, it’s long story,” Marcy said again, her smile turning into a grin. “A very long story.”
He heard the car in the drive, heard footsteps on the porch and the sound of the back door opening. She was back.
Letting out a long, slow breath, he leaned his head back against the chair and turned to gaze out the window. The moon had risen high in the sky, drenching everything in a creamy glow and making the night seem all the more surreal.
He didn’t need to check his watch. He already knew it was late. He’d been sitting alone in the dark since he’d gotten home, sitting and waiting. He’d had too much to drink, too much of the white man’s “fire water” and he was feeling very Navajo right now. The alcohol surged through his system, making his mind think crazy and his blood burn hot.
She’d been gone the entire day, having left with Marcy this morning to go shopping. Of course he had no reason to worry. She was with Marcy, the two of them were just fine. They were having a wonderful time and had even decided to take in a movie and dinner before starting back for Mesa Ridge. However, he hadn’t found that out because Rain hadn’t bothered to call and tell him. He’d talked with Cruz. Marcy had telephoned him earlier to check in and to keep him posted of her whereabouts so that he wouldn’t be worried.
Rain hadn’t bothered to let him know. Apparently she didn’t care if he worried—or perhaps, she just didn’t care.
He heard her in the kitchen, her shoes stepping lightly along the tile. He had no right to be angry, no right to be upset. After all, to her he was merely the sheriff into whose county she’d wandered, the official who had befriended her, the person whose job it was to find out who she was and what had happened to her out there in the desert—a job he hadn’t had much success in lately.
His trip to Logan, Utah, last week had been a bust. None of its residents were missing, none had any relatives missing, none knew of anyone missing and none of them recognized the photos of Rain he’d taken with him. And yet he had stayed on—longer than he needed to, longer than he should have. He’d poked and prodded, chasing down one far-fetched theory after another.
He’d never felt so worthless, so completely ineffective as he had driving back to Mesa Ridge with nothing. He was barely able to face her. She’d looked to him for help, looked to him to find the answers she needed and he’d let her down. He had nothing to offer, no reason to give or explanation to make for what had happened. He was beginning to believe she really was like the rain, borne of the clouds and whose life had begun that dark, stormy night on the desert.
So she didn’t owe him anything, least of all a call to let him know she was all right so he wouldn’t worry. Besides that, he was the one who’d been telling himself all week that he needed space, needed time away from her.
So why was he sitting there in the dark feeling betrayed? Depressed and guilty over his inability to help her, he’d looked for excuses not to go home. How many times had he stayed away without bothering to tell her where he was going or when he’d be back? What made him think he deserved the kind of courtesy he’d failed to show her?
He took another swig of beer, draining the can and crushing it flat. Maybe he hadn’t been very nice to her lately, maybe he had pulled away, stayed out late and hadn’t bothered to tell her where he was or when he’d be back. Maybe he had no right to expect her to think about his feelings when he hadn’t bothered to think about hers. Maybe…
He tossed the can down. It dropped soundlessly to the carpet, disappearing in the darkness. Damn it, why hadn’t she called him? Didn’t she think he might worry? Didn’t she think he had a right to know she was all right? She was Rain, his Rain. He’d found her, he’d taken care of her, he was the one sitting in the dark worrying about her. Didn’t that count for something?
The footsteps grew louder. She had left the kitchen and was heading for the stairs. She would pass the living room, pass right by him, but it was so dark she would never see him. All he had to do was sit there and not move, sit there and let her pass, let her find her way up to her room. She’d never have to know he’d waited up for her, never have to know how much he’d had to drink and how crazy he was thinking.
“You’re back.”
Even as he saw her jump violently and skitter to a stop, he couldn’t believe those words had actually come out of his mouth.
“J-Joe?” she gasped, several of her packages slipping to the floor. “Is that you?”
“You were expecting someone else?”
The room tilted dangerously when he stood, and his reached for the arms of the chair to steady himself.
“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” she admitted. As she bent to retrieve her packages, two more slipped from her grasp. “You gave me quite a start.”
“Here, let me help you with those,” he said gallantly as he started across the dark room. Unfortunately, his boot found the crushed beer can at that moment, sending him hurling toward her.
“Joe!” she shrieked as he crashed into her, sending the rest of her packages spilling to the floor.
“Have you been…” Despite the dim lighting, he could see her eyes grow wide. “Joe, you’ve been drinking.”
The fact that it was so obvious made him defensive. “A—a few beers.” The disappointment in her eyes was almost more than he could take. She had no right to make him feel guilty. He was the one who’d been left without a call. He was the one who’d been left to worry. “Last time I checked, that wasn’t against the law.”
“No, of course not,” she said, slowly bending down to reach for her packages. “I—I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He lunged for the packages, too, snatching them up before she had a chance. “That must have been some shopping trip you went on.”
“I was able to get a few things,” she said, reaching for the bags.
“I’ve got them,” he insisted, motioning with his chin to the stairway. “I’ll take them up.”
“No, no,” she said, shaking her head and reaching for them again. �
�I don’t want to bother you. I can do—”
“I’ve got them,” he stated flatly, cutting her off.
She hesitated for a moment before turning for the steps and something surged angry and hot through his system. Was she afraid of him? Was she afraid to be alone in the house with a drunken savage?
What other reason did you think I’d let you touch me? Because I loved you? How could I love you? You’re an…an Indian.
Karen’s words burned in his brain, bringing back the memories, bringing back the shame.
“I hope I didn’t disturb you, coming in so late,” she said as she climbed the stairs ahead of him. “It must be close to nine.”
“It’s nine-thirty,” he corrected.
“Is it really?” She stopped at the door to her bedroom. “I had no idea.” She pushed the door open and flipped on the light. “We were just having such a great time we decided to—”
“Have some dinner and take in a movie, I know,” he said, hearing the anger in his voice. Stepping into the room behind her, he deposited the packages on the bed. “I talked to Cruz. I was ready to put out an APB on you two.”
“I’m sorry. I probably should have called—”
“That would have been nice,” he said, interrupting her again.
She stopped as she reached for one of the bags, slowly turning to him. “Then again, I guess I just didn’t figure we were checking in with one another.”
There was challenge in her eyes, confrontation. He’d never seen her like that before. She’d fired a shot that had hit the very center of the target. After all, he hadn’t bothered to keep her posted on his comings or goings.
But instead of feeling defensive and touchy, he was feeling something different—something very different. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, maybe it was the emotion he saw in her eyes or maybe it was just the fact that he was there with her in her bedroom, but whatever the cause, fire began to surge through his system.
“I guess I thought…”
“What did you think, Joe?” she asked when his words drifted off. “Tell me, I want to know.”
Heat surged to his brain causing his eyes to blur and his cheeks to feel flush. The challenge was still there in her eyes but he could see something else, as well. Passion. It was brash, it was reckless and it was real.
“I think,” he murmured in a voice barely above a whisper. Reaching out, he caught her by the arms, dragging her to him. “I think I want you.”
Her lips tasted sweet, far sweeter than he’d imagined, far sweeter than he’d ever known. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of their flavor, couldn’t get enough of her. He crushed his mouth tight to hers, her soft lips feeling warm and velvety against his. He wasn’t sure what had happened to him. Suddenly he was so hungry for her, so desperate for her, craving her like an addict craving his particular drug of choice.
Suddenly he had become one with nature, one with the earth and the elements—sunlight, moonlight, stars, clouds, Rain, Rain, Rain.
She melted against him, her soft, warm body melding against his as though it were made to be there. The need became everything—life, breath and sustenance. He wasn’t Joe, wasn’t the law, wasn’t Navajo. With her in his arms he was not merely a man, he became every man, and she was the only woman he wanted.
“Joe,” she groaned against his lips. Her voice was raw, its husky tone communicating so much more than the word she’d uttered, telling him of longing and desire, of hunger and need.
And for Joe, it was like a glass of ice water in the face. Reality rumbled through his system like a shock wave, jolting him like a tremor ripping through the earth’s crust leaving him wide-awake and cold stone sober.
What was he doing? What was he thinking? Was he thinking at all? He had no right kissing her, no right to even touch her and he had no right at all in wanting her.
The woman trusted him, she needed him, but not to take advantage of her, not to hit on her when she was her most vulnerable—and she certainly didn’t need him to kiss her. She needed him to be the sheriff, to be the man who would help her solve the mystery of her past. She was his responsibility. This was his county, his town and it was his duty to help her in any way that he could.
Only in the last few weeks he seemed to have forgotten about that. Somehow, someway she’d stopped being just an unsolved case. She had become a person to him, a real person—the only person he thought about any more and a woman he found he wanted very much.
“I—I can’t do this,” he said, grabbing her by the arms and abruptly setting her away from him.
“Joe,” she whispered in protest, giving her head a shake. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”
The look of hurt and disappointment in her eyes was almost more than he could take. It was all he could do to stop himself from pulling her back into his arms and ravishing her mouth with his again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words sounding as painful as they felt saying them. “This isn’t right.”
It was a lie. Nothing in his life had ever felt so right, but he couldn’t think about that. He turned for the door. He had to get out of there, had to get away from her before he lost what fragile hold on caution and common sense, reality and duty he had left.
At the door, he stopped, but dared not turn around.
“I’m really sorry,” he said again before rushing out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
Chapter 10
It wasn’t right. That was what he’d said and it was what she had to believe. It wasn’t right that she was still living in his house, wasn’t right that he’d kissed her and it wasn’t right that she wanted him. It simply wasn’t right.
Rain squeezed her eyes tight, blocking out the faint, predawn light and feeling the burn of tears. The sun hadn’t yet peeked over the horizon, but the pale, milky glow of the sky foreshadowed its arrival. Soon light would be pouring in through the sash windows and it would be time to start another day again.
But she wasn’t ready for the harsh light of day just yet. She wanted the darkness to swallow her up and take all the hurt away.
The night had been endless. She’d been exhausted when she’d returned home after her shopping adventure with Marcy and yet she’d barely slept a wink all night. She’d been restless and uncomfortable, unable to settle down. All she’d done was toss and turn and think about Joe—the feel of him, the taste of him and the desire that had arced between them.
But had it been desire? She couldn’t tell any longer. She didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t—what was right and what was wrong. She had thought they were becoming friends, had thought he’d come to care about her on more than just a professional level, but it was obvious now that she’d been wrong about that. In the last several weeks he’d barely talked to her, had barely wanted to spend any time with her at all. He’d even had Ryan drive her to her last appointment with Dr. McGhan so he didn’t have to be bothered. That was hardly the way friends treated one another.
“Okay, so we’re not friends,” she said aloud, opening her eyes and staring up at the fading shadows along the ceiling.
She couldn’t deny that the realization hurt, because it had—a lot—but she was doing her best to accept it. She’d been trying to stay out of his way, trying not to be a freeloader and just live off of his good graces. She did what she could to help around the house—cooking and cleaning—not that it mattered, though. He barely ate anything she cooked any longer and he wasn’t around enough to notice how clean the place was.
Which was why it had surprised her to come back to find him so angry. She would have thought he would have liked it that she’d been out, that he would have liked to have had the house to himself for most of the evening. But instead he’d been short and curt with her, in every way acting annoyed that she’d been out so late.
“We’re not friends,” she said again, the light through the windows glowing brighter.
But if they weren’t friends, what were they?
> She thought about the kiss, about the way he had grabbed her, the way he had held her. There had been nothing hesitant or shy in his actions, nothing ambiguous or unclear in their intent. They had been decisive and determined. And there had been nothing chaste or reserved about the kiss, either. It had been deliberate and intentional and wildly passionate.
“But it wasn’t right,” she whispered, closing her eyes again.
And it wasn’t right. It didn’t matter that it had felt right; it didn’t matter that she wanted it to be right. She had lost her objectivity where Joe Mountain was concerned weeks ago.
She didn’t know what was right and what was wrong any longer. She couldn’t rely on her feelings because it was painfully clear that where he was concerned, her feelings had steered her wrong. And since she had no memories, no experiences, nothing from the past to fall back on, she had to trust that what he said was the truth. Whatever it was that had happened between them last night hadn’t been right.
She closed her eyes again, feeling tears spilling out and onto the pillow. It was stupid to cry, stupid to think that he could come to care for her. She had nothing to offer—no name and no past—and who knew what the future would hold? No man in his right mind would want to get involved with a woman who could at any moment turn out to be another person entirely. She was Rain now, but once her memories came back, she would be someone else, anything else—a doctor, a lawyer, a nun, a con artist or even a criminal.
She groaned, swiping at the tears, and turned onto her side. It seemed like such an impossible situation. She liked her life in Mesa Ridge, liked being Rain; but at the same time she wanted desperately to recover her past, wanted to know who she’d been and what she’d done with her life. But what if the answers weren’t what she wanted? What if she didn’t like the person she’d been? If Joe Mountain didn’t like her now, would he like her then?
She jumped at the sound of the back door, surprised when she turned to see Joe step inside.
“Oh, you’re back,” she said, quickly turning back to the soup she had cooking on the stove. She felt self-conscious in her bare feet and wearing only the oversize nightshirt she’d bought on her shopping spree yesterday. “I’d thought you were planning to spend the night up in Reno?”
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