The Heiress and the Sheriff

by Stella Bagwell

“You know,” she said to Wyatt, her gaze still following Ruben, “Maggie is a very lucky woman.”

  “Why? Because she married a millionaire?”

  She shot him a disgusted look. “No. Because she has Ruben for a father and Rosita for a mother.”

  He noticed she rarely mentioned the Fortunes’ wealth, nor did she make reference to money in general. From the report his police friend in Los Angeles had given him, Gabrielle’s address was in a clean, but very modest part of town. A small apartment with no yard, pool, or anything more than a parking lot. Just rooms connected to more rooms of neighboring apartments. He had not told Gabrielle that he knew what her home was like. He saw no point in it. Especially when Matthew had suggested it would be better for her to remember these things on her own.

  “Who knows? You might have parents just as kind and loving as Ruben and Rosita,” he said.

  She shook her head and glanced away from him to a pen of yearlings. Two of the young horses were reared on their hind legs, pawing at each other. Gabrielle wondered if they ever hurt one another with their rough play. Like siblings in a backyard wrestling over a ball or a bike. Would it simply be wishful thinking to imagine she had a brother or sister? she wondered.

  “No. I don’t think I have parents like the Perezes.”

  He glanced at her sharply, but her pensive profile told him little. “Why? You say you have amnesia. You don’t know if you have parents or not.”

  “You’re right. I can’t be certain,” she agreed. “But more and more I’m getting these feelings.”

  He grimaced. “Feelings? What are you talking about?”

  Her gaze settled back on his face. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been around Rosita so much I’m getting psychic too. But I’ve come to the conclusion that I either didn’t have parents to begin with, or don’t get along with them for some reason.”

  Wyatt was surprised she would admit such a thing to him, and it made him wonder if he’d been judging her wrongly from the start. It could be that everything about her story was true.

  But women are born liars, a voice inside him shouted back. You’d be a fool for believing everything Gabrielle said.

  The dejected look on her face bothered him, though. In spite of all his doubts about her being here on the ranch, Wyatt wanted to see Gabrielle happy.

  “You’re only guessing, Gabrielle. And until you remember the past, that’s all you’ll be doing.” He reached for her arm. “It’s too hot out here for you. Are you ready to head back?”

  She wasn’t. But she wouldn’t argue. He was a busy man and she didn’t want to push her luck and risk another hammering headache by trying to walk the half-mile back to the ranch house.

  “Yes. Were you stopping by the house anyway?” she asked.

  His fingers remained on her elbow as he guided her across the hard dusty ground to his truck. “I need to discuss some things with Ryan,” he told her. “Have you eaten yet?”

  “No. Rosita normally doesn’t have the evening meal ready until six-thirty or seven. It’s only six now.”

  “While I talk to Ryan, change your clothes. When I’m finished we’ll go eat.”

  She glanced at him with mocking surprise. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  His expression aloof, he helped her into the cab of the truck. “I’m telling you we’ll have a meal together. If you don’t like the idea, you can stay home.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you ever ask a woman rather than tell her?”

  His hand on the door, he paused and looked at her with eyes full of hard resolution. “It’s been a long time. These past few years I haven’t been guilty of asking a woman for…anything.”

  Gabrielle didn’t reply to that. She felt that he was most likely telling the truth. And though she wondered why he had such a barbaric attitude toward women, now was not the time to question him.

  “I’ll need at least ten minutes,” she told him. “And then I’ll be waiting in the great room.”

  Once they reached the ranch house, it took Gabrielle three minutes to shower, one to slip into a cool cotton shift, and five to dab on a meager amount of makeup and wind her hair into a French braid. By the time she fastened silver hoops in her ears and grabbed up her handbag, she was in danger of passing the ten-minute mark.

  However, when she stepped into the great room, Wyatt was nowhere around. Only Mary Ellen was there, sitting on the couch, staring vilely at the telephone on the coffee table.

  The day after the ransom note had arrived, a complicated listening device and tracer had been placed on the instrument. But so far the kidnapper had not attempted to communicate over the telephone or any other way.

  “I really hate this intrusion on our lives,” Mary Ellen said, gesturing to the telephone. “Those FBI agents think it’s nothing to have your telephone tapped and bodyguards crawling all over the house. They’ve even got the phone over at my house tapped, just in case.”

  “They’re only trying to help,” Gabrielle tried to reassure her. “And it would be awful if someone else were taken from the family.”

  Mary Ellen gave her an apologetic smile. “Of course you’re right, honey. I’m sorry for sounding so haggish.” She sighed wearily and ran her fingers through her red hair. “I just wish things around here could be normal again.”

  Gabrielle eased down on the couch a couple of cushions away from Ryan’s sister-in-law. Though she lived in her own home on the ranch, about two miles away from Ryan’s, Gabrielle had seen her often. During her stay here, Gabrielle had learned Mary Ellen had been married to Cameron Fortune, a man who was the total opposite of his younger brother, Ryan. The man had spent most of his time enjoying women and booze, and the wealth that their father, Kingston, had left them. From the story Gabrielle had been told, Cameron Fortune would have floundered long before he died in a car crash more than five years ago, if it hadn’t been for Mary Ellen’s hard work and sharp mind taking care of her husband’s business holdings. As for Cameron’s adulterous ways, Mary Ellen had apparently turned her back on his behavior and focused her love and attention on raising her children instead.

  The pretty redhead wasn’t the least bit pretentious, and she never looked down on Gabrielle as the pitiful waif with amnesia. She was a respected woman both in and out of the family, and Gabrielle had grown very fond of her.

  “I have the impression there’s always something going on in the Fortune family,” Gabrielle told her.

  Mary Ellen chuckled. “That’s certainly the truth,” she agreed, then frowned. “But I’m worried about this whole thing with the ransom and getting Bryan back. I have bad vibes about it all.”

  “You sound like Rosita now.”

  She tried to smile. “Well, God knows, I’m not going to let Ryan hear my concerns. He has enough to worry about.”

  “Has Lily decided to wear the engagement ring yet?”

  Mary Ellen’s lips pursed with disapproval. “I don’t think so.” She waved one hand in a complacent gesture. “And I can understand the woman’s reasoning, up to a certain point. But it would make Ryan so very happy. After all he’s been through, you’d think she’d want to give the man that much.”

  Gabrielle’s brows lifted. “You don’t like Lily?”

  Mary Ellen looked properly stunned by the question. “Oh, of course I do. I guess it didn’t sound that way, though, now did it?” Before Gabrielle could reply, Mary Ellen waved her hand again and went on, “I think Lily is perfect for Ryan. And she loves him. That’s what really counts. I guess…well, I’m trying to say Ryan is more like a brother to me than a brother-in-law, and I don’t like anyone putting extra worry on his shoulders.”

  Gabrielle nodded. “I understand. And sometimes I worry that my being in the house is only adding to the problems around here. I talked to Matthew last night about going home, but he advised me to forget it for now.”

  “And so you should,” Mary Ellen agreed. “Two days ago you were bedridden with a headache and dizziness. You’re no
t completely well yet, Gabrielle. And besides, you’re not causing anyone around here problems.”

  Only him, Wyatt thought, as he caught the last of the two women’s conversation. Gabrielle was causing him all sorts of problems. But as of yet, none of them were criminal. They only felt that way.

  His boot steps echoed on the tile, and both women turned their heads to see him entering the room. Mary Ellen instantly stood and, with a smile radiating on her face, crossed the floor to greet him.

  “Wyatt!” Taking both his hands in hers, she raised on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “You look exhausted. When are you going to get some rest?”

  He smiled down at her. “There is no rest for the wicked, Mary Ellen.”

  Then you must never sleep, Gabrielle wanted to say. Instead she watched Wyatt touch fingertips to the spot Mary Ellen had kissed. From the sheepish grin on his face, he obviously didn’t always get such an affectionate greeting from the woman.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  Mary Ellen laughed softly. “For all the time and hard work you put in on this family. Maybe one of these days everything will get quiet and back to normal around here, and you can have a nice, long rest.”

  “After two days I wouldn’t know what to do with myself,” he joked, then his expression grew serious. “I really don’t care how many long hours I have to put in, Mary Ellen. I’d do it all over again and more to get little Bryan back.”

  Mary Ellen sighed and patted his hand. “Yes. We all would.”

  Wyatt glanced at Gabrielle, who’d left the couch to join them. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded, and Mary Ellen’s brows lifted as she glanced back and forth between Wyatt and Gabrielle. “You two going somewhere?”

  “Wyatt is taking me out for supper. Or maybe it’s to jail and I just don’t know it yet,” Gabrielle joked with the other woman.

  Mary Ellen laughed. “If Wyatt puts you in jail, I’ll be the first one there to get you out.” She gave Wyatt a look of warning. “Take her somewhere special, Wyatt.”

  A sly grin on his face, Wyatt reached for Gabrielle’s arm. “I intend to, Mary Ellen.”

  When they drove away from the ranch a few minutes later, the sun was still blazing on the western horizon. Gabrielle slid her sunglasses on her nose, then glanced at Wyatt as she explained, “I’m not really trying to hide behind these things. The bright light seems to aggravate my headaches, and Matthew said I should keep my eyes protected when I go out in daytime.”

  “He’s a good doctor. You should do what he says.”

  He reached to turn the air conditioner to a colder setting, and Gabrielle welcomed the icy air on her face.

  “Is it always this hot and humid here? When does it cool down?”

  “We don’t have much cool weather here. We’re not all that far from the Gulf of Mexico, so it’s almost always humid. In the dead of winter you might need a light coat.”

  “I’m sure it must have been hot in Los Angeles, too,” she remarked. “I just don’t remember it.”

  “I doubt Los Angeles heat feels like Texas heat.” He glanced at her, amazed that she’d done so much to herself while he’d been talking to Ryan. The figure-hugging jeans had been replaced with a clingy little dress that stopped just short of her knees. The white background was splashed with blue flowers, and the color was a bold contrast against her tanned skin. Other than a few wisps of bangs swept to one side of her forehead, her hair was bound in an elaborate braid. Her skin glowed fresh and dewy, and her lips and cheeks blushed with just a hint of rosy brown. He couldn’t imagine a plate of food that could look any tastier than she did at this moment.

  “What do you think you did back in Los Angeles?” he asked.

  She shrugged, wondering who was asking—the sheriff in him, or the man. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing. If I had a house or apartment, I must have had a job of some sort. And I don’t appear to be ignorant. Since I’ve been on the Double Crown, I’ve done quite a bit of reading, and I seem to be knowledgeable in a wide variety of subjects. It makes me wonder if I have a college education, or maybe was in the process of getting one. But nothing has gone through my mind to tell me if my wonderings are actually right or wrong.”

  Sighing, she folded her hands in her lap, then glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Wyatt, have you thought of having someone search my apartment? There might be something in there that could tell us things. Like my bills or bank statement.”

  His gaze remained on the highway as he contemplated her suggestion. “The idea has crossed my mind,” he admitted. “But what good would a bunch of facts do you? Sure, it would tell you where you banked, if you went to school or where you worked. And you would probably learn who your friends and family are. But what would those names mean, if you didn’t remember them?”

  She pressed her lips together and tried not to feel so lost and forsaken. “I suppose you’re right. None of that would tell me who I really am inside. But at least I wouldn’t be totally in the dark about my life.”

  He turned his head and cast her a quizzical look. If she was willing to chance exposing herself, then she couldn’t be hiding much. But then, maybe she already knew there was nothing in her apartment to give her plans away, and this was all just a ploy to gain his trust. Dear God, he wished he knew. “Do you really want to know that badly?”

  “I’m not sure I can keep going on like this,” she said quietly. “My whole life is in limbo.”

  “Have you been that miserable at the Double Crown?”

  The thing that was causing her the real misery was him. But there was no way she could tell him such a thing. To do so would admit he was an important factor in her life. And she didn’t have to be told to know that Wyatt Grayhawk didn’t want to be an influence in any woman’s life.

  “No. But—”

  “Then let it go for now, Gabrielle,” he interrupted roughly. “I figure it will all come back soon enough.”

  And when it did, she would be out of his life. He was shocked at how barren the idea left him feeling.

  Wyatt took her to an older part of town where a little café was tucked between a saddle shop and a tavern. Above the wooden screen door covering the entrance was a faded sign that read Jose’s.

  Inside, Gabrielle looked around her with charmed interest. The ceilings were low and the floor no more than bare board planks. Small round tables covered with white tablecloths were scattered throughout a main area and smaller connecting rooms. Succulents, many of which Gabrielle didn’t recognize, grew in large pots alongside the windows and anywhere else there was available space. Brightly striped serapés, battered sombreros, old bits, spurs and bridles all adorned the stucco walls.

  A hostess quickly greeted them at the door and, after a quick exchange in Spanish with Wyatt, led them to a secluded room with one private table. After lighting a fat candle in the middle, she passed them each a folded menu, then left with a promise to quickly send a waitress for their orders.

  “I didn’t have any idea you spoke Spanish,” Gabrielle said as she opened the worn menu.

  “When you live around a language all your life, you naturally pick it up. And in my line of work it’s practically a necessity to be able to communicate.”

  “What about the Cherokee language? Do you know any of it?”

  His eyes remained on the menu. “No,” he said curtly. “My father could have cared less about his heritage.”

  “That’s a shame,” Gabrielle replied.

  “Where Leonard Grayhawk was concerned, there was a lot to be shamed.”

  She forgot the menu as she studied his face. “Was? Is your father dead?”

  One of his shoulders lifted, then fell. “Who knows? He left this area years ago to go back to Oklahoma. I haven’t heard from him since. And I don’t want to.”

  There was nothing but bitterness in his voice. Gabrielle decided it would be best to let the subject of his father alone for the time being. He’d been kind enough to
ask her out for supper. She didn’t want to ruin their evening by opening old wounds.

  She turned her attention to the menu. It was written in Spanish, and she could only manage to translate a few words here and there. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to order for me, Wyatt. I don’t know what any of these things are.”

  Across the table, he gave her a wry smile. “Do you like your food hot?”

  “How hot is ‘hot’?”

  He chuckled. “You know what it feels like outside. Well, double or triple that temperature.”

  “Oh, well, I definitely couldn’t handle hot. Get me something mild.”

  His smile turned sly. “So you’re not feeling adventurous tonight?”

  As her gaze lingered on the sharp angles of his face, she was suddenly swamped with broken images of his lips pressed to hers, the look in his eyes when he’d tossed her dress aside, the feel of his hands on her breasts and belly. That brief time with him seemed like weeks ago rather than days. Yet she remembered every second of it as though it had happened yesterday.

  “Not that adventurous.”

  He chuckled. “Then I’ll try to find something that won’t burn your tongue.”

  She drew in a deep breath, then released it as she tried to push away the lingering erotic images of the two of them. “Do you come here often?”

  He shook his head. “I would if I had more time. It’s my favorite place to eat. But this past year has been too busy. Usually I throw something into the microwave and call that supper.”

  “I think when I finally do leave the ranch, I’m going to be very spoiled from Rosita’s cooking.”

  “Living on the Double Crown would spoil most anybody,” he said.

  She sighed. “Having someone waiting on me or doing my housecleaning isn’t important to me. I don’t believe I came from that sort of life.”

  “Why do you think that?” he asked, his eyes narrowed keenly on her face.

  “Because it doesn’t feel natural for someone else to be making my bed or cooking my meals. I feel as though I should be doing it myself.”

  “Maybe that’s subconscious guilt.”