By the time six o’clock arrived and Kari and Lori joined him to relieve Butch, Trey was convinced he’d worked as a bartender sometime in his past. The fixings necessary to make mixed drinks seemed to be recorded on one of his memory chips that still worked. He was confident he could get through the next few hours without Lori discovering his secret — the knowledge was a huge relief. He wasn’t ready to let anyone learn how little he knew about his past.
When he looked up and saw Lori, he felt the same jolt of pure lust that he’d felt earlier in the day. She’d changed into a pair of jeans, a scoop-necked white T-shirt and thick-soled sandals. A chunk of turquoise wrapped in a spiral of thin gold wire hung on a chain around her neck, and a matching stone bracelet circled her wrist.
Her platinum hair was still in a ponytail, the ends brushing her shoulders each time she turned her head.
The bar wasn’t crowded but there was a slow, steady stream of customers until nearly ten o’clock, when a general exodus began. By ten-thirty, the big room was nearly empty. Despite having eavesdropped on as many conversations as possible, Trey hadn’t heard anything that keyed any recall in him. He busied himself with wiping down the already gleaming bar surface while he listened to Lori and Kari discuss the latter’s upcoming wedding.
Clearly a longtime friend of Lori’s, Kari was a curvy redhead who flirted as naturally as she breathed. When she turned to him and announced she was engaged to the only good guy in town, he had to smile.
“How long have you known him?” he asked, drawn into the conversation despite himself.
“Since we were in grade school.” She transferred fresh lemons into the refrigerated case and grinned impishly. “It took a while to convince him marriage is a good idea.”
“Yeah, like ten years,” Lori said dryly. She stood at the register, counting cash and change.
“Ten is better than twenty,” Kari replied blithely. “Besides, Mason is worth waiting for.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Lori agreed. “Mason really is a great guy,” she said to Trey. “But he’s the shy type, always has been, and we’ve known each other since the first day of kindergarten.”
“That’s one of the benefits of growing up in a small town — you have years to get to know people,” Trey commented. It’s interesting they’ve lived here all their lives but they didn’t recognize me. Pretty conclusive evidence that I’m not from this area. It also might mean the cryptic letter he’d found in the ditch wasn’t his, he realized, which would effectively eliminate his only clue to what happened. Neither brought him any closer to solving his identity problem. But on the other hand, maybe it meant he was safe in Granger because if he hadn’t lived or worked here, whoever robbed and tried to kill him might not know to look for him in the small town.
“Yes, that’s the good news — and the bad news,” Lori was saying with a shrug.
“Bad news?” He forced his attention back to the two women. “What could be bad about spending a lot of time with someone before marrying?”
“That’s the good part of the equation,” she agreed. “But the bad half is that we’ve all known each other since we were practically babies. Where’s the mystery? For instance, I remember when Mason got sick in first grade and lost his lunch all over the teacher’s shoes. Hard to forget that and see him as Kari’s answer to Romeo.”
The expression of revulsion on her face was priceless. Trey laughed. “I see what you mean.” He slotted clean glasses into the rack above the bar.
“Your problem is that you have too good a memory, Lori,” Kari put in. “And you’re too cynical.”
“Cynical?” Trey lifted an eyebrow, intrigued by the word.
“She thinks men and monogamy are incompatible. I keep telling her she needs to meet someone like Mason and develop a new perspective.” Kari tossed the last comment over her shoulder as she left to tend to a customer at the opposite end of the bar.
“You don’t believe men can be monogamous?” he asked.
“I suppose there must be men somewhere who are capable of being faithful.” Lori finished rinsing a glass and dried it with efficient ease. “But all those I’ve met, except for Mason and my brother, haven’t been.”
Before he could respond, she picked up a damp towel and handed him another. “Let’s wipe off the tables.”
She clearly didn’t want to discuss the subject further. She also hadn’t named her father in the short list of men she trusted. He wondered why.
I’m not going to ask, he thought. He needed to stay focused on learning who he was and keeping a low profile until he did. Lori Ashworth was a distraction he didn’t need and couldn’t afford.
They left Kari to tend to the sparse group of two older couples and one lone cowboy seated at the long bar.
“Quiet night,” he commented as they worked their way around the empty room.
“Yes.” Lori straightened, tucking her hair behind her ear. “We’ll probably close early if it doesn’t pick up by eleven. And you can sleep in tomorrow morning.”
He nodded, thinking he’d spend the day at the local library, assuming there was one. With luck, it would have a public access computer and Internet service.
Kari joined them and began to wipe off a nearby table. “Bye now,” she called to the two couples as they walked toward the exit.
Trey realized the cowboy had disappeared, too, and the three of them were the only people left in the spacious saloon.
“You’re coming to the ball game Monday night, aren’t you, Troy?” Kari asked.
He would if it increased his chances of discovering something about his past, he thought. If not, he’d give it a pass. “I noticed the poster on the wall,” he said, without really answering her question. “Does the bar sponsor a team?”
Lori nodded. “The Granger Blue Jays. We’re tied for first place in our league — and Monday evening at eight o’clock we have a home game at the field in City Park.”
“You definitely should come,” Kari said. “It’s lots of fun, and the local restaurants take turns staffing the food stand. Ralph’s doing it Monday and he’s making barbecued ribs.”
“That alone means you shouldn’t miss the game,” Lori said with a smile. “No one makes ribs like Ralph.”
“And his pulled pork is even better,” Kari assured him. “Much better — Ralph is king of the barbecue.”
“Our team has the late slot, so the game doesn’t start until eight, but if you wait until then to get there, the food might be gone,” Lori said. “The early game starts at five and a lot of fans eat their dinner at the park.”
“If your team’s tied for first place, you should have a good turnout,” Trey commented.
“Everyone for miles around will be there,” Lori said. “Granger loves baseball.”
“I see.” Satisfied with the information, Trey decided he’d go to the game. But he’d find a place to observe the crowd without being seen. Maybe he’d get lucky and spot someone whose face and name he knew.
And if I don’t, and if no one recognizes me, either, at least I’ll know I can probably hide in Granger until my memory comes back.
He hoped to hell the doctor’s assessment was right and his amnesia cleared up within a few weeks. He didn’t think he was going to be good at pretending to be someone he wasn’t. The only advantage he had was that no one in Granger seemed to know the real Troy Jones.
At least, no one he’d met so far.
The intercom in Harlan Kerrigan’s office in Wolf Creek buzzed. Impatient at the interruption, he flicked the switch.
“What?” he snapped.
“You have a call from your son on line two, sir.”
He didn’t bother acknowledging his secretary. Instead, he turned off the intercom and picked up the receiver.
“Yes?”
“I just had a phone call from Bobby Rimes.”
“Did he get the letter from Trey Harper?”
“No…”
Harlan uttered a string of c
urses, his frustration exploding in anger. “Why the hell not?”
“Evidently Carl hit Harper a little too hard.”
Harlan clenched his teeth and drew a deep breath. “Explain,” he demanded, his voice clipped with the effort to keep from yelling.
“Bobby and Carl followed Trey when he left town on Friday. There was an accident south of here and traffic backed up until the troopers could clear the road. Trey walked to a nearby motel office where the clerk was handing out free coffee and while he was there, Bobby punctured one of his tires — just enough for a slow leak. Then they followed Harper and pulled up behind him when he stopped to fix the flat tire. That’s when Carl hit him with a tire iron.”
“Is he dead?”
“They think so.”
“What did they do with the body?”
“Threw it in a ditch north and east of here along the highway.”
“And Harper’s car? What did they do with that?”
“Bobby says they left it in a rancher’s quarry, well off the road.”
“So Harper’s dead and they didn’t find the letter,” Harlan said slowly.
“Apparently Carl searched his pockets and took everything, but there was no sign of the letter.”
“Hell.” Harlan thought a moment. “Where are the Rimes brothers now?”
“Just across the line in Wyoming.”
“Send them some money and tell them to stay there until they hear from me.”
“Do you want me to pay a visit to the O’Connell woman and get the photos?”
“No,” Harlan exploded. “I don’t want you anywhere near Sherry or the town of Granger. I want to keep a lid on this.”
“Sure, Dad. Will do.”
Harlan hung up the receiver and glared at the phone.
Idiots, he thought. I’m surrounded by idiots. He needed that letter. He hadn’t believed Sherry O’Connell would follow through with her threat to blackmail him but apparently, she had. Bribing the postmistress to let him know if either Trey or Raine Harper received a letter from Sherry had been easy, but he hadn’t dared ask her to give it to him.
It should have been a simple thing for Bobby and Carl to rob Trey and recover the letter. Unfortunately, it appeared they’d killed him in the attempt, and still hadn’t retrieved the letter.
Now all I can do is pretend I don’t know what happened to Trey Harper while keeping tabs on the search for him that’s sure to follow.
He hated loose ends. They annoyed the hell out of him.
Chapter Three
Before noon on Monday, he walked to Granger’s small library, waiting in the shade of a spreading elm until the doors were unlocked. The compact building boasted public Internet access and two computers. Trey claimed one and spent the afternoon surfing the Net, hunting for any information about the Bull ’n’ Bash. He was convinced the meeting place referenced in the mysterious letter must be a bar, but unfortunately, he didn’t find a thing.
He also scanned online newspapers for Billings, Helena, Missoula and Butte, but found no reports of a missing person whose description matched his own. The search was slow and ponderous because the library didn’t have high-speed service. By the time the librarian told him she was closing at 5:00 p.m., his eyes were dry and itchy from staring at the small green screen and his right hand was cramped from clicking the mouse. He left, planning to return the next day and continue looking.
The building was quiet when he let himself in through the restaurant’s alley door and the aroma of barbecue sauce hung in the air in the kitchen.
Ralph must have done prep work for his famous ribs here, he thought, as he raided the refrigerator. Carrying a thick ham sandwich and an ice-cold soda, he climbed the stairs to the apartment. A bag containing a half-dozen T-shirts in white, navy and black hung on the doorknob and he carried it inside, tossing it on the bed. Nice of the boss to provide company shirts since he only had one of his own.
He set the soda and sandwich next to the sofa and switched on the TV. The early-evening news droned through the weather report, predicting more sunshine and hot temperatures. He sat on the couch and stretched out his legs, propping his boots on the small coffee table while he ate. Despite watching the channel for an hour, he didn’t learn anything that jogged his absent memory.
Frustrated, he turned off the set. The clock on the kitchen microwave told him it was nearly 8:00 p.m.
Time to head for the ball field.
The crowd noise was audible as soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk downtown and grew louder as he walked the few blocks to the game. Evening was slipping toward dusk, the light taking on a mellow golden hue.
The baseball field filled one end of the park, flanked by wooden bleachers, six rows high, with a small refreshment stand at the end. Trey entered the recreational area at the other end, where tall old maple trees shaded walkways, a few picnic tables and a grouping of children’s playground equipment. He chose a spot beneath the spreading limbs of an oak and leaned against the trunk, studying the scattered groups of people dotting the stretch of grassy lawn between the tree and the baseball diamond. Some were family groups with children, some were couples, all sat or sprawled on blankets.
He studied the faces of the adults as they chatted and dealt with the kids racing about. None of them looked familiar. His location allowed him to scan the crowd seated in the bleachers, too. Anyone watching him would have thought he was following the game, but in reality all his attention was on the sea of faces.
Again he didn’t recognize a single person, male or female, adult or child, packing the white wooden structure. The field lights came on, their brightness a sharp contrast to the earlier mellow gold light. Trey realized the sun had dropped below the horizon while he’d been intent on studying faces, and dusk had edged shadows beneath the tree where he stood.
He didn’t come. The bubble of anticipation Lori had felt since Saturday night had burst, replaced by disappointment. Resolutely she made a mental list of all the reasons why she shouldn’t care if Troy had decided to give the game a miss. He’s only here for a few weeks. Just because the Blue Jays’ games are a big deal to us doesn’t mean they are to him. Maybe he doesn’t even like baseball. Kari and I never asked him if he did, we just assumed he was interested.
She left Ralph packing the last of his equipment at the refreshment stand and walked toward the bleachers to rejoin Kari.
“Hey, Lori!”
She paused, searching the groups of people seated on blankets in the grassy area past the baseball grounds. A woman waved, claiming her attention, and she angled away from the ball diamond and toward her.
“Hi, Patty.” She ruffled the hair of her friend’s three-year-old son. “Are you enjoying the game, Nathan?”
“Yes! I’m the best batter in the world!” He grinned at her and raced away with another little boy.
“Excellent,” Lori said to his mother, laughing. “Good to know you’re training the next generation of Team Blue Jay.”
“So far, he can’t even hit a wiffle ball, but he’s trying,” his dad said with a smile. “I’d better go grab him before he races blocks from here. Nice to see you, Lori.”
“You, too, Jared. How have you been, Patty?”
Lori chatted with her friend for a few moments before saying goodbye. As she turned away, she glanced idly over the clusters of people spread over the grass and then to the widely spaced trees.
A man stood under one of the oaks. Her gaze moved past him, then snapped back. Even in the deepening dusk, she recognized the distinctive broad shoulders and long legs.
She switched direction and crossed the park toward him.
He leaned against the tree, one shoulder braced against the rough bark of the trunk, arms crossed over his chest. His white T-shirt was one of the company shirts she’d left outside his apartment door. The familiar block letters spelled out Granger Bar and Restaurant above a small silhouette of a bronc rider just over his heart. Tucked into the waistband of his jeans, the
short sleeves leaving powerful biceps bare, the simple shirt she’d seen a dozen men wear suddenly took on a whole new look.
“Hello. I thought you’d decided not to come. Have you been here long?”
“Long enough to know your team is good.”
“They are, aren’t they?” She forced herself to stop studying his body and looked at the field, where a lanky blond man, his baseball cap turned backward, had just stepped up to bat. “That’s Mason, Kari’s fiancé.”
“Can he hit?” Trey asked.
Before Lori could reply, Mason swung and connected and the crowd was on its feet, screaming encouragement as he sped toward first base, rounded second and third and pounded toward home. He lost the race with the ball when he slid into home base and the umpire yelled “out.”
Lori planted her hands on her hips and glared at the ball field. “He was safe by a mile,” she shouted. “Did you see that?” she demanded, turning to Trey.
He grinned at her, his teeth a slash of white in the dusk. “I did. And, yes, he was safe. Bad call by the ump.”
She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “Are you really agreeing with me?”
“Hey.” He threw up his hands in surrender. “I never argue with a woman about her team.”
“That doesn’t mean you agree with me.”
“Not always, but in this instance, I do. Your friend was home. The ump needs glasses.”
She grinned. “Excellent! Let’s go join Kari in the bleachers — we can cheer for Mason and tell her the umpire must be blind.”
He hesitated, and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse, but then he shrugged.
“Sure, why not.”
Nerves prickled, her nape tingling with awareness as he climbed the bleachers behind her. She inched her way past fans to reach the open spot beside Kari.
“Did you see that call?” Kari demanded. “Hi, Troy.”
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