Cowboy Lies

by Lynde Lakes

She nodded and forced a smile. Not really, she thought. She trembled, thinking about going out into the wilderness with a man she knew so little about. Why hadn’t she refused to go? Curiosity? The tenacious seductive hope that she would learn something about their past…something that would trigger her memory?

  As though her apprehension of being alone in an isolated spot with a man she couldn’t remember and didn’t trust wasn’t enough, there was another big problem—the horse.

  She stared at it without going any closer. Her heart raced. Starlight looked almost as big as Gold King and just as dangerous. “I don’t think I know how to ride.” She hated the tremor in her voice.

  Matt brought the horses to her. “I’ll talk you through. All you need is a few basics.”

  “Basics,” she repeated, skeptical. He rattled on, something about posture and about how to slip the reins through two fingers—then the ranch faded away, leaving only the hum of his voice and his earth brown eyes staring into hers.

  Then, he laughed and said, “But most important, stay on the horse and watch out for low branches.”

  Fear of the horse and a sudden unexplainable desire for Matt battled within Molly, setting her cheeks on fire. Unable to speak, she nodded.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll be right beside you. Put your left foot in the stirrup.”

  She stood frozen. “Here, let me help you.” He touched her thighs in preparation to boost her onto the sand-colored quarter horse. The heat of his fingers burned through the heavy material of her jeans. “Grab the saddle horn, lean forward, and throw your right leg over.”

  She took a deep breath and did as he instructed. To her surprise, she slid with ease into the saddle. Her fleeting satisfaction disappeared when she looked down. It was a long way to the ground. She clenched the saddle horn with a white-knuckled grip.

  Matt adjusted the stirrups for her. “Starlight is a good-natured horse.” Matt patted the quarter horse on its rump and handed Molly the reins. “You two should get along just fine.” Matt swung smoothly onto Gold King. The way he slid his lean hips into the saddle sent a surge of desire though Molly.

  Along with a picnic basket, she noticed the rifle lashed to Gold King’s rump. “Expecting trouble?”

  Matt shook his head. “Nah, but preparedness is part of ranch life.” He urged Gold King ahead, and as though trained to do so, Starlight followed.

  She frowned at the gun, then looked at Matt. He moved with his horse, riding the saddle leather in a masterful and mesmerizing rhythm. Molly’s heartbeat accelerated. She forced her attention to what she hoped would be a safer place to look. Sunlight glistened on Matt’s inky hair—images came to mind of a wild black stallion, muscles tensed for conquest. Her breath caught. Even though he claimed to be her husband, she didn’t want to have these feelings. Not until she was sure what was going on.

  She took a deep breath, taking in heady smells of earth and animals, and forced herself to study the surroundings. From flat ranch land to rocky bluffs and purple mountains, nothing looked familiar. She couldn’t see herself in this land, but she could see Matt here. It suited him. Wild. Untamed. Still, he was a contradiction—while no one could control him, he held a tight rein on himself and those around him.

  Earlier this morning in the barn when she’d made the telephone call, she’d been lucky. If Matt had gotten there a minute or two sooner, the situation could have been difficult.

  Matt slowed Gold King, and Starlight moved up parallel to the stallion. Molly’s search for something to say failed. What did a man like Matt think about? Was he even aware that she rode beside him? She cast sideways glances at him when he wasn’t looking. Darn him, she couldn’t deny that his hard edge fascinated her.

  She’d been concentrating so hard on Matt that she wasn’t aware when the terrain changed to rougher, more desolate land. Her arms prickled. The silence between them unnerved her. “You keep the ranch looking sharp. It must be tough. I suppose cattle ranching is a complex business?”

  Bringing his horse unnecessarily close, Matt locked gazes with Molly for several seconds. “It takes commitment. And determination.” His passion for the ranch sent shivers up her spine.

  She didn’t feel comfortable with him riding so close. She forced herself to ignore the flush burning her cheeks. “Sounds like you have a love affair going with the ranch.” Molly frowned. Maybe that was why she didn’t feel married—her husband was married to his spread.

  “I’ll be the first to admit it’s hard work with long hours. But there’s something about it that gets to me.”

  Molly frowned. She and Matt operated on different wavelengths. He had a tender spot in his heart for this place, and she felt trapped here. How had they ever gotten together?

  Starlight and Gold King ambled side by side in an easy gait, following the fence line past grazing cattle. Rangeland sprouted with life. Blades of thin, brown bluestem and the state grass, sideoats grama, stretched across the sandy pastures. Mesquite thickets twisted in tangled patches. Molly wiped her wrist across her forehead. “It’s a wonder anything grows in this heat.”

  Matt laughed. “There’s a simple South Texas wisdom—land has limitations. It’s a serious life-or-death balancing act to live in this fragile environment. But there’s no crowding—just unlimited raw, barren land all the way to the base of the mountains.”

  “You really love it out here, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Running the ranch has always been about responsibility, not love.”

  She tilted her head and grinned. “Well, if you didn’t have the responsibility, I’ll bet you’d stay anyway. You’re such a part of all this that I can’t tell where you begin and the land ends.”

  ****

  Molly’s words hit Matt with the force of a stampede. It was true, he thought. The FBI fieldwork no longer filled his needs like it had when he was younger. He was fed up with living out of suitcases alone in hotel rooms. Tired of not having a life. “Maybe you’re right. I curse this place when I’m here, but I miss it like hell when I’m gone.”

  Her eyes brightened, making her look instantly alert. “Gone? When were you gone? And where did you go?”

  He swore under his breath. Even simple comments brought tangled questions. “Remember, I told you. I rode the rodeo circuit for a while.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

  He hadn’t expected her to react this way to his curt answer—the chin that surged up, the palpable way she drew a protective veneer over her emotions. He felt like a heel, but it was necessary to let the subject die. Her words about him being a part of the land replayed over and over at the edges of his mind. Instead of bothering him, they soothed him.

  They passed grazing cattle. With new insight, rather than seeing them as a burden, Matt saw them as an opportunity to carve out an important niche for himself. This ranch mattered to scores of people, and he could make the place grow into something substantial, something worthwhile to pass on to his children. Children. He could see himself with a son like Roberto and a beautiful daughter like Sara Jane.

  Suddenly happier than he’d been in a long time, Matt began to sing a cowhand range song: “Oh say, little doggie, when will you lay down, and give up this shifting and roving around? My horse is leg-weary, and I’m plumb tired, but if you get away, I’m sure to be fired. Lay down, little doggie, lay down.”

  Molly laughed and joined in on the second chorus. Matt felt as though he might burst with happiness. When he’d brought Molly to the ranch, he’d thought it the only thing he could do under the circumstances. He realized now that his heart had been involved in the decision, and he wanted her to stay.

  She no doubt hated this arid country, and when she remembered her past, she’d leave. Matt tried to visualize things from her viewpoint. The hot wind whistled a mean refrain. On a slight rise in the land, a cluster of windmills beat the air with angry wings.

  ****

  Molly followed Matt’s gaze. “Why all the windmills?�
�� She didn’t mind the heat so much now, or the wind whipping her hair. And for some reason, Matt no longer frightened her.

  “We use them to pump water for cattle.” Matt pointed to an edifice that seemed fatter and squatter than the others. “Ol’ Carlita is a real antique.”

  “What? You name your windmills?” Singing, naming windmills—she liked the sense of fun buried deep in this cowboy. Liked it a lot.

  “Names are easier to remember than numbers. The vaqueros would rather check out Carlita than plain ol’ number sixty-six. Anyway, to get back to Carlita—she was shipped here from Mexico City by my Grandpa Ryan.”

  Molly laughed. “I sense a story there.”

  “I never knew the crux of the matter, but it had something to do with a whim Grandma had, and a wager Grandpa made with the presidente of Mexico.”

  “The president?” she echoed. “Your grandpa and grandma knew people in high places. Ah, the plot thickens.”

  Matt laughed.

  Molly liked his laugh. It was real. “Do you suppose their bond accounts for the adobe architecture on your ranch?”

  “A romantic thought, but no. The flavor of old Mexico remains because Mexicans and mestizos settled this region.”

  Molly was beginning to see the ranch through Matt’s eyes. Conversation about livestock, cowboys, and the land flowed with ease.

  “See that rock formation in the distance?”

  She nodded. Two huge boulders twisted into each other as if in a lovers’ embrace.

  “A story passes among my men that an outlaw kidnapped a Mexican princess. During her captivity, in the heated days and long passionate nights, she fell in love with him. When her rescuers came, she twined herself around the outlaw to protect him. A single bullet meant for the outlaw passed through both of them. They took their dying breaths clinging to one another. The men in the posse tried to separate them. But the couple had turned to stone in an embrace to last for all eternity.”

  Molly felt an odd parallel between the legendary couple and herself. She had felt like a prisoner here in the beginning, but now, she was starting to feel like she could belong—and that scared her.

  Chapter Four

  They were on a plateau now. Purple rocky hills reached high into the clouds, and below stood a grove of trees. Matt pointed at them. “Mesquite. Sometimes called honey locust.”

  Molly heard the pride in his voice, as though he’d planted the trees himself. Pods drooped from the branches, and fallen husks encircled the base like prickly brown grass. It was becoming more and more apparent that Matt loved this land and every scraggly tree and bush on it.

  “Have I been here before?” Nothing looked familiar.

  He shook his head. “I’ve been meaning to bring you out this way for a long time.”

  The strong emotion in his tone somehow carried an undercurrent of evasion. Her gaze flew to his. The look they exchanged wasn’t what she expected. It was intense and humming with sexual tension. In self-preservation, she looked away.

  A couple of big old pecan trees stood to their left. Their furrowed bark captured the shadows of the leafy branches. Molly thought they had more character and grace than the mesquite trees. But using them as a distraction didn’t work. Where would all this sizzling tension between her and Matt lead? If he was holding back information, did she want it to lead somewhere? Damn it, she shouldn’t.

  Why did he have to ride so close? It made her too aware of the masterful rhythm of his body—too aware of her own desire.

  Matt reined his stallion to the path that led down a slope and took the lead. Molly’s tension eased a bit, and she sighed, relieved to have a little distance between them.

  The roar of an engine, growing louder as a plane approached, broke the silence. Molly looked up. Against the backdrop of the azure sky, a white, single-engine Cessna flew low and circled slowly.

  Her neck prickled. “What’s that plane doing way out here?” She turned in the saddle to watch the Cessna circle one more time. Then it headed in the direction of the ranch house.

  “Don’t recognize it. But ranchers often use light planes and helicopters to drop supplies, reach distant areas, and round up strays.”

  While looking behind her at the plane, she slammed straight into a low-hanging branch. The force knocked her out of the saddle and onto her back, her head hitting the hard ground, stunning her.

  Matt cursed and reined Gold King to a stop. He leaped off his horse and rushed to Molly’s side, lifting her with care and cradling her in his arms. “Are you all right, honey?”

  Molly’s head was spinning. She gave an embarrassed laugh. “A little bruised and battered, but I’ll live.” Honey?

  He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes and kissed her temple. “I told you to watch those low branches.”

  His kiss and the husky tenderness in his voice touched her.

  “I know. But I was looking at the plane.” A metaphor for her life, she thought. She’d been so busy looking back that she was missing the here and now. They were supposed to be married, and they’d barely touched. Before she had time to reconsider her action, Molly slid her arms around Matt’s neck and drew his face toward hers. He stiffened and held himself away. He stared at her for a long time. In his eyes, she saw desire struggling with control. To her acute disappointment and embarrassment, his damnable steel-like control won.

  Well, she wasn’t letting him get off that easily. “What is it you’re trying so hard to keep from me?”

  “For cryin’ out loud, Molly, you just got knocked off a horse.” He grabbed her chin. “Look at me.” He checked her eyes, and then traced his hands over her neck. In spite of the heat and her exasperation, she felt a delicious little shiver.

  Sliding his calloused hands over her arms, then her legs, he examined them thoroughly from ankle to thigh. Fire flamed within her; she gritted her teeth to hide her desire. He bent her legs, testing them for injuries. “Nothing seems broken,” he said.

  She frowned. She guessed hearts didn’t count. She shook her head at her absurd thought. Her heart wasn’t involved. It was more like a bruised ego.

  “Do you think you can go on? Or should we head back?”

  “I’m fine,” she muttered. “I told you that.”

  He stood, bringing her up with him. He whistled for the horses, and they trotted to him. When Matt gripped Molly’s hips to help her mount Starlight, another hot tremor shot through her. Why was her body so sensitive to his touch?

  He swung into his own saddle. The brim of his Stetson shaded his eyes. “Look where you’re going next time,” he growled. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “I’m overwhelmed by your sweet talk, cowboy.” She smiled to herself. In a concerned moment, Matt had slipped up and called her honey.

  She dug her heels into the horse’s flanks. Starlight took off in a frightening gallop. Oh, no. I just made another mistake.

  Molly bobbed wildly in the saddle, too scared to scream, and holding onto the saddle horn for dear life. It would serve her right if the ride ended up with her flat on her back again, perhaps this time with broken bones.

  She heard Gold King’s hooves pounding the trail behind her. When the horse came alongside, Matt grabbed the reins and slowed her down before she got into real trouble. “Fancy riding, Molly. But let’s keep it simple. One fall is all my heart can take.”

  “What heart?” she said, trying to hide her profound relief and lingering fear. “Besides, I can be taken off guard once, but not twice.” The tough tone she was seeking fizzled, but she had reached Matt on some level because he sent her a questioning look as though he suspected her words had a meaning beyond low branches—for instance, his rejection of her pass at him, and maybe more. An indefinable hurt deep inside told her there was something more complex going on here. Due to the damned amnesia, she wasn’t sure exactly what.

  “Don’t push me too far, Molly. I do have a limit.”

  Now it was her turn to question if there might be a d
ouble meaning in his words. Was he inferring that if she made another advance he might lose control of his passion? Hmm. She’d like to think that—but maybe she was reading too much into his curt message. Or maybe not. Molly squared her shoulders and sat up straighter. Although Matt might not agree, she considered their brief duel of words a draw.

  They rode on in silence, tension charging between them at an all-time high. Molly accepted the blame for the strain. It seemed she had a habit of making impulsive decisions that tended to get her in hot water. She’d have to watch that. She glanced at Matt out of the corner of her eye to see if he was still miffed. It was hard to tell. He was squinting, but his mouth was no longer flattened into a grim line.

  She wrestled with herself over the next question and decided to ask it anyway. “You get angry a lot, don’t you?”

  He shook his head at her censure. “I wish you could remember how I was before the amnesia, before all the crap started piling up. Of late, my life’s been what my foreman, Alfonso, likes to call una lucia—a battle—and if I don’t fight back, none of us will survive.”

  His passionate words hummed through her. Whatever made Matt who he was, he believed his premise to the depth of his soul. “I haven’t made it any easier on you, have I?”

  “You went through a bad time, but we’ll work it out.”

  When they rode into the shade of a cluster of oak trees, Molly heard the sweet refrain of a mockingbird. Matt reined his horse to a stop and gestured with a sweep of his arm to the tree-shaded green waters spilling over boulders in frothy mini-waterfalls. His expression was very intense, very sexy. “No matter what you think of me and my cowboy ways,” he said, “or what you think of this hard, mean country with floods and droughts and tornadoes, you gotta love Verde Creek.”

  “I do,” she murmured. “It’s lovely here.” Then she laughed. “And you and this hard, mean nowhere-land also have a certain charm.”

  He shook his head and broke into a grin. “That’s one of the things I love about you, Molly, your talent for coming up with something double-sided like put-down praise.” Matt reined Gold King in a circle to face her and sidled the horse close. He held out a hand. “Truce?” His voice was husky, his inflection challenging.