by Rebecca York
Mercifully, instead of engaging him in conversation, she turned on the radio, switching from country and western to south-of-the-border music when the listening areas changed.
It was a long ride. As they drove westward, the landscape grew progressively dryer, the flat plains rimmed by mountains.
When the terrain became more hilly, he sensed that they were getting close to their destination.
They arrived in Pritchard by midafternoon. It was a town that sat baking in the fierce Texas sun.
On the outskirts were ramshackle houses interspersed with house trailers. The central shopping area was a hodgepodge of buildings—some adobe, some faded wood, some brick and cinder block. But they all had one feature in common, a front porch to ward off the broiling sun.
About half the angled spaces up and down the street were filled with cars and trucks. And a number of horses were also tied up in the shade of some trees.
Pulling into a parking spot, Luke cut the engine.
“Now what?” Hannah asked.
“Coming here was your idea,” he snapped, then realized he’d given too much away by the unguarded words and the way he’d spoken them.
She reached to press her small hand over his large one.
Her skin was warm and dry, a sharp contrast to his own cold, clammy flesh. He knew to the moment the last time they’d touched each other—when he’d put a new bandage on her wound. Before that had been in the car after she’d haltingly confessed her relationship with Gary Flynn. Then he hadn’t been able to stop himself from reaching to comfort her. Now she was doing the same thing.
“I’m proud of you for coming here,” she said.
“Did I have a choice?” he asked dismissively.
“There’s always a choice.” She took her upper lip between her teeth, then turned it loose to ask, “Do you remember anything?”
He shook his head. “Not on any conscious level. But as long as I’m here, I guess I should get out of the car and stroll around. See if anyone comes running to greet me or goes running in the other direction.” He forced a laugh. “Maybe I’ll find out I killed the mayor’s grandmother, and they’ll come and throw me in the clink.”
“I doubt it.”
They made one trip up and down the sidewalk, stopping to look at the merchandise in shop windows. Western wear. Children’s clothing. Dry goods. Groceries.
After one full circuit of the business district, they were about to start in the opposite direction again when Luke felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle. Pretending to look at a saddle in a window, he slanted his eyes far enough to the right to see two men of Mexican extraction—one with streaks of gray in his hair—watching him intently and putting their heads together to talk. As soon as he turned fully toward them, they quickly ducked into the drugstore.
The men had recognized him. He was sure of that. And sure they didn’t want to confront him directly.
As he and Hannah approached the café in the middle of the block, he heard her stomach rumble.
When he glanced at her, she blushed.
“Uh, the soft drink and crackers they served us on the plane was a long time ago,” she murmured.
“Yeah. Maybe we should have a late lunch,” he answered, and felt guilty when he saw her grateful look. His stomach might be too nervous for food, but she was probably starving after the long drive from San Antonio.
There were no other customers inside, and he was afraid the place might be closed. But the young, dark-skinned waitress said she’d be glad to serve them.
Luke chose a table by the window, deliberately putting himself on display to anyone who passed by. Setting his hat on the seat beside him, he picked up the menu, studying the basic Tex-Mex fare.
He figured he could handle a chicken burrito and a taco. Hannah went for the combination plate.
When the food arrived, he concentrated on getting down small bites, while Hannah tucked into her cheese enchilada.
He was halfway through his burrito when he felt the sensation of being watched again. Looking up, he saw an old Mexican woman with deeply lined skin staring at him through the glass.
Their eyes met and held. The woman’s lips moved, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying through the window.
Hannah must have caught the expression on his face, because she looked from him to the window.
When the woman saw them both staring at her, she took a step back, then turned and started down the line of stores. Luke leaped out of his seat, heading for the door.
He reached her before she turned the corner, then wasn’t sure what to do.
“Ma’am. Uh, ma’am.”
At the sound of his words she whirled, looking him up and down with dark perplexed eyes. “Maybe I made a mistake,” she said in a soft voice, her speech rich with the accents of a native Spanish speaker.
“You think you know me?” Luke asked, his whole existence focused on her answer.
“Jose came running to my house saying he saw Lucas Somerville. But maybe he was mistaken…” The sentence trailed off as if she was asking him to correct the impression.
His whole body went rigid. Lucas Somerville? Was that the name he’d been born with?
He had expected—hoped and prayed—that when he heard it, memory would come back in a thunderclap of recognition. Or a great rolling wave of comprehension.
He had lots of metaphors for the phenomenon. But it turned out that none of them was worth a bucket of warm spit.
Nothing happened.
Nada.
His mind was still as blank of his personal history as it had been before he’d heard the collection of syllables.
CHAPTER NINE
Although memory still eluded him, Luke felt some sort of silent communication pass between himself and the old woman. Greedily he took in details, as if he could draw out some truth about himself by understanding her.
Her hair must have once been a rich black. Now it was streaked with silver. Her hands and feet were small, her fingers stubby. And her faded dress was a sort of shapeless sack draped over her large breasts and broad hips.
If she held out her arms, he realized with a jolt that he would go into them like a child asking for his mother’s comfort. But neither of them seemed capable of movement.
“Can you tell me your name?” he asked.
“Juanita Contrares.”
It had no familiarity, and again he was seized by a wave of bitter disappointment.
He was vaguely aware that Hannah had been standing behind him, listening to the exchange and holding the hat he’d forgotten on the seat beside him.
Now she spoke, explaining what he should have said himself. “Luke was in an accident. He has no memory of his past. But he picked the name Luke Pritchard for himself, and we thought that if he came here, someone might recognize him and tell him about his background.”
The words made the old woman’s face go slack with shock. “An accident!” she gasped, her gaze roving over his face and body.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly through his parched lips. “The only problem is the gap in my memory.”
Reassured, she studied him appraisingly. “You look different,” she said in a thoughtful voice.
“But you think you recognize me?” he persisted.
“I worked for Señor Somerville before he died. I took care of Lucas when he was little. It’s a long time since you left, but I think…I think that’s who you are.”
The confirmation chased some of the ice from his skin.
“You were just a boy when you left town,” she went on in a stronger voice. “Your face is different. You’ve filled out. Matured. I don’t think so many people would recognize you. But Jose worked at the ranch, too. He saw you every day.”
“Why did I leave?”
“You and your father didn’t get along.”
Her voice was matter-of-fact, but there was a wealth of implications in the simple statement.
“I’d like to ask you
more questions, Señora Contrares,” Luke said, glancing around. “But not out here on the street. And not in the restaurant where other people could hear us. Is there somewhere more private where we can talk?”
She hesitated for a moment. “My home is very humble.”
“Your house will be fine. Is it far? We can give you a ride.”
“A ride. Sí. Thank you.”
Feeling slightly disoriented, Luke led the way to the SUV, unlocked it and slipped behind the wheel. Hannah climbed in back with Juanita.
“Thank you for helping us,” she said.
“Lucas Somerville was like my little boy,” she said, then directed them around the corner and down several blocks.
They crossed a set of railroad tracks to an area of dirt yards, old cars and low dwellings that needed painting. Dark-haired children playing in the streets turned to look at them as they passed.
She pointed to a faded adobe, and Luke pulled up at the front walk. Inside, the furniture was old and worn, with brightly woven pieces of fabric covering what were probably holes in the upholstery. Yet everything was neat and orderly. A circulating fan in the corner stirred the hot air.
“Sit,” Juanita said, looking apologetic as she gestured toward the sofa and chairs.
“You’re an excellent housekeeper,” Hannah said.
“I try,” she answered modestly.
Luke settled onto the sofa, and Hannah sat next to him, laying her hand over his. Finding he needed the contact, he didn’t pull away.
“Can I get you something? I have tea in the refrigerator.”
“No, thank you. We’re fine,” Hannah answered.
The old woman nodded, then swung her gaze back to Luke. Her words were kindly, yet something about her appraisal made him edgy. “I hope you have had a good life since you left this town.”
“I wish I knew the answer to that.” He cleared his throat and decided to go for broke. “The only thing I remember is a little something about my mother.”
“Carmen Luz.”
Again he tried to catch some hint of recognition, but the name brought no picture to his mind.
“She left when you were seven.”
“Why?”
Juanita hesitated. “It’s not my place to talk about your family.”
“I need to know! And it looks like you’re the only one who can tell me.”
She gave a small nod, considering, then began to speak in a voice that was little more than a whisper. “Your father was drinking. He used to beat her and insult her. She would talk to me about it.”
“Why did she marry him?”
“He wasn’t always a bad man. His family was well off. He started going to a devil’s place called Las Vegas and gambling. It was like a disease with him. He lost a lot of money, and he comforted himself with drink.”
“My mother came across the border illegally?”
“Dios, no!” the woman exclaimed, her voice dripping with indignation. “She was from a good family in Mexico. She met your father when they were both studying at the University in San Antonio. She went back to her family when she couldn’t take your father’s abuse any longer.”
Luke’s chest was so tight he could barely dredge up enough air to speak. But he had to ask the question that had been digging its claws into his mind since the session with the psychologist. “Why didn’t she take me with her?”
Juanita looked sad. “Her family was proud. They had forbidden her to marry your father, but she defied them and did it anyway. And when she finally admitted to herself that they had been right all along, they allowed her to take nothing with her.”
It was more than he’d hoped to hear. Perhaps she hadn’t had a choice about abandoning him.
“She made me promise to take good care of you,” Señora Contrares said. “And I tried my best. But your father was a hard man. Sometimes I thought he treated you like a rented mule. You were filling a man’s boots before you were eight, working on the ranch with the rest of the hands.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “You grew up riding some tough mounts and making your pocket money by chasing wild horses. You were a pretty salty bronc rider, too. I think you were nine when you first came out of a bucking chute, at the Fourth of July rodeo in Marathon.”
In a kind of trance, Luke listened to the recitation, unable to identify with any of the details she was handing out.
“The older you got, the more I worried that you and your father would…come to blows. Then one morning when you didn’t show up at the breakfast table, I went in to see what was wrong, and you were just gone,” she continued.
“How old was I?”
“Sixteen. You were tall. You looked older. You could have passed for an adult—with that mustache you wore to make yourself look older.” She paused and inspected him again. “You seem like a fine man. I’m glad of that.”
He gave a small shrug, then changed the subject by asking, “How long ago did my father die?”
Her vision turned inward for a moment. “Four or five years. He’s buried in the graveyard behind the house. With your grandparents.”
Luke took in the information without emotion, sure that he should feel something. Anything.
“Is anyone living at the ranch?”
“No. He left it to you. But you didn’t come back—until now.”
“To me?” he asked incredulously. “You said we hated each other.”
“Maybe in the end he felt regret. I think he missed you, although he would never have said it out loud.”
Luke tried to digest everything he’d heard. There were still no feelings associated with the words. It was as if the old woman were talking about someone else. A stranger. Finally he asked, “Can you tell me where to find the place?”
“It’s on the main road out of town. About forty miles west. It’s called the Big S.”
He’d run out of questions, and the room filled with silence as the old woman swung her gaze from him to Hannah and back again. “At least I know you have a woman who cares about you.”
He turned his head toward Hannah and saw her flush. He might have said that she wasn’t his woman. But he hadn’t come here to get into complicated explanations.
Hannah filled the sudden silence by asking, “When you spotted Luke—Lucas—in the restaurant, you were reacting to more than just seeing him in town.”
Luke had been too busy trying to absorb the personal information to focus on anything beyond that. Now he waited for the answer like a man on trial for murder, waiting for the jury’s verdict.
Regret flashed in Juanita’s eyes. “When I saw you, I thought the men turned out to be right.”
The cryptic phrase had Luke leaning forward in his seat. “What men? Right about what?” he demanded.
The old woman looked down at her hands, then back at him. “I have been in this town a long time, since I came as a girl from Mexico. People around here know me.” She paused, and made an openhanded gesture. “Jose came to tell me he thought he saw you. And I’ve heard things before. Not long ago there were rumors that someone who looked like you was traveling around in the desert. You and some strangers nobody recognized.”
With an odd feeling of detachment, he considered the implications of her words and of the strained expression on her face. They were near the border and in a part of the state where the wide-open spaces were vast and rugged, where traffic from Mexico was likely to skirt the law. Illegal immigration came immediately to mind. And smuggling.
“They think I was up to no good?” he asked.
She shrugged, but the evasive look in her eyes made his skin go cold and then hot. “I think maybe they don’t know what you were doing.”
HANNAH WATCHED Luke without training her eyes directly on him. He’d been hit with so much bad news in the past few minutes, and she suspected the temptation to simply drop this particular subject was almost overwhelming.
But she was pretty sure he was going to ask the next logical question.
“Where exa
ctly was I seen?”
“I don’t have the answer to that.”
“Who would?” Hannah interjected.
“I can ask around,” the old woman answered. “Maybe someone will be willing to talk to Lucas.”
“Under the circumstances, I’m not sure it’s so good for you to be seen with me,” Luke said. “Or for me to be seen in town. We’d better stay somewhere else.”
“What about Boylton?” Hannah asked. She’d studied the map and knew it was one of several communities within a seventy-five-mile radius of Pritchard. “Do you know the name of a motel there?”
Señora Contrares thought for a moment. “The Yucca. It’s not fancy. But I know one of the maids who works there. And I know it’s clean.”
“Then we’ll be there tonight. If you find anyone with information, send them to us there.”
“Sí.”
Luke stood.
Juanita climbed to her feet as well. For a moment she hesitated, swaying slightly. Then she closed the distance between herself and Luke, wrapping her arms around him.
“I never thought I’d see you again,” she whispered.
“I wish it were under better circumstances,” he answered, returning the hug she gave him, then added in a thick voice, “I wish I remembered you.”
Hannah watched them, wondering if he had clung to her like this when he’d been a little boy.
His eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Abruptly he pulled away and seemed to shake himself.
“You will get your memory back,” the old woman said.
“How do you know?”
“You are a man with a strong will. You were always like that.”
He made a snorting noise and turned toward the door. Hannah watched his taut shoulders as he exited through the door. She wanted to help him, but he had shut her out and there was nothing she could do about it until he decided to reverse his decision about her.
Feeling the woman’s eyes on her, Hannah looked up. “This is hard for him,” she murmured. “Not remembering.”
“I understand. But he has you to stand by him.”
“I’m a private detective. He hired me to investigate his background,” she said, hastening to make the relationship clear.