The Heiress and the Sheriff (4 page)

Wyatt shook his head. “No. I won't bother him now. I've got to get back to the office.” He glanced at Gabrielle, who looked even more pale and worn since he'd picked her up at the hospital. “I'll be back later. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

Gabrielle nodded that she understood, and extended her hand to him. “Thank you, Sheriff Grayhawk, for bringing me out here.”

He hesitated only for a second, then reached to clasp her hand in his. Her fingers were small and soft and cool against his warm palm, and for one wild second, he wanted
to draw her to him, nestle her cheek against his chest and assure her everything was going to be all right.

But that was the last thing he could allow himself to do. Gabrielle Carter might not be entirely innocent. And even if she was, he couldn't let himself care. He'd been hurt too many times to chance another slap in the face by a woman.

“You're welcome, Miss Carter,” he murmured, then glanced at Rosita. “If you need me, call me. Otherwise, I'll let you know what the VIN number turns up.”

Wyatt turned and left through the door they had just entered. The housekeeper said to Gabrielle, “Come along and I'll show you where you'll be staying. Then you might want lunch.”

“Thank you,” Gabrielle told her, then followed her ample figure out of the entryway and into a large great room.

Without a memory, she had no way of knowing what sort of house or apartment she'd been living in before the car accident. But something told her it hadn't been anything like the Double Crown ranch house. One whole wall was dominated by an open rock hearth. The ceiling was high and supported by rough oak beams. The walls were stucco and decorated with numerous paintings and prints, most of which depicted scenes of the Old West. The floor was polished tile, and covered here and there with woven rugs in Mexican and Native American patterns.

Across the room, directly in front of them, a pair of curved, wooden-framed glass doors opened out to a courtyard. Like the front entrance to the house, it was beautifully landscaped with blooming sage, tall clumps of ornamental grass and climbing rosebushes.

“My daughter told us you have amnesia. She feels very guilty about the accident. She wishes she had never gone riding yesterday. I warned her not to go. The night before I had dreamed of a striking serpent.” The older woman
shrugged and lifted her palms in helpless acquiescence. “I am her mother, but she paid me no more heed than anyone else around here.”

Gabrielle wondered if the older woman considered herself some sort of psychic. Frankly, she didn't think she believed in such things. But if the housekeeper had truly dreamed of a striking snake, it would be an awfully eerie coincidence.

Gabrielle followed the woman into a large kitchen. Something spicy and delicious smelling was simmering on a large gas range. Gabrielle's stomach gnawed hungrily—the dry oatmeal and cold toast at the hospital had been too horrible to eat, and last night's fare hadn't been much better.

“Maggie is my youngest. She's married to Dallas Fortune,” Rosita said, clearly in an effort to strike up a safe conversation.

“Is this their house?”

The housekeeper chuckled as she motioned for Gabrielle to follow her down a hall off to the left of the kitchen.

“No. Dallas and Maggie live in another house on the ranch. It's a whole lot like this one, just not as big. This is Ryan Fortune's home. He's the father of Matthew, Zane, Dallas, Vanessa and Victoria. But I don't expect you know any of them.” She made a tsking sound of regret. “
Pobrecita,
you don't even know yourself.”

“Maybe if I have a chance to see some of these people, I might remember something,” Gabrielle said hopefully. “I had to be headed to this ranch for some reason. Sheriff Grayhawk thinks I was up to no good. But I don't believe that. I don't feel like a bad person inside—and I think I would if I were really bad. Does that make sense, Mrs. Perez?”

The woman opened another heavy wooden door carved deeply with Spanish designs, and gestured for Gabrielle to cross the threshold before her. The room was massive with
more stucco walls and heavy beams supporting the ceilings. On one end was a bed, dresser and chest all made of yellow pine. At the opposite end was a sitting area furnished with a large couch and stuffed armchair covered in tan leather. Like the great room and kitchen, the floor was also tiled; the scattered woven rugs filled the room with deep, rich colors.

With a wag of her finger, the housekeeper said, “No. No. I'm not Mrs. Perez. I'm Rosita. And I'll call you Gabrielle, okay?”

At least Rosita wasn't going to be like Sheriff Grayhawk, Gabrielle thought, but then no one could be like that man.

She smiled warmly at the woman. “Yes. I'd like that.”

“Good. And I wouldn't worry about Wyatt Grayhawk. He thinks all women are up to no good.”

“Why is that?”

Rosita shrugged and tapped her finger against her chin in contemplation. “He's a half-breed. His Indian blood is always at war with the white part of him. He's never happy. But he's a good man.”

Deciding she'd talked long enough, Rosita quickly headed out of the room. “Look around and make yourself comfortable,” she called over her shoulder. “I'll come after you in a few minutes when lunch is ready.”

After the housekeeper had closed the door behind her, Gabrielle wandered over to the king-size bed and trailed her finger over the coarse spread woven in a southwestern-style pattern. The rich turquoise, burgundy and copper colors were just the right contrast to the varnished pine and light-colored walls.

On the long dresser, there was a matching comb, hair-brush, and hand mirror, but nothing else. As Gabrielle glanced around her, she noticed there were no family photos anywhere in the room, so she assumed it was probably used only by guests on the ranch.

The sitting area was equipped with a small television,
stereo and bookcase filled with several hardback and paperback selections. But at the moment she had no need for entertainment. Her thoughts were whirling with all that she'd seen and heard since she'd arrived, and her headache had increased to a steady pounding behind her eyes.

She found the bathroom, which to her surprise was fitted with a huge old claw-foot tub. At the end, a wooden bench was loaded with stoppered bottles filled with oils and salts and bath gels. The idea of filling the tub with warm water and bubbles and soaking for a long while was a tempting one, but Rosita had already warned her that lunch was nearly ready. Gabrielle would have to postpone the bath for now.

Back in the sitting area, she walked to the long windows overlooking the courtyard and discovered one of them was a door. She didn't open it, but stood gazing out at the beauty of the gardens surrounding the massive house.

“Knock, knock! May I come in?”

Gabrielle turned at the familiar sound of Maggie's voice to see the woman's smiling face poking around the edge of the door.

“Of course! I was just waiting for your mother to call me for lunch.”

Maggie stepped into the room carrying two giant sacks with twine handles. The logo of a prominent department store was embossed on the glossy paper.

“She said we could take five minutes and then to come. So hurry and look at what you can,” Maggie told her.

“Look at what? What is all this?” Gabrielle asked.

Maggie lugged the two sacks over to the bed. When she dumped the contents, wrapped packages spilled over the mattress.

“It's most everything you'll need for a few days. We'll go back and get the rest whenever you're feeling stronger.”

Gabrielle's hand lifted to her throat as she stared in stunned fascination at the pile of packages. “This is all for
me? An extra pair of jeans and a top would have been plenty!”

Maggie's smile was gentle. “We don't know how long it will take for your memory to return. You'll need several changes. And a woman has to have makeup and toiletries and lingerie.”

Gabrielle was still too overcome to move, so Maggie took the initiative and opened one of the boxes. “Look at this! I thought it was darling. See if it will fit, and you can wear it for lunch.” She thrust a pale blue flowered dress at Gabrielle.

“Oh, do you dress up for meals here?” she asked, then glanced down at her jeans and top. Wyatt's implication that she more or less looked cheap was still a fresh wound. “I guess I do look pretty awful.”

“You don't look anything of the sort. I just thought the dress would lift your spirits. Anyway, we hardly ever dress up for meals around here—everything is casual. Everyone is always so busy that no one knows who is going to show up. Unless there's some sort of special occasion going on. But parties have been pretty few and far between here lately. Wyatt doesn't think they're a good idea.”

There was a dressing screen in a corner between a chest of drawers and the bed. Gabrielle went behind it and quickly began to shed her clothes. “Wyatt? You mean the sheriff?” she asked Maggie, wondering why he would have any say about this family's social life. It didn't make sense.

“Yes.”

Gabrielle tried to digest the response as she smoothed the long cotton shift down over her thighs. The dress was sleeveless with a scooped neck and slit up one calf. It fit as though it had been made for her.

“I know this will probably sound silly,” Gabrielle spoke up from behind the dressing screen, “but I don't understand why the sheriff would care if you had parties.”

Maggie remained silent for a few moments, then she
said, “Well, it just wouldn't be safe. It would be inviting more trouble.”

Gabrielle stepped out from behind the screen, and Maggie smiled with approval at the dress.

“You were saying something about more trouble,” Gabrielle went on. “Are you talking about my car accident?”

The other woman quickly waved her hand. “Oh, no, Gabrielle. My nephew Bryan was kidnapped from this house nearly a year ago. So far the law officials haven't been able to find him. And Wyatt is afraid the person or persons responsible for the act might try to strike again.”

Gabrielle was frozen by the woman's disclosure. Wyatt had told her the Fortune family had been having some trouble, but she hadn't expected it to be this serious or sinister! And he suspected her of being involved in some way! Dear God, the idea of stealing a baby from its own home was repulsive to her. She couldn't have been involved, could she?

“Gabrielle, are you all right? You've gone so white.” Maggie rushed across the small space separating the two women and firmly gripped Gabrielle's elbow. “Are you going to faint?”

Gabrielle shook her head and passed a hand over her face. “I—I'm fine. What you just said—it's terrifying. No wonder Wyatt didn't want me coming out here. For all he knows I might have been involved. I don't even know myself,” she said desperately.

Maggie patted Gabrielle's arm in an effort to soothe her. “I'm willing to bet you have nothing to do with baby Bryan's disappearance. Or with baby Taylor's arrival.”

Gabrielle's face puckered with a bewildered frown. “Baby Taylor? You mean there's something else going on about another baby?”

Maggie nodded. “The kidnappers demanded fifty-million dollars in ransom for the baby's safe return. But
my brother-in-law Devin, who's an FBI agent foiled their attempt. The kidnappers escaped, but he did manage to get the money and the baby back. Or so everyone thought, until he got the baby home. We were all shocked when we saw the child wasn't Bryan. None of us had ever seen this baby boy before. But stranger still, he's turned out to be a Fortune.”

Gabrielle's eyes widened. “But how could that be—if no one knew the child? Did one of the Fortune men have an affair that produced a baby no one was aware of?”

Maggie grimaced. “That's what Bryan's mother, my sister-in-law Claudia, is starting to think. Even though her husband, Matthew, swears he's never been unfaithful. But the DNA tests prove he's the child's father.”

“So one baby is still missing and the other one is not yet identified? I can see now how my sudden appearance might cause suspicion.” She groaned with regret. “I just wish I could remember something—anything that might tell me why I was driving toward this ranch.”

“Don't worry, Gabrielle. Wyatt is a good sheriff. He'll sift through every possible clue to find your background.”

Gabrielle could certainly believe that. She got the impression he'd leave no stone unturned to put her behind bars, or, at the very least, out of the state of Texas.

What had she gotten herself into? Try as she might, she couldn't see how she was going to get herself out of Texas—and away from Sheriff Wyatt Grayhawk.

A
fter being summoned to lunch, Gabrielle and Maggie walked down a hallway and entered a large kitchen. Gabrielle instantly noticed the flavor of the room was distinctly Tex-Mex. Bundles of dried, red chili peppers hung from the ceiling, which was lower in this room. The dishes and containers sitting on the cabinets and work island were made of heavy pottery painted in earth tones of brown, copper, sand, and the pink of rose rock. Along one wall was a row of windows, and beneath them were several large potted plants that appeared to be some sort of desert succulents.

She glanced at Maggie. “Well, I may not have done anything bad, but Wyatt Grayhawk has the impression I have,” Gabrielle continued their conversation.

Maggie sighed. “There're a lot of things you don't know about Wyatt Grayhawk.”

And I don't want to know, Gabrielle thought, but kept the remark to herself as she and Maggie made their way into a large dining area.

Two men were already seated at a long oak table. Upon seeing the women they both stood, and the younger of the two came around the table to help them into their chairs.

Gabrielle tried to remember where she'd seen him before, then it dawned on her. “Aren't you—”

“Yes. I'm the doctor who was with Wyatt yesterday at
the hospital.” He extended his hand in greeting. “I'm Matthew Fortune.”

Gabrielle didn't know what to think. Yesterday he'd never mentioned she'd wrecked her car on his family's property or that he was connected in any way to the Fortunes.

Seeing the bewildered frown on her face, he went on. “I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself yesterday. But Wyatt had his reasons for wanting me not to.”

Wyatt.
Did these people do everything the man told them to do?

“Yes. I'm sure he did have his reasons,” she murmured. Namely, that he'd been deliberately trying to catch her in the act of lying. Suddenly she couldn't wait to see the man again. She was going to take great pleasure in telling him—sheriff or not—what she thought about his underhanded tactics.

“I'm Ryan Fortune, Miss Carter.”

She glanced up to see the older man had come around the table to greet her. He was about fifty or so, Gabrielle guessed, and was tall and solidly built. He was a handsome man, and though he was obviously rich, there was nothing arrogant about him.

Offering her hand, she said, “Thank you for having me in your home, sir. It's very beautiful.”

“I'm very sorry about your accident, Gabrielle. My whole family and I are hoping you'll be completely well very soon.” He smiled at her in a fatherly way, and Gabrielle suddenly didn't feel so bad about being here on the Double Crown.

“I hope so, too, sir. And I promise I won't take advantage of your hospitality. As soon as Sheriff Grayhawk finds my identity, I'll be leaving.”

Ryan Fortune's smile turned to one of compassion, and
Gabrielle got the impression that he was a man who knew what it was like to face overwhelming trouble and endure the pain that went with it.

“Don't be worried about making a hasty stay of it here at the ranch, Miss Carter. As you can see, we have plenty of room. And we want you to be truly well and on your feet before you leave.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You're very welcome,” he said with another indulgent smile, then returned to his seat at the head of the table.

Next to her Maggie said to Gabrielle, “See, I told you you shouldn't feel bad about staying here. My father-in-law is very kind. And he has a wonderful fiancée, Lily. You'll like her very much.”

“Lily isn't officially my fiancée,” Ryan said with a proud chuckle. “Not until she puts the engagement ring on her finger. But I'm hoping that's going to be very soon.” The older man glanced at his son. “And speaking of lovely brides, where's Claudia? Isn't she going to eat lunch with us?”

The young doctor grimaced. “No. She's eating alone.”

Ryan frowned at his son. “It's not often you get to be away from the hospital for lunch. Maybe if I go and talk with her—”

Matthew interrupted with a shake of his head. “No. Don't bother. The sight of me upsets her right now. And I can hardly blame her.”

“But, son, you're—”

“I'm sorry, Dad. I don't want to talk about it. Anyway, Rosita's here with the food.”

As the housekeeper served them all a tossed salad and burritos smothered with green chili sauce, Gabrielle's thoughts lingered on the two men's exchange. Maggie had hinted all was not well with Matthew's marriage, and she
could certainly understand why his wife would be upset. Still, from her first perception of the man, he seemed like the last sort to have an affair. His eyes were too honest and full of hurt.

Not anything like Wyatt Grayhawk, she thought as she stabbed her fork into a spicy burrito. He wouldn't care if he hurt a woman. His eyes were as hard as pieces of steel.

There is a lot about Wyatt Grayhawk you don't know….
Maggie's words had intrigued her, but she wasn't going to stoop to asking questions about him. The less she knew about the taciturn sheriff, the better off she would be.

 

Later that afternoon, Wyatt glanced up as one of his deputies pushed the paper across his desk. “Here's the data from the car rental agency, Wyatt. It just came over the fax.”

“Thanks, Gonzolez.”

He waited for the deputy to leave his office before he read the printed information. Once he'd finished, he leaned back in the leather chair and stared thoughtfully at the opposite wall of the small office.

So he'd been right after all. Gabrielle was from California. Without looking at a map, he would guess the address given was somewhere in the Los Angeles area. She'd rented the car six days ago and had informed the rental agency she would return it in two weeks.

That meant she hadn't expected to stay all that long in Texas. But long enough to cause problems, he thought.
If
that had been her intention. And in his job
if
was always a mighty big word.

Sighing, he rose from the chair and walked over to the dusty paned window that overlooked the main street of Red Rock. Late evening traffic was bustling up and down, with
folks going home from their jobs and attending to last-minute shopping and errands.

The small town had been uncharitable to him in some ways, but good too, Wyatt supposed. He'd been born and raised nearby on a dusty hundred-acre ranch. His Cherokee father had been a cold-hearted cuss who'd found it easier to show him the back of his hand than to say more than two words at a time to his son. Wyatt had endured his abuse, mostly because he had no one else to turn to, nowhere else to go. And he'd blamed himself for his father's bitter cruelty.

Marilyn, Wyatt's mother, had been a white woman, and from his very early memories he could still recall how soft and beautiful she'd been, with long blond hair and blue eyes. She'd had a gentle voice too, and sometimes she sang funny little songs to Wyatt as she cooked in the small kitchen of their shabby home. She'd always been hugging and kissing him, and often she'd told him she loved him more than anything on earth. And Wyatt had believed her. His mother had always been the one solid thing he could count on.

Many times Wyatt had heard his parents fighting, but as a small child he'd not understood what any of their arguments had been about. Once he'd found her crying and her cheek had been red; she had whispered to Wyatt that soon she was going to take him away to a better place.

But then one morning he'd woken to find his father standing over his bed. His breath had smelled of whiskey and a snarl twisted his bloated face.

That good-for-nothing mama of yours is gone, boy. And she won't be coming back.

But why didn't she take me with her, Daddy?

Because she didn't want a half-breed kid. She didn't want
you! So don't be cryin' and whinin' for her to come get you. She won't.

For a long time Wyatt had hoped his father was wrong. Every day he'd prayed and waited for his mother to return. But she hadn't, and eventually his young mind had been forced to accept that his father was right. Marilyn Grayhawk hadn't wanted a half-breed son. She'd only married Leonard because she'd been pregnant, his father had told him. So Wyatt was the reason his beautiful, gentle mother had left. Wyatt was the reason his father was bitter and angry and mean.

With a tired grimace, Wyatt reached up and swiped a hand through his short black hair. He didn't think of his parents much anymore. Once he'd reached eighteen he'd moved out of his father's house. Eventually Leonard Grayhawk had gone back to Oklahoma. And as for Wyatt's mother, he hadn't seen or heard from her since he was five years old.

What the hell was he doing? He didn't have time to stand around recollecting his sorry childhood. Neither one of his parents had given a damn about him. Neither one of them was worth a second thought.

Wyatt returned to his desk and picked up the faxed information on Gabrielle Carter. There was a phone number listed along with her California address. If he was lucky, someone on the other end would answer.

The telephone rang three times and then he heard Gabrielle's cheerful greeting on an answering machine. There was a
beep,
then the line went blank. Still Wyatt continued to hold the receiver next to his ear as though he expected Gabrielle's voice to come back at him at any moment.

When he finally realized what he was doing, he hung up the phone with a
bang.
She isn't going to talk to you, Grayhawk, he silently scolded himself. She's out at the Double
Crown Ranch. Planning, well, no telling what. Maybe to take baby Taylor when no one is looking. Even if it was impossible for her to be the child's mother, she might be his aunt. Gabrielle could very well have a crazy sister out there somewhere who'd requested Matthew's sperm and given birth to his son.

The idea was far-fetched, he knew. But so far, he still hadn't traced down all the sperm bank clients who'd received Matthew's sperm. And until he did, he couldn't rule out any possibility.

He rubbed a hand over his face and dialed Gabrielle's number again. This time he listened even more closely to her voice, and as before it made him feel odd in a way he couldn't explain. She sounded so happy and young and carefree. She sounded sweet and gentle. Like a woman who would laugh a lot and smile a lot and care about her fellow human beings.

Slamming the phone down again, he yelled for Gonzolez. The deputy immediately entered the cluttered office and stood beside Wyatt's desk.

“Is something wrong, Wyatt?”

Hell, yes! Everything was wrong, he thought. A woman with big hazel-green eyes and long sun-streaked hair was trying to worm her way under his skin. And he wasn't about to let it happen.

He tapped the paper on his desk with a long, lean finger. “I want you to keep dialing this number. At thirty-minute intervals until you reach someone. If anyone does answer, get their name, address, number, the whole works—and pump them for any info they might have on Gabrielle. Also, I want you to call Bob Adair out at the Los Angeles police department and ask him about the area of the address. Rich, poor, whatever. He'll know.”

“I don't ever remember us dealing with an amnesia vic
tim before. Kinda strange that one's come along now. With all that's been happening out there on the Fortune place.”

Wyatt glanced up at the older man. He'd been on the force for many years and had served the sheriff's department well. He hated doing desk work, but Wyatt deliberately kept him busy in the office. It was less than a year until Gonzolez could retire. Wyatt didn't want some idiot out there with a gun or a knife ruining the coming years for him.

“I'm not so sure she has amnesia,” Wyatt told him.

“But until I can prove otherwise, there's not much I can do about it. Her name didn't turn up any criminal record. But you and I both know that doesn't mean a damn lot. It could mean she's been lucky so far and not gotten caught by the law.”

The older man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe. But you know, it would be a helluva thing not to know your family or friends or even yourself. If she does really have amnesia, she's probably pretty scared right about now. I would be.”

Wyatt reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. As he did, the image of Gabrielle's trembling lips and the lost look in her eyes flashed through his mind. But just as quickly he shoved the mental picture away. He couldn't get soft now. Or ever.

Rising to his feet, he reached for his Stetson resting on one corner of his desk. After tugging it low on his forehead, he said to Gonzolez, “I'm going out to the Double Crown. If you get anything on that number, page me immediately.”

“I'll let you know,” the deputy assured him.

Behind the office building, Wyatt walked across a small parking area to his truck. The sun was on the verge of sliding out of sight in the western sky. Still, it was as hot as blue blazes, and without a cloud to be seen there was
no chance the drought they'd been enduring for the past weeks would be broken. Much of the pastureland between Red Rock and the Double Crown Ranch would soon burn if rain didn't fall soon, and Wyatt didn't envy the area ranchers.

In the past he'd often thought of purchasing a spread for himself where he could raise a few cattle and horses. Since his father had been a small-time rancher, Wyatt had grown up learning about both. But his hopes of having a family to go with the ranch had died a bitter death, making him shove the whole idea aside.

Leonard Grayhawk had taught Wyatt most everything he needed to know to raise a good herd of cattle, to pick a well-bred horse. But Wyatt didn't know one thing about being a husband or a father. And he'd been a fool to believe he could ever be either.