Читать книгу The Cattleman And The Virgin Heiress - Jackie Merritt - Страница 10

T he room had an inert, pewterlike quality that dulled distinctiveness and distorted perspective. Worse for Hope was its frightening unfamiliarity.

Her heartbeat was so hard and fast that she could hear it. She had just woken up, and not recognizing the bedroom she was in was so terrifying that she felt paralyzed. In the next instant she came fully awake and remembered the hours before she’d fallen asleep, and while the paralysis relaxed its grip on her system, the fear did not.

The house seemed eerily quiet. Where was Matthew McCarlson? Light, she decided as her pulse rate kept time with her pounding heart. Some light in the room might help calm her nerves. Reaching out to the lamp next to the bed, she located and then pushed the switch.

“Oh, no,” she whispered when no light came on. Was the bulb burned out? Her hands clenched into fearful fists as she forced her bewildered and disoriented brain to concentrate on the problem. Maybe the lamp wasn’t plugged in. Or maybe it was plugged into one of those outlets that required the use of a wall switch.

But she would have to get out of bed to find out. The room seemed to be getting darker by the minute, and she couldn’t tell if there were wall switches anywhere.

She could hear rain; it was still coming down. And, obviously, night was falling. She’d slept away the day. She must have been exhausted, or maybe it had simply been easier to sleep than to stay awake and face her situation.

Her situation, she thought with a heavy sigh that was a combination of fearful desperation and incredulity. How could so many awful things happen to one person at the same time? She was in a strange place in a stranger’s home and knew nothing about herself except for the little information she’d gotten from a purse—her purse, even if she didn’t recognize it.

On top of her amnesia was the storm, which had isolated this ranch to the point of no possible means of communication with the rest of the world. It was all so…so bizarre…so Hollywoodish. More like a plot in a movie than a real-life experience.

Or was it? Hope frowned in the deepening darkness. Since she knew nothing about herself, perhaps this sort of adventure—or misadventure—was the norm for her. She sighed again over such a repugnant prospect, and then felt slightly better because the idea of living on the edge of a precipice was repugnant.

And then she gulped uneasily and wondered if amnesia altered victims’ personalities so drastically that they became different people than they’d been. Maybe the way she saw things now wasn’t even close to her normal point of view on anything and everything. Moaning in anguish over that horrifying possibility, Hope whispered, “God help me.”

After lying in a heap of utter misery for a while, she realized that the more she pondered her plight, the worse she felt. It would be very easy to just let go and scream her throat raw, but would it change anything? Would the telephone suddenly start working—or the lights? That was the problem with her lamp, of course. The storm had wreaked havoc with the area’s electricity.

Screaming would accomplish nothing. Neither would crying herself sick. What she needed to do was to get out of this bed.

Wouldn’t a shower feel wonderful? Or a long soak in a hot-water bubble bath?

Hope slid off the bed and made her way to the door in the pale shards of daylight still available. But the hallway was much darker than the bedroom, and the house suddenly felt ominously silent. Her nerves began jangling.

Standing with her hand on the frame of the door as though it were some sort of safety line, she called, “Matt?” Almost immediately a light appeared at the end of the hall and began growing in intensity. In a moment she saw the dark silhouette of a man behind the glowing light of a lantern, both of which were coming toward her. “Matt?” she repeated, because she honestly couldn’t tell if the silhouette was him or someone else.

“I’m here. You had quite a sleep.”

Relieved that it was Matt and not another stranger to deal with, she answered. “Yes. Apparently the electricity is off now, as well as the phone.”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“I was hoping for a shower or bath. Guess that’s out of the question.”

“Not necessarily. The hot water tank is full, and I’m sure the water in it is still hot. If the power stays off all night it won’t be hot by morning, so someone might as well use it. Are you sure you’re up to it, though?”

“I’m very sure.” She wanted to wash her hair in the worst way—naturally she would be careful about the cut on her head—and soap every inch of her. She didn’t even want to think about Matthew McCarlson bathing the mud from her nude body, so she certainly wasn’t going to question him about the method he’d used to undress and cleanse an unconscious woman. Anyhow, whatever his technique, it hadn’t been all that adequate because she felt more gritty than clean.

“If you’re that certain, then fine. Take this lantern with you. I have others. Leave the bathroom door unlocked, in case you’re not as strong as you think you are and need some help. Don’t let modesty prevent you from calling for me if you get into trouble. When you’re done, you’ll probably want some supper. I’ve already set up my propane camp stove on the back porch and can do a little cooking on it. We’ll decide later what sounds good.”

He was holding out the lantern, and Hope took it from him. So, she thought, he would rush to her rescue again, should she call out from the bathroom. Was he hoping for another peek at her bare skin, or hadn’t her nudity before bothered him? Maybe he’d barely noticed. Maybe her body wasn’t worthy of notice. For some reason that idea stung Hope’s pride. She hadn’t taken inventory of her figure yet, but she would, she decided.

Ignoring his offer of help, she said, “After all you’ve done for me, I shouldn’t have the gall to ask for one more thing. But these sweats I’m wearing are uncomfortably large and I was wondering if you had some old ones that you wouldn’t mind my cutting inches off the legs and arms.”

“As a matter of fact I do. I’ll get them and bring them and the scissors to the bathroom.” He walked off, vanishing in the darkness right before Hope’s eyes.

Her stomach turned over. She didn’t like being alone in the dark in this strange house, even with a lantern in her hand. It threw light, but it also created shadows, and Hope wondered if she’d always been leery of the dark or if this was just another perturbing side effect to amnesia.

Making her way to the bathroom door, she went in and set the lantern on the sink counter. Leaning forward until her nose was only a few inches from the mirror, she peered at her face in the lantern’s glow. She realized after a few moments that she had no base of information on which to judge her own looks. Was she pretty or plain? Her eyes were blue—quite a vivid blue, actually—but she’d noticed that Matt’s eyes were brown, and perhaps brown eyes were considerably more desirable than blue eyes.

Her dark hair might be appealing when shiny clean and curled—or something. How did she ordinarily wear it?

Hope had left the door open, and Matt walked in without preamble. “Here are several things you can cut up,” he said while placing a stack of clothes on the other end of the counter from the lantern. “Sorry I don’t have anything smaller, but I haven’t been your size since I was in the fifth grade.”

“You are…quite tall,” Hope murmured.

“Six foot three.” Matt walked to the door, but didn’t leave immediately. “Remember what I said about calling out if you need any help. In fact, if you’d leave the door ajar an inch or so, I’d feel a lot better about hearing you.”

“I…guess that would be all right.” She could detect the hint of an amused grin on his lips in the lantern light and became defensive. “Maybe I’m accustomed to bathing with the bathroom door open, but something inside me rebels at the idea so I can’t help doubting it,” she said sharply.

Realizing that no part of her predicament was funny to Hope, Matt erased all signs of amusement from his expression and said solemnly, “I doubt it, too. Take your bath and don’t worry about me peeking through the crack of the door. In the first place, I wouldn’t see anything I haven’t already seen, and in the second, I’m not in the habit of preying on healthy women, let alone one who’s in such sad shape.” He walked out, and pulled the door shut, leaving about a three-inch opening.

Hope’s jaw had dropped in painful surprise. Why, he’d practically come right out and said she was a pitiful specimen of womankind! No wonder he’d been able to undress and bathe her without emotion.

Oh, the shame of it, she thought, completely mortified over being so utterly undesirable. She hurried through a bath and a cautious shampoo, and never once really looked at her body. After all, why would she or any other woman want to inventory something so—so pathetic?

Later, Hope and Matt dined on grilled cheese sandwiches—prepared in an iron skillet on his propane camping stove—and small bowls of canned fruit. The lantern light softened Matt’s features, Hope noticed, and wondered if it did the same with hers. Not that his features needed softening. In spite of the constant concern gnawing at her over her long list of personal grievances, she admired Matt McCarlson’s masculine good looks. It seemed almost insane to be aware of a man’s looks under the circumstances, but Hope really couldn’t help herself.

Not that she expected or even fantasized anything coming of her admiration. She was, after all, so out of Matt’s league in the looks department that even if she was a hundred percent healthy, with a perfect memory and some decent clothes that actually fit, he would be no more affected by her than he would be by a great-grandmother sharing his house and table.

Hope sighed quietly and spooned a bit of canned peach to her mouth. Something flashed through her mind, something about peaches that she couldn’t hold on to or read clearly.

“You’re very quiet,” Matt said. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes, and I think I just had a glimmer of a memory.”

“You did? What was it?”

“It was nothing earthshaking, so don’t get excited. It had something to do with peaches.”

Matt sat back. “With peaches? Why in hell would your first memory be about peaches? I doubt there are very many peach trees in Massachusetts.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to get excited?” she said dryly. “Believe me, if I had any say in the order in which I might recall my past, my first memory would not have been about peaches. Besides, it wasn’t even a full memory. I mean, I don’t know if I was eating peaches, buying them or picking them off a tree.” Hope paused for a short breath and added, “Maybe I was throwing them at someone, possibly an irritating man.”

Matt’s eyebrows went up. “So you think I’m irritating.”

“Did I mention you?”

“Since I’m the only man you know at the present, you didn’t have to identify who you’d like to throw peaches at.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hope muttered.

“You’re angry. Not only that, you’re angry with me. What happened? What’d I do?”

Hope fell silent, did some thinking and realized that he was right. She was hurt and so angry that she would love to throw something at him. Yes, he’d rescued her from the storm—and only the good Lord knew what else—but then he’d found her so unappealing, so unattractive, that she might as well have been a mangy stray dog instead of a woman.

But she could not explain herself on that score, and she resorted to a lie. “Sorry, but you’re dead wrong. I’m not a bit angry with you. Why would I be? You probably saved my life, pathetic as it apparently is.”

Matt frowned. “Why would you think you have a pathetic life?” Should he go and get that newspaper article for her to read? The information in it sure didn’t read to him like Hope LeClaire led a pathetic life. An heiress to millions, possibly billions of dollars? And she was no slouch in the looks department, either. In truth, he’d never seen a more perfect body. Full, rounded breasts with gorgeous rosy nipples that looked as though they’d been created specifically for a man’s mouth. Oh, no, Hope’s assets weren’t all in banks or safes, not by a long shot.

“Have you seen anyone out here looking for me?” she retorted. “Wouldn’t you think your life was pretty pathetic, too, if no one gave a damn about where you were, or what horror might have befallen you?”

“No one can get out here. I told you that. It might be days after the rain stops before the roads are repaired enough to drive on.”

“But if someone I cared about was missing, I wouldn’t leave a stone unturned to find him or her, and I wouldn’t let a storm or washed-out road stop me,” she snapped.

Matt was beginning to hear a note of hysteria in Hope’s voice, and the last thing he needed in the isolation everyone on the ranch must bear until things returned to normal was a hysterical amnesiac. No, he would not show her that article. In fact, he would do anything he could think of to get her thoughts away from her own admittedly wretched situation.

“You didn’t eat much of your sandwich. Would you like something else?” he asked.

“You deliberately changed the subject,” she said, suddenly weary of it herself. “It’s okay, I’m bored with my problems, too. Scared spitless, let me add, but harping on the same old know-nothing theme is nothing but wasted energy. You know, I bet that you’d give anything you own not to have found me today.”

You’ve got that right, baby! “Don’t be silly,” Matt said out loud in a soothing tone of voice. “Tell you what. You sit there while I clear these dishes away, then I’ll walk you back to your bedroom.”

“Fine,” she said listlessly. Could he say or do anything that would take away her blues? Her self-pity? Lord above, what was she even doing in Texas? Was her mother, Madelyn, worried about her, or had Hope left Massachusetts for an extended trip, gotten in this mess somehow, and no one was worried about her?

Watching Matt move from table to sink, it struck Hope that he was all she had. Until she regained her memory—she would regain it, wouldn’t she?—Matt McCarlson was the only person she knew face-to-face in the entire world.

And yet she had snapped at him, admitted anger at him—if only to herself—and pretty much blamed him for this mysterious fiasco. Well, it wasn’t that she blamed him for everything, but one would think a rancher living miles and miles from civilization would be better prepared for a damn storm.

So that’s it, she thought with narrowed eyes. She blamed him for living a lackadaisical lifestyle that didn’t include emergency communication.

“How come you don’t have some way to contact…uh, the town, for instance…in case of an emergency?” she asked.

Matt heard the distinct disapproval in her voice, the judgment, and it raised his hackles. “I’m like a lot of ranchers,” he said flatly. “I’m not particularly fond of people, especially city dwellers, and I’d rather wait out a storm by myself than have a horde of do-gooders descending on my land under the guise of neighborly generosity to rescue me, when I never needed rescuing in the first place.”

“And I suppose the men who work for you feel the same?”

“My men are seasoned ranch hands. They know the table stakes and when they’re dealt a bad hand, they take their lumps without complaint.”

“As you do.”

“Have you heard me complaining? Let me say it like it is, Hope LeClaire. You’re the only person on this ranch who’s done any complaining about being landlocked, so to speak. Now, I have to concede your right to a few complaints, but—”

Hope broke in. “How big of you,” she said with drawling sarcasm. “I wonder what you’d do if you woke up in a strange place with no memory.” She got to her feet. “I’m going back to bed, and I don’t need your help in getting there, so please just let me leave without offering the support of your big, manly arm.”

“Hey, my arm is big and manly, and your sarcasm doesn’t make it any less than it is. Take the lantern so you don’t fall flat on your ungrateful face!”

“Ungrateful? Ungrateful? How would you like me to express my gratitude, by kissing your feet? I’ve said thank you repeatedly, which you’ve either obviously forgotten or were too dense to register at the time.”

“I’m not dense, lady,” Matt growled. “And since you are, I would think that dense is a word you’d try real hard to avoid.”

“You jerk!” she shouted, then turned herself around, plucked the lantern from the table and did her best imitation of royalty sweeping from a room filled with ignorant peasants.

“Yeah, I’m a jerk,” Matt mumbled while lighting another lantern for his use. “And you’re just as spoiled and overbearing as every other pampered princess I’ve known.”

Matt went to bed about an hour later. Lying in the dark he listened to the rain, which had slowed to a barely discernible drizzle. The storm was passing, but at this stage it was hard to forecast its final gasp. It could drizzle and mist like this for days, it could start pouring again at any time, or it could stop completely without a dram of warning.

And when it did stop, the work would begin. Cleaning up after a storm like this one was an enormous job. Washed-out roads, flooded creeks and mud everywhere. Yeah, every rancher in the storm belt and even some townsfolk were in for a lot of backbreaking labor.

Matt was visualizing the ravages to his land and worrying about the cost of restoring everything to its prestorm condition when a bloodcurdling scream made his hair stand on end.

Jumping out of bed, he ran down the hall to Hope’s room. His first thought had been that someone had gotten into the house and was trying to throttle her. But since she’d left the lantern burning on low, he could tell at once that she was only having a dream.

She was thrashing around in bed, not screaming anymore but making almost inhuman sounds that all but curdled Matt’s blood. No one deserves a nightmare that terrifying, Matt thought and hurried over to the bed where he lay down next to her.

“Hope…Hope…” he said as he pulled her into his arms, held her tightly against himself and stopped her from throwing herself around. “It’s only a dream, Hope, just a dream. I’ve got you now. You’re safe.”

She opened her teary eyes and heard Matt’s quiet voice. His arms were around her, and her face was nestled against his bare chest. She felt warm and comforted and, as he’d just told her, safe, and she did nothing to alter their positions.

“I had a nightmare,” she whispered tremulously. “An awful nightmare.”

“I know. I was in my room and you screamed so loudly that I thought a monster was gnawing on your big toe.”

She smiled weakly. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“Did it work?”

“Something’s working.”

Something was “working” for him, too, but it wasn’t a corny joke. It was Hope and the fact that she was plastered against him and his body could feel every delicious curve of hers. He shut his eyes and groaned inwardly. It was only natural for a man to become aroused while holding a beautiful woman, but this particular woman was not one he should be fooling around with. He’d sworn an oath to never again get involved with a woman who had more money than he did, which, at the present time, pretty much eliminated the entire female population of Texas. Thus, it was a rare day—or night—when he so much as paid for a lady’s hamburger or movie ticket. In truth, he hadn’t done any real dating since Trisha’s death, and he’d never felt as though life was passing him by because of it, either.

However, things were starting to look a little different to him. Lying in bed with a luscious lady wrapped around him sort of took the guts out of that well-intentioned oath, which, he realized, should probably make him resent the hell out of Hope. He had enough worries and problems with the ranch without piling on the heartache of an intimate relationship that couldn’t possibly go anywhere. Still, regardless of commonsense arguments against any such liaison, he was about to toss that earthshaking oath over the edge of the bed when she said, “The man in my dream had tied me up and he was…he was—”

“He was what?” Matt prompted when she left him hanging and he already had some bad feelings about what that dream had really been about.

“How strange,” Hope murmured uneasily. “I don’t know if he was trying to seduce me or I was trying to seduce him. Wouldn’t you think I’d know the difference?”

“Uh, seduction comes in many disguises.” Even the word seduction increased the aching desire Matt was suffering. He had to get out of this bed and back in his own. If he didn’t he was going to do something he’d be sorry for when he regained his senses. “Are you okay now? Is it all right if I leave?”

Sudden panic nearly choked Hope, and she lifted her arms and locked her hands behind his head. “Please don’t leave me alone…please!”

Matt knew that she was not offering him anything to stay with her; she was only clinging to him because she was panicky and scared out of her wits.

Gritting his teeth, he tore his thoughts away from sex. “I’ll stay,” he said, “but I need a little more room.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll move over.” Hope released her death grip on him and moved over about two inches. “Is that better?”

“That’s…fine.” Her head was still on his arm and her hand on his chest. He slid his other arm away from her waist and laid it down his side on his own torso. “Let’s try to get some sleep now.”

“Yes, of course.” But after a moment she said, “I think that dream was symbolic of something that really happened.”

“Symbolic?” He was trying to get sleepy by pretending he was in his own bed and not lying close enough to Hope to feel the warmth emanating from her body. A state of pretense would be much easier to achieve if she would stop talking.

“I’d hate to think it wasn’t just symbolic. I mean, what if some horrible man really did tie me up?” Hope’s hands were free now, and she absentmindedly rubbed her wrists. “Matt, my wrists have rope burns! I was tied up!”

He’d seen the marks on her wrists, and wondered about them, but he couldn’t add to her horror by telling her about his own misgivings concerning those bruises.

“You shouldn’t let your imagination run wild,” he said flatly, keeping even compassion out of his voice and telling himself that it was for her own good. Until she recalled everything about herself for herself, speculation on her part and suggestions from him or anyone else who might eventually get wind of this drama would only make her more fearful, and she was scared enough already.

“These sore spots around my wrists are not imagined, Matt. And the man in the dream wasn’t conjured up by a troubled mind, either. He’s a real-life, flesh-and-blood person who wants to do me harm.” Hope paused to ponder her own conclusion. “But why?” she murmured, speaking more to her confused inner self than to Matt.

Her determined logic startled Matt. After all, she hadn’t gotten so far off the beaten path all by herself. Someone must have brought her here, or, at least, brought her to a spot within walking distance. And then what’d that someone do, throw her out of his car? Or had she made a run for freedom and her first opportunity for escaping some warped bastard had happened on McCarlson land? Maybe the guy didn’t know the area well and hadn’t realized he was on private property.

But the theme of that newspaper article was that Hope was missing. Maybe she’d gone off with a boyfriend and he hadn’t been the nice guy she’d thought he was. This whole muddle of facts and guesswork could be nothing more than a romantic tryst getting out of hand. And if Hope hadn’t lost her memory for some damned reason then there wouldn’t be anything at all mysterious about her delivery to this part of Texas.

“Can you remember what the guy in your dream looked like?” Matt asked, because now he was thinking that if there was a man involved with the fright she’d received last night, she just might know him.

A shudder passed through Hope’s body. “No, but I know he was a horrible person.”

“How can you be so sure about that, Hope? I’m not trying to be cruel, but without memories to back up your assumptions, can you be certain of anything?”

She hesitated a few moments, then she raised herself to her elbow, looked down at him and said, “I guess I’m relying on basic instinct, which we all have, don’t we, memory or no memory?”

Her eyes, even in the soft glow of lantern light, were as blue as Texas bluebonnets. She wasn’t just pretty, she was sexy. At least she was making him think of sex again. She had on an old shirt of his, and coincidentally it was almost as blue as her eyes. She was as enticing in that worn-out old shirt, with her head of thick, lustrous dark hair in appealing disarray, as any woman he’d ever seen.

“Instinct is…uh, usually a good barometer to, uh, to go by,” he stammered, making a stab at reassurance when his mind was stuck on the ache in his groin. He almost told her about it. He came very close to saying, “Hope, if I stay in this bed for the rest of the night, I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you. Can you deal with that? Are you having similar ideas about me?”

Hope couldn’t read his mind, but there was something in his eyes that made her heart beat faster. You’re letting your imagination run wild! If the man thought of you as attractive, you’d have sensed it before now. Good Lord, go to sleep before you make a complete fool of yourself!

She lay down again and turned her back to him. “I’m suddenly very tired. Good night,” she said.

Matt heaved a quiet sigh of relief. Things would be better in the morning, he told himself, praying it would be true. Once the phones were working again, he could let the Stockwells know that Hope was safe. She wasn’t so sound, true, but with the Stockwells’ money they could hire the best specialists the medical profession had to offer to cure her amnesia.

As for him, he’d get over the yen he had for her, that itch he didn’t dare scratch. What choice did he have but to get over it?

Hope’s eyes simply would not shut. She hadn’t deliberately lured Matt into her bed, but that’s where he was, and every cell in her body was aware of it. He was, after all, wearing nothing but undershorts, and the sensation of being held in his arms, pressed tightly to so much masculine bare skin, would not leave her. Her skin seemed to tingle every time she thought of it, and, much to her dismay, she kept thinking of it until she could just barely manage to breathe without Matt hearing her. She would be humiliated beyond words if he should catch on that she was lying there pining for…for…

Hope frowned. What, exactly, was she pining for? Some kisses? Being held by strong, manly arms again? For some reason, even with that erotic ache in the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t envision herself under a man and making love. Why not, for heaven’s sake? She had no trouble recalling ordinary things, such as eating, bathing and dressing. And even kissing.

So how come she couldn’t recall the act of lovemaking? Her lips pursed almost angrily. Say it like it is, dodo, how come you can’t recall sex? It’s not because you’re a cold fish, by any means, not when you’re lying here sweating and yearning for Matt McCarlson to touch you!