The Stranger Next Door

They’d interrogated her endlessly and then doubted her answers. They’d poked into her affairs and then questioned her integrity.

“Were you a friend of my uncle’s?” she asked, hoping to throw the focus of the conversation on something other than herself. Besides, she needed all the information she could get, and the sooner the better.

Langley leaned back in his chair. “I wouldn’t say your uncle and I were friends. More like acquaintances.”

“But you did know him?”

“We were neighbors. My family owns the Burning Pear Ranch, and it borders the Running Deer. We’re separated by a creek that’s dry about half the time and by miles of barbed wire.”

“So you live by the theory that good fences make good neighbors?”

“Absolutely. Especially in cattle country.”

The sheriff was smiling now, a nice open smile that curled his lips and touched his dusky gray eyes. Maybe she’d been too quick to judge. But then, she was in no position to trust anyone, especially a stranger who, like it or not, was probably going to know as much about her as she knew about herself before long.

Langley swirled the coffee in his white mug, then drank it down to the last drop before pushing the empty cup to the side. “Have you ever been to the Running Deer?”

She managed a smile, thankful the sheriff had asked one of the few questions that fitted her standard reply. “Not that I remember.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin, then placed it on the table. “But I’m anxious to see it. Can we get started now?”

He met her gaze but made no move to get up. “Are you planning on spending the night there?”

“Of course.” Something in his expression sent new waves of alarm careening through her senses. “There is a house, isn’t there?”

“Of sorts. It’s a little run-down and short on modern conveniences.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“As long as you don’t mind roughing it.”

Langley reached into his back pocket and pulled out a few bills. He tucked them under his plate, then finally stood, moving in a slow, languid manner that was strangely seductive. Or maybe it was the bronzed flesh beneath the sun-bleached hair or the rugged cast to his youthful face that generated the masculine appeal.

“I’ll drop you off and stay while you check out the condition of the place,” he proposed. “If you change your mind about wanting to stay out there, I’ll run you back into town to the motel.”

“I’m tough. I can handle a few nights without luxuries.” At least she hoped she was tough. If she wasn’t, life was about to become even more unpleasant than it already had been in the past couple of weeks. Because like it or not, the Running Deer was now home. The only one she had.

She joined Langley in saying goodbye to Gus and offered a genuine thank-you for her food, assuring him it was the best she’d eaten in a long time. It was nice to be totally honest for a change.

Langley held out his jacket and then slipped it over her shoulders when she accepted. The early November wind was cutting, but the downpour had slowed to a drizzle by the time they left the café and walked the few steps to Langley’s pickup truck. He opened the door and she climbed inside. She waited for the chills of apprehension to close around her heart as Langley slid behind the wheel and slammed his own door shut.

But for the first time in two weeks, her pulse didn’t race and her stomach didn’t tie itself into ratty knots at the prospect of being alone with a strange man. Maybe her psychological scars were starting to heal the way her physical ones had. Or maybe a stalwart cowboy lawman in a small Texas town far away from New Orleans didn’t unnerve her the way every man who’d entered her hospital room had.

Now all she had to worry about was what she was going to do on a ranch when all she knew about cows was that they gave milk or became steak. And all she knew about herself were the images that haunted her mind, like a video that played the same terrifying scene over and over again.

She shivered, suddenly all too aware that she was about to be alone on a ranch in the middle of nowhere with only the ever-running tape in her mind for company. It wouldn’t take long to find out just how tough she really was.

LANGLEY TURNED IN AT the Running Deer Ranch, surprised to find the gate unlatched and swung open. He got out of the truck and closed it behind them, suspicion running rampant in his usually trusting mind. Maybe it was the badge that had changed him, or maybe it was just that in trying to fill Branson’s shoes, he had adopted the same doubting-Thomas nature that had always ruled his older brother.

At any rate, the open gate wasn’t the only thing troubling him. He had serious doubts that the woman sitting beside him had told him the whole truth. She’d come by bus to claim a ranch she’d said her uncle had left her, only she didn’t even know the man had died. Her declared intentions were to stay at the ranch, but the only thing she carried that resembled luggage was the soaking wet backpack.

She’d also claimed she wasn’t hungry back at Gus’s, but he’d never seen a woman eat quite that fast or appear to enjoy her meal more. And she was nervous, constantly rubbing the back of her neck or wringing her hands. When she caught him looking at her, she’d stop and sit straight, staring out into the darkness.

He’d do some investigating in the morning, find out if the Running Deer had been turned over to her. Of course, first he’d have to find out her last name. She’d been stingy even in that department, changing the subject when he’d asked.

A few minutes later, he pulled to a stop in front of the cabin. It looked even worse in the dark than it did in the daylight, if that was possible. Most of the shutters were missing, part of the railing was off the narrow porch, and the edge of the bottom step had rotted away.

“This is it,” Langley said, turning the truck so that his headlights illuminated the front door. He adjusted the delay on the lights so they’d stay on until Danielle had time to maneuver the dilapidated stairs.

She stared at the cabin. “Milton lived here?”

“He did. Right up until the day he died. But then, your uncle didn’t seem to require much in the way of creature comforts. He liked to fish and he liked to raise cattle. Actually, the ranch buildings are in much better shape than his cabin.”

“That’s Uncle Milty for you.”

But in spite of her flippant reply, her step was hesitant as she climbed down from the truck. Langley studied her profile, the bruises on her cheeks and chin taking on an almost ghoulish appearance in the glow of the headlight beams.

He walked over and took her elbow, half-expecting her to pull away. She didn’t. Instead, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Looks like I’m home,” she said. “I appreciate your giving me a lift out here, but you don’t need to stay. I’m sure you have work to do.”

“I’ll go in with you and have a look around, make sure no wild animals have taken over the place since it’s been vacated.”

She whirled around. “What kind of wild animals?”

“I don’t know. Polecats. Coyotes. Rats.”

“You’re joking, right?”

A coyote bayed in the distance as if in answer to her question. She shuddered.

“Do you still want me to leave you on your own?” he asked.

She shook her head, and her hair tumbled over her face. Tangled and disheveled, it was beginning to dry, falling waywardly about her cheeks and giving her the appearance of an impish nymph.

She fished a brass key from the pocket of her jeans. “This should open the door.”

“I doubt it’s locked. You don’t get a lot of uninvited guests this far off the main road.”

He led her up the steps and turned the knob on the front door. It squeaked open as he expected. The expectations ended there, dissolved by the acid that gnawed at his stomach. A string of curses flew from his mouth as he assessed the damage.

The upholstery on the couch and an ancient recliner had been ripped to shreds, the stuffing scattered over the floor like clumps of yellow snow.

“I guess I spoke too soon,” Langley said, walking to the center of the room and turning slowly so that he could better digest the sick destruction. “But I doubt whoever vandalized this place would have been deterred by a lock on the door.”

Danielle took a deep breath and then walked past him.

He followed her into the kitchen and to more chaos. If a twister had picked up the house and turned it upside down, it probably wouldn’t have wreaked any worse havoc. The floor and counter were littered with broken glass and scattered pans and utensils, and a steady stream of ants marched through trails of sugar and streaks of syrup that painted the floor.

Bits of glass cracked and skidded under Langley’s boots as he circled the kitchen. They’d had vandals strike in Kelman before. Paint sprayed on the water tower, four-letter words carved in inappropriate places, fences cut.

But he couldn’t remember hearing about anything like this, and the sight of it ground in his gut the same way the glass cut and scratched into the linoleum beneath the thick soles of his boots.

He looked up as Danielle returned from a peek at the bedroom, her face ashen, her eyes wide. He laid a hand on her shaking shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to see this. I don’t know who’s behind it, but right now I’m having a hard time believing this was a group of kids out looking for excitement.”

She looked up at him, her large dark eyes haunted pools of fear. “No, this was done by someone who doesn’t want me here.”

“I’m sure this isn’t personal.”

“Take a look in the bedroom.” Her voice was hollow but steady.

Langley walked to the bedroom door. The mattress had been torn off the bed and ripped to shreds. The doors of a small wooden chest hung open, their contents scattered about the floor. And red paint dripped from a cracked mirror that hung over an unpainted dresser. The letters were distorted, but the message was clear.

Get out, Danielle, or die!

Langley strode back into the kitchen and stopped in front of the mystery guest. “I don’t want any games or double-talk. I’d like to know what the hell is going on. If you have a clue, and something tells me you do, now’s a good time to start talking.”

She unzipped the backpack, pulled out a folded piece of smudged paper and handed it to him without a word. He unfolded the letter and read it.

Danielle,

My days are numbered. The cancer is growing fast. The doctors want me to take a lot of pills and treatments, but I’m not doing it. I’ve lived my way. I’ll die my way.

I’ve made a career of making poor decisions. But my only real regret is that I never got to know Colette’s daughter. You are my only living relative, and I’m leaving Running Deer Ranch solely to you. I hope you choose to live on the ranch, but that decision will be yours. You may find Kelman boring after the life you’ve led.

Your uncle,

Milton Maccabbe

P.S. I’m enclosing the key. You know what to do with it. I’m sorry to draw you into this, but I see no other way.

Langley folded the letter and handed it back to her. “Exactly what was it that he hated to draw you into other than this vicious destruction?”

She rubbed the back of her neck, burying her long fingers in the tangle of thick black hair. “I don’t know.” He started to question her response, but she held her hand up to stop him. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not lying. I just don’t know.”

Only he was sure she knew more than she was saying, and whatever it might be was scaring her half to death. He could read the fear in her eyes. “Let’s get out of here.” He touched a hand to the small of her back. “This is no place to talk.”

“You can get out of here. I have no money and no place to go.”

Her voice broke on the words, and Langley’s protective side surfaced in a suffocating wave. He should maintain a professional distance from Danielle, but he wasn’t Branson and he wasn’t a sheriff. He was just a man who couldn’t bear to see a desperate woman fighting back tears.

He reached for her hands. They were as cold as ice. “You can come home with me for the night,” he said.

“You don’t know me. Why would you offer to take me home with you?”

He sensed the suspicion that seemed to shadow everything she said and did. “I have no ulterior motives if that’s what you’re thinking. My family will be there. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

“So if I go with you for the night, you won’t expect anything from me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Anger flared in her dark eyes. “Then leave.”

“I don’t think so, Danielle. What I’ll expect from you is plain talk. We can do it here or at the Burning Pear, but I want answers. If you’re involved in something, you may as well tell me. I’ll find out anyway.”

“Good. Then you’ll accomplish more than the police have done so far.” She backed away from him. “I don’t know why I should trust you, Langley Randolph, but right now, I don’t have a lot of choices.”

“Does that mean you’re going to tell me the whole truth?”

“Yes, but let me warn you, it sounds like something straight out of a mystery novel. And if you look at me even once as if I’m lying or nuts, I’m through explaining. I’ve had far too many of those looks over the past two weeks.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal. Start talking.”

Chapter Two

Danielle struggled for words to describe the void she lived in. Empty rooms. Frames without pictures. A book without a cover to bind it together. A life without a past. How could she expect Langley to understand? She couldn’t even comprehend the loss and she was forced to deal with it every second of the day.

But she might as well come clean with the whole truth. It would do no good to try to hide her vulnerability from a man who carried a badge. He’d make a few phone calls and find out the full story anyway.

Besides, if the man who’d attacked her in New Orleans had followed her to this dilapidated ranch house, if he’d been the man to create this havoc, she’d need all the help she could get.

Stuffing her hands into the pockets of her damp jeans, she sucked in a deep breath and met Langley’s gaze. “Two weeks ago, thirteen days to be exact, I was in the French Quarter in New Orleans. For some reason, I had left the beaten path and ended up on a nearly deserted street at dusk.”

“Do you live in New Orleans?”

“I don’t know. Just hear me out and then you can ask questions, though I doubt I’ll be able to answer them. Anyway, I was on a side street when someone dragged me into the doorway of a building and attacked me with his fists and with a knife.”

She felt the burn of Langley’s scrutiny. He was probably studying the patterns of bruises that still colored her flesh, though not nearly as vividly as they had at first. His gaze made her uneasy and she turned to face the window and stare into endless darkness.

“One of the residents of the building came downstairs and found me. He took me for dead but thankfully dialed 911. It was touch-and-go for a while, mostly due to the severity of the beating. Apparently, I’d jerked away as the man had stabbed me. The blade of the knife had veered off at an angle without damaging any internal organs.”

“Was the man who attacked you someone you knew?”

“I’m not sure.”

His mouth twisted in a scowl. “Can you identify the perpetrator?”

“No.”

“But you must have some idea what he looked like. Was he tall, short, dark?”

“I have no memory of him, Langley. None. All I know of him are his eyes. I see them in my nightmares. Cold and angry.” The words stuck in her throat, but she forced herself to continue, to say what she had to and get this over with. “I have no memory of anything beyond the attack. My past life has virtually disappeared in a thick fog of nothingness. I don’t know if I have a family. A husband? Children? A career? I don’t know who I am or where I belong.”

She hated saying the words. It was as if they deleted who she was, what she might have been. Now she was a crime statistic, one reported on the back pages of the Times-Picayune.

Her life had been shattered, the remnants of it left in pieces so tiny she couldn’t begin to put them back together again.

“A total memory loss. Amnesia.”

Langley rolled the words off his tongue as if he were having trouble absorbing their meaning. But, to his credit, he wasn’t looking at her like some sideshow freak, the way a couple of the hospital orderlies had. And he hadn’t reverted to that I-know-you’re-lying expression the New Orleans police had been so quick to adopt.

“What kind of time line did the doctors give you for the return of your memory?”

“A day, a week, a year.”

“But they didn’t say it was irreversible?”

“No. The neurologist said that the trauma to my system caused by repeated blows to my head and extensive blood loss was to blame and that my memory could return at any time. But according to Dr. Silvers, the staff psychiatrist, I am likely choosing not to face the terror of the brutal battery.”

“He thinks you’re blocking out the whole attack. That makes sense.”

The words destroyed one more fragment of the confidence she tried so hard to maintain. “I’m glad it does to you and to Dr. Silvers because it makes no sense at all to me. What I choose is to know who I am and why someone tried to kill me.”

“Probably some guy on drugs, desperate for cash. You just happened along at the wrong time.”

Danielle leaned against the counter, clutching the edge for support. She had started shaking again, a much too common occurrence over the past two weeks. “That wasn’t the investigating detective’s opinion. He thinks the man might have been someone I knew. Perhaps a jilted lover or an estranged husband.”

“Did he have any evidence to back up his theory?”

“Nothing concrete. He believes the severity of the attack indicates that it was personal rather than just a random robbery.” She swallowed hard, her throat and chest drawing tight. “I woke up in the hospital with no clue as to who I was or how I got there.”

“You must have had the letter you showed me.”

“Not until two nights ago. One of the nurses stopped in and tossed an envelope onto my bedside table. She said someone from the crime lab where they were examining my bloodstained clothes had dropped it off.”

“Odd that the police didn’t find the letter before they sent your clothes to the lab.”

“Apparently, the letter and key were stuffed into a hidden pocket inside my jacket, one neither the police nor the attacker noticed.”

“Did you show the letter to the police?”

“No. I’d had enough of bureaucracy and red tape by then. And too few results. I decided to regain some control over my life and thought my uncle would be able to provide the information I needed to start doing that.”

“So you simply walked out of the hospital?”

“Yes, and fortunately, the other patient in the room was a streetwise teenager who thought my story was fascinating. She’s the one who lent me enough money to buy a few necessities and a one-way bus ticket to Kelman.”

“How did you get your clothes back from the crime lab?”

“I didn’t. One of the nurses had some things she’d outgrown. Once I was strong enough to get around, she brought me these jeans and a couple of T-shirts. I was glad to get them. I was not about to parade through the hospital in the open-air gown they’d provided.”

She looked down at her T-shirt and noticed for the first time the way her nipples were outlined against the damp fabric. She crossed her arms over her breasts and felt an uncomfortable burn in her cheeks.

“So, now that you know as much about me as I know about myself, do you still want to take me home with you, Langley Randolph? Are you the kind of fearless man who takes chances, who thrives on being a hero?”

He nudged a loose-fitting brown Stetson back on his head. “I’m nobody’s hero, Danielle. For the record, I’m a rancher who’s just standing in as sheriff while my brother Branson is on his honeymoon. You can stay at the Burning Pear or not—your choice. If you decide to, you’ll be welcome and safe.”

“In that case, I accept your offer of a bed. For one night. Tomorrow I’ll come back over here and clean up this mess.”

“Fine, but not until after I’ve had the deputy dust for fingerprints.” He reached down and picked up a piece of jagged glass. Turning, he laid it on the counter, then let his gaze lock with hers. “You don’t have to clean up the cabin, you know. You can just take the advice scribbled on the mirror.”

“Leave? And go where? The trouble has already followed me from New Orleans to Kelman.” She stepped over an inverted pot. “Right now, the ranch is the only tie I have to my past. I’m staying.” She looked around the room again and grimaced. “Only not tonight.”

“Good. But let me warn you. My brother Ryder’s never met a pretty woman he didn’t take to.” He led her through the wreckage and out the front door. “And my mom will badger you with questions. Feel free to tell her as much or as little as you like.”

“I have no secrets. If I do, I don’t remember them.” She followed him down the steps. “How many brothers do you have?”

“There’s four of us. Dillon, my oldest brother, is a Texas senator. He and his wife, Ashley, and their son, Petey, live in their own house on the Burning Pear when he’s not in Austin. Branson is the honeymooning sheriff. His wife’s name is Lacy. And then there’s Ryder and me.”

“You mentioned your mom. What about your dad?”

“He died when I was just a boy. But he was quite a man. Mom reminds us of that often enough when she’s telling us what she expects of us.”

“Your family sounds a little daunting.”

“Us?” Langley opened the passenger-side door and held it while she climbed inside the truck. “We’re just your basic cowboys.”

Danielle knew nothing about cowboys, but she’d bet her last $26.92 that Langley was a cut above basic. Her spirits lifted as soon as the truck engine roared to life. A bed at the Burning Pear had to beat sleeping at the Running Deer. Tomorrow would be soon enough to set up camp in the house of horrors.

DANIELLE WOKE TO THE SOUND of laughter and a blinding stream of sunlight that poured through the window beside her bed. Pushing up on her elbows, she struggled to come to grips with morning.

Conversation wafted down the hall and under her closed door, but she could only catch an occasional word or phrase. She recognized Langley’s voice, though, and the deep baritone had a soothing effect, the same way the cool freshness of the sheets had last night when she’d collapsed onto the guest bed.

She’d been spared meeting the rest of the Randolph clan last night. Langley’s mother had already gone to bed and Ryder had been out. She’d been thankful. Meeting new people while disguised as a drowned rat was not her idea of fun. Come to think of it, she wondered what her idea of fun was. Whatever it was, she hadn’t had any for the past two weeks.

She stretched and yawned, wincing as her body reminded her just what it had gone through at the hands of a maniac. But every day she grew stronger. Stronger and more frustrated that she couldn’t find the key to unlock her memories and go on with her life.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, shoved her feet into her shoes and walked over to stand in front of the oval cheval glass. She squinted in the sunlight, leaning close to the mirror to get a better look at the dark circles around her eyes and the hideous coloration of the healing cuts and bruises.

But at least she’d showered and shampooed her hair last night in the homey Randolph guest bath, standing under the hot spray until the tension had finally crept from her muscles and fatigue had settled in. And then she’d slicked her body with a fragrant lotion she’d found in a basket next to the stack of fluffy towels.

Now her hair fell loose and wild about her shoulders. Grabbing handfuls of it from the nape of her neck, she made a ball of the thick locks and pinned it to the top of her head with a gold-colored enamel clip, another gift from her friendly hospital mate. The only thing missing was some clean clothing to crawl into.