The Stranger Next Door

But she didn’t have any and she couldn’t very well go strolling into the Randolph kitchen in her undies. Thankfully, she had purchased extra panties. They were cheap but served the purpose.

Funny, she could have sworn she’d left her jeans and T-shirt draped over the chair last night. But there they were, folded neatly. She picked up the shirt, ready to slide it over her head. It smelled of lemon. And it was clean.

Talk about service. But surely Langley hadn’t slipped into her room while she was sleeping to collect and wash her dirty laundry. But someone had, unless the Burning Pear had good fairies on the staff.

Groaning, she forced her legs back into the stiff denim of the jeans, then tugged them over her hips. By the time she had the shirt on, she got her first whiff of brewing coffee and quickly lost interest in her appearance. She stepped into the hall and followed her nose to the kitchen.

“Open up, Betsy. It’s bananas. You like bananas.”

Danielle came to a quick stop in the kitchen doorway. Langley was sitting next to a high chair, shoving a tiny spoonful of mushy yellow food into the mouth of an adorable baby. It made a heart-stopping picture, but an uneasy feeling gripped her. She hadn’t been prepared for seeing him in the role of daddy.

He turned and saw her, and his face split in a wide grin. “Good morning. I started to wake you for breakfast but figured you needed the sleep. Besides, Mom saved you some pancake batter. It won’t take but a minute to heat up the griddle.”

Langley tried to shovel another spoonful of baby food into an open mouth. This time, his young charge swung her hands, catching the end of the spoon and sending food flying onto the tray of the high chair.

“Does that mean you’re full, Miss Betsy, or just that you don’t want me paying attention to anyone but you?” The baby smiled and cooed, and the big, rugged cowboy playfully chucked her under her fat little chin before he wiped up the spilled food. By that time, he had sticky fingers to clean, as well. “Don’t let Mom see this mess, young lady, or she’ll have me bathing you before I can get out of here.”

Danielle drifted toward the coffeepot. “Mom. Is that Mom as in your wife and the mother of your daughter, or Mom as in the woman who gave birth to you?”

Langley looked up from his feeding chores. “Betsy isn’t my daughter.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I guess I jumped to conclusions. You look so right feeding her.”

“I’ve had lots of practice. That’s what happens in these equal-opportunity families.” He poked the spoon back into the jar and dug around, getting the last bit of food from the bottom.

But Betsy was through eating and ready for play. She opened her mouth for the food and then let it slide out the corner of her mouth and down her chin while her eyes danced mischievously.

“In this case, practice does not make perfect,” Langley admitted.

But the baby girl clearly had the cowboy just where she wanted him, wrapped tightly around her chubby little finger.

“Help yourself to coffee,” Langley said. “Mom put sugar and cream out in case you wanted it. We’re all straight black around here.” He bent to retrieve the toy Betsy had just flung to the floor. “And, by the way, Mom is my mom. I’m not married.”

Danielle felt a flicker of relief as she poured the hot coffee into the pottery mug that apparently had been set out for her. She wasn’t sure why. She certainly had no designs on the man herself. For all she knew, she was married and might even have a baby of her own.

She carried the mug back to the table and took a chair across from Langley. “So where does Betsy fit into the Randolph family?”

“Officially, she isn’t kin. Unofficially, she’s in the dead center of everything that goes on at the Burning Pear. For someone so little, she demands, and gets, a lot of attention.”

“I can see that. She’s a little heart stealer.” Betsy slapped her hands against the tray, then laughed at her own antics.

Langley took the damp cloth and wiped up another smear of baby food. “We don’t know who Betsy’s real parents are,” he continued, turning back to Danielle. “She was brought to us six months ago when she was just a newborn. The woman who delivered her to us believed Betsy was a Randolph. But, as best we can figure, the man who’d told her that had been lying. He was actually scheming to bilk us out of money.”

“Had he kidnapped her?”

“We thought so at first, but the man was killed before we could find out the whole story. At any rate, we’ve never been able to locate Betsy’s real family, so she’s kind of in our care until we do.”

“A mystery baby. One with a secret past. I can identify with that.”

Langley nodded. “I guess you can. But there’s got to be a way to check your past. I made some calls this morning.”

The statement didn’t surprise her. “Whom did you call?”

“Charity Hospital in New Orleans. The New Orleans Police Department. The detective who was handling your case.”

“And what did you discover?”

“The hospital staff is very upset that you walked out without being officially released. And surprisingly enough, I learned the New Orleans cops covered all the bases, checked all the available sources for finding out who you really are. They even checked all the hotels. None of their guests were missing. And there’s been no one who matches your description reported as missing either in Louisiana or anywhere across the country.”

“So, it’s just as I told you last night. Until my memory returns or someone reports me as missing, I’m merely an unidentified victim of a crime, fortunately a live victim.”

“The problem is that without a last name or a social security number, there’s nothing to hang a search on. It’s just too bad Milton isn’t still alive to fill in the details of your past.”

“I know. I was counting on that. I tried phoning him from the hospital the night the nurse brought me the letter, but the phone company reported that the number had been disconnected.”

“Even when your uncle was alive, his number was unlisted. He was not big on socializing. We can call the phone company this morning and have the phone reconnected. You’ll need it if you spend any time at all over there.”

She toyed with her cup, watching the brew swirl, a motion as useless as her coming to Kelman had been. Her uncle was dead. Her past was still floating in some nebulous vacuum.

Langley picked up on her mood shift. “Just because the NOPD hasn’t been able to learn your identity doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”

She met his gaze. “I’ll hold you to that. You said my uncle wasn’t sociable, but he must have had some friends. Maybe he told them about me.”

Langley’s expression grew grim. “I’ve also been on the phone with Joshua Kincaid this morning. He’s the man Milton worked for before he bought the ranch and retired. Actually, it turns out Kincaid gave him the ranch, a bonus for Milton’s loyalty and hard work. At least, that’s the way Kincaid put it.”

“So the Running Deer was originally part of Mr. Kincaid’s ranch?”

“Not part of his main ranch, but Kincaid has several land holdings in the area. He’s always around to help his neighbors when they’re in financial straits. He relieves them of their land at a favorable price—favorable to him.”

“But he must be charitable with his employees. He apparently was with Milton. A ranch is a generous bonus. Was Mr. Kincaid aware that my uncle planned to will the Running Deer to me?”

Langley pushed back from the table and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Kincaid had never heard Milton mention you. In fact, he said Milton had bragged when he first went to work for him that he was one of the world’s few total loners. No family. No ties.”

The all-too-familiar sinking sensation settled in Danielle’s stomach. She’d followed the one lead she had, traveled all the way to south Texas only to reach another dead end.

“Actually, Kincaid was surprised to hear that someone was claiming ownership of the Running Deer,” Langley continued. “He’s had his men taking care of the cattle while he waited to see what was going to happen, but he said he figured the place might go on the auction block. Which is likely the real reason he’s made sure the place was kept up. He’s probably interested in reacquiring it.”

“But surely my uncle left a will,” she said, grasping at straws.

“I have a man checking into that now, but don’t count on it. Like I said earlier, Milton Maccabbe was a loner. He didn’t socialize with any of the townspeople, didn’t even have a local bank account. Lots of people speculated that he was one of those eccentric misers who had a fortune hidden in his mattress, but there’s been no evidence to back that up.”

“Then that might explain the place’s being wrecked. Someone was probably looking for his hidden fortune.”

“I might buy that theory if we hadn’t found that warning on the mirror.”

“But it could be tied together.” She spread her hands on the table. “If someone knows that Milton left the ranch to me, he could be trying to make sure I don’t take over before he has time to search for the millions.”

“Say, who’s supposed to be the cop here?”

“It is possible. You have to admit that.”

“Right now, I have to believe anything’s possible, but if some crackpot expects to find millions lying around the ranch, I think they’re in for a big disappointment. According to Joshua Kincaid, Milton sank everything he had into the Running Deer. The ranch itself was as rundown as the house when he moved onto the place. He fixed all the fences and windmills, bought new equipment and invested thousands of dollars in premium breeding stock.”

“All that when he knew he was about to die? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does to a cowboy. He gets his kicks riding in wide open spaces. Knows his life is worthwhile when he nurses aching muscles at the end of the day as he watches the sun set over a well-run ranch.”

“Spoken like a true cowboy.”

“And proud of it.”

He smiled, a reaction that lit up his eyes and relaxed the muscles in his rugged face. A welcome warmth crept inside Danielle’s heart. The trip to Texas hadn’t lifted the thick fog of confusion concerning her past, but it had hooked her up with Langley Randolph. At the moment, that seemed a much better omen than anything that had happened in the past two weeks.

She just had to be careful not to grow too dependent on him. And not to let him become attached to her. Her life was already rife with complications, and she didn’t need any more. She filed those words of caution to the back of her mind as footsteps sounded in the hall.

“I don’t know how in the world a family no bigger than this one can create such a stack of—oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know our guest had joined us. She doesn’t want to hear about our dirty laundry.”

The smiling woman strode toward Danielle, wiping her hands on the embroidered apron that circled her plump waist. Her eyes were friendly and bright, her graying hair still shiny.

“So that explains the clean clothes. You really shouldn’t have.”

“Land sakes, girl, one more pair of jeans and a shirt didn’t even make a showing in this pile of laundry.”

“Mom, meet Danielle. Danielle, this is Mary Randolph, better known around here as Mom.” Langley did the introductions as he helped Betsy out of her high chair. Betsy wrapped her arms around his neck for a quick hug and then wiggled until he put her on the floor to play with the toys she’d hurled from the high chair.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Danielle said, extending her hand. “Your hospitality is overwhelming. And you have an extremely helpful son.”

“Thank you.” Mary looked at Langley and beamed. “All my boys are pretty special even if I do say so myself. Ornery at times, but special.”

Langley put an arm around his mother’s shoulders. “We have to be special. If we aren’t, she takes us behind the woodshed and gives us what for.”

“You’re not too big for paddling, young man. You just think you are.” She gave him a playful pat on the backside, then turned her attention back to Danielle. “I’m sure sorry I wasn’t up to welcome you to the Burning Pear last night. I’ve been going to bed when Betsy does these days so I can keep up with her.” She walked over and lifted the coffeepot as if to assure herself it wasn’t empty. “Langley told me what the two of you ran into at the Running Deer. That must have been quite a shock for you, especially on top of everything else you’ve been through.”

So Langley had told his mother everything. That was just as well. It would spare Danielle the pain of relating the sordid details all over again.

“It was a shock,” Danielle admitted, “but don’t feel bad about not being awake. Langley was the perfect host. I really appreciate your sharing your home.”

“That’s what neighbors are for. And you must be starved. I hope you like pancakes. I saved some batter. And there’s plenty of bacon. I can fry you up some in no time. Or I can scramble you some eggs if you’d rather.”

“I love pancakes, but I can’t let you cook for me, not after you’ve done my laundry.”

“Nonsense. You can’t go tackling that mess at the Running Deer on an empty stomach.”

“Give up easy,” Langley said, walking toward the door. “No one ever wins an argument with Mom.” He grabbed his Stetson from the shelf by the door and plopped it on his head. “I’m going out to find Ryder. He’s agreed to drive you into town for supplies, then help you clean up the mess at the Running Deer.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“No, but I like the idea of my baby brother toiling at cleanup detail. Besides, he’s dying to meet you. He’ll pester you anyway. You might as well get some work out of him.”

Langley left without waiting for her to comment. A few minutes later, the kitchen was filled with the mouthwatering smells of bacon frying on a cast-iron griddle. Mary cooked, moving about her roomy kitchen effortlessly, talking and smiling, with a manner that made Danielle feel as if they were old friends.

Betsy started to fuss, and Danielle picked her up, settling her in her lap. Betsy wiggled around to face her, then poked her pudgy fingers in Danielle’s face. She touched Danielle’s nose and grabbed for a handful of hair, pulling her topknot loose.

Gently, Danielle unwound the tiny fingers from her thick locks. So precious. Somebody’s baby who’d just landed on the Randolphs’ doorstep. A nice place to land, but she’d like to hear the rest of that story. She was sure Langley had omitted some interesting details.

She hugged Betsy to her chest. Somewhere she might have a baby like this. She might have a husband, a full life that had slipped through her fingers. She might have been happy.

Or maybe not. She might have been living with the madman who’d attacked her and left her for dead.

But she wouldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t. She needed her strength and determination to keep functioning until her memory returned. If the letter was accurate, and if she was the Danielle it had been written to, she was the new owner of the Running Deer.

She guessed that made her a rancher. She already had the aching muscles Langley had talked about. But dealing with cows, or worse yet, a bull, was out of the question. Even a woman without a memory had to set some limits.

DANIELLE FOLLOWED the sexy young cowboy down an aisle of Higgins’s Supermarket. “Ryder, you have to stop putting things in this grocery basket. I have no money.”

“Sure you do. It’s just all tied up in cows. When you manage to get the title to Running Deer free and clear, you’ll sell off some of the steers and pay your debts.”

“I don’t think the clerk at the register will buy into that.”

“Actually, she probably would if you talked to Higgins. Lots of folks around here run a credit line. But don’t worry. I’m taking care of this. You can pay me back when you’re solvent.” He flashed a seductive smile. “In cash or favors.”

“It’s a good thing Langley warned me about you.”

“Whatever he told you, don’t believe it.”

“Are you suggesting Langley would lie?”

Ryder bent to grab a giant-size bottle of bleach from the bottom shelf. He stuffed it onto the low-riding wire shelf beneath the basket. “All joking aside, Langley is probably the most honest, unassuming Randolph of all of us. I doubt if he even knows how to flirt.” Ryder grinned. “Maybe you could teach him.”

“I don’t know if I know how.”

“My guess is you do.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”

“It’s a compliment. You have that fire in your eyes, the kind of spark that goes with passion. I’ve seen it before. It’s not something you forget.”

Ryder pushed the basket to the side so that a young woman could pass. She spoke to Ryder and flashed him a wide smile. The look she gave Danielle was less than friendly.

“That lady certainly had a gleam in her eye for you. Was that the fire you were talking about?”

“No way. That was Carrie. Her dad owns a ranch just north of town. She’s a sweet girl, but not my type.”

“What is your type?”

“Smart. Fun. Loving. Passionate.”

“And have you ever met a woman like that?”

“Once. I wasn’t her type.”

In spite of Ryder’s teasing tone, she picked up a touch of bitterness. Evidently, even gorgeous cowboys sometimes had woman trouble. “Tell me, Ryder, does Langley have a significant other in his life?”

A stupid question. Before it was out of her mouth, she was sorry she’d asked it. She didn’t want either Ryder or Langley to get the wrong idea. She definitely wasn’t shopping for a man. For all she knew, she might have one already.

“Does Langley have a significant other in his life?” Ryder repeated the question, nodding his head and screwing up his mouth as if he were deep in thought. “Yeah. I’d have to say he does. A bunch of them. They all have four legs and hooves.”

Ryder was teasing again, and his easy humor made the awkwardness of the moment disappear. She liked his way. It made her feel normal, let her almost forget that she was the only one walking around the grocery store who didn’t have a clue as to who she really was.

“Hey, Ryder.”

She turned as a lumbering giant of a man hurried toward them. He tipped his cowboy hat to Danielle but didn’t bother to wait for introductions.

“What’s up, Buck?”

“There was a man come by the bank a few minutes ago looking for Langley. He was on the trail of a woman and, for some reason, he thought she might be in Kelman.”

“Did he mention her name?” Ryder asked.

“Yep, he did. He said her name was Danielle Thibo…Thibo something. A Cajun name, I think.” Buck turned and pointed. “That’s him over there at the checkout counter. The guy with the brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses.”

Danielle looked at the young man and struggled for breath. “Did he say why he was looking for the woman named Danielle?” she asked, her voice dry and scratchy.

“Yep.” Buck pinned his gaze on her. “He said they’d had a lovers’ quarrel and she’d run out on him. He’s afraid something happened to her and he’s awful anxious. She’s his fiancée.”

Chapter Three

Danielle stood in the sheriff’s small office and tried to find something familiar about the stranger who was staring at her across the room. Ryder had taken over in the grocery store, introducing himself and instructing the man to meet them at Langley’s office. If he hadn’t, they might still be standing there. Her mind and body had refused to function. Even now, she found it difficult to breathe.

The man walked over and stopped in front of her. “What’s wrong, Danielle? Why won’t you look at me?”

“I’m sorry.” She tried to say more, but her throat closed around her words. The initial anxiety had been swallowed up by a cold, hard numbness that defied reason. She longed to find out who she was and yet all she could grasp was that this man who claimed to be her fiancé was a total stranger. “I don’t remember you.”

The man stared at her, doubt and confusion written all over his face. “I don’t understand.”

She all but fell into the chair a few inches behind her. “I don’t even know your name,” she murmured.

“It hasn’t changed in the past three weeks. It’s still Samuel Drummer.” He turned back to Langley. “Where did she get those bruises on her face and arms? Has she been in an accident?”

“She was brutally attacked in New Orleans.”

“Oh, no.” He knelt in front of Danielle, taking her hands in his. “I should have known it was something like this when you didn’t come home and didn’t call. What were you doing in New Orleans?”

“I don’t know.” She studied the man’s face, then stared into his eyes, hoping that she’d feel some spark of recognition, praying some fragment of recollection would flash into her brain. There was nothing. She pulled her hands from his.

He exhaled sharply. “Help me, Danielle. It’s so hard seeing you like this when I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I’m sorry, Samuel. I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just that I’m having trouble remembering things. And people.” She took a deep breath and forced the diagnosis from her dry throat. “I have amnesia.”

“Amnesia.” He stood and backed away as if she’d named some dread, contagious disease. “Exactly how much do you remember?”

“Basically nothing. I don’t even remember who I am.”

He dropped into the chair next to hers and buried his face in his hands. “This is my fault,” he mumbled. “I knew you were upset. I should never have let you pack a bag and leave the house alone that night. I know how you are when you get that way.”

Langley leaned forward in his chair. “Placing blame won’t change anything. Danielle needs information about who she is. She needs your help in remembering her past.”

“Of course. I’ll help all I can. I’ll get her the best doctors in Fort Worth. I’ll take a night job if I have to in order to pay the bills.”

“She’s seen a doctor. Facts are what we need now.”

“I’ll tell you anything I can.” He twisted his hands and stared at the toes of his brown loafers. “What do you want to know?”

Danielle scooted her chair around in order to face him. “I know my first name is Danielle. What’s my last name?”

He hesitated. “Thibodeaux. Danielle Thibodeaux.”

A Cajun name. That explained her accent, but the name was no more familiar to her than the man who had said it. “Do I have a family?”

“Not anymore. You were an only child. Your parents are dead, at least that’s what you told me. If there’s anyone else, I don’t know about them. I didn’t even know about this Milton Maccabbe fellow whom you wanted to visit in Kelman until he started sending you letters. Frankly, I had my doubts about a man surfacing out of the blue and claiming to be your uncle.” He straightened and stared at Danielle, his eyes flashing as if he’d just hit the jackpot. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s Milton Maccabbe. What did he do to you?”

Danielle’s fingers dug into her palms. She unclasped her hands and ran them along the rough denim of her jeans. “Milton is dead, Samuel. He has been for two weeks now. He’s not part of the problem.”

“At least he’s not the one who attacked her,” Langley corrected.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Samuel shifted in his chair. “I didn’t know.”

“How long have you known me, Samuel?”

“About six months. You moved to Fort Worth from some little town in south Louisiana. I met you in a club downtown. I bought you a drink. We danced a few times. You know how it is. We just hit it off.”

“What kind of work did I do?”

“You were unemployed when I met you, but you were looking for a job.”

“What kind of work was I looking for?”

“Waitressing. Or whatever you could find. You were low on funds.” He stood and paced the small room. “Look, we don’t have to go into this now. I’ll take you home. We’ll get you medical care. You can rest in your own bed with your own things around you. I’ll take care—”