The Deputy's Lost and Found / Her Second Chance Cop: The Deputy's Lost and Found / Her Second Chance Cop. Stella Bagwell
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before dinner, Lass had learned that Dallas operated a therapeutic riding stable for handicapped children. Angel Wing Stables, as Dallas had called it, was entirely nonprofit and considered a labor of love. If Lass could help out around the stables in some way, she’d be glad to. She needed something to keep her mind occupied as it tried to heal. And she loved children.
How do you know that about yourself, Lass? Do you have a child of your own? Were you a nurse? A teacher? A mother?
The voice in her head was like tormenting drips of a leaky faucet. The questions were endless and unstoppable.
“By the time she gets over her concussion,” Liam reasoned, “she’ll probably have her memory back.”
“Let’s pray that happens,” Kate said, then leveled sharp eyes on her grandsons. “You two tough guys over there would be as scared as hell if you woke up some morning and didn’t have any roots, or home, or family or a dime in your pocket. Think about it.”
They must have thought about it, Lass decided. Because after that, the subject of her amnesia wasn’t brought into the conversation again. Talk around the table turned to racing and the fact that Del Mar would be opening for the late summer season soon. In a couple of days, Liam planned to ship several horses out to the historic track in Southern California and would be staying with them until the meet was over in September.
From what she could gather, the Donovans owned several grade I and II thoroughbreds, which was impressive indeed. Horses of that caliber were worth at least a million dollars each and oftentimes more. Which explained the comfortable, but elaborate, house and grounds, the large diamonds on Kate’s and Fiona’s hands, their casual, but well-tailored clothes. And yet, none of this awed Lass nor made her feel out of place. What did it all mean? That she was also from a rich background? Lass certainly didn’t feel rich. But perhaps her inner self wasn’t measuring her wealth by money. Thank God.
Not long after the meal, Lass excused herself and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Brady still hadn’t come home and after a few minutes, she climbed into bed thinking about the deputy and listening for the sound of his footsteps on the bedroom landing.
You’re clearly unstable, Lass. You don’t know your name, where your home is, or if you have one relative on the face of this earth. But instead of worrying about that, all you can think about is a sexy deputy with a head full of tawny waves and hazel green eyes glinting with mischief.
Eventually the nagging voice in her head quieted and Lass fell asleep from the exhaustion of the past two days. She must have slept soundly because the next morning she didn’t hear a thing until Brady’s voice sounded just above her ear.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty. Coffee has arrived.”
The fog of sleep was slow to move from Lass’s brain, but when it did, the realization that Brady was standing over her bed and that she was wearing a skimpy gown had her eyes flying open and her hands quickly snatching the cover up to her chin.
“Brady! What … are you doing in here?”
Grinning as though he was pleased with himself, he gestured toward the nightstand and a tray holding a small insulated coffeepot, a fragile china cup and saucer, cream pitcher, sugar bowl and a small branch covered with red blossoms.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Coffee. I took it for granted that you liked it. But if you’d rather have tea, I’ll have Reggie prepare another tray.”
With a death grip on the sheet, she propped herself against the headboard. A dose of caffeine to wake her up was hardly needed, she thought, when just looking at him was already making her heart pound. “No. I love coffee. I was talking about the flower.”
“Oh. That.” He picked up the branch of blossoms and handed it to her. “I don’t know what it is. I broke it off one of the bushes in Grandma’s flower garden. Because it was pretty. And I thought you might like it.”
Lass lifted the flowers to her nose, while an awkward feeling suddenly assaulted her. She didn’t know why having Brady see her in bed was bothering her. It wasn’t like it was the first time. But that had been a narrow hospital bed and she’d been garbed in a thick, unflattering cotton gown. Now she was in an opulent bed wearing a piece of red silk that revealed every curve of her body. And he was giving her flowers as though she was special.
Keeping her eyes carefully on the red, trumpet-shaped blooms, she said, “I do like it. Very much. But Kate’s going to get you for meddling with her flowers.”
He chuckled. “She’ll forgive me. Especially if I tell her I did it for you. She likes you. I can tell. And Grandma doesn’t just take to any and everyone.”
Turning away from her, he poured the cup full of coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”
It felt ridiculous having this macho man of a lawman standing beside her bed, serving her as though she was a princess. Yet it also made her feel cared about and very special. Was that his motive? she wondered. Or was he this way with all the females who visited the Diamond D?
“Just a little cream, please. But I can do it,” she insisted. “You don’t need to do … all of this for me.”
“Why not? I’m here and I’m capable.”
Thrusting her disheveled hair from her face, she placed the flower on her lap and took the cup he offered. While she sipped, he pulled the chair away from the vanity, positioned it next to the bed and took a seat. This morning he was dressed in faded jeans and a black, short-sleeved polo shirt and though his hair was combed neatly back from his face, she could see a hint of rusty whiskers shadowing his chin and jaw. That and the faint lines beneath his eyes were the only signs that he’d had a late night.
“Tell me, Brady, do you do this for all house guests that come to the Diamond D?” she asked as she peered demurely at him over the rim of her cup.
He grinned. “Only the ones I want to leave a lasting impression on,” he teased, then his expression sobered. “You have a concussion. You need to be taking it easy.”
Unconsciously, her fingertips fluttered to the stitched wound hidden by her hair. “Bridget says I can move around. As long as I don’t rush or exert myself. And I’m feeling much stronger today.”
“That’s good. Real good.”
He stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles as though he was planning to stay there for a while. Apparently it didn’t make him the least bit uncomfortable to visit a woman’s bedroom. But then a man who looked like him had probably had plenty of practice at it, she thought.
“We … were all worried about you last night,” she murmured. “I’m glad to see you made it safely back home.”
He simply looked at her, his eyes warm and appreciative. “It was nothing to get worked up about. Just a little scuffle. A man with a gun got upset and went a little off the beam. That’s all. He’s safe behind bars now. And we’re all just fine.”
The first few hours after she’d gone to bed, she’d imagined him in all sorts of dangerous situations and she’d been desperately afraid for his safety. Now, she felt foolish for letting her imagination and her feelings get so out of hand. “Does that sort of thing happen often?” she asked.
“No. But neither does finding a pretty girl with amnesia,” he answered, a faint grin lifting one corner of his mouth. “The stars must have gone off-kilter this past week. The department’s been extra busy.”
“Well, I wish the stars would realign themselves,” she did her best to joke. “Maybe then I’d get my memory back.”
“Still nothing?”
Staring down at her cooling coffee, she said dismally, “No. Apparently nothing up there in my head is regenerating.”
“If Brita says it will, then it will. You just need time,” he said with encouragement. Pulling his legs