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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sort of images?”
“A steel-gray horse was being saddled by someone. I don’t know who. The blanket was bright red and the saddle was the English sort. Then the horse was suddenly gone and a man was standing in front of me. He was gripping my wrist. Really hard. And he kept saying over and over, ‘You’re coming with me.’”
Everything inside Brady went still. “Did you recognize this man?”
“No. It was like a dream where you never see the face. It was someone tall with dark hair.”
“What about the voice? Did you recognize it?”
Shaking her head, she said, “It seemed familiar, but I can’t identify it. To be honest, the voice scares me, Brady. I—” She gripped his hand even tighter. “All day it’s been haunting me. Now, after desperately wishing I could remember something, I’m wishing I could forget this.”
Placing his free hand on top of hers, he said, “I wouldn’t put much stock into the whole thing, Lass. Whatever you saw could be something that happened years ago. Or maybe you had a dream last night and it suddenly came to you.”
She didn’t look at all convinced and to be honest Brady found it hard to dismiss her images as dreams. From the small amount of time he’d been around this woman, she didn’t appear to be an airhead or a drama queen. True, she was a bit upset at the moment, but anyone in her predicament had a right to feel unsettled.
“I don’t think so, Brady. I think those were glimmers of things that happened—before I was injured.”
“Could be, Lass. But we won’t know for certain until you have more of them, or I manage to get a toehold on some relevant information. And I hate to tell you, but that hasn’t happened yet. No one at the track seemed to recognize you. A waitress in the club house restaurant thought she recalled seeing you, but she wasn’t sure. When they see hundreds of faces a day, it’s hard to single out one from the crowd.”
“Oh, well,” she said, trying to put a bit of cheer in her voice, “someone might eventually see my picture and identify me. I mean, I couldn’t have come from Mars. Martians don’t wear cowboy boots and Levi’s, do they?”
Glad that she could see a bit of humor in the whole thing, he smiled, then leaned forward and pressed a light kiss against her forehead.
Behind them, a door opened, and Kate made a production of clearing her throat. “The family is having drinks. Are you two going to join us?” she asked.
Knowing this intimate time with Lass was over, at least, for now, Brady rose from the love seat and reached for Lass’s hand.
“Grandma, did anyone ever tell you that your timing is rotten?”
Kate grinned. “Looks to me like my timing was perfect. I saved Lass from your clutches.”
Easing his arm around Lass’s waist, he urged her toward Kate and a door that would take them back into the house. “What’s wrong with my clutches?” he asked his grandmother. “Lass just might like them.”
With a good-natured snort, Kate turned and entered the door before them. “She’s too smart a girl for that, sonny.”
Lass was quickly learning that dinner at the Donovans’ was a special affair. Tonight, Opal, the family’s longtime cook, had prepared prime rib, and as each course was served, the conversation seemed to change to a different subject. By the time dishes of strawberry torte arrived for dessert, Conall was giving a production report of a gold mine that belonged to their sister, Maura. Since the elder brother was manager of the Golden Spur’s operations and part of the profit was distributed to the whole family, it was a subject that held everyone’s attention.
Except Brady, it seemed. He seemed more interested in Lass than anything and each time he turned his twinkling eyes on her, her mind insisted on replaying the kiss he’d given her on the back porch.
What had prompted him to do such a thing? But then what had been behind her behavior? The moment he’d walked onto the porch, she’d thrown herself at him like some sort of starved lover. Was that the way she normally acted around attractive men? Before she’d lost her memory had she been promiscuous?
No, Lass refused to believe that. Deep down, she felt certain it wasn’t her nature to casually jump into a sexual relationship with a man. She hadn’t felt anything for Hank, or the doctors or even Conall. So she couldn’t exactly understand what had come over her with Brady. Except that all day long she’d been desperate to see him, talk with him. She’d certainly not had kissing the man on her mind. She’d been all wound up about those memory flashes and then when he’d finally shown up, relief and joy had shot her straight to his arms, nothing more. Now he was looking at her as though she was part of the dessert. And all she could think about was the magic she’d felt when his lips had touched hers, the way his hands had caressed and pulled her close.
For the remainder of the meal, she tried to push the whole incident out of her mind and by the time everyone finished dessert, she’d convinced herself that she was being silly to dwell on one little kiss. Brady hadn’t taken it seriously and neither should she.
As everyone filed out of the dining room, Brady excused himself to make an important phone call. Since it was still too early to retire to her room, Lass followed Kate and Brady’s parents to the family room.
While Kate played a medley of Irish folk songs on the piano and Fiona and Doyle started up a card game, Lass picked up a newspaper and began to scan the headlines.
She was reading about a government proposal to bring aid to drought-stricken ranchers, when Brady eased a hip onto the arm of her chair.
“Catching up on the news?” he asked.
She glanced at him, while wishing her heart wouldn’t jump into high gear every time the man drew within ten feet of her. “Trying,” she admitted, then gave him an encouraging smile. “You know, when I started reading the headlines, I realized that I remembered who our president is and most of our national officials. Strange, that I can remember something like that, but not my own parents.”
His brows peaked with interest, and he gestured toward the paper. “Were there any stories in there that sparked your memory? A town? A name?”
“Not really. But that’s not surprising. I’m obviously not a local.” A thoughtful frown puckered her forehead. “When I look at some of the addresses listed on these advertisements, I keep thinking I should see a TX rather than NM.”
“So you’re thinking you might be from Texas?”
Nodding stiffly, she said, “I’m hardly certain of that. It’s just a gut feeling.” As she looked at him her eyes suddenly widened. “Brady, maybe I had a rental car! You could trace it! Or perhaps I flew in from Texas to the Ruidoso airport? Will they have records?”
“I’ve questioned the staff at the airport. None of them recalled seeing you. As for passenger records, the personnel at the airport has promised to go through them, but since we don’t have your name, it’s impossible to know when you arrived, or even if you arrived by plane. So that effort might not lead to any sort of productive information. Hank has already checked all the car rental places in town. Nothing there. So that means you probably took a taxi. We’ve left your photo with all the cab services. But I’m not expecting much to evolve there. There are simply too many tourists and strange faces in town and a cabbie would’ve only seen you for few short minutes at the most. Plus there’s still the possibility that someone else drove you to the track.”
“Someone else drove me to the track,” she repeated blankly. “Like who? If I was with a friend or relative where are they now? Why did they leave me on that mountain road?”
“I understand that possibility doesn’t make sense to you, Lass. But as a lawman, I have to go at things from every angle. Some person you met in town could have simply offered you a ride to the track out of kindness, then left town after the races.”
“I