hard her back and shoulders were heaving.
If she was faking amnesia she must have a reason, and if she wasn’t, she was in no shape to be reading newspaper articles about herself. He balanced the tray against the wall enough with one hand to remove the paper and drop it in the hall, out of Hope’s sight.
Then he walked in and set the tray on the bureau. “Hope?” Obviously she couldn’t hear him over such intense sobbing, and he sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Come on, dry your eyes and face whatever it is that’s got you bawling. Not that a good cry doesn’t help one’s disposition at times. Relieves some of the tension that we humans have been fortunate enough to be blessed with.”
Hope felt his big warm hand on her shoulder and found it strangely comforting. She didn’t know him—she knew next to nothing about anything, for that matter—but this man, this stranger, was offering comfort, sympathy and even a bit of cynical humor, and the awful loneliness within her became just a little easier to bear.
Turning over, she wiped her eyes and whispered hoarsely, “I’m sorry.”
“Do you have something to be sorry for?”
“I’m intruding in your home, aren’t I?”
“This bed was just sitting here not doing a thing, and since I’m the only occupant of this house, nothing in it gets much use.”
“Hardly a reasonable excuse for your taking in strays,” Hope murmured. The corners of her lips tipped slightly in an effort to force a faint smile, because it was apparent that he was trying to ease the weight of her situation and he deserved some sort of appreciative response. “May—may I ask some questions?”
Matt got up for the tray of food. “Stack the pillows behind your back so you can sit up and eat. As for questions, ask away, but don’t expect too many answers.”
Hope bunched the pillows behind her and sat up. With the tray on her lap, she realized how hungry she was, and she began eating at once.
Matt took a chair and watched her. “A good appetite is a good sign,” he told her.
“It’s the sign of an empty stomach,” she retorted.
He grinned. “Yes, but if you felt lousy otherwise, you probably wouldn’t even notice hunger.”
“I suppose,” she conceded. “You said your name is Matt?”
“Matthew McCarlson. Everyone calls me Matt.”
“And this is what, a cattle ranch?” Matt nodded. Hope added, “In Texas. Where, in Texas?”
“The closest large city is Dallas. The nearest town is Hawthorne. Ring any bells?”
“None. You said you’ve only known me for a few hours. Did I knock on your door?”
“You don’t even remember this morning?”
“My very first memory is of waking up in this bed,” Hope said, speaking so quietly that a chill went up Matt’s spine. He believed her now, though he wasn’t sure exactly why he did. Maybe because she had wept so convincingly, or because she seemed so sincerely unconnected with her present reality? Whatever the reason, he felt certain that this was no con. Hope LeClaire was as clueless about her past as he was. In fact, because of that newspaper article he knew far more about her than she did.
“No,” he said gently. “You didn’t knock on my door. I found you lying in mud near the mailbox this morning. Haven’t you noticed the rain? Well, it rained all night and it’s still coming down.” The shocked expression on her face made Matt feel bad, but he hoped what he was telling her was enough of a shock to jar her memory. “I carried you to the house and put you to bed. Then I tried to call a doctor, but the phones aren’t working. The storm must have brought down some lines.”
“Uh, wait a minute. You put me to bed? Oh, my! These sweats can’t possibly be my own clothes. Did—did you undress me, or did some woman do it for you?”
“There’s not a woman anywhere on the ranch. Sorry, but your own clothes were soggy tatters, and I felt it was urgent to get you warm and dry. I didn’t have a choice and neither did you, so don’t be embarrassed.”
Hope put down her soup spoon and pressed her fingertips to her temples. Her forehead was deeply furrowed. “This is some kind of nightmare.”
“I’m sure it feels like a nightmare to you,” Matt said softly. “But I told you the truth. You were unconscious, soaked to the bone and lying on the muddy ground. You also have a deep cut on your head, which probably is the cause of your amnesia.”
Hope swallowed hard. “Amnesia?” she whispered.
“That’s what I would call your memory loss, yes. Of course, Doc Pickett might have another diagnosis. When the phone is working again, I’ll call him.”
“Please take the tray away,” Hope said dully.
Matt hesitated a moment, then got up and did as she’d asked. “I’ll take this to the kitchen,” he told her.
“Before you go…do you have any idea how I got here? Did you hear a car in the night? Did you see one this morning? I’m very confused on that point.”
Matt looked at her sorrowfully, unable to conceal his true state of mind on what seemed to be the pivotal question of her dilemma. “So am I, Hope, because, no, I neither heard nor saw a car. I have absolutely no idea how you got to this ranch.” He walked out.
Hope lay there for a few moments, then folded back the covers. Sliding to the edge of the bed, she got to her feet. Her head was swimming and the muscles of her legs and lower back were surprisingly sore, as though she had overexercised after a long period of immobility. “Odd,” she said under her breath, frowning over another barrage of questions without answers.
That wasn’t an accurate summary of the situation, of course. There were answers to everything she wondered about, she just didn’t know what they were. If she could remember, all the answers would fall into place. She was suddenly impatient with herself. Dammit, if you could remember, you wouldn’t have a bunch of questions eating holes in your already damaged brain!
The word damaged caused her to shudder, and, fighting debilitating frustration, she steadied herself for a minute then walked over to the window and pushed the curtain aside. Indeed it was raining, and everything outside looked nearly drowned, but what made her heart almost stop beating was the vast expanse of open country she could vaguely make out through the downpour. Beyond the house and other buildings was…nothing. Nothing but huge, soggy, empty fields and enormous puddles.
“My Lord,” she whispered in a shaky little voice. “How did I get here?” Someone must have driven her to this ranch, then…then…? Hope came close to crying again. Surely someone hadn’t driven her to this isolated ranch and then thrown her out of the car. But why on earth would anyone do something so awful?
But there was another possibly, she realized, one that was reinforced by the soreness of her body—she could have walked!
But walked from where? Maybe Matt would have some ideas, she thought, and closed the curtain. Leaving the bedroom she peered up and down the hall and figured out which direction to go.
When
