“I got a job as a ranch hand near Houston. Menial stuff, mucking out stalls, exercising the stock. Deep down, I knew this wasn’t what I was cut out to do. My boss knew it, too, but I was a good worker.
“One day, this feisty gal—a P.I.—came into the foreman’s office, asking questions about a Matthew Shane. My boss suspected something, but he didn’t give any information. He came to my bunk that night and told me everything she’d said. The private detective left her card, and my boss gave it to me. Told me if I knew anything about this man to call.”
Matt didn’t add that he himself had done some checking about this Matthew Shane, just to see if he’d been the man who’d done something immoral to coat his hands with someone else’s blood. When Matthew’s record had turned out clean as a whistle, Matt had decided to return to Kane’s Crossing, facing his old life while remaining “Matt Jones,” the name he’d given his new identity. Even now, if he dropped the “Jones” part and adapted the last name “Shane,” he’d still be the man he’d become in Texas, resuming his former business—horse breeding—and reclaiming his sanity. Bottom line—he’d still be a nobody.
He wasn’t sure what he’d do about the wife part, though.
He looked over at her, sitting so primly and properly on the couch. She was playing with something on her finger.
A ring.
An image assaulted him, making his head swim. It was a flash of strumming guitars, bougainvillea, sultry nights spent walking down narrow streets with balconies looming overhead, the scent of saffron floating over seafood.
Then it was gone. Too insignificant to mention. But she must have seen the shock on his face.
“It’s my wedding ring,” she said, flushing as if she were embarrassed to be caught still wearing it. “Are you okay?”
He reached for his iced tea to chase the dryness from his mouth and nodded.
He stopped cold, his arm stiffening.
A little girl stood in the doorway, an urchin with a searching gaze and pursed lips. Expressions reminiscent of Rachel’s.
In his mind’s eye he saw the girl swinging through the air with the effort of his arms, her long curly brown hair and eyes—his hair and eyes—bouncing and laughing with delight. He saw her dancing on the tops of his shoes, giggling and holding on to his forearms for dear life.
“Company, Mommy?” she asked in a voice that couldn’t have pulled experience from more than six years of life.
Still reeling with the last image, Matt shut his eyes as the next one assaulted him: a platinum-blond woman and a little boy, posing for a camera, springtime smiles on their faces.
Problem was, the image didn’t look anything like Rachel and this girl who couldn’t be anyone other than Matthew Shane’s daughter. Problem was, he didn’t know who the picture people were.
All he knew was that they had to be an important piece in the puzzle of his past.
But who were they? And why had he remembered them right after seeing Rachel’s ring and his own daughter?
Matt’s heartbeat thudded in his ears, keeping pace with the throb of his scar, as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Once again, he wondered what kind of life he’d led before leaving Rachel.
Chapter Two
R achel stood and went to her daughter’s side, brushing a cookie crumb from the girl’s face. “Tamela, I’d like you to meet someone.”
The child wrinkled her nose in Matt’s direction. He wondered if she remembered anything about him: what he looked like, what it had been like to hug him.
He only wished he could remember more.
Rachel took Tamela by the hand, leading the girl to Matthew. “This is your daughter,” she said, a catch in her voice.
At least he could hold on to the few images that had entered his mind. He dropped to the stone floor on one knee, bringing himself eye-to-eye with Tamela. He stuck out a hand for a shake. “How’s my girl?”
Rachel shot a cold glance at him, maybe warning him that he’d already gotten too familiar. Well, this was his daughter, for Pete’s sake. Again, he got the feeling that Rachel wasn’t all that comfortable with his return.
Why?
Tamela stepped toward him, ignoring his outstretched hand, widening her eyes. Matt felt like a snake behind the glass of a zoo exhibit. “Why did you leave, Daddy?”
Oh, damn. Matt didn’t know how to explain this. He drew back from her.
Luckily Rachel stepped in, leaning her knee on the floor, right along with Matt. “Daddy’s got a story to tell us, honey. Just keep in mind that we’ve still got a lot to talk about. Okay?”
Matt’s body reacted to Rachel’s perfume—a night-blooming jasmine bouquet. The scent was elusive, mysterious, yet somehow comforting. The wildness of it took him back to a dark place. A warm place.
Tamela interrupted his thoughts. “The other day Mommy told Mrs. Cassidy that you’re a no-good scoundrel.”
Rachel cleared her throat. “That was during your quiet time, Tam. Mommy was joking with Mrs. Cassidy. Adults do that sometimes.”
Yeah, Matt was absolutely wheezing with laughter inside. “I’ll be honest with you, pumpkin.”
At this, Tamela smiled, her brown eyes shining. Matt wondered if he’d always called her by that pet name.
He continued. “I don’t remember much about the past two years. But I’m trying to do the right thing, coming back home. I’ve lost most of my memory.”
“Like you lose a shoe? I did that in school last week. Mommy didn’t even get mad at me.”
Matt wished Mommy wasn’t so mad at him for losing something, either. “I guess it’s a little like that. And sometimes that shoe will turn up in the strangest places, when you least expect it. Or sometimes you’ll find clues as to where that shoe is. Just like my memory.”
“So we can help you find clues?” asked Tamela. She scooted closer to Matt, placing a pudgy hand on his shoulder with all the openness of a child.
Matt’s heart choked. He couldn’t help the swell of emotion clogging his speech. He wanted to scoop her into his arms, hug her with all the love she’d been missing from him these past two years. Buying time to recover, he glanced at Rachel, whose brows were knitted. Her eyes resembled a mist-covered lake, unmapable.
“Tam,” she said, her voice creaky enough to make Matt think she’d been affected, “sometimes memories never come back, and we have to be prepared for that.”
Matt wondered if she’d prefer to keep Matthew Shane on the “Missing” side of a milk carton. What would they do if he never remembered his life? Did he have the right to be here, expecting to reclaim his horse farm, his lifestyle?
The little girl nodded stoically,
