long moments at his house. Either she’d really fainted, which he doubted, or she hadn’t peeked on the way up the drive to preserve the pretense that she’d passed out. Either way, her surprise seemed genuine.
“Good Lord, it looks like a castle. Turrets and towers and stones, oh my.”
“It is a castle. Very famous in this part of Texas. In fact that’s how the town of Castle Rock got its name.”
She rubbed her forehead. “I don’t remember if I’ve ever heard of it.”
He studied her, again waiting for a slip in her facade. A weakness in her expression. He found none. Not surprising since the rest of this operation had been planned so precisely and in such a detailed manner. He couldn’t believe her research hadn’t included information about where he lived, so he had to assume her apparent shock meant she was a very good actress.
Then he looked at the impressive stone walls surrounding the extensive manicured grounds of the estate. He studied the main entrance to the house, stately and towering above them. The sheer majesty of the building was something he always took for granted, along with the heavy double doors that led inside.
But he tried to put himself in her shoes, so to speak, he thought, glancing at her bare feet. He lived in the country on five acres and the security surrounding him was state of the art. If she’d been casing the place, he would know. That meant she probably hadn’t seen it in person. Up close, it must look pretty extraordinary.
He’d always thought so. “In the late 1800s, my family made more money in cattle than they knew what to do with. Someone on my mother’s side decided to buy an English castle. They took it apart and reassembled it here in Texas brick by brick.”
“That must have cost enough to feed a third world country for a year.”
“Probably.” He was volunteering a lot of information to someone who was trying to con him and could only chalk it up to pride in the family digs. Besides, he figured she’d done her homework and already knew the details. “We call it Patterson palace.”
“A palace,” she said, an odd expression on her face. Then she met his gaze. “Patterson? Is that your name?”
As if she didn’t know. “J. P. Patterson. And you are?”
“I wish I knew.” She shifted her bare feet and winced, then brushed the bottom of one bare foot across the top of the other. “Ouch. You wouldn’t think a palace would allow pebbles.”
“It’s not Camelot,” he said wryly. “Let’s go inside. My mother’s waiting.”
Her gaze narrowed as she looked up at him. “She is?”
“Yes.” He didn’t like the look on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s just something about a guy in his thirties who lives with his mother.”
“Without a memory, you know this—how?”
“Instinct. Just an impression. I can’t explain it.” She shrugged. “If it’s all the same to you, maybe I’ll just take my chances back on the road.”
Her implication irritated him, and he felt compelled to defend himself. “My mother lives in a condo in Dallas. She’s here to visit.”
“If you say so. And since we’re here, I can call the sheriff. Like you said. I’d appreciate the use of your telephone.”
“After you,” he said, holding out his hand.
With an air of stubbornness, she lifted her chin and preceded him up the four steps to the entrance. When she stopped at the door, he reached around her and opened it.
She halted in the entryway, staring from side to side, then up at the ornately carved stone ceiling. “Wow.”
“This way,” he said. “Mother’s probably in the great room.”
Pride in the family digs took him only so far, and he was done now. The sooner he got the sheriff out here to deal with this faker the better.
They moved past the front rooms used as a parlor and living room and headed toward the kitchen and great room, which looked out over the rear gardens and a pool with a brick patio.
“J.P.? Is that you?”
“Yes, Mother.”
They walked into the huge room where his mother sat in an overstuffed chair beside the stone fireplace taking up one full wall. J.P. could almost stand up straight in it. They’d always joked that their ancestors probably used it to roast a steer on a spit.
Audrey put aside the book she’d been reading and looked up. When she spotted his companion, she frowned. “Good lord, J.P., what have you done to that young woman?”
“Nothing. I rescued her.” He glanced at the companion in question and was sure he saw her glare at him. But the look disappeared so fast he wasn’t certain. “She was stranded at the side of the road and there was no car in sight. That seemed odd, so I stopped.”
His mother closed her book and stood, then went to meet them. She was taller than the gold-digging stranger. “What’s your name, dear?”
“I—I don’t remember.”
“J.P.?”
“All she told me is that she thought she’d been kidnapped,” he said.
His mother lifted the dangling handcuff and studied the shoeless stranger, frowning as she took in every detail of her disheveled appearance. “Good heavens. How did you get free?”
Mystery woman shook her head. “My last clear memory is standing on the side of the road and a car driving away. Fast. Then your son stopped to help me. I’m afraid I was so overwhelmed I fainted.”
His mother slid her arm around the faker’s shoulders and led her to the couch on the long oak-panelled wall. He wanted to warn his mother of his suspicions, but didn’t want to make a scene. It wasn’t worth the aggravation since the sheriff would deal with the situation soon enough.
“Poor dear,” his mother said. “Is there anyone we can call who might be worried about you?”
“I can’t remember.”
“J.P., did you find a purse or anything that might give us a clue to her identity?”
“I didn’t look,” he said.
“For goodness’ sake, that’s basic investigative technique.”
“She passed out, Mother. I had my hands full.”
“Sorry, dear. Of course you couldn’t let her fall.”
If there was any plus for him in this whole situation, it had been holding her in his arms. She was soft and curvy in all the right places. He was a guy, and he’d noticed.
“I’m Audrey Patterson,” his mother said. “Obviously you met my son.”
“My
