noticed the flavor of the room was distinctly Tex-Mex. Bundles of dried, red chili peppers hung from the ceiling, which was lower in this room. The dishes and containers sitting on the cabinets and work island were made of heavy pottery painted in earth tones of brown, copper, sand, and the pink of rose rock. Along one wall was a row of windows, and beneath them were several large potted plants that appeared to be some sort of desert succulents.
She glanced at Maggie. “Well, I may not have done anything bad, but Wyatt Grayhawk has the impression I have,” Gabrielle continued their conversation.
Maggie sighed. “There’re a lot of things you don’t know about Wyatt Grayhawk.”
And I don’t want to know, Gabrielle thought, but kept the remark to herself as she and Maggie made their way into a large dining area.
Two men were already seated at a long oak table. Upon seeing the women they both stood, and the younger of the two came around the table to help them into their chairs.
Gabrielle tried to remember where she’d seen him before, then it dawned on her. “Aren’t you—”
“Yes. I’m the doctor who was with Wyatt yesterday at the hospital.” He extended his hand in greeting. “I’m Matthew Fortune.”
Gabrielle didn’t know what to think. Yesterday he’d never mentioned she’d wrecked her car on his family’s property or that he was connected in any way to the Fortunes.
Seeing the bewildered frown on her face, he went on. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself yesterday. But Wyatt had his reasons for wanting me not to.”
Wyatt. Did these people do everything the man told them to do?
“Yes. I’m sure he did have his reasons,” she murmured. Namely, that he’d been deliberately trying to catch her in the act of lying. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to see the man again. She was going to take great pleasure in telling him—sheriff or not—what she thought about his underhanded tactics.
“I’m Ryan Fortune, Miss Carter.”
She glanced up to see the older man had come around the table to greet her. He was about fifty or so, Gabrielle guessed, and was tall and solidly built. He was a handsome man, and though he was obviously rich, there was nothing arrogant about him.
Offering her hand, she said, “Thank you for having me in your home, sir. It’s very beautiful.”
“I’m very sorry about your accident, Gabrielle. My whole family and I are hoping you’ll be completely well very soon.” He smiled at her in a fatherly way, and Gabrielle suddenly didn’t feel so bad about being here on the Double Crown.
“I hope so, too, sir. And I promise I won’t take advantage of your hospitality. As soon as Sheriff Grayhawk finds my identity, I’ll be leaving.”
Ryan Fortune’s smile turned to one of compassion, and Gabrielle got the impression that he was a man who knew what it was like to face overwhelming trouble and endure the pain that went with it.
“Don’t be worried about making a hasty stay of it here at the ranch, Miss Carter. As you can see, we have plenty of room. And we want you to be truly well and on your feet before you leave.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said with another indulgent smile, then returned to his seat at the head of the table.
Next to her Maggie said to Gabrielle, “See, I told you you shouldn’t feel bad about staying here. My father-in-law is very kind. And he has a wonderful fiancée, Lily. You’ll like her very much.”
“Lily isn’t officially my fiancée,” Ryan said with a proud chuckle. “Not until she puts the engagement ring on her finger. But I’m hoping that’s going to be very soon.” The older man glanced at his son. “And speaking of lovely brides, where’s Claudia? Isn’t she going to eat lunch with us?”
The young doctor grimaced. “No. She’s eating alone.”
Ryan frowned at his son. “It’s not often you get to be away from the hospital for lunch. Maybe if I go and talk with her—”
Matthew interrupted with a shake of his head. “No. Don’t bother. The sight of me upsets her right now. And I can hardly blame her.”
“But, son, you’re—”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t want to talk about it. Anyway, Rosita’s here with the food.”
As the housekeeper served them all a tossed salad and burritos smothered with green chili sauce, Gabrielle’s thoughts lingered on the two men’s exchange. Maggie had hinted all was not well with Matthew’s marriage, and she could certainly understand why his wife would be upset. Still, from her first perception of the man, he seemed like the last sort to have an affair. His eyes were too honest and full of hurt.
Not anything like Wyatt Grayhawk, she thought as she stabbed her fork into a spicy burrito. He wouldn’t care if he hurt a woman. His eyes were as hard as pieces of steel.
There is a lot about Wyatt Grayhawk you don’t know…. Maggie’s words had intrigued her, but she wasn’t going to stoop to asking questions about him. The less she knew about the taciturn sheriff, the better off she would be.
Later that afternoon, Wyatt glanced up as one of his deputies pushed the paper across his desk. “Here’s the data from the car rental agency, Wyatt. It just came over the fax.”
“Thanks, Gonzolez.”
He waited for the deputy to leave his office before he read the printed information. Once he’d finished, he leaned back in the leather chair and stared thoughtfully at the opposite wall of the small office.
So he’d been right after all. Gabrielle was from California. Without looking at a map, he would guess the address given was somewhere in the Los Angeles area. She’d rented the car six days ago and had informed the rental agency she would return it in two weeks.
That meant she hadn’t expected to stay all that long in Texas. But long enough to cause problems, he thought. If that had been her intention. And in his job if was always a mighty big word.
Sighing, he rose from the chair and walked over to the dusty paned window that overlooked the main street of Red Rock. Late evening traffic was bustling up and down, with folks going home from their jobs and attending to last-minute shopping and errands.
The small town had been uncharitable to him in some ways, but good too, Wyatt supposed. He’d been born and raised nearby on a dusty hundred-acre ranch. His Cherokee father had been a cold-hearted cuss who’d found it easier to show him the back of his hand than to say more than two words at a time to his son. Wyatt had endured his abuse, mostly because he had no one else to turn to, nowhere else to go. And he’d blamed himself for his father’s bitter cruelty.
Marilyn, Wyatt’s mother, had been a white woman, and from his very early memories he could still recall how soft and beautiful she’d been, with long blond hair and blue eyes. She’d had a gentle voice too, and sometimes she sang funny little songs to Wyatt as she cooked in the small kitchen of their shabby home. She’d always been hugging and kissing him, and often she’d told him she loved him more than anything on earth. And Wyatt had believed her.
