let’s talk about something else.”
At the opposite end of the table from Doyle, Kate cleared her voice loudly. “You’re right, son. We have a guest and I’m fairly certain she’d like to talk about something else besides shootings and criminals.”
Lass looked up from her salad to find several pairs of eyes on her. Feeling more than conspicuous, warm color flushed her cheeks.
“Oh, please, don’t let me interrupt,” she said in a small voice. “I’m very happy to just listen.”
The older brother—Conall—looked straight at her. Lass got the impression he’d been carved from a chunk of ice.
“So you don’t know where you come from?” he asked. “No clues at all?”
“Well, hell no,” Kate boomed back at her eldest grandson. “If she did, do you think she’d be wasting her time sitting here, listening to you?”
“I don’t know, Grandmother,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Maybe she doesn’t like where she came from.”
Her lips pressed into a grim line, Kate shook her head at him. “Sometimes you can really disappoint me.”
He shrugged. “Sorry. I guess I was just made that way,” he quipped.
Feeling worse than uncomfortable and wishing Brady was at her side for more than one reason, she tried not to squirm on her seat. She hated to think that some of this family thought she might be faking her amnesia, or that perhaps she might be part of a con, directed at the Donovan family. Didn’t they realize that it was all Brady’s idea to bring her here? As far as she was concerned, things would have been much simpler if she’d gone to the women’s shelter in Ruidoso rather than try to integrate herself into this large, complex family.
“Actually,” she said in a low, but steady voice, “I don’t know where I used to live. But I believe Brady when he says he’ll find my family.”
To her surprise, it was Doyle who looked at her with empathy and understanding. “I believe him, too. And until he does, we want you to make our home your home, Lass.”
Gratitude poured through her and she smiled briefly at him. “Thank you, Mr. Donovan. I’m very grateful.”
Dallas quickly interjected. “Well, I’m happy to learn that Lass remembers something about herself. She knows all about horses and knows how to ride.”
Liam’s brows lifted with faint curiosity while Conall muttered, “How convenient.”
“That’s right,” Dallas went on, clearly ignoring her brother’s sarcasm. “I’m going to take her over to the stables tomorrow and show her around. I think I might have found a great assistant. That is, after she gets over her concussion.”
Over a small glass of wine before dinner, Lass had learned that Dallas operated a therapeutic riding stable for handicapped children. Angel Wing Stables, as Dallas had called it, was entirely nonprofit and considered a labor of love. If Lass could help out around the stables in some way, she’d be glad to. She needed something to keep her mind occupied as it tried to heal. And she loved children.
How do you know that about yourself, Lass? Do you have a child of your own? Were you a nurse? A teacher? A mother?
The voice in her head was like tormenting drips of a leaky faucet. The questions were endless and unstoppable.
“By the time she gets over her concussion,” Liam reasoned, “she’ll probably have her memory back.”
“Let’s pray that happens,” Kate said, then leveled sharp eyes on her grandsons. “You two tough guys over there would be as scared as hell if you woke up some morning and didn’t have any roots, or home, or family or a dime in your pocket. Think about it.”
They must have thought about it, Lass decided. Because after that, the subject of her amnesia wasn’t brought into the conversation again. Talk around the table turned to racing and the fact that Del Mar would be opening for the late summer season soon. In a couple of days, Liam planned to ship several horses out to the historic track in Southern California and would be staying with them until the meet was over in September.
From what she could gather, the Donovans owned several grade I and II thoroughbreds, which was impressive indeed. Horses of that caliber were worth at least a million dollars each and oftentimes more. Which explained the comfortable, but elaborate, house and grounds, the large diamonds on Kate’s and Fiona’s hands, their casual, but well-tailored clothes. And yet, none of this awed Lass nor made her feel out of place. What did it all mean? That she was also from a rich background? Lass certainly didn’t feel rich. But perhaps her inner self wasn’t measuring her wealth by money. Thank God.
Not long after the meal, Lass excused herself and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Brady still hadn’t come home and after a few minutes, she climbed into bed thinking about the deputy and listening for the sound of his footsteps on the bedroom landing.
You’re clearly unstable, Lass. You don’t know your name, where your home is, or if you have one relative on the face of this earth. But instead of worrying about that, all you can think about is a sexy deputy with a head full of tawny waves and hazel green eyes glinting with mischief.
Eventually the nagging voice in her head quieted and Lass fell asleep from the exhaustion of the past two days. She must have slept soundly because the next morning she didn’t hear a thing until Brady’s voice sounded just above her ear.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty. Coffee has arrived.”
The fog of sleep was slow to move from Lass’s brain, but when it did, the realization that Brady was standing over her bed and that she was wearing a skimpy gown had her eyes flying open and her hands quickly snatching the cover up to her chin.
“Brady! What … are you doing in here?”
Grinning as though he was pleased with himself, he gestured toward the nightstand and a tray holding a small insulated coffeepot, a fragile china cup and saucer, cream pitcher, sugar bowl and a small branch covered with red blossoms.
“What is that?” she asked.
“Coffee. I took it for granted that you liked it. But if you’d rather have tea, I’ll have Reggie prepare another tray.”
With a death grip on the sheet, she propped herself against the headboard. A dose of caffeine to wake her up was hardly needed, she thought, when just looking at him was already making her heart pound. “No. I love coffee. I was talking about the flower.”
“Oh. That.” He picked up the branch of blossoms and handed it to her. “I don’t know what it is. I broke it off one of the bushes in Grandma’s flower garden. Because it was pretty. And I thought you might like it.”
Lass lifted the flowers to her nose, while an awkward feeling suddenly assaulted her. She didn’t know why having Brady see her in bed was bothering her. It wasn’t like it was the first time. But that had been a narrow hospital bed and she’d been garbed in a thick, unflattering cotton gown. Now she was in an opulent bed wearing a piece of red silk that revealed every curve of her body. And he was giving her flowers as though she was special.
Keeping her eyes carefully on the red, trumpet-shaped
