soon. I’m only here for a quick visit with my dad and Uncle Vic. It was a good thing, though. Can you imagine a man trying to supply a woman with a new wardrobe? Lord knows what they would have chosen.”
Gracie bent and picked up an item that still had a price tag attached. “A swimsuit? Really? Not entirely necessary, is it?”
The tall slender woman’s eyes widened. “Gareth hasn’t showed you yet?”
“Showed me what?”
“The indoor pool.”
“Um, no. I haven’t exactly been offered the guided tour. He doesn’t want me here, you know.”
“But you are here,” Annalise said with a grin. “And it’s about time someone bearded the grizzly old bear in his den. Gareth is a wonderful man, but he’s let the past trip him up. His hermit ways aren’t healthy.”
“What about the past?”
Suddenly the other woman looked abashed. “It’s not my place to say. I babble too much. Gareth can tell you what he wants you to know. C’mon,” she said brightly. “Let’s go to your room and try on all this booty.”
Gracie participated more out of curiosity than from any urgent desire to play dress-up. Annalise fascinated her. She could be a runway model or a movie star. Gracie envied her the boundless confidence that radiated from her in almost physical waves.
What was Gracie’s personality like? Here on the mountain, she felt wary, anxious and confused. But amnesia would probably have that effect on anyone. Maybe in real life Gracie was as self-possessed as Annalise. On the other hand, Gracie had a hunch that being wealthy and beautiful was the key. For someone like Annalise, the world was ready for the taking.
Gracie drew the line at modeling the wildly lavish lingerie. Petal-soft silk, handmade lace, confections of mauve, blush-pink and palest cream. It was the stuff of fantasy. But apparently Gracie was fairly modest when it came to exposing herself, even to another female.
At long last, Annalise glanced at her watch and screeched. “Lord have mercy. I’m going to miss my flight if I don’t get crackin’. Daddy always wants me to use the private jet, but it’s so damn pretentious. And do you have any idea how hard it is for a man to see the real you when he finds out about the seven-figure portfolio?”
“I can only imagine.” Gracie’s tone was wry. Annalise’s artless comments weren’t boastful. Her stream of consciousness conversation wasn’t as practiced as that.
At the front door, Gracie put a hand on her benefactor’s slim arm. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I won’t see you again, but I’m very grateful.”
Annalise grabbed her in an enthusiastic embrace and kissed her cheek. “Never say never. Remember… don’t let Gareth bully you. And as for the shopping spree… the pleasure was all mine.”
Four
With Annalise gone, the oppressive quiet settled over the house again. Gracie wanted to explore, but the possibility of being caught snooping deterred her. Instead she escaped outdoors, relishing the spring sunshine. It was a perfect day… the sky robin’s-egg-blue dotted with cotton-ball clouds, the sun warm but mild.
Her fingers itched for a paintbrush, wanting to capture the simplicity and lushness of burgeoning life. She stopped short, caught up in a memory…
I’m competent, Daddy, technically proficient, but I don’t think I have that spark to take me to the next level. That’s why I want so badly to be the gallery manager. I would be good at it, you know I would…
The snippet of conversation faded, and she clenched her fists in frustration. So she was an artist? But maybe not a very good one… and if that was true, what was the connection with her trip to Wolff Mountain?
Nothing. Nothing else materialized, no matter how hard she tried. And without something more concrete to go on, Gareth wasn’t likely to be appeased by her efforts.
With a hiccupped breath, she fought back a sob. Patience. She would have patience if it killed her. She walked down the driveway, away from the copse of trees sheltering the house, and glanced upward. What she saw drew a gasp of admiration. The house at the top of the mountain defied description. It was part palace, part fortress, an amalgam of Cinderella’s castle and George Vanderbilt’s sprawling mansion in Asheville, North Carolina.
She stopped dead, this time seeing a vision of herself during a visit to the Biltmore House. The clarity of the memory sent a surge of hope rushing through her veins. She’d been wearing a red sundress. And she was laughing, happy. Someone stood beside her. Who was it?
Her head ached from the effort to concentrate. Moments later, the scene in her brain shimmered and faded. Tears of frustration wet her cheeks. The knowledge was so close, so damn close.
She took a deep breath and turned around to stare at Gareth’s house. Yesterday she had stood on that porch. Had conversed with him. Why?
What had happened right before she fell? Was her mission in coming here sinister or innocent or somewhere in between?
No answers came her way. As hard as she tried, the earliest memory she was able to conjure up was waking in Gareth’s bed. Now, in the light of day, feeling a hundred times better than she had twenty-four hours before, the knowledge that Gareth had cared for her in the moments after her accident gave her an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She was sexually attracted to him. That much was clear. Even though she knew his Good Samaritan efforts were performed grudgingly. Despite his attitude, she had to be grateful that he hadn’t called the police to cart her off the property.
She had trespassed. Knowingly. And in doing so, had paid a hefty price. A brain that was tabula rasa… the clean slate. Even if Gareth found her at all appealing, he would never act on that connection. Because she had broken the rules of polite society. She had invaded his privacy.
With a sigh, she headed back toward the house. Gareth was working. Where? Why? The man was a freaking millionaire. Joint heir to what appeared to be a sizable fortune. By all rights, he should be cruising on the Riviera. Playing the roulette wheel in Monte Carlo.
The image of taciturn Gareth Wolff as a jet-set playboy didn’t quite come into focus. Some rich men enjoyed spreading their wealth around, flaunting their abundance. She had a hunch that the fiercely private Gareth would just as soon not be around people at all.
She wandered back toward the garage, stopping to stand on tiptoe and peer in the windows. Every pane of glass was spotless. She saw the Jeep, along with four other vehicles—a vintage Harley-Davidson motorcycle, a classic black Mercedes sedan, a steel-gray delivery van, and a small electric car.
The odd assortment intrigued her. Nothing about Gareth Wolff was easy to pin down.
She walked around the rear of the garage, and there, at the back of a large clearing, stood a third building. The exterior was fashioned to match the house and the garage. But this structure was smaller. A stone chimney, similar to the three on top of Gareth’s house, emitted a curl of smoke. Feeling more like Goldilocks than she cared to admit, Gracie gave into the temptation to explore.
Instead of a traditional front door, the side of the building closest to Gracie was bisected
