of his body. For the first time she noticed there were no rings on his fingers. A watch with a silver band encrusted with squares of green malachite circled his left wrist, but other than the distinctly Native American piece, he wore no jewelry. She was not surprised at the absence of a wedding band. There was nothing about the man that said he belonged to a woman. Or ever would.
“The Fortunes are my good friends,” he told her. “I don’t want them to be taken advantage of.”
His words stung her hard. Why, she didn’t know. What this arrogant sheriff thought of her shouldn’t matter one iota. But it did. “Do I look like an ax murderer or something?”
“Or something.”
She wanted to scream at his short, noncommittal answers. “What does that mean?”
“The Fortunes have had their share of troubles lately. I don’t want your presence adding to them.”
Still gripping the Bible, she squared around in the seat to look at him. “What sort of troubles?”
“I’ll let them tell you.”
She sighed and turned her gaze back to the passing landscape. They were in the countryside now. The land was gentle and rolling with thick green pastures shaded by large hardwood trees. Cattle and horses could be seen on either side of the highway. Cowboy country. Sheriff Wyatt Grayhawk certainly looked like one.
“You’re not a man of many words, are you?”
He glanced at her, and Gabrielle was instantly bowled over by the grin on his face. His teeth were a startling white against his dark skin, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with faint amusement. She couldn’t imagine how potent he would look if he were to really smile.
“Sometimes it takes more than words to get your point across,” he said.
Well, he’d certainly been getting his point across to her loud and clear. In his opinion she belonged in a police lineup rather than as a guest at the Double Crown Ranch.
Sighing, she put the Bible back in the paper sack. “So this is it? This is the sum of what I have in the world.”
“It was a miracle the Bible survived the heat. Count yourself lucky you were conscious enough to have gotten out when you did.”
She’d been so busy concentrating on her memory that she hadn’t thought much about the accident. Wyatt’s suggestion reminded her just how blessed she’d been to survive the fiery crash.
“I do. And I will remember…everything. Eventually. The doctor said I would. And when I do I’m going to take great pleasure in telling you so.”
His brows lifted skeptically. “Telling me what, Miss Carter?”
She drew in a deep breath, then heaved it out. “That I—I’m not a criminal!”
He shrugged. “I never said you were.”
The drawled words had her teeth grinding together. “You didn’t have to. I could read it all over your face.”
Beneath the brim of his hat, she could see his dark brows arch ever so slightly.
“I’d be careful if I were you, Miss Carter. You might just read me wrong.”
Her gaze was drawn downward to the chiseled lines of his lips and she wondered how many women had looked at this man and wanted him. Plenty, no doubt. His long lean body and hard-edged features oozed with sensuality. But Gabrielle knew a sexual romp was all any woman would get from this man.
“What does that mean?”
He flipped on the turn signal, then glanced at her with narrowed eyes. “It means you’d better not try to second-guess me.”
“You’re infuriating!”
His smile was menacing. “I’ve been called much worse things. And most of them by women. Your words can’t hurt me, Miss Carter.”
She suddenly felt sick and cold inside, and it had nothing to do with the ache in her head or the freezing air blowing from the vents on the dashboard. It wasn’t right for any human to be as hard as Wyatt Grayhawk. Surely beneath the badge pinned to his breast was a beating heart. There had to be something or someone in this world he cared about. But so far she could see no sign of compassion in the man.
“No. I’m sure they don’t,” she murmured as she deliberately turned her gaze away from him and fixed it on the narrow country lane they were now traveling. “A person has to feel to be able to hurt. And I can see you’re not capable of either.”
She felt, more than saw, him look at her. But he said nothing. After a moment she felt something inside her wilt like a thirsty flower. Whatever happened in the future, she knew she would never forget this man. His dark stern looks, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand had all burned themselves into her wounded memory.
Less than five minutes later Wyatt parked the truck outside a large house surrounded by a wall built of sandstone. Except for a few shade trees, the structure sat on flat, open land. In the distance, she could see a large barn of weathered wood and another long building that appeared to be horse stables. Nearby were several working pens and numerous outbuildings.
Since she had no memory, she had no way of knowing if she’d ever been on a ranch before. But in any case, she could see this place was a grand-scale operation.
“Is this the Double Crown Ranch?” she asked, as Wyatt helped her down from the cab of the pickup.
A southwest wind was blowing, wet and hot. It tugged at her hair and fluttered the leaves of a nearby cottonwood. She pushed the pestering strands from her face, then glanced at him as she waited for an answer. As usual, she found his hazel eyes watching her, weighing her reactions.
“Yes. This is the Double Crown Ranch. It’s the Fortune family homestead.”
From what she could see of the house, it was a huge structure with sand-colored adobe walls. Several stone chimneys jutted above the flat tiled roof. In this heat she couldn’t imagine needing fireplaces, but maybe Texas didn’t always feel like a sauna.
They passed through a wrought-iron gate fastened beneath an arched entryway connecting the sandstone walls. As they walked along a curving stone walkway, she was immediately struck by the lush plants growing all around them. Roses as big as saucers hung from thick green bushes, while clematis and honeysuckle vines draped the heavy beams that thrust from the eaves of the roof.
Gabrielle hadn’t thought she was nervous about coming to this ranch, but as she and Wyatt crossed a covered entryway and approached a large, antique wooden door, she realized her mouth was dry and her pulse was racing.
Nothing about this beautiful place seemed familiar, but for some odd reason, she felt a connection to it. As though she were supposed to be here, but didn’t know why.
“Maybe someone here will recognize me.” She spoke the thought out loud.
Wyatt punched the doorbell. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“You don’t say very much, and when you do it’s always pessimistic. Are you always this way? Or
