a life?”
“Not nearly as exciting as yours.”
“I was only going to borrow the car.”
“We call taking a car without permission ‘stealing’ in Texas.”
“You do have the quaintest customs.” She stepped away from the car. “Now I suppose you’re going to call that nice sheriff so that I can spend some time in one of your friendly jail cells.”
“I’m giving it serious thought.”
“Look, no harm was done. I didn’t even start the engine. Why don’t you forget the sheriff and give me a ride to the nearest Greyhound bus station so that I can go home?”
“What about your amnesia?”
“That’s the neat thing, see. My memory came back, just like the doctor said it would.”
“Then I guess you have a last name now?”
“Sure. It’s Jones. Now are you going to give me a ride or not?”
Jaclyn Jones. He doubted that. “Why take a bus? You could just rent another car. The one you were in is going to be out of commission for a while.”
“Like I said last night, I’m a little short of cash.”
“Tell you what—level with me about who ran you off the road and why, and I’ll give you a ride wherever you want to go.”
“I’ve already leveled. I don’t know the who or the why. And what do you care, anyway?”
“Call me nosy—and law-abiding.” Bart started punching numbers on his cell phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“The sheriff.”
She grabbed his hand before he completed the call. “Okay, I’ll tell you everything.” She scanned the area. “Just not out here in the parking lot. Where’s your truck?”
“A couple of rows over.”
She walked with him to his vehicle, then threw herself into the passenger side and propped her duffel between them. “It’s an ugly story.”
“I wasn’t expecting Cinderella.” Though with Jaclyn, it could well be a fairy tale. “Why don’t we start with your real name?”
“Jaclyn Jones.” She spelled Jaclyn for him.
“I’ll buy the Jaclyn part. The nurses couldn’t find your driver’s license last night. Where is it?”
“I left it in my other handbag.”
“How convenient. What part of Louisiana are you from?”
“I’m currently living in New Orleans.”
That might actually be the truth. “So what brought you to Colts Run Cross?”
“I don’t see as it’s any of your business, but I’m having an affair with a married man who lives in Houston. We wanted to go somewhere where we could venture out of the bedroom for a change and not risk running into anyone we knew.”
“Where’s the boyfriend now?”
“We got into a fight last night, and I broke it off with him. He went berserk and evidently followed me when I left the motel.”
“Which motel?”
“I don’t remember the name of it, just some shabby, nondescript motel. Anyway, I’m sure he’s cooled down by now and is ready to beg my forgiveness.”
“But not sorry enough to rent you another car or even drive you home?”
“I’m going home to my husband and putting all this behind me—at least I am if I can get there.”
Bart didn’t know how much, if any, of her story was true, but it would explain why she hadn’t wanted to call her husband. He started the truck and backed out of the parking spot. A few minutes later he was headed in the same direction from which he’d come, toward Jack’s Bluff and the spot where she’d been run off the road last night.
“Did you talk to Hank about your friend Margo’s car?” he asked.
She visibly bristled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The Buick was registered to a Margo Kite. I was assuming that was a friend—unless you stole the car from her.”
She looked away. “Right. Margo. I’ll explain everything to her when I see her again.”
Her cell phone jangled. She said hello, but that was it. After that she merely listened as her muscles grew taut. Her hands were shaking by the time she broke the connection.
“Was that the boyfriend?”
“Yeah.” Her shoulders slumped and she kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet onto the seat with her. “He’s a jerk. So what’s new?”
Neither of them spoke until he was almost to Jack’s Bluff. He slowed the car as they approached the gate. The smart thing to do would be to keep driving to the bus station, but the inconsistencies were eating away at him.
The story she’d told about the lover was no more convincing than her having had amnesia. The only thing he was certain of was that someone had tried to kill her last night, and from all indications she was still afraid.
All of which was none of his business. He tried to drill that mantra into his brain but got nowhere. She was scared and distrustful but vulnerable. Dropping her off at a bus station without knowing she’d be safe seemed excessively cold and cruel for a man who stayed up all night with horses in labor and lost sleep worrying over a premature calf.
He turned left and opened the metal gate to the ranch with the remote attached to his visor.
Jaclyn snapped to attention. “Hold it right here, cowboy. I did not agree to make any unscheduled stops with you.”
For a woman begging favors, she could sure climb on her high horse in a hurry. “You missed lunch at the hospital. I thought you might be hungry. And even if you’re not, I am.”
“Are you sure we’re just stopping here for food?”
“What else would it be?”
“You’re a man. I’m a woman. Surely you can figure that out.”
“I wouldn’t seduce you on a bet.” Not exactly true, but it sounded good. The problem was he didn’t know exactly what he hoped to accomplish by spending additional time with Jaclyn. He just wasn’t quite ready to let it go. And he was always ready to eat.
JACLYN STARED AT THE house, which sat a few yards from where Bart had stopped the car. It was a two-story frame structure set in a clump of sycamores and oaks and a few types of trees she didn’t recognize. A covered front porch
