woman’s purse. Here’s the mail and yesterday’s newspaper, too.”
Chuck laid the mail and paper on the table, but handed the purse to Matt. “Where do you suppose that came from? It’s got a whole bunch of stuff in it.”
“It does?” Matt opened the purse, saw numerous items and took out a wallet. Flipping it open he found himself looking at a Massachusetts driver’s license photo of the lady he’d rescued. “Her name is Hope LeClaire,” he said quietly.
“Whose name is Hope LeClaire?” Cluck asked with a curious expression.
Matt returned the wallet to the handbag and set it on the table next to the mail and newspaper. Then he looked at his foreman and told him what had taken place that morning.
Chuck was fifty years old, a lifetime cowboy, fiercely loyal to Matt and a kindly man. But he was an observer of mankind and its foibles, and not too much that passed between heaven and earth surprised him. The only thing that really bothered him about the story he’d just heard was that there were red marks—quite likely rope burns—on Hope LeClaire’s wrists.
“This could be serious business, Matt,” he said soberly.
“I’m sure it is. Chuck, we can only guess at what happened to her last night, but how in hell did she end up way out here, on foot and during one of the worst storms we’ve had in years?”
“Have you asked her?”
“The few times she’s said anything at all she seemed to be disoriented. I attributed it to shock and didn’t press her for any answers.”
“Well, you’re looking pretty damned gloomy about it, so I think the next time she opens her eyes you should ask those questions.” Chuck walked over to the outside door. “The men are hanging at the bunkhouse. Anything you want done?”
“Not in this downpour. Tell them Mother Nature gave them a day off. If they can get to town, which I doubt, they might even enjoy the free time.”
Chuck shook his head. “They won’t be going anywhere. The road’s totally gone in some places and flooded in others.”
“You checked it on horseback?”
“Rode as far as that right-angle turn near the dam.”
“You didn’t happen to see a vehicle that might have broken down last night, did you?”
“No, sure didn’t. She’s going to have to tell you how she got here, Matt. It might not be a pretty story, but she’s the only one who knows it. Among the three of us, at any rate. See you later.” Chuck left the house.
Matt wandered restlessly for a while, then looked in on Hope LeClaire. Her eyes were wide-open and she looked back at him.
“Hi.” For her benefit he spoke cheerfully. Entering the room, he approached the bed. “How are you feeling?”
She hesitated, as though she really didn’t know how she was feeling. “I think I’m all right,” she said slowly, “but where am I?”
“I’m Matt McCarlson, and you’re at my ranch.”
“Which is…where?”
Matt frowned. “In Texas, of course.”
“Do we know each other?”
“Considering the fact that I only set eyes on you a few hours ago, I couldn’t say we’re fast friends,” Matt said rather dryly. He was getting a peculiar sensation in his gut, a premonition, actually. “By any chance are you having trouble remembering some things?” Premonition or not, he did not expect what happened next.
Her big blue eyes got teary, and she whispered, “I—I can’t remember anything. Not even my name.”
Matt’s initial reaction was to wonder whether he should believe her. First of all, he was thirty-seven years old, certainly no wide-eyed kid to be taken in by a con game. Second, since the awful experience of his marriage with its tragic demise, he was cautious around the opposite sex. Even enormous blue eyes and a drop-dead body weren’t going to make a sucker out of him.
He remembered the woman’s purse and wallet in the kitchen and knew he had the upper hand. “Hold on a second,” he said a bit smugly, because confronted with such irrefutable evidence of her identity, her con—if that really was what was going on here—would crumple. “I’ve got something you should see. Be right back.”
Hurrying away, he returned in a minute with the purse, which he laid on the blanket near her right hand. “I presume this is yours?”
Hope picked up the purse and looked at it front and back. It was black leather and quite attractive, but it rang no bells. Was it hers? Was there something inside that would tell her who she was?
“Check the wallet inside,” Matt said gruffly.
Hope raised her gaze from the purse to Matt McCarlson. For the first time she really saw him. He was very tall and well-built, a ruggedly handsome man with chestnut hair and brown eyes. If they didn’t know each other, why was she here, in bed at his ranch? Very easily she could panic and fall apart, she knew. She was teetering on the brink of hysteria, terribly frightened and confused because her mind was such a void. But there had to be some answers somewhere, and if she gave in to panic, she might never find them.
What puzzled her, though, was Matt McCarlson’s reluctance to take her seriously. She’d told him that she remembered nothing, not even her name, and he didn’t seem to believe her. Well, pray God there was something in the wallet he’d mentioned that would trigger her memory.
Dropping her eyes to the purse again, she opened it and took out the wallet. She studied the driver’s license, especially the photo, but realized that she had no idea what she looked like.
“Is this a picture of me?” she asked.
“You’re kidding, right?”
Hope could feel her heart harden. What she needed right now was someone who cared that her mind was a terrifying blank.
“If you think I would kid about something so…so ghastly, then you have an extremely warped sense of humor,” she said coldly. Peering under the blankets and sheet, she saw how completely she was clothed, then threw back the covers. “There’s a mirror over there. I’m going to get up and see myself, for myself.”
“Stay put,” Matt growled. “I’ll bring you a hand mirror.”
“Why on earth should I stay put?”
“Because you might fall flat on your face if you got up, that’s why.” He hurried from the room.
Hope frowned. Why was she in bed at all? Well, her head did hurt a little, so maybe she’d already taken a fall. Gingerly she felt the back of her hair and encountered a bandage.
Fear suddenly gripped her, and she put her hand over her mouth as her eyes wildly searched the strange room. She’d only been here a few hours, according to Matt McCarlson. Where had she been before that? The driver’s license was from the state of Massachusetts. What was she doing in Texas, if Massachusetts was home? In particular,
