The Cattleman And The Virgin Heiress

Making her way to the bathroom door, she went in and set the lantern on the sink counter. Leaning forward until her nose was only a few inches from the mirror, she peered at her face in the lantern’s glow. She realized after a few moments that she had no base of information on which to judge her own looks. Was she pretty or plain? Her eyes were blue—quite a vivid blue, actually—but she’d noticed that Matt’s eyes were brown, and perhaps brown eyes were considerably more desirable than blue eyes.

Her dark hair might be appealing when shiny clean and curled—or something. How did she ordinarily wear it?

Hope had left the door open, and Matt walked in without preamble. “Here are several things you can cut up,” he said while placing a stack of clothes on the other end of the counter from the lantern. “Sorry I don’t have anything smaller, but I haven’t been your size since I was in the fifth grade.”

“You are…quite tall,” Hope murmured.

“Six foot three.” Matt walked to the door, but didn’t leave immediately. “Remember what I said about calling out if you need any help. In fact, if you’d leave the door ajar an inch or so, I’d feel a lot better about hearing you.”

“I…guess that would be all right.” She could detect the hint of an amused grin on his lips in the lantern light and became defensive. “Maybe I’m accustomed to bathing with the bathroom door open, but something inside me rebels at the idea so I can’t help doubting it,” she said sharply.

Realizing that no part of her predicament was funny to Hope, Matt erased all signs of amusement from his expression and said solemnly, “I doubt it, too. Take your bath and don’t worry about me peeking through the crack of the door. In the first place, I wouldn’t see anything I haven’t already seen, and in the second, I’m not in the habit of preying on healthy women, let alone one who’s in such sad shape.” He walked out, and pulled the door shut, leaving about a three-inch opening.

Hope’s jaw had dropped in painful surprise. Why, he’d practically come right out and said she was a pitiful specimen of womankind! No wonder he’d been able to undress and bathe her without emotion.

Oh, the shame of it, she thought, completely mortified over being so utterly undesirable. She hurried through a bath and a cautious shampoo, and never once really looked at her body. After all, why would she or any other woman want to inventory something so—so pathetic?

Later, Hope and Matt dined on grilled cheese sandwiches—prepared in an iron skillet on his propane camping stove—and small bowls of canned fruit. The lantern light softened Matt’s features, Hope noticed, and wondered if it did the same with hers. Not that his features needed softening. In spite of the constant concern gnawing at her over her long list of personal grievances, she admired Matt McCarlson’s masculine good looks. It seemed almost insane to be aware of a man’s looks under the circumstances, but Hope really couldn’t help herself.

Not that she expected or even fantasized anything coming of her admiration. She was, after all, so out of Matt’s league in the looks department that even if she was a hundred percent healthy, with a perfect memory and some decent clothes that actually fit, he would be no more affected by her than he would be by a great-grandmother sharing his house and table.

Hope sighed quietly and spooned a bit of canned peach to her mouth. Something flashed through her mind, something about peaches that she couldn’t hold on to or read clearly.

“You’re very quiet,” Matt said. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yes, and I think I just had a glimmer of a memory.”

“You did? What was it?”

“It was nothing earthshaking, so don’t get excited. It had something to do with peaches.”

Matt sat back. “With peaches? Why in hell would your first memory be about peaches? I doubt there are very many peach trees in Massachusetts.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to get excited?” she said dryly. “Believe me, if I had any say in the order in which I might recall my past, my first memory would not have been about peaches. Besides, it wasn’t even a full memory. I mean, I don’t know if I was eating peaches, buying them or picking them off a tree.” Hope paused for a short breath and added, “Maybe I was throwing them at someone, possibly an irritating man.”

Matt’s eyebrows went up. “So you think I’m irritating.”

“Did I mention you?”

“Since I’m the only man you know at the present, you didn’t have to identify who you’d like to throw peaches at.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hope muttered.

“You’re angry. Not only that, you’re angry with me. What happened? What’d I do?”

Hope fell silent, did some thinking and realized that he was right. She was hurt and so angry that she would love to throw something at him. Yes, he’d rescued her from the storm—and only the good Lord knew what else—but then he’d found her so unappealing, so unattractive, that she might as well have been a mangy stray dog instead of a woman.

But she could not explain herself on that score, and she resorted to a lie. “Sorry, but you’re dead wrong. I’m not a bit angry with you. Why would I be? You probably saved my life, pathetic as it apparently is.”

Matt frowned. “Why would you think you have a pathetic life?” Should he go and get that newspaper article for her to read? The information in it sure didn’t read to him like Hope LeClaire led a pathetic life. An heiress to millions, possibly billions of dollars? And she was no slouch in the looks department, either. In truth, he’d never seen a more perfect body. Full, rounded breasts with gorgeous rosy nipples that looked as though they’d been created specifically for a man’s mouth. Oh, no, Hope’s assets weren’t all in banks or safes, not by a long shot.

“Have you seen anyone out here looking for me?” she retorted. “Wouldn’t you think your life was pretty pathetic, too, if no one gave a damn about where you were, or what horror might have befallen you?”

“No one can get out here. I told you that. It might be days after the rain stops before the roads are repaired enough to drive on.”

“But if someone I cared about was missing, I wouldn’t leave a stone unturned to find him or her, and I wouldn’t let a storm or washed-out road stop me,” she snapped.

Matt was beginning to hear a note of hysteria in Hope’s voice, and the last thing he needed in the isolation everyone on the ranch must bear until things returned to normal was a hysterical amnesiac. No, he would not show her that article. In fact, he would do anything he could think of to get her thoughts away from her own admittedly wretched situation.

“You didn’t eat much of your sandwich. Would you like something else?” he asked.

“You deliberately changed the subject,” she said, suddenly weary of it herself. “It’s okay, I’m bored with my problems, too. Scared spitless, let me add, but harping on the same old know-nothing theme is nothing but wasted energy. You know, I bet that you’d give anything you own not to have found me today.”

You’ve got that right, baby! “Don’t be silly,” Matt said out loud in a soothing tone of voice. “Tell you what. You sit there while I clear these dishes away, then I’ll walk you back to your bedroom.”

“Fine,” she said listlessly. Could he say or do anything that would take away her blues? Her self-pity? Lord above, what was she even doing in Texas? Was her mother, Madelyn, worried about her, or had Hope left Massachusetts for an extended trip, gotten in this mess somehow, and no one was worried about her?

Watching Matt move from table to sink, it struck Hope that he was all she had. Until she regained her memory—she would regain it, wouldn’t she?—Matt McCarlson was the only person she knew face-to-face in the entire world.

And yet she had snapped at him, admitted anger at him—if only to herself—and pretty much blamed him for this mysterious fiasco. Well, it wasn’t that she blamed him for everything, but one would think a rancher living miles and miles from civilization would be better prepared for a damn storm.

So that’s it, she thought with narrowed eyes. She blamed him for living a lackadaisical lifestyle that didn’t include emergency communication.

“How come you don’t have some way to contact…uh, the town, for instance…in case of an emergency?” she asked.

Matt heard the distinct disapproval in her voice, the judgment, and it raised his hackles. “I’m like a lot of ranchers,” he said flatly. “I’m not particularly fond of people, especially city dwellers, and I’d rather wait out a storm by myself than have a horde of do-gooders descending on my land under the guise of neighborly generosity to rescue me, when I never needed rescuing in the first place.”

“And I suppose the men who work for you feel the same?”

“My men are seasoned ranch hands. They know the table stakes and when they’re dealt a bad hand, they take their lumps without complaint.”

“As you do.”

“Have you heard me complaining? Let me say it like it is, Hope LeClaire. You’re the only person on this ranch who’s done any complaining about being landlocked, so to speak. Now, I have to concede your right to a few complaints, but—”

Hope broke in. “How big of you,” she said with drawling sarcasm. “I wonder what you’d do if you woke up in a strange place with no memory.” She got to her feet. “I’m going back to bed, and I don’t need your help in getting there, so please just let me leave without offering the support of your big, manly arm.”

“Hey, my arm is big and manly, and your sarcasm doesn’t make it any less than it is. Take the lantern so you don’t fall flat on your ungrateful face!”

“Ungrateful? Ungrateful? How would you like me to express my gratitude, by kissing your feet? I’ve said thank you repeatedly, which you’ve either obviously forgotten or were too dense to register at the time.”

“I’m not dense, lady,” Matt growled. “And since you are, I would think that dense is a word you’d try real hard to avoid.”

“You jerk!” she shouted, then turned herself around, plucked the lantern from the table and did her best imitation of royalty sweeping from a room filled with ignorant peasants.

“Yeah, I’m a jerk,” Matt mumbled while lighting another lantern for his use. “And you’re just as spoiled and overbearing as every other pampered princess I’ve known.”

Matt went to bed about an hour later. Lying in the dark he listened to the rain, which had slowed to a barely discernible drizzle. The storm was passing, but at this stage it was hard to forecast its final gasp. It could drizzle and mist like this for days, it could start pouring again at any time, or it could stop completely without a dram of warning.