The Stranger Next Door

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, shoved her feet into her shoes and walked over to stand in front of the oval cheval glass. She squinted in the sunlight, leaning close to the mirror to get a better look at the dark circles around her eyes and the hideous coloration of the healing cuts and bruises.

But at least she’d showered and shampooed her hair last night in the homey Randolph guest bath, standing under the hot spray until the tension had finally crept from her muscles and fatigue had settled in. And then she’d slicked her body with a fragrant lotion she’d found in a basket next to the stack of fluffy towels.

Now her hair fell loose and wild about her shoulders. Grabbing handfuls of it from the nape of her neck, she made a ball of the thick locks and pinned it to the top of her head with a gold-colored enamel clip, another gift from her friendly hospital mate. The only thing missing was some clean clothing to crawl into.

But she didn’t have any and she couldn’t very well go strolling into the Randolph kitchen in her undies. Thankfully, she had purchased extra panties. They were cheap but served the purpose.

Funny, she could have sworn she’d left her jeans and T-shirt draped over the chair last night. But there they were, folded neatly. She picked up the shirt, ready to slide it over her head. It smelled of lemon. And it was clean.

Talk about service. But surely Langley hadn’t slipped into her room while she was sleeping to collect and wash her dirty laundry. But someone had, unless the Burning Pear had good fairies on the staff.

Groaning, she forced her legs back into the stiff denim of the jeans, then tugged them over her hips. By the time she had the shirt on, she got her first whiff of brewing coffee and quickly lost interest in her appearance. She stepped into the hall and followed her nose to the kitchen.

“Open up, Betsy. It’s bananas. You like bananas.”

Danielle came to a quick stop in the kitchen doorway. Langley was sitting next to a high chair, shoving a tiny spoonful of mushy yellow food into the mouth of an adorable baby. It made a heart-stopping picture, but an uneasy feeling gripped her. She hadn’t been prepared for seeing him in the role of daddy.

He turned and saw her, and his face split in a wide grin. “Good morning. I started to wake you for breakfast but figured you needed the sleep. Besides, Mom saved you some pancake batter. It won’t take but a minute to heat up the griddle.”

Langley tried to shovel another spoonful of baby food into an open mouth. This time, his young charge swung her hands, catching the end of the spoon and sending food flying onto the tray of the high chair.

“Does that mean you’re full, Miss Betsy, or just that you don’t want me paying attention to anyone but you?” The baby smiled and cooed, and the big, rugged cowboy playfully chucked her under her fat little chin before he wiped up the spilled food. By that time, he had sticky fingers to clean, as well. “Don’t let Mom see this mess, young lady, or she’ll have me bathing you before I can get out of here.”

Danielle drifted toward the coffeepot. “Mom. Is that Mom as in your wife and the mother of your daughter, or Mom as in the woman who gave birth to you?”

Langley looked up from his feeding chores. “Betsy isn’t my daughter.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I guess I jumped to conclusions. You look so right feeding her.”

“I’ve had lots of practice. That’s what happens in these equal-opportunity families.” He poked the spoon back into the jar and dug around, getting the last bit of food from the bottom.

But Betsy was through eating and ready for play. She opened her mouth for the food and then let it slide out the corner of her mouth and down her chin while her eyes danced mischievously.

“In this case, practice does not make perfect,” Langley admitted.

But the baby girl clearly had the cowboy just where she wanted him, wrapped tightly around her chubby little finger.

“Help yourself to coffee,” Langley said. “Mom put sugar and cream out in case you wanted it. We’re all straight black around here.” He bent to retrieve the toy Betsy had just flung to the floor. “And, by the way, Mom is my mom. I’m not married.”

Danielle felt a flicker of relief as she poured the hot coffee into the pottery mug that apparently had been set out for her. She wasn’t sure why. She certainly had no designs on the man herself. For all she knew, she was married and might even have a baby of her own.

She carried the mug back to the table and took a chair across from Langley. “So where does Betsy fit into the Randolph family?”

“Officially, she isn’t kin. Unofficially, she’s in the dead center of everything that goes on at the Burning Pear. For someone so little, she demands, and gets, a lot of attention.”

“I can see that. She’s a little heart stealer.” Betsy slapped her hands against the tray, then laughed at her own antics.

Langley took the damp cloth and wiped up another smear of baby food. “We don’t know who Betsy’s real parents are,” he continued, turning back to Danielle. “She was brought to us six months ago when she was just a newborn. The woman who delivered her to us believed Betsy was a Randolph. But, as best we can figure, the man who’d told her that had been lying. He was actually scheming to bilk us out of money.”

“Had he kidnapped her?”

“We thought so at first, but the man was killed before we could find out the whole story. At any rate, we’ve never been able to locate Betsy’s real family, so she’s kind of in our care until we do.”

“A mystery baby. One with a secret past. I can identify with that.”

Langley nodded. “I guess you can. But there’s got to be a way to check your past. I made some calls this morning.”

The statement didn’t surprise her. “Whom did you call?”

“Charity Hospital in New Orleans. The New Orleans Police Department. The detective who was handling your case.”

“And what did you discover?”

“The hospital staff is very upset that you walked out without being officially released. And surprisingly enough, I learned the New Orleans cops covered all the bases, checked all the available sources for finding out who you really are. They even checked all the hotels. None of their guests were missing. And there’s been no one who matches your description reported as missing either in Louisiana or anywhere across the country.”

“So, it’s just as I told you last night. Until my memory returns or someone reports me as missing, I’m merely an unidentified victim of a crime, fortunately a live victim.”

“The problem is that without a last name or a social security number, there’s nothing to hang a search on. It’s just too bad Milton isn’t still alive to fill in the details of your past.”

“I know. I was counting on that. I tried phoning him from the hospital the night the nurse brought me the letter, but the phone company reported that the number had been disconnected.”

“Even when your uncle was alive, his number was unlisted. He was not big on socializing. We can call the phone company this morning and have the phone reconnected. You’ll need it if you spend any time at all over there.”

She toyed with her cup, watching the brew swirl, a motion as useless as her coming to Kelman had been. Her uncle was dead. Her past was still floating in some nebulous vacuum.

Langley picked up on her mood shift. “Just because the NOPD hasn’t been able to learn your identity doesn’t mean I’m giving up.”

She met his gaze. “I’ll hold you to that. You said my uncle wasn’t sociable, but he must have had some friends. Maybe he told them about me.”

Langley’s expression grew grim. “I’ve also been on the phone with Joshua Kincaid this morning. He’s the man Milton worked for before he bought the ranch and retired. Actually, it turns out Kincaid gave him the ranch, a bonus for Milton’s loyalty and hard work. At least, that’s the way Kincaid put it.”

“So the Running Deer was originally part of Mr. Kincaid’s ranch?”

“Not part of his main ranch, but Kincaid has several land holdings in the area. He’s always around to help his neighbors when they’re in financial straits. He relieves them of their land at a favorable price—favorable to him.”

“But he must be charitable with his employees. He apparently was with Milton. A ranch is a generous bonus. Was Mr. Kincaid aware that my uncle planned to will the Running Deer to me?”

Langley pushed back from the table and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Kincaid had never heard Milton mention you. In fact, he said Milton had bragged when he first went to work for him that he was one of the world’s few total loners. No family. No ties.”

The all-too-familiar sinking sensation settled in Danielle’s stomach. She’d followed the one lead she had, traveled all the way to south Texas only to reach another dead end.

“Actually, Kincaid was surprised to hear that someone was claiming ownership of the Running Deer,” Langley continued. “He’s had his men taking care of the cattle while he waited to see what was going to happen, but he said he figured the place might go on the auction block. Which is likely the real reason he’s made sure the place was kept up. He’s probably interested in reacquiring it.”

“But surely my uncle left a will,” she said, grasping at straws.

“I have a man checking into that now, but don’t count on it. Like I said earlier, Milton Maccabbe was a loner. He didn’t socialize with any of the townspeople, didn’t even have a local bank account. Lots of people speculated that he was one of those eccentric misers who had a fortune hidden in his mattress, but there’s been no evidence to back that up.”

“Then that might explain the place’s being wrecked. Someone was probably looking for his hidden fortune.”