The Stranger Next Door

“What is your type?”

“Smart. Fun. Loving. Passionate.”

“And have you ever met a woman like that?”

“Once. I wasn’t her type.”

In spite of Ryder’s teasing tone, she picked up a touch of bitterness. Evidently, even gorgeous cowboys sometimes had woman trouble. “Tell me, Ryder, does Langley have a significant other in his life?”

A stupid question. Before it was out of her mouth, she was sorry she’d asked it. She didn’t want either Ryder or Langley to get the wrong idea. She definitely wasn’t shopping for a man. For all she knew, she might have one already.

“Does Langley have a significant other in his life?” Ryder repeated the question, nodding his head and screwing up his mouth as if he were deep in thought. “Yeah. I’d have to say he does. A bunch of them. They all have four legs and hooves.”

Ryder was teasing again, and his easy humor made the awkwardness of the moment disappear. She liked his way. It made her feel normal, let her almost forget that she was the only one walking around the grocery store who didn’t have a clue as to who she really was.

“Hey, Ryder.”

She turned as a lumbering giant of a man hurried toward them. He tipped his cowboy hat to Danielle but didn’t bother to wait for introductions.

“What’s up, Buck?”

“There was a man come by the bank a few minutes ago looking for Langley. He was on the trail of a woman and, for some reason, he thought she might be in Kelman.”

“Did he mention her name?” Ryder asked.

“Yep, he did. He said her name was Danielle Thibo…Thibo something. A Cajun name, I think.” Buck turned and pointed. “That’s him over there at the checkout counter. The guy with the brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses.”

Danielle looked at the young man and struggled for breath. “Did he say why he was looking for the woman named Danielle?” she asked, her voice dry and scratchy.

“Yep.” Buck pinned his gaze on her. “He said they’d had a lovers’ quarrel and she’d run out on him. He’s afraid something happened to her and he’s awful anxious. She’s his fiancée.”

Chapter Three

Danielle stood in the sheriff’s small office and tried to find something familiar about the stranger who was staring at her across the room. Ryder had taken over in the grocery store, introducing himself and instructing the man to meet them at Langley’s office. If he hadn’t, they might still be standing there. Her mind and body had refused to function. Even now, she found it difficult to breathe.

The man walked over and stopped in front of her. “What’s wrong, Danielle? Why won’t you look at me?”

“I’m sorry.” She tried to say more, but her throat closed around her words. The initial anxiety had been swallowed up by a cold, hard numbness that defied reason. She longed to find out who she was and yet all she could grasp was that this man who claimed to be her fiancé was a total stranger. “I don’t remember you.”

The man stared at her, doubt and confusion written all over his face. “I don’t understand.”

She all but fell into the chair a few inches behind her. “I don’t even know your name,” she murmured.

“It hasn’t changed in the past three weeks. It’s still Samuel Drummer.” He turned back to Langley. “Where did she get those bruises on her face and arms? Has she been in an accident?”

“She was brutally attacked in New Orleans.”

“Oh, no.” He knelt in front of Danielle, taking her hands in his. “I should have known it was something like this when you didn’t come home and didn’t call. What were you doing in New Orleans?”

“I don’t know.” She studied the man’s face, then stared into his eyes, hoping that she’d feel some spark of recognition, praying some fragment of recollection would flash into her brain. There was nothing. She pulled her hands from his.

He exhaled sharply. “Help me, Danielle. It’s so hard seeing you like this when I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I’m sorry, Samuel. I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just that I’m having trouble remembering things. And people.” She took a deep breath and forced the diagnosis from her dry throat. “I have amnesia.”

“Amnesia.” He stood and backed away as if she’d named some dread, contagious disease. “Exactly how much do you remember?”

“Basically nothing. I don’t even remember who I am.”

He dropped into the chair next to hers and buried his face in his hands. “This is my fault,” he mumbled. “I knew you were upset. I should never have let you pack a bag and leave the house alone that night. I know how you are when you get that way.”

Langley leaned forward in his chair. “Placing blame won’t change anything. Danielle needs information about who she is. She needs your help in remembering her past.”

“Of course. I’ll help all I can. I’ll get her the best doctors in Fort Worth. I’ll take a night job if I have to in order to pay the bills.”

“She’s seen a doctor. Facts are what we need now.”

“I’ll tell you anything I can.” He twisted his hands and stared at the toes of his brown loafers. “What do you want to know?”

Danielle scooted her chair around in order to face him. “I know my first name is Danielle. What’s my last name?”

He hesitated. “Thibodeaux. Danielle Thibodeaux.”

A Cajun name. That explained her accent, but the name was no more familiar to her than the man who had said it. “Do I have a family?”

“Not anymore. You were an only child. Your parents are dead, at least that’s what you told me. If there’s anyone else, I don’t know about them. I didn’t even know about this Milton Maccabbe fellow whom you wanted to visit in Kelman until he started sending you letters. Frankly, I had my doubts about a man surfacing out of the blue and claiming to be your uncle.” He straightened and stared at Danielle, his eyes flashing as if he’d just hit the jackpot. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s Milton Maccabbe. What did he do to you?”

Danielle’s fingers dug into her palms. She unclasped her hands and ran them along the rough denim of her jeans. “Milton is dead, Samuel. He has been for two weeks now. He’s not part of the problem.”

“At least he’s not the one who attacked her,” Langley corrected.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Samuel shifted in his chair. “I didn’t know.”

“How long have you known me, Samuel?”

“About six months. You moved to Fort Worth from some little town in south Louisiana. I met you in a club downtown. I bought you a drink. We danced a few times. You know how it is. We just hit it off.”

“What kind of work did I do?”

“You were unemployed when I met you, but you were looking for a job.”

“What kind of work was I looking for?”

“Waitressing. Or whatever you could find. You were low on funds.” He stood and paced the small room. “Look, we don’t have to go into this now. I’ll take you home. We’ll get you medical care. You can rest in your own bed with your own things around you. I’ll take care—”

Langley broke into his frantic rambling. “We need Danielle’s social security number, Samuel. Do you know it or know where we can find it?”

He stopped pacing. “I don’t have it. It’s got to be in her purse. Did you check her driver’s license?”