The Heiress and the Sheriff

“I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t want to talk about it. Anyway, Rosita’s here with the food.”

As the housekeeper served them all a tossed salad and burritos smothered with green chili sauce, Gabrielle’s thoughts lingered on the two men’s exchange. Maggie had hinted all was not well with Matthew’s marriage, and she could certainly understand why his wife would be upset. Still, from her first perception of the man, he seemed like the last sort to have an affair. His eyes were too honest and full of hurt.

Not anything like Wyatt Grayhawk, she thought as she stabbed her fork into a spicy burrito. He wouldn’t care if he hurt a woman. His eyes were as hard as pieces of steel.

There is a lot about Wyatt Grayhawk you don’t know…. Maggie’s words had intrigued her, but she wasn’t going to stoop to asking questions about him. The less she knew about the taciturn sheriff, the better off she would be.

Later that afternoon, Wyatt glanced up as one of his deputies pushed the paper across his desk. “Here’s the data from the car rental agency, Wyatt. It just came over the fax.”

“Thanks, Gonzolez.”

He waited for the deputy to leave his office before he read the printed information. Once he’d finished, he leaned back in the leather chair and stared thoughtfully at the opposite wall of the small office.

So he’d been right after all. Gabrielle was from California. Without looking at a map, he would guess the address given was somewhere in the Los Angeles area. She’d rented the car six days ago and had informed the rental agency she would return it in two weeks.

That meant she hadn’t expected to stay all that long in Texas. But long enough to cause problems, he thought. If that had been her intention. And in his job if was always a mighty big word.

Sighing, he rose from the chair and walked over to the dusty paned window that overlooked the main street of Red Rock. Late evening traffic was bustling up and down, with folks going home from their jobs and attending to last-minute shopping and errands.

The small town had been uncharitable to him in some ways, but good too, Wyatt supposed. He’d been born and raised nearby on a dusty hundred-acre ranch. His Cherokee father had been a cold-hearted cuss who’d found it easier to show him the back of his hand than to say more than two words at a time to his son. Wyatt had endured his abuse, mostly because he had no one else to turn to, nowhere else to go. And he’d blamed himself for his father’s bitter cruelty.

Marilyn, Wyatt’s mother, had been a white woman, and from his very early memories he could still recall how soft and beautiful she’d been, with long blond hair and blue eyes. She’d had a gentle voice too, and sometimes she sang funny little songs to Wyatt as she cooked in the small kitchen of their shabby home. She’d always been hugging and kissing him, and often she’d told him she loved him more than anything on earth. And Wyatt had believed her. His mother had always been the one solid thing he could count on.

Many times Wyatt had heard his parents fighting, but as a small child he’d not understood what any of their arguments had been about. Once he’d found her crying and her cheek had been red; she had whispered to Wyatt that soon she was going to take him away to a better place.

But then one morning he’d woken to find his father standing over his bed. His breath had smelled of whiskey and a snarl twisted his bloated face.

That good-for-nothing mama of yours is gone, boy. And she won’t be coming back.

But why didn’t she take me with her, Daddy?

Because she didn’t want a half-breed kid. She didn’t want you! So don’t be cryin’ and whinin’ for her to come get you. She won’t.

For a long time Wyatt had hoped his father was wrong. Every day he’d prayed and waited for his mother to return. But she hadn’t, and eventually his young mind had been forced to accept that his father was right. Marilyn Grayhawk hadn’t wanted a half-breed son. She’d only married Leonard because she’d been pregnant, his father had told him. So Wyatt was the reason his beautiful, gentle mother had left. Wyatt was the reason his father was bitter and angry and mean.

With a tired grimace, Wyatt reached up and swiped a hand through his short black hair. He didn’t think of his parents much anymore. Once he’d reached eighteen he’d moved out of his father’s house. Eventually Leonard Grayhawk had gone back to Oklahoma. And as for Wyatt’s mother, he hadn’t seen or heard from her since he was five years old.

What the hell was he doing? He didn’t have time to stand around recollecting his sorry childhood. Neither one of his parents had given a damn about him. Neither one of them was worth a second thought.

Wyatt returned to his desk and picked up the faxed information on Gabrielle Carter. There was a phone number listed along with her California address. If he was lucky, someone on the other end would answer.

The telephone rang three times and then he heard Gabrielle’s cheerful greeting on an answering machine. There was a beep, then the line went blank. Still Wyatt continued to hold the receiver next to his ear as though he expected Gabrielle’s voice to come back at him at any moment.

When he finally realized what he was doing, he hung up the phone with a bang. She isn’t going to talk to you, Grayhawk, he silently scolded himself. She’s out at the Double Crown Ranch. Planning, well, no telling what. Maybe to take baby Taylor when no one is looking. Even if it was impossible for her to be the child’s mother, she might be his aunt. Gabrielle could very well have a crazy sister out there somewhere who’d requested Matthew’s sperm and given birth to his son.

The idea was far-fetched, he knew. But so far, he still hadn’t traced down all the sperm bank clients who’d received Matthew’s sperm. And until he did, he couldn’t rule out any possibility.

He rubbed a hand over his face and dialed Gabrielle’s number again. This time he listened even more closely to her voice, and as before it made him feel odd in a way he couldn’t explain. She sounded so happy and young and carefree. She sounded sweet and gentle. Like a woman who would laugh a lot and smile a lot and care about her fellow human beings.

Slamming the phone down again, he yelled for Gonzolez. The deputy immediately entered the cluttered office and stood beside Wyatt’s desk.

“Is something wrong, Wyatt?”

Hell, yes! Everything was wrong, he thought. A woman with big hazel-green eyes and long sun-streaked hair was trying to worm her way under his skin. And he wasn’t about to let it happen.

He tapped the paper on his desk with a long, lean finger. “I want you to keep dialing this number. At thirty-minute intervals until you reach someone. If anyone does answer, get their name, address, number, the whole works—and pump them for any info they might have on Gabrielle. Also, I want you to call Bob Adair out at the Los Angeles police department and ask him about the area of the address. Rich, poor, whatever. He’ll know.”

“I don’t ever remember us dealing with an amnesia victim before. Kinda strange that one’s come along now. With all that’s been happening out there on the Fortune place.”

Wyatt glanced up at the older man. He’d been on the force for many years and had served the sheriff’s department well. He hated doing desk work, but Wyatt deliberately kept him busy in the office. It was less than a year until Gonzolez could retire. Wyatt didn’t want some idiot out there with a gun or a knife ruining the coming years for him.

“I’m not so sure she has amnesia,” Wyatt told him.

“But until I can prove otherwise, there’s not much I can do about it. Her name didn’t turn up any criminal record. But you and I both know that doesn’t mean a damn lot. It could mean she’s been lucky so far and not gotten caught by the law.”

The older man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe. But you know, it would be a helluva thing not to know your family or friends or even yourself. If she does really have amnesia, she’s probably pretty scared right about now. I would be.”

Wyatt reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. As he did, the image of Gabrielle’s trembling lips and the lost look in her eyes flashed through his mind. But just as quickly he shoved the mental picture away. He couldn’t get soft now. Or ever.

Rising to his feet, he reached for his Stetson resting on one corner of his desk. After tugging it low on his forehead, he said to Gonzolez, “I’m going out to the Double Crown. If you get anything on that number, page me immediately.”

“I’ll let you know,” the deputy assured him.

Behind the office building, Wyatt walked across a small parking area to his truck. The sun was on the verge of sliding out of sight in the western sky. Still, it was as hot as blue blazes, and without a cloud to be seen there was no chance the drought they’d been enduring for the past weeks would be broken. Much of the pastureland between Red Rock and the Double Crown Ranch would soon burn if rain didn’t fall soon, and Wyatt didn’t envy the area ranchers.

In the past he’d often thought of purchasing a spread for himself where he could raise a few cattle and horses. Since his father had been a small-time rancher, Wyatt had grown up learning about both. But his hopes of having a family to go with the ranch had died a bitter death, making him shove the whole idea aside.

Leonard Grayhawk had taught Wyatt most everything he needed to know to raise a good herd of cattle, to pick a well-bred horse. But Wyatt didn’t know one thing about being a husband or a father. And he’d been a fool to believe he could ever be either.

None of that mattered now. He had a nice, comfortable home in the suburbs. And that was all Wyatt was ever going to need.

He reached the Double Crown just as darkness was falling around the big ranch house. Mary Ellen Fortune, Ryan’s widowed sister-in-law, answered the door and ushered him in. For a woman in her fifties, she was still pretty and wholesome with thick red hair that just touched her shoulders. Her blue eyes were bright and her skin was as fine as a porcelain dish.

“It’s nice to see you this evening, Wyatt,” she said as he followed her into the great room. “Are you here on business or pleasure?”

Mary Ellen was probably close to his mother’s age or a little older, and sometimes he wondered if his mother Marilyn would look anything like this woman. Or had Marilyn used herself up? She could even be dead. He didn’t know, and he told himself that was the way he wanted to keep it.

“Business,” he answered. “I need to see Gabrielle. She is still here, isn’t she?”

The older woman smiled. “Yes. I met her earlier this afternoon. She’s a lovely young woman. It was such an unfortunate thing for her to have wrecked her car that way. Maggie is still miserable about the whole thing.”

“You didn’t recognize anything about her?” Wyatt asked her.

“No. I’ve been racking my brain, trying to think of anyone I knew by the name of Carter, but I can’t come up with a one.” She motioned for Wyatt to continue following her through the dining area, then down a long hall to their right. “Anyway, I think Gabrielle is in her room. I’ll show you where. Would you like something to drink? I’ll have Rosita bring coffee in to you.”

“If she has some already made. But tell her not to go to any trouble.”

Mary Ellen laughed softly. “It’s never any trouble for Rosita to serve the sheriff. You’re just like one of her five kids.”