LITMIR.BIZ

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was when the trembling started…and the tears…and the panic she’d been battling so hard.

      She could no longer keep a lid on the all-consuming fear that had been threatening her sanity, and she turned to her side, buried her head under a pillow and wept.

       Chapter Two

       I n the kitchen, Matt set the teakettle on the stove to heat water for tea, then started putting together some food for Hope LeClaire. Glancing out the window he could hardly believe it was still raining so hard. He took a moment to try the telephone again, and put down the dead instrument with an impatient grimace.

      His gaze fell on the mail and newspaper on the table, and he picked up the paper to check the weather report. But he never got past the front page. In large print the headline read, Newest Stockwell Heiress Missing.

      Quickly he read the article and felt his blood pressure rising. The missing heiress’s name was Hope LeClaire, and she had allegedly disappeared from the Grandview, Texas, airport after deplaning. Airline personnel were positive she’d used her ticket to get to Grandview, but no one could recall seeing her in the airport after the arrival of her flight. The Stockwell family had announced a fifty thousand dollar reward for information that would lead authorities to Miss LeClaire, and the newspaper would print a photo of the missing heiress in the next edition.

      “Well, isn’t this just great?” Matt mumbled. “Just what I need, another rich woman mucking up my life.”

      His attitude was based on his marriage to a woman who had been born and raised to wealth. She’d gotten tired of playing rancher’s wife after only a short stab at married life and had wanted to get back into Texas society. She was about to leave Matt for the son of a rich Texas banking family, but she was killed in a freak accident. Matt had been helping her load her car with her worldly possessions, and they’d been arguing. A Jeep had come flying down their private road, and it had been filled with drunken, joyriding kids. Matt had tried to pull his wife out of the way, but one of the kids shot his leg full of buckshot and he’d fallen before he could pull Trisha to safety. The Jeep crashed, the kids had all been killed, and so had Trisha. Matt had never stopped feeling guilty for their argument and breakup. He had learned to live with community censure, but he’d vowed many times to never get involved with a woman again—especially a rich one as Trisha’s lifestyle had left a bad taste in his mouth.

      But he was involved with one now, wasn’t he? She was occupying his guest room, and he was waiting on her hand and foot. And he could only shudder and guess how long they’d be stuck there in his house with the storm still raging and the roads already impassable, plus no phone service.

      Not that he couldn’t use fifty thousand bucks. Hell, with that much money he could bring his mortgage payments current with the bank and even catch up on his vendor accounts, all of which were past due. The only bills he paid faithfully every month were his utility bills, and it was a scramble most of the time to do that. His present crew, including Chuck, was about half the number of men he used to have on the payroll, and they were mostly working for room, board and loyalty.

      The McCarlson ranch had been a successful operation until a fast-moving virus had spread through the area’s cattle population only last year, financially crippling at least half of the ranches. The owners of those hard-hit operations were struggling to survive, just as Matt was doing. Times were tough now, make no mistake, and Matt worried almost constantly about how much longer he could hang on.

      So yes, he could use that reward, but before he told anyone anything about Hope, he had to uncover what happened to her last night. Right was right, after all, and there were a lot of things he wouldn’t do for money. For instance, maybe she didn’t want to be found. Maybe her amnesia was a deliberate ploy to avoid the Stockwell family. Maybe she’d slipped out of the Grandview airport, and…

      “Aw, hell.” He could come up with “maybes” until doomsday and never know the truth until it came from Hope’s own lips. But it was possible that her reading this newspaper article and realizing that everyone in the area—including the Stockwells—were on to her disappearing act would bring about a miraculous recovery.

      With a wry little shake of his head Matt folded the paper and laid it on the tray he was preparing for Hope. He quickly made a sandwich and warmed a can of soup. The tray was laden with a good lunch—including the hot tea Hope had requested—when Matt carried it to the bedroom she was using.

      He stopped at the threshold. Hope was sobbing so hard her back and shoulders were heaving.

      If she was faking amnesia she must have a reason, and if she wasn’t, she was in no shape to be reading newspaper articles about herself. He balanced the tray against the wall enough with one hand to remove the paper and drop it in the hall, out of Hope’s sight.

      Then he walked in and set the tray on the bureau. “Hope?” Obviously she couldn’t hear him over such intense sobbing, and he sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Come on, dry your eyes and face whatever it is that’s got you bawling. Not that a good cry doesn’t help one’s disposition at times. Relieves some of the tension that we humans have been fortunate enough to be blessed with.”

      Hope felt his big warm hand on her shoulder and found it strangely comforting. She didn’t know him—she knew next to nothing about anything, for that matter—but this man, this stranger, was offering comfort, sympathy and even a bit of cynical humor, and the awful loneliness within her became just a little easier to bear.

      Turning over, she wiped her eyes and whispered hoarsely, “I’m sorry.”

      “Do you have something to be sorry for?”

      “I’m intruding in your home, aren’t I?”

      “This bed was just sitting here not doing a thing, and since I’m the only occupant of this house, nothing in it gets much use.”

      “Hardly a reasonable excuse for your taking in strays,” Hope murmured. The corners of her lips tipped slightly in an effort to force a faint smile, because it was apparent that he was trying to ease the weight of her situation and he deserved some sort of appreciative response. “May—may I ask some questions?”

      Matt got up for the tray of food. “Stack the pillows behind your back so you can sit up and eat. As for questions, ask away, but don’t expect too many answers.”

      Hope bunched the pillows behind her and sat up. With the tray on her lap, she realized how hungry she was, and she began eating at once.

      Matt took a chair and watched her. “A good appetite is a good sign,” he told her.

      “It’s the sign of an empty stomach,” she retorted.

      He grinned. “Yes, but if you felt lousy otherwise, you probably wouldn’t even notice hunger.”

      “I suppose,” she conceded. “You said your name is Matt?”

      “Matthew McCarlson. Everyone calls me Matt.”

      “And this is what, a cattle ranch?” Matt nodded. Hope added, “In Texas. Where, in Texas?”

      “The closest large city is Dallas. The nearest town is Hawthorne. Ring any bells?”

      “None. You said you’ve only known me for a few hours. Did I knock on your door?”

      “You don’t even remember this morning?”

      “My very first memory is of waking up in this bed,” Hope said, speaking so quietly that a chill went up Matt’s spine. He believed her now, though he wasn’t sure exactly why he did. Maybe because she had wept so convincingly, or because she seemed so sincerely unconnected with her present reality? Whatever the reason, he felt certain that this was no con. Hope LeClaire was as clueless about her past as he was. In fact, because of that newspaper article he knew far more about her than she did.

      “No,” he said gently. “You didn’t knock on my door. I found you lying in mud near the mailbox this morning. Haven’t you noticed the rain? Well,

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