LITMIR.BIZ

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and oil wells made Boone a formidable figure in Texas, especially when it came to politics. His backing could almost guarantee a win.

      So why hadn’t a man like Beckett searched for his granddaughter? There were so many unanswered questions and he knew the only way to find the answers was to go to Beckett, Texas.

      First, he had to talk to Belle. It wasn’t going to be easy to explain that her parents were dead. Or that her grandfather hadn’t cared enough to report her missing.

      He grabbed his hat, knowing he had to be honest with her, but he wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.

      CHAPTER TWO

      BEFORE CALEB DID ANYTHING, he called Dr. Oliver and she asked him to come to her office. He was glad to do so. He didn’t want to do anything to impede the return of Belle’s memory.

      “Howdy, ma’am.” Caleb placed copies of the information he learned about Belle on Dr. Oliver’s mahogany desk. Removing his hat, he took a seat across from her. The room was done in soothing pastels, and calming water sounds played softly in the background.

      “Ranger McCain, I’m glad you took the time to come by and bring the information,” Dr. Oliver replied. Somewhere in her fifties, Dr. Oliver’s hair was short and completely gray and she spoke as softly as the sounds wafting from the intercom.

      “We’ve been waiting for this and I wanted you to have all the details.”

      “Thank you. Remembering her name is very good, but it is only the start.”

      “So how much information should I give her?”

      Dr. Oliver flipped through the papers. “Tell her the basics. Ask questions and let her fill in the blanks. No pressure. If she asks a question, answer as little as you can. Let her strive for the complete picture.”

      “Okay.”

      Dr. Oliver continued to read through the papers. “A police officer? Never would have guessed that, but she’s very independent and strong, so that fits.” She looked up, her eyes thoughtful. “And no one reported her missing. That’s a puzzle. When you feed her this information, do it slowly.”

      His eyes narrowed. “Do you think it’s wise to tell her any of this?”

      Dr. Oliver looked at him over the rim of her glasses. “Ranger McCain, we’re not keeping secrets from her, but with a little coaxing I’m hoping she’ll remember it on her own.”

      “I see.” He leaned forward. “Do you think going back to Beckett would be good for her?”

      Dr. Oliver folded her hands. “In my opinion, it would be very good for Belle to be around familiar sights and sounds. That might be the stimulus she needs for a full recovery. There is no such thing as a quick fix when it comes to healing from trauma, but Belle has made remarkable strides. She’s established a healthy lifestyle and she functions very well. She’s strong enough to cope with integrating the present and memories of the traumas with her other memories, as they reveal themselves.”

      Caleb ran his thumb along the rim of his white Stetson. “I hear a ‘but’ in your voice.”

      “I’m going to be straightforward.”

      “Please do.”

      “We’ve talked about this before.”

      He knew what was coming—Belle’s attachment to him.

      “Belle’s emotional state is very fragile. She trusts and leans on you, and in the beginning that was very good because she’d lost all trust in people. From the fragments she recalled while in the hospital, we’ve ascertained there is a man in her life. Once her whole memory returns she won’t need to lean on you. She’ll become a fully functioning person again with an old life and a new life. If she’s torn about hurting you, it will make things very difficult for her. And I know you want the transition to go smoothly and for Belle to recover without any guilty feelings over misleading you.”

      He stood and held his hat in his hand. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care for Belle, but everything I do I do with her best interest in mind.”

      Dr. Oliver stood also. “I know. That’s why I haven’t asked you to back away from her. You’ve been good for Belle and you’re probably the reason she’s recovered so well. But the day is coming when she won’t need you. Don’t make her feel guilty about that. It could compromise her full recovery.”

      “I would never do anything to compromise her recovery.” He placed his hat on his head. “Any advice on what to expect?”

      “She’ll continue to have headaches, some severe, confusion and some dizziness. Just be patient and let everything happen naturally. Bits and pieces of her life may come back gradually, like this morning, or she could be flooded with memories all at once. Other times, she may not be aware she’s remembering. The information will just come out in something she says. I have an appointment with Belle in the morning and we’ll thoroughly go over the details, but she’s read so much and studied PTSD that she’s well aware of what’s happening. She’s become so strong, a pale comparison to the shell of a woman I first saw in the hospital. I have no doubt she’ll overcome all of this.”

      He lifted an eyebrow. “I hear another ‘but.’”

      “Memory loss related to traumatic experiences may serve as a protective function. If Belle feels a strong secure attachment in the present she may never allow herself to remember.”

      He swallowed. “So make it clear that we are only friends?”

      Dr. Oliver nodded. “Yes. That would help her tremendously. She may not realize it now, but she will later.”

      How will he feel later? Hurt and alone. But he’d known that from the start and he wouldn’t change anything he’d done for Belle.

      As if sensing his thoughts, Dr. Oliver added, “I know you care deeply for Belle and she was lucky to have someone so unselfish and caring on her side. She has basically overcome the physical abuse of the cult—painful flashbacks and dreams are normal and Belle knows that. But once she becomes aware of the reason why she was shot she has to be able to cope. And I believe she can.”

      “Me, too. Thanks for being so honest.”

      “Belle’s future is in her hands.” She scribbled a number on the back of a business card. “That’s my cell. Call if you feel you need me, but Belle trusts you and you’re probably the best person to reveal tidbits about her past.”

      Caleb tipped his hat and walked out, wondering exactly what the future held—for Belle. And him.

      WHEN HE REACHED the Parker house, Belle was waiting for him. He followed her into the living room. Gertie was upstairs.

      She turned to him. “Did you find my family?”

      He removed his hat and sat on the sofa, trying to find the right words. “Sort of.”

      She frowned. “What does that mean?”

      He patted the spot beside him. “Sit, and let’s take this slow.”

      “Okay.” She did as he asked.

      Her dark hair hung down her back and her eyes were bright. How could he tell her? How could he douse that light from her eyes? He had no choice. Taking a long breath, he said, “Your parents’ names are Brett and Marie Beckett.”

      Her frown deepened and he waited. Her hands framed her face, her eyes heavy with memories. “Yes. My parents.” Suddenly tears filled her eyes. “They’re dead. I remember the awful car accident. I remember. Oh, no! Oh, no!” She wrapped her arms around her waist and rocked to and fro, her hair obscuring her face.

      Caleb’s stomach churned with a sick feeling, but he didn’t interfere as she dealt with her parents’ deaths all over again. He wanted to touch or hold her, but he knew it was best not to. So he just gave her

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