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Wade hadn’t answered her most important question: why she had agreed to a marriage without love.
TEN DAYS LATER, although Wade had visited her every day, she hadn’t found the courage to ask the question again. She had hoped for a rapid return of her memories, and with them, her rationale for accepting Wade’s unusual marriage proposal, but her past remained a frustrating blank. With her future and all its uncertainties a gaping void, she clung now to the one solid and steadfast element of her present.
Wade Garrett.
The day of her release had arrived, and she thanked the nurses and Dr. Sinclair for their care. Happy to have exchanged the shapeless hospital gown for jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers the nurse said were hers, she waited for Wade in her hospital room.
A half hour later, Rachel left the hospital and walked at Wade’s side across the asphalt parking lot beneath the sweeping dome of Montana’s big sky.
As they headed west in his pickup along Highway 2, she gazed at his tanned profile, partially obscured by the brim of his Stetson and his mirrored sunglasses. She wondered if he’d sent a picture with his letters, and if the-Rachel-she-couldn’t-remember had fallen hopelessly in love with his sturdy good looks, in spite of his insistence on a strictly business liaison.
No wonder she’d said yes in her letters. Handsome, considerate, good-humored and stable, Wade embodied all the traits of the perfect husband.
Except he didn’t love her. He’d made that crystal clear.
Unable to remember why she’d agreed to marry him in the first place, she struggled now with whether to go through with his bizarre marriage proposal.
She hoped she wouldn’t regret accepting his invitation to stay at his ranch, but, broke and remembering no one, she had nowhere else to go. According to Wade, the authorities reported she had closed her bank account and canceled her credit cards before leaving Atlanta. If she’d had any money, it had disappeared. Her wallet was empty of everything but her ID card and a paper with Wade’s name and address, the information that had caused the local sheriff to summon Wade to her bedside.
“Thanks for offering me a place to stay.”
“No problem.” His agreeable smile hit her with the scorching intensity of the noonday sun. “It was the least I could do, since you gave up your apartment and job in Atlanta to marry me.”
Just the thought of marriage to the mesmerizing rancher created an erratic quiver in her stomach. “You promised—”
“I know,” he said with another heart-stopping smile, “no mention of marriage until you’re ready to discuss it.”
She reclined against the seat and barely registered the unfamiliar landscape flashing by. Her traitorous mind refused to yield its captive memories, swelling instead with seductive images of life as Mrs. Wade Garrett. She had extracted Wade’s promise of silence on the subject of matrimony, not because the prospect was distasteful but because of its disturbing attractiveness.
Twenty minutes out of Libby, Wade turned off the highway, which paralleled a river road signs identified as the Kootenai, swollen now with melting snow, onto a blacktop road that cut straight through a broad, green valley nestled between two majestic mountain ranges.
“We call this God’s country,” he said. “Bet you’ve never seen this part of Montana before.”
She laughed with bittersweet humor. “That’s a safe bet. Even if I had, I wouldn’t remember.”
On the narrow, two-lane road, they traveled past broad pastures where cattle grazed, and sped through intermittent stands of cedars and pines. A cloudless sky of vivid blue arched above the endless miles.
She rolled down her window and inhaled the fragrance of warm grasses and invigorating pine. “It’s good to breathe fresh air instead of the smell of antiseptic.”
“You’re an outdoor girl. Maybe,” he said with rough gentleness as he slowed the truck, “living on the ranch will jar your memories loose.”
“Maybe.”
Wade lifted his hand from the wheel and gave hers an encouraging squeeze. “You mustn’t worry. Everything’s going to be fine.”
His touch cheered her. With hope, she clung to the expectation that her past would soon be restored, and rejected the possibility of her memory loss being permanent. Dr. Sinclair had advised her not to worry about her amnesia, but to take one day at a time.
Wade turned off the blacktop and drove beneath an arched sign of rough-hewn timber with Longhorn Valley Ranch burned into the wood in tall, rustic letters.
His face lit with pride as he pointed west across a wide pasture edged on the far side by a curving line of trees. “The river runs through our property there. The Garretts have owned these grazing lands and forests for over a century.”
She envied his heritage, stretching back a hundred years. He belonged to the land. She could hear the attachment in his voice, see it in his eyes.
She belonged nowhere.
The truck had proceeded only a hundred yards between the ancient cedars that lined the drive when the acrid stench of smoke filled the cab.
She wrinkled her nose. “What’s burning?”
Wade slammed on the brakes, swung out of the truck and lifted his face to the wind. Blowing out of the east, the breeze reeked of burning wood.
“There.” He indicated smoke rising from a stand of mature trees.
“A forest fire. On your land?”
He nodded and his mouth hardened into a grim line. “My best timber, ready for harvest.”
He leaped back into the truck and, with a grinding of gears, floored the accelerator. She braced against the door as the truck bounced along the miles of dirt track beneath the trees. Within a few minutes, the road ended in a circular drive in front of a large house, and the pickup screeched to a halt.
Two sprawling stories made of weathered logs, with a wide porch shaded by rambler roses heavy with crimson blooms, the century-old house sat between two gigantic ponderosa pines. Although Wade had said she’d never visited his ranch before, she experienced an illogical sensation of coming home.
Her rush of pleasure at the sight of the stalwart but gracious house was interrupted by the shout of a tiny woman, white haired and frail, who waited on the front porch, her hands wrapped in her apron. “Wade Garrett, you came up that drive like a bat outta hell. Ain’t no sense in getting yourself killed over a little fire.”
Wade wrenched open the door and jumped from the truck. “A little fire! It’s dry season, Ursula, and the wind’s blowing! The whole mountain could go up in flames.”
“No need to panic.” Ursula appeared unruffled by Wade’s outburst. “The Forest Service and volunteers already have everything under control. I’m fixing to feed ’em supper soon as they finish mopping up.”
Rachel climbed down from the cab. “If you’re expecting a crowd, may I help?”
She’d taken a chance, asking. She didn’t remember if she could cook, but memories weren’t required to wash dishes.
Ursula’s smile subtracted years from her weathered face, and she extended a gnarled hand. “You must be Rachel. Thanks for offering.”
The old woman’s demeanor conveyed not only welcome but acceptance, and as Rachel shook her hand, she experienced again an impression of homecoming.
Wade pivoted and headed back to his truck. “I’d better see if they need help.”
“You got more important work—” Ursula jerked her thumb toward the house “—upstairs.”
Wade turned. “Jordan? Is he hurt?”
Rachel registered a shock of empathy at the fear and concern on Wade’s face.
“No,” Ursula said, “but he’s in his room, crying his eyes out, afraid you’ll tan his hide good this time.”
“You know I’ve never laid a hand on…” He glanced toward the smoking pines. “Jordan started the fire?”
Feeling like an intruder, Rachel retreated into the shade of the porch, but she couldn’t avoid the argument between Wade and his housekeeper.
“Don’t be too hard on the boy,” Ursula said. “He was just trying to please you.”
“By burning down my best timber? I’ll—”
“Wade Garrett!” Ursula drilled him with a scowl. “For the past twenty years, you’ve been like a son to me, but if you don’t start giving that boy what he needs, I swear, I’ll disown you.”
Wade yanked off his hat, slapped it against his thigh and pointed at Rachel. “I’ve brought him what he needs. A mother.”
Rachel flinched as the full impact of mail-order bride status hit her. Wade had treated her with no more respect than some fourth-class package.
Ursula stepped toward Wade and shook her finger at him. “Sometimes I think you couldn’t pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel—”
“Tell Jordan I’ll talk to him at supper.” Wade crushed his hat back on and strode to the truck. With a ferocious grinding of gears, he peeled off in a flurry of dust.
Ursula climbed the porch steps as if her arthritis pained her, and approached Rachel. “Thank God, you’re here, girl. Don’t mind Wade’s rough ways. He’s all heart underneath his bluster. But both Wade and Jordan, they need you more than you could ever imagine.”
Rachel watched the haze of dust that marked Wade’s progress toward the fire. She didn’t doubt his love for Jordan. In the surprising outburst from the man who had impressed her with his even-tempered nature, she had recognized his frustration over Jordan’s mischief.
Most telling of all, Wade obviously believed all his boy needed to cure his troubles was a mother.
Rachel wasn’t so sure. After all, she wasn’t the boy’s mother, but a total stranger. Not the woman his father loved, only someone who had responded to a personal ad. And any skills or experience she might once have used to benefit a troubled boy lay buried deep in her damaged psyche.
With a sinking sensation that she’d stumbled into more than she could handle, Rachel followed Ursula into the house.
Chapter Four
Rachel accompanied Ursula through the broad central hall of the house. Doors to adjoining rooms opened on either side, and a wide staircase rose to the second floor, but she paid little attention to her surroundings, beyond the walls’ chinked-log construction, polished hardwood floors, spaciousness created by high ceilings, and the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon in the air.
Ursula stepped through a door at the end of the hall and preceded Rachel into a bright, oversize kitchen. Cheery yellow-checkered curtains flanked the ample windows, and a monstrous, black wood-burning stove with logs stacked beside it dominated one end of the room.
The logs reminded Rachel of Wade’s timber. “The forest fire—did it do much damage?”
From a hook behind the door, Ursula removed a gingham apron, a twin to the one she wore, and handed it to Rachel. Her pleasant features darkened. “Enough to take a bite out of Wade’s timber profits this year.”
“I’m sorry.”
Rachel recalled the agony on Wade’s face when he realized the blaze was on his land. After the kindness he had shown her, losing his timber didn’t seem fair.
The housekeeper gave her a peeler and indicated a small mountain of potatoes on the well-scrubbed wooden table. “Wade planned to use the money from that timber to buy more land this year.”
“Can’t he use the income from his cattle?” As Rachel hefted a potato and fumbled with the unfamiliar feel of the peeler, the rudeness of her question struck her. “Sorry, it’s really none of my—”
“Course it’s your business. You’re going to be his partner, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” She glanced at her hands to conceal her blushing and avoid the housekeeper’s probing look.
“Cattle business ain’t what it used to be,” Ursula grumbled as she filled a pot the size of a washtub with water and set it on the massive stove, “but Wade’s better at raising beef than anyone else in this part of the state.”
If Rachel entertained the slightest inclination toward accepting Wade’s strange proposal, she’d need all the information she could gather. Encouraged by Ursula’s openness, she posed another question. “Doesn’t it take a lot of money to operate a huge ranch like this?”
Ursula picked up a paring knife and attacked the skin of a potato. “Wade’s a good manager. When cattle prices are up, he sets something aside for leaner years. His timber’s always been icing on the cake. Investing the money from those sales has made him the wealthiest man in the valley.”
Ursula had already peeled two potatoes to Rachel’s one, assaulting the spuds as if they were enemies. Rachel marveled at the swiftness of the weathered hands, misshapen by arthritis. If Wade expected her to replace this paragon of domesticity, she had a lot to learn.
“This year’s timber’s gone,” Ursula said, “but because of Wade’s investments, he won’t ever have to break the promise he made his daddy.”
“What promise was that?” Rachel wiped the finger she’d nicked with the peeler on her apron.
“Never to sell off part of Longhorn Valley Ranch. A real estate agent from Great Falls has been hovering around here like a buzzard, offering to buy the land along the river for an outrageous price.”
“If the ranch’s profits are variable, why would someone else offer outrageous money for just a strip of it?”
“The Realtor wants to subdivide it into ‘estates’ for all them wealthy folks moving from California to escape crime.” Ursula spoke as if the words left a bad taste in her mouth.
Rachel shrugged. “If the land’s standing empty, why doesn’t Wade sell and invest the profit?”
“You got a lot to learn about Wade Garrett, girl. He never breaks a promise.” Ursula laughed with sardonic humor. “You got a lot to learn about working a ranch, too. If he sold that land, he’d lose his water rights.”
Rachel glanced at the faucets on the sink. “But you have water.”
“Without the river, Wade couldn’t water his cattle or the tree seedlings he’ll be planting soon. So without the river frontage, he might as well sell the whole kit and caboodle.”
“Is Dad gonna sell the ranch?” a high, thin voice behind Ursula asked. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?”
Ursula swiveled in her chair, allowing Rachel a view of a small boy standing in the doorway, his eyes red and swollen and his sooty cheeks tracked with tears. Even if she hadn’t known who he was, she would have recognized Jordan as a startling miniature of his father, less muscular and self-assured, but with the same heart-stopping good looks that would one day drive women wild.
For now, he was a very frightened and unhappy little boy. Despite her act of bravado over her lost memory, Rachel knew exactly how he felt.
“Come in and meet Rachel,” Ursula said.
The boy hunched his thin shoulder to wipe his face on the sleeve of his T-shirt, and approached Rachel as if he had lead in his sneakers. The loneliness in his big brown eyes stabbed at her heart and mirrored her own.
“Hello, Jordan. Your daddy’s told me lots about you.”
“He did?” His gamin face brightened at the mention of Wade.
“You bet,” Rachel said. “From what I can tell, you’re the most important person in your daddy’s whole world.”
A transforming smile filled with the innocence and hope of childhood swept across his face before the sadness returned. “Not anymore. Not after today.”
“Everybody makes mistakes, Jordan. Even if your father is angry at what you’ve done, he still loves you.” Rachel reached out and grasped his shoulders lightly.
For one small instant, the boy looked as if he’d like to throw himself into her arms. Then his expression hardened, and he jerked from her grasp. “He just wants me to stay out of trouble and out of his way.”
Across the table, Ursula raised her eyebrows and flashed Rachel a knowing look that said, See what you’re in for?
Rachel understood loneliness and fear. She’d had her fill of both the last two weeks. But she was an adult and, even without memories, more equipped to deal with life than this small boy, trying so hard to be brave. Her heart ached for him.
He headed toward the door, then turned back with a suspicious glare. “Are you going to live here?”
