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Authors: Pamela Toth

BOOK: Buchanan's Pride
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It was three days later that Leah's mother was released from the hospital with a nearly clean bill of health and a prescription for medication she'd be taking for the rest of her life. All things considered, it could have been much worse.
“Here we are,” Leah told her, smiling brightly as they pulled up to the curb and Irene came out of the house to greet them. Her mother fumbled with her seat belt, not even noticing when Leah freed it for her, and pushed open her door.
“Irene, I'm home!” she exclaimed with more animation than Leah had seen in months. “Where's Rosemary?”
“In the kitchen making cookies,” Irene replied with a sympathetic smile for Leah.
Her mother rushed up the steps without a backward glance.
“She likes Rosie's chocolate-chip cookies, you know,” Irene explained as she waited for Leah to join her on the sidewalk. “It's nothing personal.”
Leah handed her the suitcase as the front door slammed shut. “I know.” She looked wistfully at the house, reminding herself that she had a lot to be grateful for.
“Would you like to come in?” Irene asked. “Help her get settled?”
Leah refused to be tempted. “She'll be tired, and I have a lot of catching up waiting for me at home.” She'd barely slept or eaten in the past few days, except for a few short naps and what she'd grabbed out of the vending machines at the hospital. She'd wanted to spend as much time with her mother as possible. When she had managed to go back home for a few hours, John was hardly ever around. She assumed he was busy doing all the chores she normally shared with him. He'd slept in the barn and she'd missed him, but he was probably trying to be considerate. Their relationship was way too new for her to tell him staying away wasn't necessary. As it was, they'd communicated mostly with notes left on the kitchen counter.
Now she was eager to get home and talk to him about what had happened between them—and to ask where they were going, if anywhere, from here.
“Oh,” she remembered before she turned away, “Doc Hershaw will be by tomorrow morning to check on Mama. Her pills are in her bag. She needs to take one first thing every morning.”
“We'll see that she does,” Irene replied. There wasn't much else that needed to be said. They'd talked every day her mother had been in the hospital. Irene probably knew as much about her health as Leah did.
“Well,” she said, hesitating as she glanced up at the empty window, “I'll be calling you later.” She swallowed hard, a rush of emotion threatening her composure. “Tell Mama goodbye for me, would you?”
Irene leaned forward and patted Leah's hand. “Of course I will.”
Later, when she pulled into the ranch yard, the only one who came out to greet her was Duke. She rubbed his ears absently as she looked around for some sign of John. The excitement she'd felt over being home fizzled as abruptly as it had risen.
She was walking toward the house, Duke sticking close to her side, when she heard a shout from the corral. Turning around with her heart in her mouth, she saw John ride up on Candy.
Whoo-hee
, what a picture the man and the horse made! John waved as he pulled up on the other side of the fence and dismounted. Leah ran to the gate, dragging it open and rushing through it without even thinking. Before she could make a fool of herself and fall into his arms, the expression on his face finally registered with her brain and she skidded to a stop.
He looked less than ecstatic to see her. In fact, his face was as somber as a rainy-day funeral.
Self-consciously, Leah let her outstretched arms drop to her sides. Duke had followed her; he nuzzled her hand. At least
someone
had missed her, she thought as John circled around the gray horse and patted his rump.
“Did you get your mother home safely?” he asked Leah. “Is she all settled in?”
She bobbed her head, disappointment preventing her from speaking. The greeting she'd pictured all the way home from Caulder Springs, the joy on his face as he swept her into a passionate embrace and whispered in her ear how much he'd missed her, faded in the face of harsh reality.
John took off his hat and fiddled with the brim, his gaze avoiding hers. She was just about to demand he tell her what was bothering him when he raised his head. A muscle jumped in his cheek.
“This has waited long enough,” he said, the frustration in his voice mystifying her. “Dammit, we have to talk.”
Her first thought was that he was going to quit. He'd stayed longer than he'd intended. Boffing the boss hadn't been part of the deal, and now he was leaving. Her heart jerked in her chest and she braced herself for the blow.
It didn't come. Instead his expression softened just a little and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The tender gesture was nearly her undoing.
“I'm sorry, you must be beat,” he said. “I didn't mean to sound so gruff. Can we go inside, sit for a minute? There really is something we have to discuss.”
Biting the inside of her cheek to keep the tears from coming, Leah croaked, “Sure thing.” It didn't even seem strange that he led the way up the porch steps, opening the door and then standing aside as if he were inviting her into his house instead of hers.
Usually the familiar surroundings, unchanged since her parents' time, were a comfort to Leah. Today as she waited impatiently while John went to the fridge and poured them each a glass of iced tea, she noticed instead how shabby the house had become. The curtains were limp, the carpeting worn and the walls in need of a coat of paint. Funny what the mind took in when it was trying hard to avoid something else.
“Leah?” he asked expectantly, holding out a kitchen chair for her.
Heart thumping, she sat down and wrapped both hands around the glass he set in front of her.
“There's something I need to tell you,” he said, turning the other chair around and straddling it with his long legs. Even wearing such a grave expression, he was achingly attractive. She remembered how he'd looked in the moonlight through the window when they'd made love. Would she ever glimpse that expression of vulnerability and passion on his face again?
He took a long drink of his iced tea while she watched the muscles of his throat work. Her own mouth was dry, but she doubted she could raise her glass without spilling it.
“This isn't easy,” he muttered. “You've been through so much already.”
Leah's heart gave a sickening lurch and her stomach plummeted. She blinked back a new onslaught of tears, wanting just to lay her head on the table and weep. Then, with a jolt, pride came to her rescue. It had been a rough few days and she refused to break down in front of him. Her chin went up and she looked him dead in the eye.
“Spit it out,” she said calmly. “I've got chores backed up and I need to get to them.”
John ducked his head, making circles on the table with his wet glass. It was then Leah realized he was nervous.
“I got my memory back,” he blurted, just when she was ready to scream with impatience.
It was the last thing she'd expected to hear.
“Your memory?” she echoed, stunned.
“Uh-huh.”
“Everything?” she asked.
He nodded, his eyes haunted.
Dear Lord, what was wrong? A shiver of fear ran through her. Had he been wrong about being married. Had he committed adultery with her? A huge ache bloomed in her chest. Surely under the circumstances he could be excused.
She reached across the table for his hand, but he leaped up like a jackrabbit.
“You can tell me anything, you know,” she said, getting to her feet and going around the table to where he stood with his back to her. The feelings she had for him swelled inside her. Please, she thought, let him be free.
“I'll stick by you,” she offered rashly. “You're a good man.” She was about to tell him that she cared for him when he whirled around, eyes blazing, and grabbed her upper arms.
“You won't say that when I tell you who I am,” he cried.
How bad could it be? Was he a wanted man after all? She searched his face, seeing only torment, and an icy chill ran through her. “Who are you?”
“My name is John Burns, but my middle name's Buchanan.”
She stared up at him, refusing to accept what she was hearing. “That's impossible. Is this some kind of joke?”
His mouth twisted into the parody of a smile. “No joke. You remember Taylor, don't you, the man you blame for your father's death?”
Frowning, Leah twisted free of his grip. “Of course I remember Taylor,” she said impatiently. “What has that to do with you?”
“He's my brother,” John said. “That's what my mind was blocking out and that's what I finally remembered.” His eyes were full of bitterness. “Tell me, Leah, how does it feel to know that you shared your bed with a Buchanan?”
Chapter Ten
A
fter his confession, John watched the parade of emotions cross Leah's sweet face—confusion, denial and perhaps even repugnance.
“I don't understand,” she said finally, sinking back into her chair. “How can you be a Buchanan? Your last name is different. Taylor only has one brother, and that's Donovan. You aren't making any sense.”
Although John wanted nothing more than to deny everything he'd told her, take her in his arms and soak up her healing warmth, he sat down across from her instead. She wouldn't let him touch her, now that the truth was out, and he couldn't risk rejection, not from her.
“Actually, Taylor is my half brother,” he explained wearily. “I'm sure he knows nothing about his father's affair with my mother, or my existence.”
“When did all this come back to you?” Leah cried. “Not before—” Her voice broke and she looked away, cheeks flushed.
Instantly, John caught her meaning. “Before we slept together?” he asked. “No, of course not. I may be a Buchanan by blood, but even I wouldn't stoop to that, knowing how you feel about them. About us.”
She had the grace to meet his gaze, her mouth trembling. “It's all such a shock. When
did
you remember?”
“When I saw your mother in that hospital bed,” he replied. “Suddenly it was like a veil had been lifted and everything was all just
there
, as if it had never been gone.”
Leah's eyes widened. “That was days ago. How could you keep something that important from me for this long?”
“How could I tell you?” he countered. “You had enough to deal with.” Staying away when he wanted to be with her, when he thought she needed him had been agonizing, but he'd had no choice. If only he could convince her of that. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn't think it would be fair, not when you were already dealing with your mother's illness.”
Damn. He wanted her to put her arms around him and tell him it didn't matter who he was, but he could see from the shadows in her eyes that it did. To Leah, the blood that ran in his veins mattered a great deal.
She sat back in her chair and studied him as though she'd never seen him before. “There's a resemblance,” she admitted. “I remember that when I first saw you, I thought you looked familiar. The shape of your face, the cleft in your chin—it's there if a person knows what to look for.” She shook her head. “But you said seeing Mama at the hospital made you remember. I'm afraid I don't understand the connection.”
“I lost my own mother a few months ago.” He cleared his throat. “She had cancer.”
Leah's expression softened and she reached over to pat his hand. “I'm sorry.”
He turned his palm up, but she pulled away. “How could I have forgotten something like that?” he demanded hoarsely, the pain so fresh it felt like a knife in his heart. “How is that possible?”
Leah bit her lip. “Perhaps you couldn't accept it at the time, so your mind blocked it out,” she guessed. “But why have you waited until now to look up the Buchanans? Didn't your mother want you to come?”
“On the contrary, it was her idea,” he said grimly. He was still having trouble believing his own mother had been involved in an affair with a married man, even though she had refused to make excuses for herself. As far back as he could remember, it had just been the two of them. “She never told me anything about my father until right before she died.”
“You must have known something,” Leah argued. “All kids ask questions.”
“Not me. From the time I was small I knew the subject was taboo. My mother and I were a team—we didn't need anyone else.”
“She never married?” Leah asked.
He shook his head. “She used to say she didn't need anyone but me. The last time she saw my father was the night she told him she was pregnant. He promised to stand by her and to help her financially, even though he had a family. She never saw or heard from him again. Days later he dropped out of sight, and for a long time she thought he'd deserted her. A team of firefighters found his wrecked car in a ravine just a few years ago. He and his wife were probably killed the same night they disappeared.”
“I remember hearing about that,” Leah exclaimed. “The local newspaper picked up the story and then they ran another piece after the sister, Kirby, was located in Idaho about a year later. After their parents vanished, all three children were put in foster care, but somehow Kirby was adopted and then the records were lost.”
“Mom told me everything she knew right before she died,” John continued. “And then she made me promise to look them up.” He rubbed a hand over his face, remembering how he had argued with her. “What are they going to do with a bastard half brother?” he asked Leah now. “Welcome me with open arms? They probably don't have a clue about their father's affair. Finding out after all this time isn't going to be easy for them to accept.” He remembered the feeling of dread that had made him suspect he might be wanted by the police. No wonder his mind had shut down. What a mess.
He hung his head. “It was almost like some obscene swap,” he said hoarsely. “To find out about my father, I had to lose my mother.” Damn, but he missed her. He hadn't even been able to get angry with her; he'd been too busy grieving. He supposed it had gotten all twisted up in his head, and instead of dealing with everything, he'd just blocked it out.
“It was a lot to accept all at once,” Leah told him. “You must miss your mother terribly. I can understand that.”
No doubt she could after what she'd just been through. Even though his loss seemed brand-new with the return of his memory, at times he felt a year had passed since he'd last seen his mother's face, heard her voice. He could smell her perfume, but her features were already blurring in his mind. He pictured her most clearly from long ago, when she used to tuck him in at night and kiss his cheek.
“I miss her,” he told Leah, his voice hoarse with emotion.
“I still miss my father,” she admitted. “It sounds trite, but time does help. Now that you remember what happened, you may have to start the grieving process all over again.”
She bit her lip and he wished she would tell him she'd be there for him. Her eyes had lost some of their hostility. At least she hadn't ordered him off her land, not yet.
For all intents and purposes, she'd lost two parents, he realized. Her father was gone, but her mother barely knew her. Would that be easier to accept? Would he want his mother to still be alive if her spirit wasn't here?
Hell, yes, he thought. Selfish or not, if that was all of her he could have, he would take it in a heartbeat.
“Where are you from?” Leah asked, distracting him from his morbid thoughts. “You didn't grow up around here.”
“Seattle. My partner and I own a company that builds custom homes.” He thought of Steve Jenkins, his buddy since high school, and the way he'd supported John's decision to come here to Colorado. His mom had treated Steve like a second son.
You have to do this, he'd insisted. You've got family out there and you owe it to yourself to find them. Besides, you promised.
“I thought you must work outdoors,” Leah commented with a nod of satisfaction. “You don't look like a man who sits behind a desk.”
“Why not?” he asked curiously.
It was her turn to shrug. “You're strong, you're tanned. You move like a physical person.”
“I grew up riding with a neighbor kid who had horses,” John said. “I could have been a snowboarder or a golf burn,” he teased, “or worked in a traveling carnival.”
An answering humor lit her blue eyes. “Or been the drifter I first thought you were.”
For a moment they just looked at each other. His arms ached to hold her, but he didn't dare reach out.
“No one missed you?” she asked.
“I didn't know how long I'd be gone. When I finally got hold of Steve, he was starting to worry. He'd expected a call before now.”
She glanced at the scar on John's forehead. “So how did you get that?”
He frowned. “On the way here I picked up a hitchhiker outside Denver. Guess he wanted more than just a ride. He took my car and my wallet.” He pointed to his forehead. “We disagreed about the wallet.”
“Did you call Sheriff Brody?” she asked, glancing at the phone.
“Not yet. My car's gone through some chop shop by now and my credit card's probably been maxed. I'll have to get it all straightened out, but there's no rush at this late date.”
Her gaze was on the place mat in front of her as she traced a flower in the print.
“And you were right about not being married?” she asked.
At least that was one area where he could reassure her. “No, I'm not married. Never was. Lisa was a girlfriend, but we weren't really serious. She broke up with me right after Mom got sick. I guess I wasn't the easiest guy to be around then.”
Leah didn't say anything. She just wrapped one hand around her glass and took a long swallow of iced tea.
“So what happens now?” John asked, tension gripping him.
“What do you mean?” She didn't meet his gaze.
Biting back an oath of impatience, he stared longingly at the silky hair that fell forward to screen her expression. “What about you and me?”
“That depends.” There was new distance in her voice.
He would have liked to grab her by the wrist and shake her, but he knew that would only make things worse. None of this was her fault, after all. “Depends on what?” he demanded instead.
“On what you're going to do about Taylor, I guess.” Now she searched his gaze anxiously. “Can't you just leave him alone? Like you said, what's the point in disillusioning him at this late date?”
“You mean, so you and I can both pretend I'm not who I really am?” he asked.
She didn't say anything, but her expression told him he'd guessed right.
He was tempted, oh, so tempted, to tell her what she wanted to hear, but he'd promised his mother. “I don't have any choice,” he said quietly. “I gave my word. Try to understand.”
For a long moment, she studied his face without speaking. “I'll try,” she whispered finally.
John pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “That's all I can ask.” If he stayed, he might give in to the nearly unbearable temptation to haul her into his arms and kiss her until they both forgot who he was. The only thing stopping him was knowing that later, when they came to their senses, she might not forgive him.
“I've got things to do,” he said instead. “You wanted me to check the fence along the south boundary.”
She looked relieved. “That's right.” She glanced at the clock. “I'd better call Miss MacPherson and bring her up-to-date. I've got some paperwork to catch up on, and then dinner will be ready in a couple of hours.”
It all sounded so ordinary, life rolling along as though nothing traumatic had happened. There wasn't anything more for John to say, so he grabbed his hat and left.
Leah went to the window, watching him cross the yard to where his horse was tied. When he'd finally ridden out of sight behind the utility shed, she let the curtain fall back into place and wandered into the living room. How could fate have played such a cruel trick? Of all the families in the world for him to be a part of, why did it have to be
them?
There was plenty for her to do, bills to pay, laundry to wash, a grocery list to make out. She also had to let her boss know she'd be back to work the next day. Instead, Leah sat down in the old leather recliner that used to be her father's, hugged a pillow her mother had embroidered long ago and closed her eyes.
If he were still alive, how would he feel about her getting involved with a Buchanan? Would he understand that she hadn't known John's true identity until it was too late for her to walk away with her heart intact? Would he care that her happiness was at stake?
Leah looked around the room, remembering how her mother had always wanted to fix it up, but there had never been any extra money for things like that. Even after her father had lost his job with the rodeo, there had been motorcycles and ATVs, trips to Denver with his buddies and evenings spent drinking in town, but no money for a new lamp or a chair or a picture. Now that Leah thought about it, she realized her father hadn't very often put her mother's feelings ahead of his own.
Would he give Leah his blessing and tell her to follow her heart?
No way. He used to say the only good Buchanan had already died or hadn't been born. She doubted he would have made an exception for John—or for her.
She was halfway up the stairs when the phone rang. As she hurried back down and grabbed the receiver, her first thought was for her mother.

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