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Authors: Pamela Toth

BOOK: Buchanan's Pride
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J.B. Maybe his name really was John. Or Joe, Jason, Jeremy or Jim. The possibilities were too numerous to consider.
And what about the other initials? Same last name? A wife? Was he married? If so, why wasn't he wearing a wedding band? Carefully, he examined his left hand for any sign of recent adornment. There was no faint dent, no mark, no tan line. Hardly conclusive, though. Lots of men didn't wear rings.
Was it possible he could have forgotten so completely any woman with whom he shared his life and his heart? A woman he'd chosen to love and to cherish? He didn't think so, not him. That kind of feeling would be too ingrained to be wiped out so completely. Absently, he slipped on the ring, working it over the bruised knuckle of his right hand. It fit perfectly. More important, it felt right
He tipped back his head, blinking away the sudden film of moisture, and curled his fingers protectively. He felt as though he'd been given back a tiny part of himself.
John sucked in a deep, trembling breath, his faith renewed, and then he heard Leah's voice from beyond the closed door as she scolded Duke for something. Immediately, John became aware of time passing. Fumbling, he put down the bag, turned on the shower and stripped off his clothes.
Chapter Three
I
n the kitchen, Leah had been fixing breakfast with one ear cocked toward the bathroom until she heard the water go on in the shower. After the juvenile way she'd bolted earlier, John probably thought she was nuts. Arm still tingling from the touch of his hand, she hadn't slowed down until she reached the kitchen. She'd opened the refrigerator door, cheeks burning, and stared blindly at its contents until the ancient motor kicked on in protest.
What was wrong with her, anyway? she wondered now as she popped biscuits into the oven and set the timer. There was a naked, wet, perfectly gorgeous man in her bathroom, the first male to use the facilities since her no-good ex-husband had run off more than a year ago. No reason for Leah to come unglued.
Automatically, she turned over the strips of frying bacon and adjusted the heat beneath the pan. She knew nothing about John but his first name, she reminded herself as she broke eggs into a bowl. He could be an escaped convict. Even worse, he could be married.
Leah put the bowl aside and reached for the phone. The least she could do was call Sheriff Brody and see if there were any fugitives loose in the area. As far as the other was concerned, if she wanted to know John's marital status, she'd have to go to the source.
 
When John opened the bathroom door, letting out a cloud of steam, the aroma of frying bacon made his stomach growl in response. How long had it been since he'd eaten a decent meal? It was just one more question whose answer eluded him.
When he padded out in stocking feet to drop his bag by the door, Duke was lying under the kitchen table and Leah was hanging up the phone. He hadn't heard it ring, and he wondered who she had called. Before he could think of any casual way to ask, she gave him a guilty smile. Had she been telling someone about him, or was he just being paranoid?
“Feel better?” She didn't wait for a reply as she went to the stove and began dividing up fried potatoes and scrambled eggs onto two plates. Without thinking, John grabbed some silverware from the drying rack in the sink and set the table.
“I feel more human,” he replied, running a hand over his wet hair. “Thanks for letting me use the shower.”
“No problem.” Leah added bacon to the heaping plates and put them on the table. She didn't mention the phone call and he could think of no way to bring it up. Well, if the law was on its way, John would know soon enough. In the meantime, he might as well fill his belly.
“Anything else I can do?” he asked.
She studied the table for a moment. “I'm out of ketchup.” She sounded apologetic.
“I can manage without it.” Ketchup was the least of his concerns.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay, then. Let's eat.” She didn't look like a woman who'd just learned she was harboring a dangerous felon.
Without thinking, John held out a chair for her. Surprise flitted across her face and her cheeks turned pink. Ducking her head, she sat down with a muttered thanks.
“Looks good,” he said gruffly, to cover the sudden awkwardness between them. There was juice, coffee, butter and honey, as well as the two steaming plates and a basket of biscuits. At least he had no trouble identifying the names of other everyday items.
For the next few minutes, neither of them spoke. John's pleasure in the meal was marred only by the knowledge that he had no idea what he usually ate or what his favorite foods were. Judging how good the bacon tasted, he was no vegetarian. Spreading butter and honey on a biscuit, he couldn't picture a single other meal he'd eaten, neither circumstances nor location. The black hole yawned as wide and deep as ever.
“It's delicious,” he managed to say between mouthfuls. Once he started eating, it was all he could do to keep from shoveling the food in with both hands. Finally Leah sat back, plate empty, and sipped her coffee. As he broke open a second biscuit and buttered it, he noticed her watching him over the rim of her mug. Downing half the biscuit in one bite, he braced himself for the inquisition he suspected was coming next.
“That's an attractive ring,” she said. “I didn't notice it before.”
“It was in my bag,” he replied warily.
Leah pushed back her chair. “When you're done eating, let me check your bandage.”
Feeling as though he'd been granted a reprieve, John washed down the rest of his biscuit with the last of his coffee. Then he followed her meekly, sitting once again on the closed toilet seat while she took supplies from the medicine cabinet.
She was humming something under her breath, a catchy tune he didn't recognize. He tried to remember other melodies, but his mind stayed stubbornly blank.
“What are you humming?” he finally asked.
“Goodness, you aren't a country music fan, are you?” she retorted. “It's called ‘Achy Breaky Heart' and it was on the charts forever.”
“Oh, sure, I just forgot,” he said, even though the title was no more familiar than the tune itself. Perhaps she was right and he wasn't a fan. Would he ever remember what kind of music he did like? Or anything else? And what if he never did? How long could he avoid contacting the authorities for help? And why did the idea make his stomach tense? Someone out there might be worried about him.
“Does your head still hurt quite a bit?” she asked as she turned around.
Something of his feelings must have shown on his face. “Nah. I just don't like being fussed over,” he grumbled. His legs were spread and she was standing between his knees. Staring straight at the loose shirt that covered her breasts, he found himself speculating about them.
Were they small and round, like firm apples, or plump, soft ovals? The kind that settled into a man's palms, begging to be shaped by his fingers? Tipped by velvety pink nipples that tasted as sweet as candy, or brown ones that drew up tight and tart like berries?
Eyes shut, John shifted uncomfortably on the toilet seat. Not the best thoughts to be having with her so near he could reach out and—
“Ouch!” His eyes flew open.
Leah was holding the bandage she'd just ripped from his forehead in one motion. Had she guessed his thoughts?
“Best way to do it,” she explained, leaning even closer to examine the gash. “No point in prolonging the agony.” She was pouting with concentration, her mouth soft and full—and too damn close for his peace of mind. There was an intriguing little hollow above the bow of her upper lip. While he stared, the tip of her pink tongue appeared.
John nearly groaned aloud. Her scent filled his head, sunshine and leather with a hint of lemon that might have been either soap or her shampoo. Shifting his attention, he peered right down the neck of her shirt. Luckily for his sanity, all he could see was a little skin and part of her bra strap. Plain white and serviceable, he guessed.
He was wondering just what she'd do if he put his hands on her waist and pressed his face to the front of her shirt, when she must have noticed his silent scrutiny. Abruptly, she stepped backward and bumped into the open bathroom door.
“You okay?” He shot out a hand to steady her.
“Fine, just fine.” She drenched a gauze pad with antiseptic and held it out to him. “I think you can finish this yourself.”
By the time he'd slapped a bandage on the gash, which had already scabbed over, and gotten a firm grip on his self-control, Leah was leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of fresh coffee.
“I think it's time you answered a few questions,” she announced before he could think of anything to say. “Don't you?”
Normally, Leah didn't consider herself a nosy woman, but there was something she couldn't put her finger on about John—something that just didn't add up. He wasn't like the men who'd come around in the past seeking work. Surely, if he was going to stay at her ranch, she was entitled to a few facts.
“What do you want to know?” he asked warily.
“Your last name?”
“Brown,” he said quickly, perhaps too quickly.
She could hardly call him a liar on some vague hunch. “Where are you from, John Brown?” she persisted.
He frowned. “Here and there, I guess.” He must have been able to tell from her expression that she wasn't satisfied with that. “I was born on the coast, but we moved a lot.”
There was more she wanted to know, but he looked like a man who was ready to bolt. Perhaps he wasn't as tightly controlled as he wanted her to think. A shiver went through her, but it wasn't fear. Curiosity, surely, and a reluctant interest she was doing her best to ignore.
“Look, I just don't like talking about myself,” he said, spreading his hands. “If you want me to leave, just tell me.”
It was the last thing she expected him to say. “No, that's okay. I understand.” Many of the men who drifted in for a few weeks or a season and then moved on were reluctant to answer questions. Perhaps John
was
like all the rest and she didn't want to see it. Maybe there were things in his past that he didn't like thinking about. As long as he was willing to help her out for a few days, who was she to insist he dredge them up?
He continued to stare down at her and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “What do you want me to do next?”
She had told the sheriff she was thinking about hiring a drifter. He'd asked if the man had given her any references. When she'd admitted that he hadn't, Sheriff Brody had tried to dissuade her. That didn't work, so he had offered to come out and look the man over for her. Leah still wasn't sure why she'd declined his offer, but between Duke and her dad's guns, she figured she could take care of herself.
John was standing with his hands on his hips, waiting expectantly. She'd needed help running the ranch and fate had brought it to her in the form of an attractive, reasonably healthy male who seemed willing to work. She'd be a fool to turn him away.
“Do you still want to hang around for a few days?” she asked. “I can't pay much, but I could give you room and board if you don't mind bunking in the stable.”
Some of the visible tension went out of him. “That suits me fine, but I wouldn't take your money, anyway.” He touched a finger to the bandage on his forehead. “I owe you for rescuing me.”
“Someone else would have stopped if I didn't.” They both knew that once darkness fell it would have been difficult, if not impossible, to see him. “Anyway, I'll toss in a few more hot showers,” she offered, wondering if she was doing the right thing or making a terrible mistake. “And more plain cooking.”
“Nothing wrong with your cooking and the deal sounds good to me.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and she realized she'd been staring.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Not for now.” Leah began clearing the table, gratified when John pitched in. Her father had never helped in the house. He'd considered it woman's work, although Leah remembered her mother helping plenty with
his
manly duties. “We need to check on the cattle today,” she told John as he carried their plates to the kitchen counter. “Do you ride?”
Feeling trapped, John set the plates down with care. They looked old, with flowers around the border, and he'd hate to break any. He was painfully aware that she was waiting for an answer to what should have been a simple question. He could say no, just to be safe, but something inside him refused to back away from the challenge.
He decided to compromise. “It's been a while. I don't know how much I remember.”
“Don't worry,” Leah said cheerfully as she stacked dishes in the sink. “That's something you never forget.”
John choked back a bitter laugh. If she had any idea just how much he
had
forgotten, she'd probably decide he was crazy and insist that he leave.
“The dishes can wait, but we'd better take some sandwiches with us.” She put the perishables back into the refrigerator. “We'll be gone for several hours.”
“No problem.” John was hoping he'd hold up. At least he seemed to be in decent shape. The work he'd done in the barn had been easy enough. After his shower he'd noticed in the bathroom mirror that his stomach was flat and he carried no flab. Maybe he'd still be able to walk after several hours on horseback.
“Why don't you saddle the horses while I pack us a lunch?” Leah suggested.
What if he had no idea how to do that? “I'll make the sandwiches while you saddle the horses,” he countered. “They're used to you. Just show me where the fixings are.”
Leah gave him an odd look, but she didn't argue. Instead she pulled a loaf of bread from the drawer and a grocery bag from a cupboard. “Bologna and cheese in the fridge, lettuce in the crisper. Chips and cookies in the pantry.” She glanced around. “I don't like mustard. Oh, throw in a couple cans of soda, too.”

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