Cowboy in My Pocket (12 page)

“I remember,” she said, taking a deep breath and slipping out of his embrace. She scooted back against the wall. “Not everything, not a lot, not even very much, but there’s a man . . .”

“What kind of man? Who is he?” Gasping for air as if he’d just run a mile, Tag scrambled back and stood up, distancing himself from her as if she were covered in thorns.

Lee blinked, startled by the possessive edge to his voice. She tried to recall the image. It faded, just beyond perception. “I don’t know,” she wailed. “I get this vague mental picture of a man wearing a suit, sitting across a table from me. I know that I know him, but I don’t think he’s my husband. Maybe a boyfriend?” She struggled with the quickly fading image. “He’s got blond hair and blue eyes, if that helps any?”

“I’m not the one trying to remember.” Tag’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on her. Neither was the fact he was backing across the cabin floor, distancing himself even farther from her.

So much for that mind-boggling kiss. Lee sighed.

It really was better this way, at least until they knew for certain. But surely she’d remember another man if he’d kissed her the way Tag did. When she closed her eyes and tried to recall him, nothing happened. When she closed her eyes and thought of Tag . . . wow!

Another thought intruded. This time when Tag kissed her, it hadn’t been for Gramma Lenore’s benefit. He’d wanted to kiss her, said he’d thought all night about kissing her. He’d practically admitted he hadn’t slept at all with Lee in the same room.

Interesting.

She’d worry about it later.

“Why would I dream of New York?” She might as well throw it all at him at once. “Skyscrapers and horns blaring. A place I think might be Central Park?”

Tag halted in mid-escape, took his battered cowboy hat off, stared inside it like he might be looking for answers, then put it back on his head. “I don’t know, Lee. I honestly don’t know.” He studied her a minute longer, a totally indecipherable expression on his face, then without another word turned on his heel and went outside.

Lee wrapped the comforter around herself and headed for the bathroom, the image of a handsome blond man tickling her memories. Maybe a soak in that great big tub would help jog her thoughts. Then again, maybe she’d just relax in there for a while and think about Tag’s kisses.

What if the stranger in her dreams was her husband? Tag had mentioned children, but she was positive she wasn’t a mother. Maybe he was her boyfriend. What if he was her fiancé? She glanced down at her left hand. No, if she were engaged, she’d have a diamond, she was certain of it. Now, the only thing on her hand was Tag’s wedding ring.

Where had he gotten a wedding ring? She hadn’t even wondered. She hadn’t wondered about a lot of things, Lee realized, suddenly concerned with her lack of concern. She needed to get back on track, to figure out where she was going from here. Little things, like what was going to happen when she did remember. Or what would happen if she didn’t? What would it be like to stay out at the Double Eagle, with Tag somewhere off in the hills, chasing cows around the fields?

Mumbling to herself, Lee opened the bathroom door and glanced over her shoulder just as Tag stepped back inside the cabin. He stood in the doorway, watching, smiling wistfully in her direction. The look on his face tied her stomach in knots and stopped her breath in her throat. “Did you forget something?” she asked.

“No.” He shook his head, paused as if he might have something he wanted to say to her, and then took a deep breath. “No, I didn’t forget anything.” He watched her a moment longer, then spun around and went back outside.

What did he want from her? There’d been such a look of yearning on his face, a look he’d shuttered the moment Lee turned and saw him.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea for Tag to head for the hills. At least until he figured out what it was he really wanted and she figured out who the guy with the pale blue eyes might be.

And why a cowgirl should dream about Central Park.

TAG FOUND more old clothes in the cabin for Lee to wear home, a soft pair of faded blue jeans with holes in both knees that looked a lot more comfortable than the stiff new ones she’d packed, and a heavy flannel shirt that would keep her warm. In deference to the chilly morning, she’d slipped a pair of cotton socks over her bare feet, but there weren’t any shoes or boots that fit her. The wedding dress was carefully stored in the boot at the back of the surrey, Dandy had been brushed and curried until his coat gleamed, all his silly bows were gone and the clear blue sky promised a perfect day ahead.

Tag flipped the reins lightly across Dandy’s broad rump and the surrey lurched forward. Lee settled comfortably into the leather seat next to Tag and watched the countryside unfold as they followed the narrow road back to the Double Eagle.

The silence between them was easy and untroubled, restful even. Lee’s thoughts wandered, unbound and unfettered by the glorious mountains, thick stands of aspen and dabs of wildflower color against green meadows, all perfectly placed to please the eye. Amnesia wasn’t all bad, she decided. This was like seeing Colorado for the very first time and it was magnificent.

They had crested the final ridge and dropped down into the valley and the Double Eagle before Tag spoke up. “Betsy Mae went to a horse show in Madison Square Garden last November.”

“What?” Lee’d been a million miles away, racing bareback across the ground on a beautiful golden mare, Tag behind her, his arms firmly wrapped around her waist, his powerful thighs pressed to hers as they gripped the horse . . . just Lee and Tag, the two of them breathless, together . . .

“Madison Square Garden,” Tag repeated. “Betsy Mae was there for a big horse show. A bunch of the gals on the circuit did a barrel racing exhibition at Madison Square Garden. Anyway, they stayed over and toured New York and had a really great time. Maybe you were there, too. Maybe that’s why you remember skyscrapers and all that stuff. I know it made a big impression on Betsy Mae. She couldn’t get enough of all the bright lights.”

Regretfully, Lee dumped the sexy fantasy. She tried to picture New York, the way it would look to a Colorado cowgirl. “Maybe,” she said, but she knew she didn’t sound very convincing.

“It’s the only explanation, Lee.” He slapped his hat on his knee in exasperation. “What’s the first thing, the very first thing you remember, yesterday morning. When Coop found you, what had you been thinking?”

“I was thinking . . .” She paused, then laughed aloud with the images she could remember. “I was thinking I was getting too old to race barrels. I was cold and wet and more miserable than I can remember, my head hurt something awful, but I remember thinking I’d been dumped on my butt before and gotten back up to ride.” She grabbed Tag’s hand. He squeezed hers back. “I was feeling really confused, but I know I was trying to get to either the Double Eagle or Columbine Camp.”

“Well, that makes sense if you’re a friend of Betsy Mae’s. She would have talked about both places because she spends nearly as much time at the Double Eagle as she does at home.” He grinned at Lee. This might work. He felt another step closer to learning her identity. Once he knew who she was, knew for certain there wasn’t a husband or significant other waiting in the wings, well, there wasn’t any reason they couldn’t explore the possibilities of this marriage of theirs . . . on a temporary basis, of course.

Definitely temporary. He was one cowboy who wasn’t giving up his freedom. He had to admit, though, there was something about Lee, something that made him want to touch her, to run his fingers through her hair, kiss her.

Hell, he didn’t even have to kiss her. Sitting this close, aware of the subtle scent of soap and shampoo and Lee. He took a deep breath. She filled something he hadn’t known was empty.

She fit beside him and he’d only known her for a day. Tag shook his head in a vain attempt to clear his thoughts. Whatever was empty had damned well better stay that way. No matter how well she fit next to him, he certainly wasn’t going to let himself get used to it.

Maybe it was time to rethink exploring possibilities.

It sure would help if he knew who she was . . . and who might come looking for her. He didn’t like the idea of her remembering some blond dude in a suit, that was for sure.

He was not jealous, merely aware of the problems a strange man showing up at the Double Eagle would cause, especially if Gramma Lenore happened to be there.

Everything was so damned confused.

He was gonna kill Coop, blast his ideas.

“Why?” Lee’s hand slipped out of Tag’s.

“Why what?” Tag snapped his thoughts back into the conversation, plopped his Stetson back on his head and clicked the reins lightly across Dandy’s rump.

“Why does Betsy Mae spend as much time at the Double Eagle as she does at Columbine Camp? Does she work for you?”

“Well, uh, not exactly. She’s a, um, friend, you know. A real good friend.” He cleared his throat and grinned thinly at Lee. This really wasn’t a conversational direction he wanted to be taking, at least not now, not the way Lee was glaring at him.

“How good a friend?”

Amazing, how those green eyes that flashed such warmth and passion when she and Tag kissed could look so . . . glacial. “Well, Lee.” Tag focused on the space between Dandy’s ears. “Betsy Mae and me, we’ve known each other since we were kids. Her brother Will and I are best friends. Me’n Betsy Mae, we grew up together, played with each other, spent, uh, time together . . . get my drift?”

“Oh, I get your drift, all right.” She scooted as far away from Tag as the narrow bench seat would allow. “You originally planned this whole charade with Betsy Mae. If she were your bride and Gramma Lenore was staying at the ranch, you two’d be sharing a room and there wouldn’t be a problem, right?”

Tag looked away.

“Am I right?” she demanded. And wondered why it mattered. Why all of a sudden the thought of Tag Martin sharing a room, sharing anything with Betsy Mae Twigg, or any woman, should infuriate her so.

But it did. It infuriated her a lot.

“Well, that’s just a bit different, don’t you think?”

“You don’t have to sound so testy,” she replied. She studied the gold band on her left hand.

“I’ve known Betsy Mae all my life,” Tag said. “You I met yesterday. Not only don’t I know who you are, you don’t even know who you are.”

“Well, I’m figuring it out.” She was, actually. Things were coming back. Kind of. Lee met Tag glare for glare, then counted the points out on her fingers. “So far we know my name is Lee Stetson, I probably ride rodeo with Betsy Mae, I’ve been to New York City and I’ve studied in Spain. That’s a good start.”

“It’s not enough.”

“It’s not enough for what?”

“For sharing a room, dammit,” he shouted. “For sex, Lee. You know, S, E, X? That thing people do when they sleep together?”

“You think that’s what this is about? You think I want to sleep with you? Why, of all the . . .” But that was exactly what this was about. How embarrassing . . . she’d let that fantasy, the two of them racing across the meadows, their bodies so close together . . . she’d let the stupid fantasy rule her brain and her tongue.

“Well, what else do you expect me to think, arguing with me over sharing a room?”

He didn’t have to sound so condescending.

Lee backpedaled. “Well . . .” Frantically she searched for an argument, any argument, that might make sense. It came to her in a flash of inspiration. She straightened her spine and sent him an icy glare. “I certainly don’t intend to sleep with you. I’m only thinking of Gramma Lenore. That’s the whole reason we’re even playing out this stupid charade, isn’t it? Originally it was to get your grandmother off your back, now it’s to convince her you’re happily married and she can quit worrying about you. Am I right?”

Tag exhaled one long, frustrated sounding breath. He pulled up on the reins and the surrey came to an abrupt halt. He stared at Lee for a minute, but for the life of her she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.

Then he tugged on the reins, turning Dandy’s head so that the horse headed left, down a fork in the trail.

“Where are we going?” Lee asked. “This isn’t the way to the Double Eagle.”

“No, it’s not,” Tag said, staring straight ahead. “It’s the way to Columbine Camp. Betsy Mae is off on her honeymoon for the next few weeks, but Will knows a lot of her friends. Maybe he knows you. If we can clear up just who the hell you are, it might make both of us feel more comfortable.”

More comfortable for what? Lee wondered, knowing full well she had a pretty good idea.

Then another thought hit. What if Will doesn’t know? Lee twisted her hands nervously in her lap. What if he’s never even heard of me before? Then what?

COLUMBINE CAMP looked like Hollywood’s version of a western ranch. Green pastures dotted with well-fed cattle and sleek, graceful horses, the sprawling log ranch house with a covered porch running all the way around and a huge red barn set off to one side filled the entire end of the narrow valley.

The only difference as far as Lee could tell was the series of neat little cabins tucked in under a grove of aspen trees and the expensive cars parked in front of each cabin.

She didn’t think the average cowhand drove a BMW, a Lexus, a Mercedes sports utility vehicle, or a Jaguar convertible.

Tag stopped Dandy in front of the ranch house, set the brake and helped Lee down. He grabbed her wrist and unceremoniously dragged her up the steps in her stocking feet, knocked once on the front door and stepped inside the main house before anyone could possibly have a chance to answer.

They were met by a tall redhead dressed in worn Wranglers and a blue checkered cowboy shirt. She glanced briefly at Lee, then spent a much longer time scrutinizing Tag before sticking out her hand.

“You’ve gotta be Tag Martin. I’m almost sorry I got lost.”

“Lost?” Tag frowned as he shook hands with her.

“If I hadn’t gotten lost, I might’a kind’a married you, but I’d never have met Will Twigg. Annie Anderson,” she added, nodding to Lee.