The Deputy's Lost and Found (12 page)

She was totally and utterly besotted with the man and these last few days without him had only underscored how empty her life would be without him. The realization was weighing on her, adding to the confusion that continued to swirl through her mind.

Images of her past were coming to her more frequently now and the sights and sounds had grown intense and frightening. Out of the blue, flashes of that day at the Ruidoso track had been striking her, filling her with a sense of unease and then downright horror.

David. It was a man named David who’d been kissing her against her will, shoving her into a car, then chasing her into the mountain ravine. Yet she still couldn’t put a last name to his face or what he’d meant to her past life. Then last night as she’d lain in bed, the image of her father had once again floated to the front of her mind. She’d not been able to focus directly on his face, but she’d known the big, towering figure was his. In the vision she’d been shouting at him, swearing that she never wanted to see him again. But why?

Oh, God, had her father tried to hurt her, too? Why had she been so angry with him? Because her mother was dead? Had he done something to her mother? Had Lass been running, trying to escape from David and her father?

If only she could put the pieces of the puzzle together, she thought, then all of her memory might fall into place. But what would that do to her and Brady? She loved him. But she recognized that for him, their relationship was only beginning and he might never love her in return. If her memory returned and she had to leave the Diamond D, the chance for her to earn Brady’s love would be over.

“Lass? Are you out here?”

Turning at the sound of Dallas’s voice, Lass saw the other woman stepping into the barn where they stored the feed and tack for the children’s mounts.

“I’m here,” Lass called out to her. “Just putting away a few bridles.”

Dallas walked over to her. “The last rider just left,” she said. “Are you ready to head for home?”

Lass looped a headstall over a wooden peg, then stepped off a short, wooden platform to join the other woman.

“You mean Tyler has already gone, too? I was going to tell him goodbye.”

“His mother picked him up a few minutes ago,” Dallas told her, “but I wouldn’t worry about it. Tyler knows that you care about him. In fact, I’m amazed at the progress you’ve made. Once you and Brady got him on Cloudwalker, he’s become a different child.”

Lass’s smile turned a bit dreamy. “Brady is very good with children. Did you know that?”

Dallas laughed. “Not really. I can’t remember seeing him with a kid. But apparently my brother has a few hidden talents that his family doesn’t know about.”

Blushing, Lass glanced away from the other woman’s perceptive gaze. “Yes, he does.”

Wrapping her arm around Lass’s shoulder, Dallas gave
her an encouraging squeeze. “You’ve been missing him these past few days, haven’t you?”

Lass stared at the toes of her boots. “Oh, dear, is it that obvious?”

“You’re not the one that’s obvious, Lass. Brady is the one who’s behaving like a man in love. At least, that’s what Grandma thinks and so do I.”

Something between a sob and a groan sounded in Lass’s throat as she turned and walked to the open doorway of the barn.

Staring out at the distant mountains, she spoke in a heavy voice, “Oh, Dallas, I’m beginning to think I’ve lost more than my memory. I’ve lost my mind. I had no business falling in love with your brother. No right at all.”

“Why?”

Jerking her head around, she stared in dismay at Dallas. “Do you honestly have to ask?”

Dallas turned her palms upward in an innocent gesture. “Well, yes. You’re a young, lovely woman and he’s single, employed and manages to keep his fingernails clean. What’s wrong with the two of you getting together?”

Groaning with frustration, Lass shoved a hand through her black hair. “Dallas, I’ve…been remembering things. Bits and pieces of my life before I came here. A man was involved. I don’t know who or what he was to me. And then there’s my father—I can almost see him, but I can’t speak his name. We’re arguing terribly and I’m saying awful things to him. Something bad was going on in my life, with my family. I don’t know what or why. But it’s clear that I can’t start any sort of relationship with that sort of baggage hanging over my head.”

Tsking her tongue with disapproval, Dallas shook her head. “Lass, bad things happen to all of us from time to
time. They can be resolved. And I happen to think that Brady is going to put this puzzle together.” She reached for Lass’s arm and urged her away from the barn door. “C’mon, honey, and quit worrying. Let’s get home. Who knows, Brady might actually show up at the dinner table.”

Later that night, Brady and Hank took a break from patrolling the western side of the county to enjoy pie and coffee at the Blue Mesa Café in Ruidoso. It was well past midnight and except for a hippie-looking couple eating burgers, the restaurant was empty.

“Brady, why don’t you put those papers down and eat your pie. The whipped cream is melting.”

Earlier this evening at headquarters, Brady had printed out a stack of information pertaining to Lass’s case and this break was the first chance he’d had to look it over. Now he glanced impatiently across the table to Hank.

“I’m eating,” he told the young deputy. To prove his point, he whacked off a piece of the apple pie and jammed it into his mouth.

Grimacing, Hank complained, “For all the company you’ve been this evening, I might as well have come out on this patrol by myself. Ever since we left headquarters you’ve been somewhere else.”

“I’m working, Hank. Remember, that’s what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“Yeah. One job at a time. You can’t patrol and do detective work simultaneously.”

Frowning with faint amusement, Brady looked at the junior deputy. “Simultaneously? Where did that come from?”

Hank shot him a bored look. “From the dictionary. Where else? It means at the same time. Like doing reading and eating together.”

Brady slapped the tabletop. “Hellfire, I know what simultaneously means! What are you doing using it? It sounds ridiculous.”

Hank pursed his lips together. “Ya know, Brady, a guy just can’t please you. Remember how you’re always gettin’ on to me about my grammar? Well, I’ve been doing something about it. I’ve been studying the dictionary, building my vocabulary.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Brady wearily shook his head. “I’m sorry I ever said anything about your grammar.”

“Shoot, I ain’t. You’re only trying to give me a little class. And I figure if I can talk right, I’ll be a lot bigger hit with the ladies. Like you.”

“Not like me!” Brady blustered under his breath, then with a rueful sigh, reached for his coffee. “You’re as bad as my family, Hank. They think I’m incapable of having a serious thought about a woman.”

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Hank defended himself, then with a curious expression leaned toward Brady. “Are you?”

“Shut up. Just shut up and eat,” Brady ordered, then snatched up the papers and tried to refocus on the list of names in front of him. He was fishing for one tiny minnow in a huge ocean, he thought wryly. But he had to start somewhere.

“What are you looking at anyway?” Hank asked as he went back to tackling the cherry pie on his plate. “Something to do with that knifing incident last night at the Bull’s Head? I thought you’d already handed in that report.”

“This is about Lass. It’s a list of registered brands in the state of Texas.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Oh, well, that sounds logical. The woman can’t remember her name, but she can
remember her family’s brand. You’re reachin’, aren’t you, partner?”

Brady shot him an annoying glare. “And you’re going to be hanging, partner, by your thumbs, if you keep it up.”

Hank turned serious. “Sorry, Brady. I’m just thinking about you. You’ve been worrying me. Ever since we found that gal, you’ve been different.”

Brady realized that this was one time Hank was right. He had been different. Now that Lass had come into his life, nothing felt the same. He wasn’t that man who’d taken one day at a time and lived only to work and play. Now he was thinking forward, dreaming, planning, imagining a future with Lass.

But that couldn’t happen, he realized, until he knew for certain that she was free to become his. Until she was free from her forgotten past.

“She’s become important to me, Hank. And I want to be able to solve this thing, to give her back her real name.”

“Or give her yours?” Hank countered.

Brady stared at him. Leave it to Hank to put everything in simple terms, he thought wryly.

“Maybe.”

The deputy whistled under his breath. “Boy, you have got yourself in a fix.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Hank swallowed the last bite of his pie. “Think about it, Brady. You believe a woman who looks like Lass didn’t have a man hangin’ close? Why, there’s probably a husband or fiancé out there right now just combing the countryside for her.”

That possibility was the one thing that Brady couldn’t shake from his mind. The idea haunted him day and night.

“If that’s the case, then why hasn’t he shown up to fetch her back home?” Brady asked. “That’s what I want to know.”

Hank swung his gaze around the empty restaurant, as though he’d find the answers somewhere among the empty tables and booths. “Maybe he don’t want to find her. Maybe he wants to keep her danglin’ for a while. Just to teach her a lesson.”

That idea made Brady’s hands curl into fists upon the tabletop. “Only a sick bastard could do that.”

“That’s why you’d better find him first,” Hank wisely replied.

His partner was right, Brady thought, as unease trickled down his spine. The only way he could keep Lass truly safe was to find her true identity. And the only hope he had to keep her in his arms was to hope she loved him more than the man she’d left behind.

T
he next morning, shortly before lunch, Brady was sitting at his desk, continuing to pour over an endless list of registered Texas brands when he suddenly stumbled across the one he’d been looking for. At least, he believed it could be the one. The letter
P
merged with an
F
.

The brand had been registered some forty years ago by a Francis Porter for Porter Farms. Whether Francis was a man or woman, or whether Porter Farms was still in existence, he didn’t yet know. But at least he had something to start with.

In spite of the three short hours of sleep he’d gotten before heading back to work, excitement rushed through him. These past few days, he’d missed Lass terribly and later this evening, he’d be off duty for the next three days. He couldn’t wait to see her, hold her, make love to her again. And maybe, God willing, he’d also be able to also give her news about her case.

Ignoring the talk and commotion of the deputies working in the next room, Brady quickly began to search the Internet for anything related to a Porter Farms. Not expecting much, he was amazed when a whole Web site suddenly emerged on the monitor screen.

Porter Farms bred and raised quarter horse racing stock. That explained why Liam or anyone in his thoroughbred circle could identify her. The different breeds raced separately, their auctions were held at different times and places, and most all trainers specialized in one breed. Not both. She wouldn’t have traveled in thoroughbred circles. But was this Porter Farms connected to Lass?

Although there was no family photo available, the Web site was full of photos of the ranch and many horses, yearlings, and weanlings presently for sale. It was a professionally done site, offering high class animals. The Porter family had to be rich, he decided. Rich enough to splurge on diamond and turquoise earrings and handmade boots, the sort that Lass had been wearing the night he’d found her lying unconscious on the side of the road.

An address, telephone number and detailed map of the ranch’s location were all right there for him to see and Brady’s hand shook as he scribbled the information down on a scrap of paper, then reached for the phone.

Surely it couldn’t be this easy, he thought.

The phone rang three times before a woman picked it up. She answered in a business-like manner and Brady realized he’d reached the commercial part of the ranch, rather than the private homestead.

“This is Brady Donovan, Chief Deputy of Lincoln County New Mexico,” he said, identifying himself. “Could I possibly speak to a family member?”

There was a long pause and then the secretary replied, “Mr. Porter isn’t in right now. And Miss Camille is…away.”

Miss Camille. Away. Could that be Lass? Brady’s heart was suddenly pounding.

“Is that the daughter of the house?” he questioned.

“Yes. Yes, she is. Is this an emergency, Deputy? Is something wrong?”

He’d classify it as worse than an emergency if these people knew that Lass was missing and hadn’t lifted a finger to do anything to find her. But why would anyone do such a thing? His teeth clenched.

“Not exactly. Is there another family member I could speak with? A son? Wife perhaps?”

“No. Mrs. Porter passed on a couple of months ago. And there are no sons in the family.”

My mother is dead.
Even though more than three weeks had passed since Lass had revealed that painful memory to him, he’d not forgotten the stricken sound of her voice, the tears in her eyes. This had to be her home and family or a very uncanny coincidence.

“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “Well, could you please have Mr. Porter call me as soon as possible. It’s very important.”

He gave the woman his own personal cell number, then hung up. As he entered Ethan’s office, his mind was spinning, wondering if he would hear from the man or if he’d have to take the investigation to another level. One that could involve the Texas Rangers.

For the next fifteen minutes, he discussed everything he’d discovered with Ethan about Lass’s case and had moved on to a stabbing incident that had occurred near Ruidoso two nights ago, when his phone rang.

After a quick glance at the illuminated number, he motioned to Ethan that it was the call he’d been waiting for.

Swallowing away the tightness in his throat, he answered, “Deputy Donovan.”

There was a long pause and for a moment Brady feared the connection had been severed, but then a man’s voice sounded in his ear.

“This is Ward Porter. My secretary said you wanted to speak with me.”

Brady hadn’t realized he’d gotten to his feet until he looked down and saw Ethan sitting behind his desk, calmly waiting for him to finish the call.

This time Brady was forced to clear his throat. “That’s right. I’m working on a missing persons case. A young woman in her mid-twenties. Black hair. Gray eyes.”

“That’s Camille—my daughter! But she’s not missing.”

“Your secretary says she’s currently away from home.”

“That’s right. She went on vacation.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me where she was going.”

“When was the last time you talked to her?” Brady persisted.

“I’m not sure. Three—no, something like four weeks ago.”

The man sounded agitated now and Brady could tell he was holding something back.

“And that doesn’t concern you?”

“Well, hell yes, it concerns me! But what’s a father to do when his daughter refuses to talk to him? Look, I don’t know what this is about, but Camille is wherever she is because she wants to be there. She damned well doesn’t want to be on Porter Farms with me! She made that clear enough when she spun out of here in that damned sports car of hers. And the last time I checked it was still at the airport, so apparently she’s not flown back into San Antonio.”

And why was that, Brady wanted to shout at him.
Instead, he fought to keep his voice and his questions impersonal. He wasn’t a judge or juror, he was simply a lawman. And he couldn’t allow his love for Lass to interfere with his job.

“You’re certain about everything you’re telling me?”

There was another long pause and then the man said in a voice that had suddenly turned quiet and confused, “Wait a minute, are you telling me that you have my daughter for some reason? What’s happened to her? Is she—”

“The young woman in question doesn’t know who she is or where she came from. For the past three weeks or more she’s had amnesia. The sheriff’s department here is trying to contact anyone who might know her.”

“Oh, God. Oh no,” the man whispered in a genuinely stricken voice. “How did she get amnesia? Are you sure it’s my daughter? That it’s Camille?”

“We’re not exactly sure what happened. She received a head injury.” Brady went on to describe Lass in detail and finished with her apparent affinity for horses. “We do know she was at the racetrack some time before she was injured. Is that something your daughter would normally do?”

“Every chance she got. I—” He suddenly paused and Brady was amazed to hear the man choke up with emotion. If he cared about his daughter that much, why hadn’t he made an effort to find her? “I’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon,” he finished. “Where will I find you?”

Brady gave him directions to the Diamond D, along with a reminder to bring the proper papers to prove his identity and his connection to Lass, then hung up the phone.

Behind the desk, Ethan shook his head. “Sounds like the man has some explaining to do.”

“A whole lot of it,” Brady muttered. He paced restlessly around the room, then stopped to stare at the
sheriff. “You know, for a minute when I found the Web site for Porter Farms I kept thinking how easy this whole thing was. But I was wrong. It hasn’t been easy. Nothing about it has been easy. If Lass hadn’t remembered that brand on her horse we’d still be at square one. Because this Ward Porter, this man that claims to be her father, wasn’t making any effort to find his daughter. He didn’t even consider her missing.”

Disgusted, Ethan shook his head. “Broken families. Uncaring relatives. In this business I’ve seen it all. You’d think I’d be hardened to it by now. But it still bothers the heck out of me.”

“Yeah,” Brady agreed, his voice thick. “Me, too.”

“I feel badly for Lass,” Ethan went on. “From what you tell me, and from what I saw at the party, she sounds like a nice young woman.”

She was more than nice, Brady thought. She was compassionate, caring, genuine. She deserved a family who loved her. A family like his. But it looked as though Ward Porter was going to arrive tomorrow and change all of that.

“Well, to be fair, we’ve not heard his side of the story,” Brady muttered. “All I can say is that it better be a good one.”

Ethan cast him a narrowed glanced. “So when you get to the ranch, what are you going to tell Lass?”

Lifting his Stetson from his head, Brady swiped a shaky hand over his hair. “I don’t have much choice. I have to tell her that her father is coming for her,” he said flatly. “And I have no idea how she’s going to react.”

Rising from his chair, Ethan rounded the desk and with a hand on Brady’s shoulder, urged him toward the door.

“You’ve done more than enough for today. Get home and give Lass the news. You can let me know what happens after Mr. Porter arrives tomorrow. And whatever you do,
Brady, don’t let him take her without showing you the proper legal documents.”

As far as Brady was concerned the man needed to show more than a few paper documents to prove himself worthy of taking Lass anywhere. But he was only a lawman, sworn to protect a person’s legal rights, not their future happiness.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Ethan. I’m going to make sure Ward Porter is the real thing.”

An hour later, he arrived at the ranch and, other than the hired help, discovered the house empty. Even his grandmother was nowhere to be found, which was probably for the best, he thought, as he took the stairs to his bedroom two at a time. He wanted to go straight to Lass with this news. She deserved to hear it before anyone else.

Hurriedly, he changed out of his uniform, then drove over the mountain to Angel Wing Stables. The afternoon was warm and sunny and when he parked his truck in front of the main barn, he noticed that most all the activity appeared to be off to the right in the outdoor arena.

Climbing out of the truck, he headed in that direction only to be intercepted by Dallas, leading a chestnut pony behind her.

“Well, my little brother has finally resurfaced,” she said with a grin, then teased, “We were beginning to think we were going to have to drag out the family album to remember what you look like.”

“It’s been hectic,” he explained. “A couple of deputies have been off sick and another with a family emergency. The department’s been flooded with calls and working shorthanded made things even worse.”

“I’m sorry,” Dallas said and as she studied his strained
features, her expression turned to one of concern. “You look so worn, Brady. Is anything wrong?”

He gave her a short nod. “I have news about Lass’s case. I need to talk to her about it.”

Sensing his urgency but having the tact not to question him, she said, “You should find her in the saddling corral.”

“Thanks,” he said, then turned to start in that direction.

Before he could take a step, Dallas caught his arm and he arched an inquisitive brow at her.

“What?” he asked.

Smiling, she suggested, “Maybe it would be better if you talked with Lass in private.”

“It would. Are you offering me the use of your office?” he asked.

“No. That place isn’t private. The staff comes and goes all the time. I was thinking you ought to drive her up to the old foreman’s house. I’d been planning on taking a few of the kids up there for a little cookout sometime soon, so I stocked the place with food last week. The two of you could relax without anyone bothering you.”

He couldn’t have been more grateful to his sister and he quickly leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, sis. You’re my favorite.”

“And don’t forget it,” Dallas called out as he turned and trotted away from her.

The saddling corral was a small lot connected to a row of stalls where many of the Angel Wing horses were kept on a daily basis. When he stepped through a wide, wooden gate, he spotted Lass walking beneath the portico at the far end of the shed row. A saddle pad was bunched beneath her arm while Tyler was trailing after her, his gait stiff from the brace on his leg, but doggedly steady. She’d changed the boy, Brady realized. Just as she’d changed him.

“Hello, you two,” Brady called out to them.

Both Lass and Tyler turned at the sound of his voice and as he watched a bright smile light her face, Brady felt something stab him directly in the heart. Was he about to lose this woman forever?

Oh, God, he couldn’t think it. Not now.

“Hi, Brady,” Tyler greeted. “Have you come to ride with us today?”

“Maybe some other time, partner,” Brady told the boy. “Right now, I need to see if I can borrow our girl for a little while. Think you can manage without her?”

Tyler threw his little shoulders back proudly. “Sure, I can manage. Dallas is gonna let me brush Cloudwalker and help saddle him. So I’m gonna be busy anyway.” He held up a bridle for Brady to see. “I got to pick out his bridle today. See, it has silver and—” he looked to Lass for help “—what is that other stuff, Lass?”

She smiled. “Copper.”

“Yeah. Copper. It has all that fancy stuff on it. It’s neat, huh?”

Reaching out, Brady gently scuffed his knuckles against the boy’s cheek. “Hoppy couldn’t have done better.”

Tyler’s expression wrinkled with confusion. “Hoppy? Who’s that?”

Brady and Lass both laughed, then Brady promised, “Hopalong Cassidy, a famous cowboy. I’ll tell you all about him sometime.”

At that moment, Dallas hurried up to join them.

“Come on, Ty, let’s get that horse of yours saddled before the sun goes down,” she said, then gave a subtle signal to Brady and Lass to hit the trail.

As the two of them headed out of the corral, Lass shot him a glowing smile. “Do you know how happy I am to see you?”