but the phones aren’t working. The storm must have brought down some lines.”
“Uh, wait a minute. You put me to bed? Oh, my! These sweats can’t possibly be my own clothes. Did—did you undress me, or did some woman do it for you?”
“There’s not a woman anywhere on the ranch. Sorry, but your own clothes were soggy tatters, and I felt it was urgent to get you warm and dry. I didn’t have a choice and neither did you, so don’t be embarrassed.”
Hope put down her soup spoon and pressed her fingertips to her temples. Her forehead was deeply furrowed. “This is some kind of nightmare.”
“I’m sure it feels like a nightmare to you,” Matt said softly. “But I told you the truth. You were unconscious, soaked to the bone and lying on the muddy ground. You also have a deep cut on your head, which probably is the cause of your amnesia.”
Hope swallowed hard. “Amnesia?” she whispered.
“That’s what I would call your memory loss, yes. Of course, Doc Pickett might have another diagnosis. When the phone is working again, I’ll call him.”
“Please take the tray away,” Hope said dully.
Matt hesitated a moment, then got up and did as she’d asked. “I’ll take this to the kitchen,” he told her.
“Before you go…do you have any idea how I got here? Did you hear a car in the night? Did you see one this morning? I’m very confused on that point.”
Matt looked at her sorrowfully, unable to conceal his true state of mind on what seemed to be the pivotal question of her dilemma. “So am I, Hope, because, no, I neither heard nor saw a car. I have absolutely no idea how you got to this ranch.” He walked out.
Hope lay there for a few moments, then folded back the covers. Sliding to the edge of the bed, she got to her feet. Her head was swimming and the muscles of her legs and lower back were surprisingly sore, as though she had overexercised after a long period of immobility. “Odd,” she said under her breath, frowning over another barrage of questions without answers.
That wasn’t an accurate summary of the situation, of course. There were answers to everything she wondered about, she just didn’t know what they were. If she could remember, all the answers would fall into place. She was suddenly impatient with herself. Dammit, if you could remember, you wouldn’t have a bunch of questions eating holes in your already damaged brain!
The word damaged caused her to shudder, and, fighting debilitating frustration, she steadied herself for a minute then walked over to the window and pushed the curtain aside. Indeed it was raining, and everything outside looked nearly drowned, but what made her heart almost stop beating was the vast expanse of open country she could vaguely make out through the downpour. Beyond the house and other buildings was…nothing. Nothing but huge, soggy, empty fields and enormous puddles.
“My Lord,” she whispered in a shaky little voice. “How did I get here?” Someone must have driven her to this ranch, then…then…? Hope came close to crying again. Surely someone hadn’t driven her to this isolated ranch and then thrown her out of the car. But why on earth would anyone do something so awful?
But there was another possibly, she realized, one that was reinforced by the soreness of her body—she could have walked!
But walked from where? Maybe Matt would have some ideas, she thought, and closed the curtain. Leaving the bedroom she peered up and down the hall and figured out which direction to go.
When she appeared in the kitchen doorway, Matt looked first surprised then uncertain. “Are you sure you’re strong enough to be out of bed?”
Hope waved her hand, a gesture that indicated she considered that particular question to be trivial. “I’m physically all right,” she said. “A slight headache and some sore muscles, but that’s about it. May I talk to you?”
Matt went over to her, took her arm and led her to a chair. “You can talk all you want, but you’re barefoot and I’m going to get you a pair of socks to wear.” When she was seated, he hurried out.
Hope glanced around the kitchen, which was roomy and pleasant. The appliances were white, but the counter-tops, flooring and curtains were an attractive shade of yellow, and the color brightened the atmosphere of this gloomy, gray day. She felt much more at home in the kitchen than she had in the bedroom, which might have made sense if she had any sense, she thought drolly.
In the next instant, however, nothing seemed even remotely amusing, and she had to blink back self-pitying tears, which made her angry. She’d cried enough. Matt McCarlson was her one and only link to the rest of the world and her own past, and maybe he knew something that even he didn’t realize.
Matt returned with some warm wool socks. He knelt down in front of her and slid them on her feet before she could voice an objection, so she merely murmured, “Thank you,” when he stood up again.
“You’re welcome. Would you like another cup of tea or anything?”
“No, thank you. Matt, I was thinking that maybe I know someone around here and was visiting him or her. I can’t begin to guess what occurred last night to bring me here, but it’s only logical to assume that I’m in Texas for a reason, perhaps a very uncomplicated reason. Do you know any other LeClaires? They could be ranchers, like you, or even live in that little town you mentioned.”
Matt shook his head. “Hawthorne.”
“Yes, I believe that was what you called it.”
He could see the expectation on her face, and thought again of the newspaper article that would at least create a foundation of knowledge that she might build upon. But dealing with an amnesiac was a complete mystery to him, and Hope seemed calmer now than she had before. What if giving her that much information caused her another panic attack? He would much rather keep her calm until he could speak to Doc Pickett.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “There are no LeClaires around here that I know of.” It was the truth. He’d honestly never known anyone by that name.
Hope couldn’t conceal her disappointment. “And you know most of the area’s residents?” she asked, obvious in her hope that he would say, “No, I only know a few.”
“At least by name. Hope, I was born and raised on this ranch. This is a rural community, and you don’t have to be friends with everyone to know their names.”
“Even in Hawthorne?”
“It’s a small town.”
Hope bit her bottom lip. “I suppose.” Her gaze met Matt’s. “Do you have any theories about how I came to be lying in your mud this morning? Does Hawthorne have a hotel? Is it any kind of tourist spot? I mean, does the town attract…tourists?” Her voice trailed off, giving Matt the impression that she was grasping at straws and instinctively knew she hadn’t visited Hawthorne, Texas, as a tourist.
“It has a couple of motels, and if the phone was working it might even pay to give them a call and ask if you were registered. But the phones aren’t working, and there really isn’t anything either of us can do about it.”
“How about driving to town? I hate being even more of an imposition than I already am, but—”
Matt broke in. “The road has been washed out by the storm. Everyone on the ranch has no choice but to stay on the ranch until the storm passes and things dry out. Even then we’ll probably have to do some road repair before it’s usable again.”
“‘Everyone on the ranch?’ There are other people here?”
“The men who work for me…the ranch hands. And the foreman, Chuck Crawford.”
“Where are they?”
“At the bunkhouse, which is also where they take their meals.”
“But none of these people are women.”
“No,