Memories at Midnight Page 9

  Her words were flippant. Her tone wasn’t. The words came out in a shaky purr.

  “No problem.” Clint tipped his hat and backed away, knowing he was lying. There were a couple of problems, both of them Texas-size: a psychotic killer loose in his town, and Darlene Remington sleeping in his bed.

  It didn’t get much worse than this.

  NOTHING HAD CHANGED, the situation was no less serious, yet Darlene felt far more confident that everything would turn out right now that she was out of the hospital for good.

  Even the turban-like bandage had been swapped for a smaller one. Sitting up straight, she pulled down the visor for a look in the mirror. Less than attractive, but it could be much worse. She could be dead.

  Clint glanced in her direction. “You’re still the prettiest lady around these parts.”

  “Thanks,” she murmured. The compliment took her totally by surprise. She didn’t know the rough, tough sheriff had it in him to pay compliments. But then, he hadn’t seemed either rough or tough this afternoon when he’d held her to keep her from falling.

  She turned back to the window as a crazy, giddy feeling skidded through her. She and Clint had been lovers. Her mind couldn’t recall the details, but apparently her body hadn’t forgotten.

  Clint settled back into silence, and she returned to the task of searching for familiar landmarks out the window. They passed miles of pasture inside barbwire fences with little to break the monotony. Then she braced herself as Clint swerved left onto a dirt road. “Is your ranch near the Altamira?”

  “Nope. Mine’s west of town. And don’t expect it to compare with the Altamira. My folks liked the simple life, and it was just fine by me. Still is.”

  “You still live with your folks? I never took you for a mama’s boy.” She was teasing, and surprised at how good it felt.

  “I took over my parents’ original bungalow when they built a bigger place. My parents are both dead now.”

  So much for teasing. Leave it to her to open mouth and insert foot. “I’m sorry.”

  Clint kept his eyes on the road. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

  She turned back to the window. “Are you sure we’re not on the road to the Altamira? I’d swear I saw that red lopsided barn last night.”

  “I didn’t say we weren’t going out to McCord’s place. I just said I didn’t live by him.”

  “I should learn to ask the right questions.”

  “I’d say asking questions is definitely your strong suit.” Clint offered one of his rare smiles, a broad one that lit up his face, and Darlene’s stomach did a somersault. The man was much too attractive to have stayed single so long.

  “So why are we going to McCord’s ranch?” she asked, deciding questions were more productive than her current thoughts.

  “To get your things, and to talk to Freddie Caulder. He called right before we left the hospital, all upset about something. Said he needed to talk to me right away. I figured you could visit with Mary while he and I meet.”

  “What kind of things do I have at McCord’s?”

  “Your luggage. That’s where I got the clothes you’re wearing now. You didn’t think I’d bought them, did you?”

  Luggage. Why hadn’t she thought of that? It wasn’t that he’d guessed what size jeans she wore. Or that he’d gone to the store and picked out lacy flesh-colored panties. He’d just dug through her own things and decided what she needed.

  “Why didn’t you just bring all my clothes to the hospital?”

  “You would have had to rent space. You either planned to stay in town a while, or you expected to change clothes a lot. My guess is you were planning to hang around a while, do a little moonlighting for McCord. He must have needed information he thought you could get for him. Unofficially, of course.”

  There it was again. That resentment that tainted his voice every time he talked about the senator. “Tell me about McCord. I know he’s on the fast track to the White House. The morning paper said he’s leading the current list of contenders by twenty percent. And he hasn’t even officially announced his candidacy, though the reporter seemed to think McCord had definitely made up his mind to run.”

  “And run he did—right out of town. What do you want to know about him?” he asked, pushing on the accelerator.

  “For starters, what’s his family like? Does he get along with them?”

  “He has one daughter, Levi.”

  “The one who was in the photograph we were looking at the other night.”

  “Right. He adores her, lavishes her with attention and gifts. And he has a niece named Robin who helps Whitt Emory manage McCord’s campaign.”

  “Is McCord divorced?”

  “No. His wife died when Levi was just a kid. He raised her himself, with the help of Mary. The perfect father figure.”

  “What about his past? Is there anything that would make him a target, make someone come after him to kill him?”

  Clint drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t know that you need anything these days. All the loonies in the country are stirred up over the upcoming millennium. The ones who aren’t shouting that the world is coming to an end on its own are threatening to end it themselves. All the attention McCord’s getting in the press is bound to make him a target.”

  “Then no wonder he called me.” Darlene faced Clint, sliding her left leg onto the seat between them. “The FBI would be the logical ones to check that out.”

  “The FBI—not you personally.” His muscles tensed, his arms straining against the fabric of his shirt. “This is something personal—a score someone plans to settle with McCord. What gets me is that he got you involved and then ran off without giving us a clue as to who’s trying to kill you.”

  Clint muttered the words through clenched teeth, and Darlene lay a calming hand on his leg. She shouldn’t have. He jumped at her touch as if she’d been holding a lit match.

  Maybe she’d made a mistake, insisting he take her home with him. Every touch, every look between them ignited something. Burning embers that still held fire?

  “If I’ve done something that upset you, Clint, either now or in the past, you can tell me. Maybe if we bring it out in the open, we can get past it.”

  Clint’s hands gripped the steering wheel, his back straight, his gaze focused on the road in front of him. “I got past everything that was between us years ago.”

  “But maybe I didn’t.”

  They rode the rest of the way to the Altamira in silence.

  DARLENE SIPPED the second cup of tea Mary had poured, the restlessness inside her growing with every minute Clint and Freddie stayed away.

  “Why don’t you and Clint stay for supper?” Mary urged. “I’ve got a big pot of soup and a pan of corn bread. Half of it will go to waste if you don’t.”

  “I’ll have to ask Clint. I don’t know what plans he has for the evening.” Darlene twirled her cup, watching the dark liquid circle the rim. “He and Freddie have been gone a long time. I think I might walk outside and try to find them.”

  “I wouldn’t. But you were never one to sit back and let the men do all the talking and worrying. That’s probably why Jim was so tickled when you decided to join up with the FBI.”

  “Did I visit here often when I was younger?”

  “You did when you were in high school. You were older than Levi, but the two of you hit it off from the start. Probably because you both love horses and riding so much. But mostly, you liked talking to the senator, following him around like a starstruck teenager. We guessed it was because your own parents were dead, and all you had was your granny.”

  Mary walked over to the stove and stirred the soup. “Of course, once you took up with Clint, all that changed. The two of you were thicker than molasses that summer before you went to Quantico. We were all geared up for a wedding, but I guess the lure of the FBI got into your blood and pushed romance out of your heart.”

  “Then you don’t really know why Cli
nt and I broke up.”

  “No, but I know it was none of the sheriffs doing. That boy moped around for months after you left. Still is moping, for all I know. He hasn’t taken up with any of the local ladies, and it’s not because they haven’t tried”

  “Very interesting.” Darlene put down her cup and grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door. “I think I’ll walk down to the barn and check on Clint and Freddie. They’ve had the pleasure of avoiding our company far too long.”

  Darlene headed toward the barn, her feet rustling the dry grass. The sun had disappeared completely, but the moon was out and the sky sparkled with stars so close that she could have sworn she could touch them.

  The cool night air wrapped around her, and a chilly tremble sneaked into her heart. Danger. She wasn’t supposed to feel that here—not with the ranch security system McCord had in place.

  She stopped and forced her lungs to suck in a healthy gulp of air. Still, she could feel darkness and fear closing in all around her—

  Memories tore through her mind. She could see the man, could see the gun. She covered her ears as he pulled the trigger. But the man fell to the ground.

  The memories were as vivid as if she were watching a video in slow motion. Terrifying memories.

  Only they weren’t hers.

  Chapter Seven

  “I’m just telling you how I heard it, Clint. McCord don’t want you sticking your nose into his business. So, butt out.”

  “I’m the law around here. That’s not an option.”

  Freddie rubbed at a day’s growth of stubble on his weathered chin. “McCord don’t need your help. He said it, and now I’m saying it. And neither of us have anything personal against you.”

  “Right, nothing personal between me and McCord.” Clint propped a foot on the bale of alfalfa hay where Freddie sat, but his eyes circled the old storage shed where McCord’s foreman had brought him to talk.

  Out of the wind and the night air and away from the womenfolk. That’s what he’d said when he dragged Clint out of the house to the shed. First, he’d hemmed and hawed and talked about everything from feed prices to the local high-school football team, but Freddie had finally gotten down to the nitty-gritty: McCord knew Clint was continuing the investigation after he’d told him to stop, and he was not pleased.

  “Stay out of it, Clint. Forget the attack. McCord will handle it.”

  “And what about the attempt on Darlene’s life last night? Would McCord have me just sweep that under the rug too? Is he going to be responsible when the lunatic comes calling again?”

  “He’d sent word for you to protect her. You didn’t. Now he wants Darlene out of town. He’ll hire protection for her. Men that can be relied on to do what they’re told to do. He wants you to have Darlene on a plane back to D.C. in the morning.”

  “And if I don’t dance to McCord’s fiddle?”

  “Then it might not be too healthy for you around here.”

  Clint bent to the rotting wooden floor and picked up a rusted hay rake. He stood it upright and leaned on it, looking at Freddie face on so there would be no mistaking his meaning.

  “You tell McCord that if he has something to say to me, he needs to call me personally. He can start by apologizing for hanging up on me yesterday. After that, he can say his piece, but I’m not kowtowing to him like everyone else does. I’m the law in this county, and I’m not backing off from my duty.”

  Clint leaned in closer, purposely intimidating the foreman. “And if my investigations lead me to finding McCord and sticking my nose into his business, so be it.”

  Clint expected Freddie to bristle, but, if anything, the man looked relieved. The unexpected reaction took Clint by surprise. He’d have to think on it some more later. Right now, he needed to get back to Darlene and take her home.

  Home. To his bed. He shrugged off the disturbing urges that sneaked into his mind and body. He tossed the rake aside, ready to get on his way. A moan wafted through the partially open door.

  “Sounds like Mary’s cat has her tail caught in a crack again,” Freddie said, reaching down to pick up the rake and move it out of his path.

  The sound grew closer. A cat, or a woman crying for help. Clint raced to the door, his brain fighting images his heart couldn’t bear to see. If something had happened to Darlene...

  One step into the night air, and his heart sank. Darlene was stumbling toward him, her head down, sobs shaking her body. Swiftly crossing the ground between them, he swept her into his arms. She melted against him, clinging as if she’d never let him go.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered. “What happened?”

  She shook her head and clung all the tighter, her body pressing hard against his own. He held her until she quieted, his hands stroking her back, his chin nestled on top of her head. Poor baby, she’d been through so much and had remained so strong until now. But she was only human.

  And the doctor had warned him. She was likely to have sinking spells: times when the amnesia became too frightful and frustrating for her to handle alone.

  “Is there something I can say or do?” He felt the inadequacy of manhood more strongly than he ever had before. Give him a criminal to apprehend, cattle to round up, a bull to manhandle. But don’t give him a tearful woman. All he knew to do was hold her.

  Long seconds later, she pulled away from him and breathed raggedly. “It was so real,” she murmured. “I was there, standing with the soldiers. So close I felt the sting of the bullet, the heat of the fire.”

  He dug in his back pocket for his handkerchief, and blotted overflowing tears from her eyes. “What was real, Darlene? What are you talking about?”

  She shook her head, and wispy strands of cinnamon-colored hair fell into her face. He stroked them away. The coolness of her cheek on his hand added to his uneasiness. “What’s real? Tell me.”

  “Memories.” Her voice broke, and she trembled but pushed away gently and stood on her own now, staring into space. “I was standing in the open with a group of men. They were in army fatigues, dirty, unshaven. One second they were talking. The next they were screaming at each other—loud, angry curses.”

  Blind fury raced rampant through Clint. Was this what had happened Monday night, what McCord had hauled her into? No wonder she had crushed the memories.

  “It’s okay, Darlene.” He wrapped his arms around her again, but this time she was rigid, unreachable. Scared senseless, he was sure. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, burying his. fingers through the hair that curled at the nape of her neck. “Tell me everything you remember, and I’ll make sure this is over.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” She turned back to the path she’d followed to find him. “I don’t understand. All I know is these weren’t my memories.”

  “Hold on, sweetheart.” He rocked her to him, aching to suck her pain inside himself and steal it away from her. He tilted her head up and grew sick at the terror mirrored in her eyes.

  “It’s not you, Darlene. It’s the amnesia. But you’ll be all right. The hard part is behind you.”

  “No, Clint. It’s not behind me.” She pulled away. “Nothing is settled.” She closed her eyes, and tears spilled onto her cheeks.

  He led her into the shed and tugged her to a bale of hay, all the while cradling her beneath his arm. He’d never seen her like this. Even last night when she’d looked death in the eye, she hadn’t been this devastated. Still, this signaled a breakthrough. Apparently she’d remembered something of what had transpired on Monday night. It was just all jumbled with fears created in her own mind.

  “How much of your past do you remember, Darlene?”

  “None. At least I don’t think so. Have I ever been in combat?”

  “You weren’t in the service. Maybe you were in some sort of training program that resembled combat.”

  “This wasn’t a mock situation. It was real. Too real.” Her voice quaked, but the tears had stopped. And her face had regained a smidgen of color.
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  “I think we should get you back to the hospital—let Dr. Bennigan check you over.”

  “No, I can’t go back. I have to go forward, face this down and find out what’s happening to my mind.”

  He stroked her back, ran his thumb up and down the curve of her neck. That’s when he realized Freddie was still standing in the shadows, watching.

  “Why don’t you go on in and check on Mary, Freddie? I’ll take care of Darlene.”

  Clint watched him back away. He’d been nervous the whole time he and Clint had talked. Now he looked as if he was walking in a trance. Clint hated to think about what kind of stories would be spread about Darlene. And in a town this size, gossip traveled faster than a farmer to supper.

  “I was there, Clint, and yet I wasn’t.” She sought out his gaze. “Do you think I’m going crazy?”

  “No. I don’t know what to make of this, but not that.” He buried his lips in her silky hair, needing the closeness now as much as she did. “Let’s don’t talk about it now. It will make more sense later, when you’ve had time to gain some perspective.”

  “Will that ever happen?”

  “When this is over. When the man who tried to kill you is caught and your true memory returns, you’ll put these nightmares behind you.”

  “I only wish they were nightmares. That I could open my eyes and they would disappear.”

  And so did Clint. He helped her to her feet. She was frail, defenseless, the way she’d been the night he’d found her on Glenn Road. It wouldn’t last, though. She was too strong. A night’s rest, and she’d transform back to the woman she’d always been: brave, feisty, ready to take on the world. She might doubt it, but he didn’t, not for a minute.

  He led her toward the house.

  “Not back to the hospital, Clint. I won’t go back there.”

  “I know.” He put his lips on hers. “I’m taking you home.”

  “OH, M’GOSH!” Darlene exclaimed as she entered the kitchen in Clint’s house. “It’s ten-thirty in the morning. Why didn’t you wake me before now?”