Forget Me Not Read online

  “Hell,” said Bob under his breath.

  Then he hugged Alana and spoke so softly that only she could hear.

  “Sorry, sis. It’s hard for me to keep track of all the things you’ve forgotten.”

  Alana stiffened for an instant as her brother’s arms held her. Then she forced herself to relax. She knew she must get over her irrational fear of human contact. The source of fear was only in her nightmares, a creation of her mind that had nothing to do with here, now, reality. Withdrawing would hurt Bob badly, just as she had hurt him at the hospital.

  She returned the hug a little fiercely, holding on too tightly, releasing her brother too quickly. Bob gave her a troubled look but said nothing.

  Until he saw her hair.

  “What in God’s name did you do to your hair?” Bob yelped.

  “I cut it.”

  Alana shook her head, making moonlight run like ghostly fingers through the loose black curves of her hair.

  “Why?” asked Bob.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “But you’ve always had long hair.”

  His voice was surprisingly plaintive for a man who was just over six-and-a-half feet tall and nearly twenty-three years old.

  “Things change, little brother,” Alana said tightly.

  “Not you, sis,” Bob said, confidence in every word. “You’re like the mountains. You never change.”

  Alana stood without moving, not knowing what to say. In that moment, she realized for the first time how much like a mother she was to Bob, how fixed in his mind as a port for every storm. Somehow she had given a continuity of love and caring to him that she had never found for herself after their mother died. And Rafe, who had died and then not died. But he had come back too late.

  Like now. Too late, Alana thought. How can I tell Bob that there are no ports anymore, only storms?

  “You’re forgetting something, Bob,” said Rafe, his voice easy yet somehow commanding.

  “What? Oh. Yeah. Damn. I told you, Winter, I’m no—”

  “Sisters are women, too,” Rafe said, cutting across whatever Bob had been about to say. “Some sisters are even beautiful women.”

  Rafe’s amber eyes flashed as he looked briefly at Alana. His smile reflected the light pouring out of the ranch house.

  Bob cocked his head and looked at Alana as though she were a stranger.

  “A matter of taste, I suppose,” Bob said, deadpan. “She looks like a stray fence post to me. Didn’t they have any food in Portland?”

  Quietly Rafe looked from the graceful curve of Alana’s neck to the feminine swell of breasts, the small waist, the firm curve of hips, the legs long and graceful.

  “Burdette,” Rafe said, “you’re as blind as a stone rolling down a mountain.”

  Alana flushed under Rafe’s frankly approving glance. Yet she was smiling, too. She was used to being told she had a beautiful voice. As for the rest, she had never felt especially attractive.

  Except when she had been with Rafe and he had looked at her the way he was looking at her right now, smiling.

  “I guess Rafe told you, baby brother,” Alana said, glad that the words came out light, teasing. She smiled at Rafe. “I’ll bet you ride a white horse and rescue maidens in distress, too.”

  Rafe’s face changed, intent, watching Alana as though he was willing her to do . . . something.

  The look passed so quickly that Alana thought she had imagined it.

  “Wrong, sis,” said Bob triumphantly, yanking her suitcase out of the back of the Jeep. “The horse Rafe rides is as spotted as his past.”

  Alana looked from Bob to Rafe, wondering what her brother meant.

  What had Rafe done in the years before, and after, he was declared dead in Central America?

  “Bob, you need a bridle for that tongue of yours,” said Rafe.

  His smile was narrow, his voice flat.

  Bob winced. “Stepped in it again. Sorry. I’m not very good at forgetting. Or”—he looked apologetically at Alana again—“remembering, either.”

  She sighed. “You couldn’t even keep secrets at Christmastime, could you?”

  “Nope,” Bob agreed cheerfully. “Not a one. In one ear and out the mouth.”

  Rafe made a sound that was halfway between disgust and amusement.

  “There are times when I can’t believe you’re Sam’s brother,” Rafe said dryly.

  Alana looked quickly at Rafe. Something in his voice told her that Rafe had seen Sam more recently than the times when Sam had hero-worshipped the older Rafe from afar.

  “Have you seen Sam? I mean, lately?” Alana asked Rafe.

  When Bob would have spoken, Rafe gave him a quelling look.

  “We met in Central America,” Rafe said, “when Sam was drilling a few dry holes. I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”

  Alana’s lips turned down.

  “Neither have I,” she said. “It’s been years. I was in Florida doing a concert the last time he came to the States.”

  “My brother the spook,” said Bob. “Now you see him, now you don’t.”

  “What?” asked Alana.

  “Oops,” said Bob.

  What Rafe said was mercifully blurred by Merry’s voice calling out threats to the husband who had let her sleep through Alana’s homecoming.

  “Honey,” Bob said, dropping Alana’s suitcase and racing toward the steps, “be careful!”

  The dogs ran after Bob, yipping and yapping with excitement. Alana couldn’t help laughing as Bob swept Merry off her tiny feet and carried her across the grass, swearing at the dogs every step of the way. Merry was laughing too, her face buried against Bob’s neck as she squealed and ducked away from the long-tongued, leaping hounds.

  Rafe put his fists on his hips and shook his head, smiling. He turned to Alana and held out his hand.

  “Welcome to Broken Mountain Dude Ranch,” he said wryly. “Peace and quiet await you. Somewhere. It says so in the fine print in the brochure.”

  “I’ll hold you to that,” murmured Alana.

  Smiling, she rested her hand lightly on Rafe’s, feeling the heat and texture of his palm as his fingers curled around hers. The touch sent both pleasure and fear coursing through her.

  The instant before Alana would have withdrawn, Rafe released her hand and picked up her luggage. She went ahead quickly, opening the screen door for Rafe and for Bob, who was still carrying a giggling Merry.

  The dogs stopped short at the threshold and begged silently, their amber wolf eyes pale and hopeful.

  Alana looked toward Bob.

  “No,” he said firmly. “No weimaraners allowed.”

  “Not even Vamp?” Alana asked coaxingly.

  “Sis,” Bob said in an exasperated tone, “I told you the last time that I don’t want to take a chance of Merry tripping over—”

  Bob stopped abruptly, remembering too late that Alana had no memory of her last trip to the ranch.

  “Sorry,” said Alana tightly, closing the door. “I forgot.”

  “So did I. Again. Damn.”

  Bob ran his fingers through his thick black hair in a gesture both sister and brother had learned from their father.

  “Oh, Alana,” Merry said softly, her pretty face stricken as she looked at her sister-in-law. “Bob didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  Alana closed her eyes and unclenched her hands.

  “Where do you want the suitcase?” asked Rafe into the silence.

  His voice was matter-of-fact, as though he hadn’t sensed the undercurrents of emotion swirling through Alana. She knew better. With every instant she and Rafe spent together, Alana became more certain that he was intensely aware of everything about her.

  “Alana is sleeping in the upstairs bedroom on the east corner,” said Merry, wriggling in Bob’s arms. “Put me down, you big moose. There’s nothing wrong with my feet.”

  “Never mind,” said Rafe. “I know where the room
is. Don’t climb any more stairs than you have to.”

  “Not you, too!” Merry rolled her blue eyes and pulled on her long blond hair, in mock despair. “Why me, Lord? Why am I stuck with men who think pregnancy is an exotic kind of broken leg?”

  Rafe smiled crookedly as he watched the tiny woman’s halfhearted struggle in Bob’s thick arms.

  “Enjoy it, Merry,” Rafe said. “Come diaper time, Bob will develop an exotic kind of broken arm.”

  “Slander,” muttered Bob to Merry, nuzzling her cheek. “Don’t believe a word of it.”

  “Believe it,” said Alana. “Every time there were grubby chores to be done, Bob evaporated.”

  “Hey, not fair,” he said, a wounded look on his face.

  “Not fair or not true?” Alana asked wryly.

  “I grew up after that carnivorous hen ate half my hands.”

  “Chicken pox,” called Rafe just before he disappeared down the hall at the top of the stairway. “Remember?”

  Bob groaned. “He’s worse than Sam when it comes to keeping track of life’s little lies. Mind like a steel trap. No fun at all.”

  Privately Alana thought it would be wonderful to have a mind that forgot nothing, held everything. If she knew about those six days, her nightmares would be gone.

  Or maybe they would just move in and take over her days, too.

  Maybe Dr. Gene was right. Maybe she wasn’t ready to accept what had happened, at least not all of it, every little horrifying detail.

  Height and ice and falling . . .

  “You look tired, sis,” said Bob.

  He set Merry on her feet with exaggerated care and watched lovingly as she yawned, waved good night, and went back to the downstairs bedroom. He turned back to Alana.

  “Want to go right to bed?” he asked.

  Bob waited, but there was no answer.

  “Sis?”

  With a start, Alana came out of her thoughts. Her hand was against her neck, as though holding back a scream.

  “Sis? What is it? Are you remembering?”

  Alana forced herself not to flinch when Bob’s big hand came down on her shoulder.

  “No,” she said, hearing the harshness of her voice but unable to make it softer. “I’m trying, but I’m not remembering anything.”

  “Where does your memory stop?” asked Bob hesitantly.

  “California. I was packing to come here.”

  “Where does it begin again?”

  “When I woke up in the hospital.”

  “Six days.”

  “Nice counting, baby brother,” Alana said sardonically. Then, “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . not easy. I don’t know why I forgot, and I’m . . . afraid.”

  Bob patted Alana’s shoulder clumsily, not knowing how to comfort the older sister who had always been the one to comfort him.

  “I love you, sis.”

  Tears burned behind Alana’s eyes. She looked up into the face that was as familiar to her as her own. Familiar, yet different. Bob was a man now, but in her memories he was so often a boy.

  “Thanks,” she whispered. “I love you, too.”

  Bob smiled almost shyly and squeezed Alana’s shoulder. A frown passed over his face as he felt her slight body beneath his big hand.

  “You’re nearly as small as Merry,” said Bob, surprise clear in his voice.

  Alana almost laughed. “I’m three inches taller.”

  Bob dismissed the inches with a wave of his hand.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I’ve always thought of you as . . . bigger. You know. Physically.”

  “And I’ve always thought of you as smaller. Guess we both have some new thinking to do.”

  “Yeah, guess so.” Bob ran his thick fingers through his hair. “I’ve been thinking a lot since Merry got pregnant. It’s kind of scary.” Then he grinned. “It’s kind of fantastic, too.”

  Alana smiled despite her trembling lips.

  “You’ll be a good father, Bob. Just like you’re a good rancher.”

  Bob’s eyes widened slightly, showing clear brown depths.

  “You mean that, sis? About being a good rancher, too?”

  “You’ve been good to the land. It shows. Rafe thinks so, too,” she added.

  Bob smiled with pleasure. “High marks from both of you, huh? That means a lot to me. I know how much you love the ranch. And Rafe, well, he’s a hard son of a bitch, but he’s working miracles with the Lazy W. It had really gone to hell by the time his father had that last stroke.”

  “How long has Rafe lived at the Lazy W?”

  Bob looked uncomfortable, obviously remembering the time Alana had come for a visit and he had told her that Rafael Winter was alive.

  “Bob?” Alana pressed.

  “A couple of years,” he admitted.

  “All that time?” asked Alana.

  Before, when she had known Rafe, loved him, been engaged to him, his work had taken him on long trips to unexpected places.

  “He used to travel a lot,” she added.

  “Yeah. About four years ago he was . . . uh, he had some kind of accident in some godforsaken place. And then his father died. Rafe has stayed on the Lazy W the whole time since then. Guess he’s here for good. Unless something goes to hell overseas or Sam gets in trouble again and needs Rafe to pull his tail out of a crack.”

  “Sam? In trouble? How? And what could Rafe do about it?”

  Bob laughed wryly. “Sis, Rafe would—”

  “Bring Sam a toothbrush,” said Rafe from the stairway.

  Alana looked up. Rafe was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets, his shirt tightly across bunched shoulder muscles. For all his casual pose, she sensed that Rafe was angry about something.

  Bob breathed a curse and an apology.

  “I warned you, Rafe,” Bob said. “I’m no damn good at—”

  “Burdette.” Rafe’s voice cracked with authority. “Shut up. If you can’t do that, talk about the weather.”

  There was a charged silence for a moment. Alana looked from Bob to Rafe and back again. Although her brother had five inches and fifty pounds on Rafe, Rafe didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the prospect of a brawl.

  “Storm coming on,” said Bob finally. “Should be thunder in the high country by midnight, rain down here before dawn. It’s supposed to clear up at sunrise, though. Part of a cold front that’s moving across the Rockies. Now, if you ask me, I think we should roust those sleeping dudes upstairs and leave for your lodge at dawn or as soon afterward as it stops raining.”

  “That,” said Rafe distinctly, “is one hell of an idea. Do you suppose you can keep your feet out of your mouth long enough to sit a horse all the way to Five Lakes Lodge?”

  “Didn’t you know I’m a trick rider?” said Bob, his smile wide and forgiving.

  “Who had chicken pox,” retorted Rafe, but he was smiling, too.

  “Now you got it,” said Bob approvingly. “Keep that good thought until morning. And I’ll practice biting my damned tongue. But only for a while.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  “Yeah. It goes both ways, Winter. Don’t forget. I sure as hell won’t. Goodnight.”

  Beneath the humor in Bob’s voice there was something much harder.

  Alana heard it, and she wondered if Rafe heard it, too.

  And then she wondered why Bob, who was normally easygoing to a fault, was leaning on Rafael Winter.

  5

  R AFE SHOOK HIS head and said something harsh under his breath as Bob vanished. But Rafe was smiling when he turned to Alana.

  “How did you hold your own?” he asked. “Sam and Bob together. My God. And Dave, too. Boggles the mind.”

  “What did Bob mean about your ‘spotted past’?” asked Alana.

  “Terrible work record,” Rafe said laconically. “Moved around a lot. Remember?”

  “And about Sam being in trouble?”

  “He’s not in trouble now.”

 
; “But he was?” persisted Alana.

  “Everyone gets in trouble now and again.”

  Alana made an exasperated sound. “Am I permitted to ask about the dudes?”

  Rafe’s glance narrowed.

  “Sure,” he said. “Ask away.”

  “But will I get any answers?”

  “Now I remember how you held your own with your brothers,” Rafe said, smiling. “Stubborn.”

  “I prefer to think of it as determined.”

  “Good thing, determination.”

  Alana looked at Rafe’s carefully bland expression, at the intelligence and humor that gave depth to his whiskey eyes, at the clean line of his lips beneath his mustache.

  What she saw made her forget her unanswered questions. Rafe had taken off his hat, revealing the rich depths of color and texture in his hair. It was a very dark brown, with surprising gleams of gold, clean and thick and lustrous. No shadow of beard lay beneath his skin, which meant that he must have shaved before he picked her up at the airport.

  The open collar of Rafe’s shirt revealed hair darker than his mustache, more curly. Her glance went back to his forehead, where the rich brown hair had been combed back by his fingers.

  Is it a memory or a dream, Alana asked herself silently, or did Rafe’s hair once feel like winter mink between my fingers?

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  Rafe’s voice was casual, as though he were asking the time.

  Reflexively Alana responded to the offhand tone, answering before she realized what he had asked or what her answer would reveal.

  “Your hair,” she said, “like winter mink . . . ?”

  “Want to find out?”

  “What?”

  “If my hair feels like mink.”

  Rafe spoke as though it were a perfectly normal thing for Alana to do.

  “Don’t worry,” he added softly. “I won’t touch you at all. I know you don’t want to be touched.”

  Rafe’s voice was low, murmurous, as soothing as it had been in the Jeep when nightmare had overtaken Alana without warning.

  “Go ahead and touch me,” he said. “I promise I won’t do anything but stand here. You’re safe with me, Alana. Always. I’m the man who came to take you home.”