“Did you find him?” David asked.

“No, not yet. But I’ll take up the search again tomorrow.”

“Good.”

Jason gripped the receiver tighter. “So what happens if I don’t find him?”

“The lawsuit won’t break us. We’ve got EPLI.”

Employer Protection Liability Insurance, Jason realized.

“But the family has always had a great reputation, and no one’s happy about the claim, false or otherwise.”

That made sense.

A pause stretched across the phone line, and Jason began to think that of his brothers, he might be closest to David.

“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got a question for you. And it’s going to sound crazy.”

“What’s that?”

“Am I married?”

“Not anymore.”

“So I’m divorced?”

“Yes. Don’t you remember Renee?”

No, but he wanted to. “Just give me a quick recap.”

“Okay. Renee Perez. Five-six, a hundred and twenty pounds. Shapely, brunette with green eyes and a great smile, thanks to the set of veneers you paid for.”

“Where’d we meet?”

“At a fundraiser held at the polo fields in Rancho Santa Fe.”

So was that where he’d picked up his knowledge about horses? At the polo fields?

“You honeymooned in Spain, but once you got home, you went back to work 24/7, just like the rest of us.”

Suddenly, the angry woman’s voice came back to him, making sense this time. Those sweet-talking promises of yours aren’t going to work on me anymore, Jason. If you go now, it’s over. I’ll be gone before you get home.

And apparently, she’d made good on her threat.

“She liked the nice house, the beautiful clothes and all the money you provided her,” David added, “but she wanted more of your time.”

“And that’s why we split?”

“Pretty much. She called you an incurable workaholic, although it was that dedication to Alvarez Industries that ensured her a pretty damn good settlement.”

“So how long have I been divorced?”

“A couple of years.”

“Am I dating anyone in particular?”

David laughed. “I’ve never seen you at any function-business or otherwise-when you didn’t have a date. But just recently, you’ve had the same woman on your arm. She’s tall and blonde and, apparently, a lot more understanding than Renee was. I think her name was Katrina.”

“Were we sleeping together?” Jason asked.

“I have no idea. You never were one to kiss and tell.”

Jason raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t have a clue who Katrina was-or what she meant to him. But he wasn’t married. That was good news, wasn’t it?

Still, he had been seeing someone.

After the line disconnected, he continued to sit in silence, thinking mostly.

So now he knew something solid. He was an executive in a successful family business. A divorced workaholic who had no trouble getting dates.

He also lived and worked…and played in California.

What did that mean in regard to his having a relationship with Betsy, a woman who was firmly planted in Brighton Valley?

Could they ever make a life together?

Or would it be best if he just let her go?


Last night, after John left…

Betsy paused in midthought to correct herself. His name was Jason now. She’d have to remember that. But the point she was trying to make was that she’d made excuses for his silence and his retreat to the ranch house.

He was confused by the memories that were returning, she’d explained to her parents. And he needed to be alone.

They seemed to understand why he’d left, and on an intellectual level, she did, too. He just needed a little time and space to sort things through. Within the next day or so, things would be back to the way they’d been.

But that wasn’t true. Something had changed; Jason was different now, and she wasn’t sure in which way.

When he’d left her house last night, their gazes had locked, and she’d seen a spark in his eyes, an emotion too difficult for her to decipher. And that’s when the remorse had settled over her. That’s when she’d faced the truth. And no matter how often she told herself that she was making something out of nothing, that everything would be okay, she couldn’t accept that reasoning.

During the last few months of her marriage, she’d made excuses for Doug, too. She’d accepted those long hours he spent at work. And she hadn’t questioned all the times she hadn’t been able to contact him because he’d supposedly forgotten to take his cell phone with him.

But Doug had also become cryptic and distant at the end, which had made it easier for him to maintain a secret life. And it was that past experience that kept niggling at her now, warning her, preparing her for the worst.

At the end of the evening, she’d taken her parents home and then returned to the guesthouse alone. And even though she’d tried all of her tricks-a warm bath, a cup of chamomile tea-she hadn’t been able to sleep.

Around midnight she’d peered out the window toward the ranch house, where several lights lit up the living room as well as the bedroom that belonged to Jason while he was staying with Doc.

The fact that they’d both been awake yet apart left a lump in her chest that lasted throughout the night.

Finally, as dawn spread its fingers over the countryside, she made a decision. She couldn’t leave things to chance. She needed to find out who Jason really was, and that meant she would have to be proactive.

So early that morning, on her way to work, she stopped by the sheriff’s office. She would ask if they had any news, if there’d been any missing person reports, any stolen cars recovered. After all, Jason had to have gotten to the honky-tonk somehow. Wouldn’t it stand to reason that he had a vehicle?

After parking in front of the two-story brick building next to the courthouse, she entered the office.

Deputy Lester Brophy was on duty, and when he spotted her, he got up from his desk near the file cabinets and approached the counter to greet her. “Well, hello there, Dr. Nielson. What can I do to help you?”

“I was wondering if you had any information on that mugging a couple of weeks ago at the Stagecoach Inn. The victim was a man in his late twenties or early thirties, and his injuries landed him in the hospital a couple of days. He’s also suffering from amnesia.”

“John Doe,” Lester said.

“That’s the one.”

The deputy lifted his hat and scratched his balding head. “I’m afraid there’s not much for us to go on. All we found out was that he was asking about a guy named Pedro Salas.”

“Do you know who that is?”

Lester shrugged. “Not for sure. Joaquin Salas lives up at Clemson Ridge with his wife and kids. We talked to him, and it seems he’s got an uncle by the name of Pedro, but we don’t know if it’s the guy John Doe was asking about.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Just that Pedro lost his wife and his son in a fire about ten years ago. And after that, he went off the deep end.”

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently, he’s an alcoholic and has a hard time staying employed. Last they heard, he was working in California. He called his nephew after he got fired for drinking on the job and asked if he could come back to Texas and stay with him. But Joaquin told him he’d have to dry out first. And they haven’t heard anything else from him.”

Betsy leaned her hip against the counter. “What else do you know?”

“That night at the Stagecoach Inn, John Doe got into a tussle with Slim Ragsdale and Bobby Wolford.”

“Did he cause the fight?”

“Nope. Slim and Bobby are a couple of troublemakers who’ve had run-ins with the law on several occasions-vagrancy, disturbing the peace, that sort of thing. But without any witnesses to the mugging, we can’t do much about it. And if you talk to Bobby and Slim, they’ll try to convince you that they left the bar and went straight to choir practice.”

“And that’s it?”

Lester nodded.

“No missing person reports?”

“Not in our office or in Wexler. But we’ve been pretty shorthanded since Hank Rawlings went out on disability and haven’t checked with the other counties.”

So Betsy didn’t know much more than she already did, other than Pedro Salas had a drinking problem. And he and Jason might both be from California.

“Anything else I can help you with?” Lester asked.

“No, that’s it for now. Thanks.”

As Betsy started for the door, her shoulders sank under the weight of the answers she’d been given, answers that only served to trigger more questions.

Why would a well-dressed man go into a honky-tonk looking for a drunk? And why would he set off a couple of local troublemakers?

Apparently, whatever keys to Jason’s identity lay far away from Brighton Valley. And if she knew what was good for her, she’d get out while she could.

Chapter Eleven

Jason tossed and turned until about two that morning. And when he finally fell asleep, he didn’t rest long. A dream of automobiles crashing into each other, glass shattering and air bags deploying tore into his slumber, shaking him to the core.

But most disturbing of all was that sound of a woman’s cries. Be careful!

I’m pregnant.

Don’t hurt the baby. Please…

Then she shrieked, as if she were being torn in two, and Jason shot up in bed. His heart was pounding like a runaway train, and his skin was cold and clammy.

“Damn,” he uttered, his breaths coming out in short, ragged huffs.

He raked his fingers through his hair and scanned the darkened room, needing to assure himself that the accident hadn’t really happened.

Surely the nocturnal vision had only been a figment of his sleep-deprived imagination. But it had been all too real to be sure.