Sunset Promises Page 4

  He scrutinized her face, looking for signs of recognition. How could she not remember him? “She’s a pretty little girl. Do you think she looks like you, or more like her daddy?” he asked, knowing he was baiting but unable to help himself.

  Her face flushed pink. “She looks like herself. She looks like Brook.”

  His heart seemed to stop for a moment in his chest. “That’s her name? Brook?” He moved closer to her. Damn her for working his emotions like they’d never been worked before.

  He studied Colette’s face, noting the high color that pinkened her cheeks. Her blue blouse gave her hazel eyes a tinge of blueness and emphasized a new fullness to her breasts. If he touched her, would she remember?

  As he took another step toward her, her brow furrowed in confusion and she stepped backward, as if trying to distance herself from him. Hank realized at that moment her amnesia was real, and he wondered what this development would have on the future and his job. “I’ll just let you get to work,” he said. Turning on his heels, he strode toward the door.

  “Mr. Cooper?” Her voice made him pause and he turned to look at her. “Have…have we met before?”

  Hank quickly assessed his options, knowing if he told her yes, she’d want to know the details. It was better she not know. Not remembering those details just might save her life.

  He looked at the baby in the crib. “No,” he answered, then, balling his hands into fists, he turned and left.

  Colette watched him go, the whisper of fear dancing inside her. Who was Hank Cooper and why did he affect her so strongly? She had the distinct feeling he’d lied, that she did know him from someplace other than this ranch.

  When he’d stepped close to her she’d smelled his scent. Masculine yet with a spicy cologne that she knew she’d smelled before. Why would he lie about knowing her? What had he been in her past? And why was he so interested in Brook?

  She sank onto a chair next to the crib, her attention torn between her daughter and the three children playing with puzzles on the floor. He’d said he’d come to get something out of the closet, but he hadn’t taken anything with him. Why had he come here? What had he wanted?

  On impulse, she picked up Brook, needing to hold her close, assure herself of the baby’s safety. Mixed with the scent of baby powder and milk was the faint lingering odor of Hank Cooper’s cologne.

  She stood and walked with Brook to the window. Staring out, she recalled the nightmare that had plagued her the night before. The eyes she’d dreamed of…the angry eyes.

  * * *

  HE STOOD at the pay phone on the side of the bunkhouse, impatiently tapping a finger on the receiver as he waited for his call to be answered. He stopped the tapping as a familiar gruff voice bellowed a greeting.

  “It’s me,” he said. “I’ve got news.”

  “It’s about time,” the deep voice growled.

  “She’s here and she has some sort of memory loss.”

  “I don’t give a damn if she has chicken pox. She’s smart, too damn smart for her own good, and she has the ability to fry me.”

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked, although he could have guessed the answer.

  “I want her disposed of…permanently.” There was a tense pause. “Hell, man, use your head. A ranch can be a dangerous place. Make it look like an accident. We don’t need any other problems.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you when it’s been accomplished.” He hung up the phone, then lit a cigarette. Squinting his eyes against a cloud of smoke, he contemplated what kind of an accident would befall Colette Connor.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Come on, you have to go tomorrow night. It will be good for you to get out among adults,” Abby exclaimed as she poured herself another cup of coffee. “We always plan a hayride and an old-fashioned cookout on Friday nights when we have guests.” She rejoined Colette at the table. “And I’ve already spoken to Maria about staying here with Cody and Brook.”

  Colette smiled, as always feeling like a willow in a windstorm around her strong, older sister. “Since you’ve taken care of everything, I guess I’ll go on the hayride,” she agreed.

  “Oh, honey, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” Abby frowned worriedly. “Sometimes I’m too pushy for my own good. You have to tell me to back off.”

  “Did I tell you to back off often in the past?” Colette asked with a grin.

  “About once a day,” Abby admitted with a laugh. “When you were ten you called me bossy, when you were twelve I graduated to domineering and by the time you were fifteen I’d reached the pinnacle of big sisterhood and become tyrannical.”

  Colette laughed, as always an ache of wistfulness reminding her of her lack of memories. How she wished she remembered those frivolous carefree days of childhood, when her biggest problem apparently was dealing with two bossy older sisters. She picked up her coffee mug and sipped thoughtfully. “Abby, would you tell me what you know about Hank Cooper?” she asked.

  Abby’s eyebrows danced upward quizzically. “Why?”

  Colette shrugged. “Something about him bothers me…I’m not sure what it is.”

  “He hasn’t gotten out of line, has he? I mean, some of the men working on the ranch think we’re all fair game for a quick roll in the hay.”

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” Colette replied hurriedly. She frowned and drained the last of her coffee. “I can’t exactly explain…just something about him bothers me and I was wondering what you knew about him.”

  “Not much,” Abby admitted. “I do know he’s a natural with the horses. I haven’t seen his kind of talent in years. He showed up here at the ranch looking for a job about a month ago.” Abby smiled ruefully. “I don’t ask for much in the way of references, have never cared about a man’s past. If they do their jobs and keep their noses clean, I’m satisfied.”

  Colette nodded, realizing nothing Abby knew could help her where Hank Cooper was concerned. Somehow, some way, she was going to have to figure out for herself why he bothered her, why it was that his eyes haunted her dreams.

  “You okay?” Abby asked, her forehead once again wrinkled in concern.

  “I’m fine,” Colette assured her, knowing Abby had enough on her mind in running the ranch without Colette adding to her burden. They both jumped as a knock fell on the back door.

  Abby got up to answer it. “Junior,” she exclaimed in delight. “You’ve been neglecting us lately. Come in and have a cup of coffee.”

  The man who entered hardly looked like a “junior.” Tall and barrel-shaped, he sported a head of bushy gray hair and matching eyebrows. His face was deeply tanned, and crisscrossed with wrinkles that spoke of age and life experiences.

  “Hi, darlin’.” He leaned over and kissed Colette on the forehead. “Heard you were back in town. Good to have you back where you belong.” He thanked Abby as she set a cup of coffee in front of him, then he started talking to Abby about the ranch.

  Colette listened absently, instantly drawn to the warmth of the older man’s smile, but more drawn to the safety his sheriff’s uniform implied. Maybe he can help, she thought. Help with what? What could she say to him? That she was in danger but didn’t know why? That she was afraid somebody was after her but didn’t know who?

  She looked at her watch and realized she needed to go. “Excuse me, but I need to get going. I’m sitting with the kids for a couple of hours so the adults can go trail riding again.”

  “We’ll get a chance to visit and catch up later,” Junior said, flashing her another warm, parental kind of smile.

  Minutes later Colette left the house, Brook napping in her carrier. As Colette walked toward the community building, she thought over the past couple of days. It was comforting how seamlessly she’d fit back into the routine of the ranch. She spent the days baby-sitting and caring for Brook. In the evenings the whole family ate dinner together, discussing and sharing all the aspects of their day.

  Although Colette usually had little to add
to the conversation, she enjoyed the camaraderie between herself and her sisters, the bond that, despite her memory lapse, had not been lost.

  Only some things always managed to darken her contentment. A feeling of impending doom increased daily along with the awareness of eyes watching her every movement. That, and Hank Cooper troubled her.

  As if summoned by her thoughts, Hank appeared at the side of the barn. Had he somehow known she’d be approaching at that very moment and had timed his appearance to coincide with hers?

  “Good morning,” he said as he fell into step with her.

  “’Morning.” She didn’t look at him. She was torn between the strange need to somehow distance herself from him and the desire to crawl into his head to see if any of her memories resided with him. It was crazy, but somehow she had the feeling that he was a part of her forgotten past, an integral piece to a frightening puzzle.

  “Would you like me to carry that for you?” He gestured to the diaper bag slung over the crook of her arm.

  “No, thanks, I can manage. Besides, I’m sure you have other, more important chores to attend to.”

  He grinned, a sexy, lazy smile that caused a coil of heat to unfurl in the pit of her stomach. “I’m on a break. For the next thirty minutes my time is my own.”

  “What do you do in your spare time, Mr. Cooper?” she asked. Do you stand in the darkness and watch me? Is it your gaze I feel on me? Constantly watching?

  “Please, call me Hank, and I don’t have much spare time. There’s always something that needs to be done on a spread this size.” For a moment his gaze held hers, intense and probing, it made her feel as if he attempted to violate her mind.

  With an effort, she broke away from the gaze, wondering again why she felt such an uneasy familiarity with the man. “Abby tells me she hired you about a month ago. Where’s home for you?” she asked.

  “Here and there. I’ve never had much need for a permanent home base. What about you? I heard that before you arrived here you were someplace in California.”

  She could still feel the heat of his gaze on her and once again her eyes met his. “If you’ve heard that, then you’ve also probably heard I have amnesia. I don’t remember anything before coming here.”

  His smoke-dark eyes lingered a moment longer on her as a muscle jumped in his lower jaw. “Nothing?”

  “Nothing.” Again she averted her gaze from his as the heat in her stomach reignited and spread over her entire body. Why did he affect her this way? What was it about him that made her think of long nights of lovemaking, of tangled limbs beneath rumpled sheets?

  Had he lied when he’d told her they hadn’t met before? Did her unease have nothing to do with suppressed memories and everything to do with the fact that he was an enormously attractive man who oozed sex appeal?

  Relief flooded her as they reached the community building and he tipped his hat in parting. She watched him go, her heart slowly resuming a more normal rhythm as he moved into the distance.

  Going inside, she tried to shove thoughts of Hank Cooper out of her mind, but found him as impossible to dismiss as a case of hives. She set Brook’s carrier on the table in the playroom and went to the window, unsurprised to see Hank still in viewing distance. In the past couple of days she’d noticed he always seemed near to where she was, appeared to shadow her movements whenever she left the main house.

  Why? Why did Hank Cooper seem to have such interest in her? Was his attention drawn from something in the past, or merely the passing interest of a man for a woman? What man in his right mind would be interested in a woman who had no memory and had just given birth? A fleeting smile curved her lips. Who said Hank Cooper was in his right mind?

  The morning passed quickly and lunchtime came and went. Late afternoon the kids left with their parents and Colette busied herself cleaning up the room.

  She’d finally put everything away when the outer door flew open and a ranch hand she’d not seen before stood in the doorway.

  Thin and wiry, the man brought with him the sour smell of perspiration, stale smoke and strong alcohol as he stepped into the room. Beneath the dusty hat he wore, his brown eyes peered around the room.

  “May I help you?” Colette asked, moving closer to the table where Brook rested in the carrier.

  “I’m s’possed to put up shelves,” he slurred, a drunken grin lifting the corners of his mouth as he eyed Colette. “You’re a pretty little thing.” He stumbled several steps toward her.

  “I think you’d better leave and put the shelves up another time,” Colette said, her voice wavering with uncertainty.

  He shook his head. “Can’t. Ms. Abby told me to do it today, and Ms. Abby gets plum crazy when chores don’t get done.” He staggered forward another couple of steps and Colette realized the man was thoroughly, completely drunk.

  His grin widened as his gaze focused once again on her. “I’ll bet you smell as pretty as you look.” When he stepped forward again, Colette backed up, disturbed to find herself pinned between the wall and the man.

  “I think you’d better go.”

  “Ah, come on, don’t get all bossy like your sisters. Why don’t you try being a little nice to me.” He reached up and touched her hair. “I could be very nice to you.”

  His touch made her skin crawl, and the glassiness of his eyes made her aware that he might be too drunk to listen to reason. Unreasonable terror swam inside her. He was just a drunken ranch hand, but something about his unwanted closeness brought panic to the surface. “You’re so pretty,” he repeated, his grimy hand stroking the length of her hair, his breath rancid in her face.

  She tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed her arm. “Let me go,” she demanded, trying to yank her arm from his viselike grip.

  “Ah, come on, don’t be that way,” he protested, bracing his hands on the wall on either side of her, effectively making her his prisoner.

  “Sims. Let the lady go.” Hank Cooper’s voice rang with authority. He filled the doorway, his posture tense, his dark eyes radiating undisguised danger.

  “Ah, I was just having a little fun,” Sims protested.

  “Well, the lady doesn’t appear to be having fun.” Hank stepped into the room and placed a hand on the back of the man’s neck. “Get on out of here. Go back to the bunkhouse and sleep it off.” Colette wasn’t sure whether it was the tone of Hank’s voice or the strength of his hand on Sims’s neck, but Sims nodded and with Hank’s assistance headed out the door.

  Colette sagged against the wall, her knees trembling uncontrollably as adrenaline slowly dissipated. She shuddered as she remembered the way his body had pressed close to hers, how his arms had formed a prison to contain her. Something about the incident evoked a murmur of a memory. A memory of another time, another man pressed against her, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered threatening words into her ear.

  “You okay?”

  She looked to see Hank once again standing in the doorway. She nodded, afraid to move from the wall, afraid her shaking legs wouldn’t hold her. “I’m fine.” To her horror, tears blurred her vision and a sob shook her.

  In three long strides, Hank reached her. He pulled her away from the wall and into the strength of his arms. “Billy Sims is just a drunken fool,” he said. “He wouldn’t have hurt you.”

  “I know. I don’t know why I’m overreacting, but I can’t help it.” She leaned against Hank, finding comfort in the strong arms surrounding her, the sunshine scent of his cotton shirt and the familiarity of his spice cologne.

  His embrace wasn’t threatening in any way. He held her lightly, without intimacy, and yet she fought a crazy impulse to lean into him, press against the hardness of his chest. Threatened and confused by her own thoughts, she broke the embrace and stepped away from him.

  “I’m so grateful you appeared when you did,” she said, moving over to the table where Brook still peacefully slept. “I wasn’t sure what he might have been capable of.”

  “I’ll mak
e sure Sims stays away from you,” Hank said, the words a promise she knew he’d deliver.

  “Thank you again, Hank.”

  He nodded, then turned on his heels and left.

  It wasn’t until later that Colette thought back over the scene with Billy Sims. She recalled the horrifying fear that had choked her as Billy Sims had leaned against her.

  The fear, the horrible sensations, had all been so familiar, something she’d experienced before, but had hidden in her obscure memories. She looked at her baby. Brook. Her sweet baby girl. Why couldn’t she remember conceiving Brook? Why did she have no memory of the man who was Brook’s father?

  Was I raped? she wondered. Was it possible the man who’d fathered Brook had done so in a vicious violation? Was that what had stolen her memories?

  * * *

  “OKAY, EVERYONE, let’s load up,” Abby yelled to the group crowded near the huge hay-laden wagon. The evening sunshine cast golden hues on the guests and ranch workers as they climbed onto the bales of hay, their laughter seeming to hold back the shadows of approaching night.

  Colette wished she could get caught up in the high spirits that infused everyone, but she’d spent the past day and a half wondering, worrying about all she couldn’t remember. And she feared she’d made an enemy in Billy Sims. Abby had told her the night before that she’d had a talk with Billy, warned him that the next time he drank or got out of line, he would be fired. Abby had explained that Billy had a family, was paying child support and she was reluctant to fire him and indirectly harm his children. Colette hadn’t told her sister about the frightening scene with Billy, but Hank had.

  From the moment Colette had joined the group for the hayride, she’d felt Billy’s gaze on her, dark and resentful. As she climbed into the wagon and took a seat, she was grateful Billy was at the front of the wagon and some distance from her.

  Her face warmed as Hank sat on the bale of hay next to her, his thigh pressed against hers. “You look like you’re going to an execution rather than a hayride,” he observed as the scent of his evocative cologne filled her senses.