Whirlwind Cowboy Page 3

  The harder she tried to remember, the more her head hurt, but she needed answers. Something to grab on to, to slake the sense of...incompleteness inside her.

  Although she believed what Bram Ross had told her, she didn’t feel any of it.

  A million questions, especially about him—them—spun through her head. She wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about that. From the way his face had turned to stone earlier, she doubted he was either.

  He looked up suddenly and she tore her gaze from his mouth.

  “You’ve been staring at me since we sat down,” he said baldly.

  She flushed at being so obvious. Reaching up, she touched her cheek. “What happened to your face?”

  His eyes narrowed and his voice turned hard. “Your beau shot me and his bullet skinned a trail up my face.”

  She winced. Even though the wound was healing, it had a fresh look to it. “Is that why you hate him?”

  “No, that’s after the fact. He led a band of rustlers for months, stealing not just my cattle, but my neighbors’, too. People who were also his neighbors. Due to the drought last year, we had already lost plenty of cattle. His thieving almost cost my family our ranch. Add to that, he murdered someone two days ago during a bank robbery.”

  This Cosgrove sounded like a horrible person. Deborah didn’t want to believe she could be involved with him, but Bram certainly believed it.

  The dust tickled her nose and she stifled a sneeze. After a minute, she said, “May I ask you something else?”

  “More about Cosgrove?” he sneered.

  “No. About me, you, everything.”

  In the hazy light, his eyes were like dark steel. His gaze trailed from her face to her breasts and back up, making her stomach dip. Hunger flared in his eyes, then was gone. She shivered.

  He studied her for a minute, then shrugged.

  This man had proposed to her. Shouldn’t she recognize something about him deep inside? She had no sense of him other than the fact that he was strong, no-nonsense and gruff. “You said I lived with my mother and sisters?”

  “Yes. They’re younger than you. Jordan, Michal and Marah.”

  She searched her mind for an impression or part of a memory. Nothing.

  “You have cousins here, too. Riley and Davis Lee Holt.”

  None of these people sounded familiar. She tried to calm the panic rising inside her. With a shaking hand, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “You said I lived near Whirlwind. Where is that?”

  “North central Texas.”

  “Do you have kin nearby, too?”

  Bram eyed her skeptically. “Yeah. I live at the Circle R ranch with my cousin, Georgia, and Uncle Ike. My brother, Jake, and his wife also live there.”

  All the names spun in her head. “You’re a rancher?”

  He arched a brow. “Yes. That’s why I live on a ranch.”

  She flushed. The man irritated the fire out of her, but right now he was the only person who might be able to help her remember.

  “What happened to your parents?”

  “My pa died years ago and my ma lit out right after,” he said with exaggerated patience—as though he were humoring her, not because he believed she needed answers. “Ike raised me and my brother.”

  She braced herself for the possibility that he might not answer her next question. “When did you ask me to marry you?”

  He pushed his plate away, his gaze piercing as though he was trying to probe her brain. “How long are you going to carry on with this?”

  “I’m not carrying on. I need to know.” She wanted to smack the disbelieving look off his handsome face. “When did it happen? When did you ask me?”

  “A little over three weeks ago.” His voice hardened and his eyes went flat. “The day before you took off.”

  Her head pounded. She had hoped something about her or him would spark a memory, but nothing had. She couldn’t even remember something as important as a marriage proposal. “Why did I turn you down?”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw as his gaze leveled on hers. Blade-sharp, frigid. “You wanted to take a job as a schoolteacher. I wanted you to stay with me, and you said you’d think about it. Instead, you left the next day.”

  No wonder he had been so angry when he’d found her in the cabin. Her voice cracked. “I don’t remember any of it.”

  “So you say.”

  Why wouldn’t he believe her? “I’m sorry. I really don’t.”

  Plainly skeptical, Bram pushed his chair away from the table and rose.

  Surprised at a quick flare of panic that he might leave, she asked tentatively, “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve been up since before dawn and I need some shut-eye. You can do whatever you like as long as it’s quiet.”

  She bit her lip. She was tired to the marrow of her bones, but there was only one bed.

  He saw her glance toward the bedroom and barked out a sharp laugh. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m getting my bedroll. I won’t even darken your door. You made your choice real clear.”

  She swallowed hard. She might not remember him, but she could appreciate what was right in front of her. Stranger or not, jilted beau or not, he affected her. When he looked at her, every nerve tingled and his deep voice sent a tremor to the pit of her stomach.

  She didn’t like it. “What will we do tomorrow?”

  “Depends on the storm. Once it’s over, I’m taking you home.”

  His tone said he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. The idea that she had a place to go, that she belonged somewhere, should’ve reassured her, but it didn’t.

  Though she had learned a few things about her family and Bram, they didn’t really mean anything.

  She had hoped his answers would help her remember, give her some kind of anchor, but they hadn’t. Thanks to that big strapping mountain of a man, she felt even more off balance.

  * * *

  She was getting to him just as she always had, and it made Bram madder than hell.

  He couldn’t get the image of her face out of his head. Undone, disoriented. She had appeared desperate for information and when he had given it to her, a light had gone out of her. Hope.

  The way her face had crumpled when he told her about her rejection of his marriage proposal had him wondering if she was telling the truth about losing her memory. Dammit, he didn’t want to wonder. He didn’t want to care either, but judging by the rush of anger and protectiveness he’d felt upon spying her bruised jaw and the cut on her temple, he did.

  Bram swept up the latest layer of dust that had filtered in through the sides of the window and deposited it in an old water pail. After shaking out his bedroll, he spread it and sat down with his back against the wall adjacent to the bedroom. He wanted to focus on Cosgrove, but as usual, Deborah’s presence had run everything else out of his mind.

  Frustrated, he dragged a hand across his nape. The sooner he got shed of Deborah Blue, the sooner he could continue his search for the murdering rustler who had nearly ruined his family.

  It had been almost an hour since she had gone into the bedroom and shut the door. Her look of bafflement had seemed earnest. So had the lack of recognition when she saw him. She had seemed genuinely lost. But he’d trusted those eyes for months, believing she told the truth about her feelings being as strong as his, and look how that had turned out. She claimed not to remember anything. Bram remembered just fine.

  He fingered his scar. The wound was still somewhat tender, just like his reaction to her queries about the two of them.

  There was no them. She’d made sure of that.

  He stared at the bedroom door.

  Her questions reminded him of what they’d had, how she’d lit out just like his ma. He didn’t want to feel anything for her, but he did.<
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  Bram couldn’t abide more of her professed memory loss. He wanted her to take responsibility for what she’d done. There had to be some way to get her to admit she was lying about losing her memory. Or at least some way to get her to point him in Cosgrove’s direction.

  She had the cretin’s horse. Maybe she had something else of his.

  Bram’s gaze went to the saddlebags in the corner. He’d brought his in from the barn along with two that were probably Cosgrove’s. Bram rose, picked up the lamp and walked over, going to one knee beside them.

  Inside the first pouch was a comb, shaving cup and soap, a straight-edge and hair pomade. His lip curled. Pomade. He reached for the other leather bag, which was considerably heavier.

  He flipped up the flap and opened the pouch wide. His pulse thudded hard.

  Sweet mercy. He’d been looking for something to tie Deborah to Cosgrove and here it was. His heart sank.

  Inside the saddlebag was money. A lot of money. Some loose bills, some in a flour sack. Unless Cosgrove had spent some, it was the forty thousand dollars he’d taken from the Monaco Bank.

  In the next instant Bram was overwhelmed by a numbing fury. He surged to his feet, grabbed the saddlebag and stalked to the bedroom.

  He threw the door open, lamplight flickering.

  Standing in the middle of the room, Deborah jumped, one hand at her throat. “You scared the daylights out of me!”

  “You keep sayin’ you don’t know Cosgrove, but this right here proves you do.” Speaking to be heard above the storm, he tossed the saddlebag toward her. It landed heavily at her feet.

  She eyed it the way she would a snake. “What is that?”

  “Money. Stolen money.”

  Shaking her head, she glanced down, then back at him. Questions were plain on her pretty face.

  “You said you were leaving me for a teaching job,” Bram snapped, taking a step toward her. “Looks like your real job was being an accomplice to a bank

  robbery.”

  Chapter Three

  Twin spots of color stained her cheeks. “Accomplice to a robbery? I wouldn’t do that.”

  “How do you know?” he asked archly.

  She bit her lip, stooping to look inside the saddlebags. Those innocent blue eyes widened.

  Folding his arms, Bram took in the flush on her face, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the wild trip of her pulse in her neck. He was uncomfortably reminded of how long it had taken him to get the image of her in that chemise out of his mind.

  “This is the work of your beau.”

  She closed the pouch and stood. “How do you know? And how do you know the money is stolen?”

  “Because my cousin Georgia and my uncle Ike were in Monaco’s bank when the robbery happened. They both saw Cosgrove’s face. Because of that, he shot them.”

  “Oh, no!” In the dusky amber lamplight, the horror on her face seemed genuine. “Are they—”

  “They’re alive, although I imagine Cosgrove thinks he killed them. He wouldn’t have knowingly left them breathing.”

  “Why do you think I had anything to do with it?” She skirted the saddlebags. The defiance on her face was mixed with uncertainty. “I told you I don’t remember.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did your kin see me in the bank, too?”

  “No. You weren’t inside.”

  “Then I wasn’t involved,” she concluded, looking hopeful.

  “Maybe you were waiting outside with horses for a quick getaway.” He didn’t like that he could detect her fresh scent beneath that of the dirt that hung in the air.

  She rubbed her temple, appearing surprised by the possibility. “I can’t believe I would do something like that.”

  “You mean you don’t want to believe it.”

  “Of course I don’t want to believe it! Would you?”

  Bram recognized the challenging light in her eyes. “The length of time you rode and the direction from where you came all add up to you making the trip from Monaco. You either left Whirlwind with Cosgrove or met him somewhere. It makes sense to think you’d travel with him.”

  “Maybe he was helping me get somewhere.”

  “To Abilene for your job?” Bram could imagine how the bastard would’ve tried to “help” her. Still, Deborah was cooperating, so he kept that to himself. “If he meant to put you on a train or a stage, he could’ve done that at a few places before you ended up in Monaco. Maybe you wanted to stay with him.”

  “You want to believe the worst of me.” Lifting a hand to her temple, she winced. “But you don’t know.”

  “You had to be with him or nearby in order to have access to his horse. What I want to know is where did Cosgrove go?”

  “And I’m telling you again that I don’t know,” she said hotly, grimacing.

  Was her head hurting? Bram hadn’t forgotten how pained she’d looked tonight. For a while he’d thought that had been a ruse to get him to stop questioning her. Now he wasn’t sure. “Does it matter to you that people who counted you as a friend were hurt? That a man was killed?”

  “Yes, it matters! But I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Maybe if you gave me more information.”

  “Like what?”

  Still touching her head, she thought for a moment. “How long have you been chasing this man?”

  “Three weeks. From your house, I followed him east then south. I lost his trail at Buffalo Gap and returned home for a couple of weeks. Then my uncle sent a wire from Monaco saying that he and my cousin had been shot in a bank robbery. By Cosgrove. Monaco is west of here. My brother and I started tracking him from there. Jake went the opposite direction, but when I found Cosgrove’s horse in the barn here, I thought I’d found him.”

  She lowered her hand. “Instead, it was me.”

  He nodded.

  “I swear I don’t know anything about that money, even though it appears I was with him.” Her features were drawn tight in the dust-speckled light. “But why do I have the money? Why didn’t he take it?”

  Bram huffed out a frustrated breath. “The law is looking for Cosgrove. He could’ve given the money and his horse to you, sending anyone who followed in another direction. That’s a good way to throw the posse off his trail.”

  Paling further, she put her hand to her head again. “Oh.”

  “The bastard must be expecting to meet up with you somewhere to get the money. I went through his saddlebags looking for a note or anything that might give me a clue as to where he might be, but I found nothing. I need you to give me some information.”

  “Like what?”

  “Where he went or if you’re meeting him.” Bram ignored his twinge of conscience at continuing to push her when she was plainly hurting. “If you heard him talk about any place.”

  “How can I do that?”

  “Try to recall where you were before you supposedly woke up with no memory.” He expected her to refuse him. Sure as hell wouldn’t be the first time.

  “All right.” She closed her eyes, a look of intense concentration on her face. The wind moaned around the cabin and a branch or rock hit the front window.

  Bram eased closer to Deborah. “Can you see yourself waking up behind that building?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you outside?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Bram reined in his impatience, recognizing that she was trying her best. “You said you heard a man yelling after you as you rode away. Did you hear anything else? Music? Wagons? A group of people? Gunshots?”

  She opened her eyes. “No, I’m sorry.”

  “Try harder.” When he saw her chin quiver, he softened his tone. “It’s important.”

  Pain darkened her eyes and after a long moment, s
he said, “I don’t recall hearing anything else.”

  “You say you didn’t get a look at the man?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you recall ever seeing a man about six feet tall, muscular build, with dark hair and dark eyes? He likely would’ve been wearing fancy clothes. Tailored and expensive.”

  She looked disappointed and half-spent, with deep lines etching her brow. Her pink-and-white skin had a waxy cast. “I really want to help you, but I just can’t remember.”

  Wondering if he should back off, Bram dragged a hand across his nape, sick to death of the smell of dirt. “Okay, you woke up behind a two-story building. Could it have been a hotel?”

  “Yes,” she said excitedly, brushing the dust from the sleeves of her dress. “That’s very possible.”

  It wasn’t much, but at least Bram could wire the

  Monaco sheriff and ask him to find out if Cosgrove had registered at any of the local hotels. Chances were slim Bram would learn anything, but right now this was all he had. It was worth checking.

  He realized then that Deborah had closed her eyes again. As long seconds went by, her delicate features grew bleak and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  Was she in that much pain? The realization shook him. His insistent questions were taking a toll. Bram couldn’t deny that.

  “You can stop. I can tell your head hurts when you try and remember.”

  She looked at him, distraught. Outside, the wind whistled around the cabin. Her voice was thick with tears and she sounded slightly panicked. “There’s no memory of anything before I woke up. I’m sorry.”

  Her obvious discomfort tugged at him. “I believe you.”

  “You do?”

  The relief that spread across her face made him ashamed of how hard he’d prodded her. Hell, he’d bullied her, plain and simple.

  The blows she’d suffered had obviously been forceful enough to cause her to lose her memory. He had no idea if it was permanent or not. He’d never even heard of such a thing, but he did believe her.

  Which meant she couldn’t help him. He would have to find another way to get to Cosgrove.