Falcon's Lair

He crossed through the kitchen and hooked his toe beneath a bar stool to pull it out and set her on it. “We’ll wait here for the chopper. I expect it within the next five minutes.” The husky followed them into the room, walking up to the woman and wagging his tail. As she scratched his ears, his tail wagged faster.

“His name’s Fella.” Ben handed her gloves to her and flipped the parka over her head, fastening it beneath her chin. She watched him solemnly, and he felt caught in the probing look, feeling an electric tension spark between them. His fingers stilled while her gaze seemed to wrap around him and pull him closer into a warmth that he needed.

His gaze lowered to her mouth, and then he raised his eyes back to hers. Fire danced in the emerald depths, and her eyelids drooped in a sensual look. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt as if danger threatened him while at the same time, desire was as hot as a flame curling inside him. He slid his hand beneath her hood behind her neck, pulling her head toward him as his gaze lowered to her mouth again.

“We’re strangers,” she whispered.

“That might make it better,” he answered in a husky, cynical voice.

“I know I can trust you with my life,” she said solemnly, “because I wouldn’t have survived out there in the storm.”

He was torn between wanting to savage her mouth, to take her lips and kiss her with all the passion and anger and curiosity he felt, to let her know she had voluntarily sought out the wolf in his lair and she would have to pay the price. At the same time, her eyes were trusting and warm with a sensuality that should be savored—a combination of innocent trust and womanly certainty that rocked him and made him want to brush her lips lightly with his own. He wanted to take care and time to ignite the passion that he suspected she was capable of. The thought startled him, and he wondered why he felt that way about her when he didn’t even know her.

His gaze was locked with hers again and he saw her reaction; she wanted his kiss. Was she one of the high-priced call girls, the thousand-dollar-a-night babes his father thought would entice him? Or one of the special ones who played for higher stakes, trying to win his heart because of Weston’s money? Anger surged and then ebbed as he looked down at her lips and slowly leaned his head closer. Her lashes lowered, and she closed her eyes while she placed her palms against his chest.

The pulsating clatter of the helicopter’s motor grew louder, cutting into the spell and making Ben swear silently as he paused only inches from her. She turned her head toward the door.

“Here comes the helicopter.” The note of fear in her voice was mirrored in her eyes when she gripped his hand. “Will you stay with me? You’re the only person I know.”

“I’ll be with you,” he promised gruffly, suspecting when memory returned, she would regret keeping him close and guessing that the fear was uncustomary for her. She had been brave—or foolhardy—enough to try to get to his place in a blinding storm, determined enough to feel she could successfully follow Weston’s wishes and bring the wayward son home.

Ben picked her up and she wound her arms around his neck again. When he opened the door, the husky bounded outside, barking at the noisy chopper as it set down only yards from the house, a dark bulk in the bright lights and brilliant snow.

Ben hurried to it, climbing inside while medics took her from his arms. Catching a glimpse of Zeb as he strode toward the house, Ben waved and saw Zeb wave in return.

When the chopper lifted, Ben rode beside her, holding her hand in his, aware she kept her gaze on him steadily while they whisked skyward. He glanced down at his place, the snow sparkling in the brightness of the yard lights and then they swept across the darkened land and he saw the shadows of spruce and pine and boulders that were dark against the snow. For an instant he felt a surge of satisfaction that came occasionally when he looked at his land. He had bought the first acres with savings and he was gradually enlarging, determined to carve a life for himself here, far removed from his past.

Like a noisy spinning top, the chopper raced across the night sky to set down outside a hospital in Albuquerque.

When she was taken to Emergency, Ben stood at the admitting desk, filling out papers, signing that he would be responsible for the bills.

“Ben,” a deep voice said, and Ben glanced around to see a lanky, white-coated doctor. Ben moved away from the desk to talk to his friend, tall, sandy-haired Kyle Whittaker, who folded his arms and leaned against the wall to listen as Ben related how he had found Jennifer and taken her home.

“She doesn’t remember anything, and I didn’t find any identification,” Ben said, knowing he was holding back on his friend, but he wanted to talk to Weston before the hospital was involved.

“We’ll check her over. The memory loss may be gone within hours.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“Since you don’t know her, do you want to wait or turn it over to us and the Albuquerque police to locate her family?”

“I’ll wait.”

Kyle arched a sandy eyebrow and studied Ben. “That’s not the answer I expected.”

Ben shrugged. “She seems vulnerable right now.”

“I’ll keep you informed.”

Ben nodded and watched him walk away. In minutes Ben finished admittance formalities at the desk and he crossed the lobby to a narrow alcove with pay phones. With one quick call he could get her identity and have someone come pick her up and take her to Dallas where she belonged. He stared at the phone and felt a momentary reluctance as he remembered gazing into her green eyes and recalled the soft touch of her fingers on his cheek.

“Dammit.” He swore and picked up the phone, punching numbers. The receiver lifted on the third ring.

“You’ve reached 555-3210,” came an unfamiliar brisk male voice. “We are unable to come to the phone now. Please leave your message, your name, your number, and we will get back with you when possible.”

Ben swore again as he waited. A loud beep rang in his ear and he gripped the phone tightly. “Weston, I have to talk to you. You know the number. Your messenger was in a car wreck.” Ben slammed down the phone and thought of the executives who worked for his father. He could call one of them, but they wouldn’t do anything until his father gave orders.

Then he thought of Mark Kisiel, vice president of Falcon Drilling and a man Ben had always respected. He called Information, got Mark’s number and dialed, getting another recorded message. At the sound of the beep, Ben moved closer to the phone. “Mark, this is Ben. The woman messenger has been in a wreck. She isn’t badly injured, but she doesn’t belong here. Get my father to call. He knows the number.” Ben replaced the receiver and stared at the phone, finally deciding he couldn’t do anything else until he heard from his father or Mark.

Ben strode toward the double glass doors and stared at the yellow lights in the parking lot. The snow was still falling in the golden circles cast by the lamps, spreading in shiny, wet puddles on the slushy, salt-covered asphalt. He could tell them to contact his father about Jennifer and walk out now, leaving her in the care of the hospital and the police. Instead, he turned around and sat on a vinyl chair, staring at the snow while he waited, suspecting his father’s birthday last month had triggered this intrusion. Perhaps Weston was finally facing his own mortality and wanted to try again to bring his son back into the business. Bitterness and a coldness more chilling than the snow filled Ben. He closed his eyes and sat quietly waiting.

“Ben?”

Ben rose and crossed the room to Kyle who was marking something on a chart. “Dr. Hobson checked her, too,” Kyle said. “She has a mild concussion, no internal bleeding, no hemorrhaging. She’s bruised a rib, sprained her ankle. Beyond that, it’s minor cuts and bruises, and you did a nice job of tending her wounds. I want to keep her overnight for observation. In this storm, you can’t get out anyway.”

“I can go home in daylight the same way I got in. Put her in a room, and tomorrow I’ll charter a chopper to take us home.”

“That’ll be a big bill for a total stranger,” Kyle said, studying him more closely. Ben had known Kyle in college and when Ben had moved to the area, he had been surprised the first time he had broken a rib riding in a rodeo and had encountered Kyle at the hospital. Since then, when Ben was in Albuquerque, they occasionally had lunch together. Ben could count close friends on the fingers of one hand, but the orthopedic surgeon was one of them.

Ben shrugged. “I have to get back to the ranch tomorrow. My cattle will need hay dropped, so I can use the chopper before I send it back. When will her memory return?”

“I didn’t tell her—if it doesn’t return within two weeks, it may not return at all.” Kyle tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Where will you stay tonight?”

“I’ll get one of those lounge chairs in her room and I’ll stay with her.”

Curiosity burned in Kyle’s brown eyes, but he merely nodded.

“Kyle, I think my father sent her here,” Ben said quietly.

Kyle’s sandy brows raised in question. “I thought he’d quit coming after you. You know who she is?” he asked, annoyance creeping into his voice.

“No, I don’t, but she drifted in and out of consciousness when I first picked her up, and one time she tried to push me out of the way. She said she had to find Ben Falcon. That’s when I realized she didn’t remember everything because she didn’t recognize me. The next time she regained consciousness, she didn’t remember that much.”

“Damn. If she knew your name, he must have sent her. Call him and get him to pick her up.” Kyle slanted his head, curiosity back in his eyes. “Unless you want to keep her around for a while.”

“I did call him while you were checking her over. I couldn’t get through—his answering machine took my message—so I called one of his men and left a message. Tomorrow I should get a response.”

Kyle shook his head. “Sorry if you’re going another nine rounds with him. I’d think by now he would realize you have your own life.”

“My father can see things only one way,” Ben answered flatly. “Until I hear from him or her memory returns, I’ll stay with her.”

He received another curious look from Kyle. “You’ve had sprains before, so you know what to do—ice tonight and tomorrow. Then have her soak her foot in hot water a couple of times a day. Four or five days and her foot should be okay. Still have crutches?”

“Yeah. Will it be worse for her to tell her what I suspect?”

“No, it won’t. Go ahead. We’ll check on her through the night. If nothing changes, we’ll release her early in the morning.”

“Okay. Thanks, Kyle, for coming out here in this storm.”