The Deputy's Lost and Found / Her Second Chance Cop: The Deputy's Lost and Found / Her Second Chance Cop

Carefully extricating her hand from his, she moved a step forward and leaned against the white fence. The afternoon was warm and a southwesterly breeze ruffled her black hair against her shoulders. The wind carried the scent of pine and juniper and though pleasant, the smells seemed unusual to her. But not nearly so much as the strong reaction she was having to Brady Donovan.

“It’s very beautiful here,” she went on nervously. “Have you always lived here in this valley?”

“Always,” he answered. “All of us six children were born here. My paternal grandparents came from Ireland and settled for a while in Kentucky. That’s where my father was born before they moved out here and built the ranch in 1968.”

“Are your grandparents still living?”

“My grandmother Kate lives with us. She’s eighty-four now and still going strong. My grandfather Arthur died of a stroke nine years ago. He was quite a bit older than Kate. And mean as hell when his temper was riled. But he was a wonderful man.”

It was easy to pick up the fondness in Brady Donovan’s voice and Lass didn’t have to ask whether he was close to his family. Obviously they were a close-knit bunch. And that notion could only make her wonder about herself. Did she have sisters, brothers or both? Was she carrying a family in her heart? One her mind had forgotten?

She was straining to remember the slightest image from her past when a bay mare and brown colt ambled near. Gripping the top rail of the fence, Lass was once again struck with an overload of emotions.

“Oh, what a perfect little filly! She’s all brown. Not a speck of white on her!”

Brady smiled fondly at the curious filly drawing near to them. “My sister Dallas calls her Brownie. Of course, that’s not her real name. Dad makes sure all of the horses’ names go back to their dams and sires. But we usually give them nicknames.”

Brownie stuck her nose toward Lass’s hand and as she touched the filly’s velvety nose, tears blurred her eyes, then fell like watery diamonds onto her cheeks.

Seeing them, Brady softly exclaimed, “Why, Lass! You’re crying!”

Instantly, her face blushing with embarrassment, Lass dashed away the emotional tears. “I’m okay,” she said with a sniff. “Just feeling a bit … sentimental.”

Bending her head, she wiped at the moisture that continued in spite of her effort to gather herself together. Oh, God, what was wrong with her? she wondered. Why would a brown filly with big, sweet eyes reduce her to tears? She was losing it!

Without warning, his arm came around her shoulder and its steadying strength allowed her to lift her head and look at him. The concern on his face touched her, made her long to lay her cheek upon his broad chest and weep until she was too weak to be frightened by the past or worried about the future.

“Have you remembered something, Lass? Is it something about the horses?”

With a brief shake of her head, she forced herself to turn her gaze back on the filly. At the most, the baby horse was probably six months old and would no doubt be weaned in the near future. Her body was long, her tall legs gangly. She was bred for speed and in a couple of years those legs would stretch into a gallop so fast they would appear as little more than a blur.

How did she instinctively know all these things? How did she know about a horse’s conformation? Without even thinking she could point out the animal’s cannon bone, or hock or withers or any other body part.

“I … don’t know, Brady. Something about the horses … When I look at them—especially this brown filly—I feel happy and sad all at the same time. It doesn’t make sense. But somehow I’m certain that I know how to ride and ride well.”

“Well, that’s good news,” he said with gentle humor. “That means you’re going to fit right in with my family. And while you’re here on the ranch you can ride to your heart’s content.”

She nodded and he squeezed her shoulders.

“We’d better get on to the house,” he suggested. “I don’t want you to overdo on your first day out of the hospital.”

Embarrassed that she’d gotten so inexplicably weepy, she straightened her spine and gave him a grateful, albeit wobbly, smile.

“Thank you, Brady, for stopping and letting me have a few minutes with the horses,” she said softly. “And for … everything you’re doing for me.”

Without warning, his hand lifted to her face and her heart jumped into a rapid thud as his forefinger slowly, gently traced the line of her cheekbone.

“I don’t want you to keep thanking me, Lass. I have my own selfish reasons for giving you a temporary home.”

Instead of the wild race it had been on, her heart geared itself to a near stop.

“Oh.” She unconsciously moistened her lips. “Um … what reasons are you talking about? Making your job easier?”

A lopsided smile twisted his lips. “My job actually has little to do with inviting you to the Diamond D. I like your company. It’s that plain and simple. And I guess you could call me a naughty boy for taking advantage of your homeless situation.”

She’d not expected anything like this to come from the deputy’s mouth and for a moment she was too stunned to make any sort of reply. “Well,” she finally whispered, then cleared her throat and tried again, “I have to admire your honesty.”

Chuckling lowly, he squeezed her shoulder. “Sorry, Lass. I’m not very good at being subtle, I guess. But don’t worry, I promise not to take any more advantages. Unless you … invite me to,” he added with a sinful little grin.

Feeling flattered and naive all at once, she drew in a deep breath. “Brady, I—”

Keep everything light, Lass. This lawman is just enjoying a little flirtation with you. That’s all.

After her long pause, he prompted, “You what?”

Plastering a playful smile on her face, she said, “I was just going to say that you probably won’t enjoy my company for long. Without a memory, I’m pretty boring.”

His eyes softened. Or did she just imagine the elusive change in the green depths?

“Let me be the judge of that,” he said, then before she could possibly decide how to respond, he turned her toward the waiting truck. “Right now, we’d better get back on the road.”

They traveled two more miles before Brady finally stopped the truck in front of a massive two-story house built of native rock and trimmed with rough cedar. Arched windows adorned the front and overlooked a deep green lawn shaded by tall pines.

A brick walkway led to a small portico covering the front entrance. At the double wooden doors fitted with brass, Brady didn’t bother knocking. He opened one and gestured for her to precede him over the threshold and into a long foyer filled with potted plants and lined with a selection of wooden, straight-backed chairs.

Instantly Lass caught the scent of lemon wax and the distant sound of piano music.

“That’s Grandma Kate pounding the ivories,” Brady informed her as they stepped into a long, formal living room.

As they walked forward, Lass caught glimpses of antique furniture covered in rich colored brocade, elaborate window coverings and expensive paintings. The room looked stiff and lonely.

“Is your family musical?” she asked, while trying not to feel conspicuous in her mussed shirt and blue jeans.

Lass would’ve liked to have purchased something clean to change into before she left the town of Ruidoso, but without money or credit cards, she was hardly in a position to buy anything. And she would have bitten off her tongue before she would’ve asked Brady for financial aid. He was already bending over backward to help her.

In a flirtatious way, he’d called it taking advantage, but now that she’d had a couple of miles and a few minutes to think about it, she realized he’d only been trying to make her feel as though she wasn’t going to be a burden on him, or anyone. There hadn’t been anything personal about the look in his eyes or the way he’d touched her. He probably treated all women in that same familiar way and the best thing she could do was put the moment out of her mind.

“Only Grandma and my sister Dallas are the musical ones in the family. I can’t tell one note from the other,” he answered. With his hand at her back, he guided her through an arched opening and into a long hallway. “The family room is right down here. That’s where everybody relaxes and gets together when they’re not working. There and the kitchen. Forget the front parlor. That’s only used for meeting with people we don’t like.”

Lass couldn’t help but laugh. “Then I’m glad your family didn’t meet me there.”

After walking several feet down the carpeted corridor, Brady ushered her through an open doorway to their right. The family room, as he’d called it, was a long space, comfortably furnished with two couches and several armchairs, a large television set and stereo equipment, one whole wall of books and wide paned windows that overlooked a ridge of desert mountains. At the far end, a tall woman with graying chestnut hair sat playing an upright piano. The instrument looked as though it had to be near a hundred years old, but the woman pressing the keys appeared surprisingly vital for her age.

At the moment she was playing a boisterous waltz that went a long way in lifting Lass’s drooping spirits.

“Grandma! Stop that confounded noise and come meet Lass!” Brady yelled loud enough to be heard above the piano.

Abruptly, the woman lifted her fingers from the keys and turned with a frown. “What? Oh, Brady, it’s you.”