Return 0f The Cowgirl (The Gallaghers 0f Montana Book 5) Read online

  “You’re wrong. You have to be wrong.”

  Mitch opened her passport and pointed out the things that made him suspect it was phony—besides the fact that he knew she was Glenna Gallagher. Then he did the same with the National ID card.

  She appeared stunned, staring down at the paperwork in her hands. “These are not...not authentic?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Then...who am I?”

  Chapter Three

  Mitch stared at her as if she were crazy. Perhaps she was. Her world, such as it was, was rapidly crumbling. Everything she knew about herself since the accident was, apparently, a lie. And she still didn’t know who she was hiding from. Only that it was necessary to hide. Was Mitch right and she’d been running from a charge of embezzlement all this time?

  “Who are you? What the hell does that mean? Don’t you know?”

  She’d trusted him this far. And he had saved her from those men, who clearly meant her harm, whoever they were. Maybe she really was Glenna Gallagher. She hadn’t known she spoke English. And her hair wasn’t naturally brown. She knew that for a fact. “No, I don’t. I don’t remember anything before I woke up in a hospital near Zapala a few weeks ago.”

  “You have amnesia? Amnesia? You’ve got to be fu—freaking kidding me.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not. I woke up in a small hospital in Argentina. I was told I’d been in a bus crash.” And that she’d lost her baby. A baby she hadn’t known she was carrying. Although, as she had been at least five months along, maybe a bit more, she must have known it before she suffered the amnesia. “I had my backpack with a few clothes, my passport, and my DNI card in it. What money I had was in a hidden pocket of my jeans.”

  “You woke up speaking Spanish?”

  “That’s what everyone spoke. I understood it and had no reason to speak another language.”

  “Amnesia,” he muttered in a disgusted tone. “Goddamn amnesia.”

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “I don’t know.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “It would explain a lot of things I’ve been wondering about. Your hair—”

  “I put a brown rinse on it. It’s red. Like the woman in the picture.”

  “Why? If you thought you were Rosalie Torres and everything was on the up and up, why did you color your hair and why did you continue moving around? Why go to Chile, for that matter?”

  If he didn’t believe she had amnesia he sure as hell wouldn’t believe the rest of it. “Never mind that. You answer some questions for me. Why should I believe I’m this Glenna person?”

  He took his phone from her and keyed in something. A picture came up and he magged it up and handed the phone to her. “That’s your brother Dylan with his horses at the Gallagher ranch. The local paper—the Copper Mountain Courier—did a spread on him and his operation some time ago.”

  She studied the picture. He was a nice-looking man. A cowboy with dark hair and an engaging grin. And she didn’t recognize a thing about him. Handing the phone back, she shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  Mitch pulled up several more pictures, taken at different events in Marietta, Montana. The Christmas ball, various charity events, the Copper Mountain Rodeo—he pulled them all up on the Internet. He showed her all four of her supposed brothers. Not a glimmer of recognition pierced the veil in her mind.

  The veil that sharply divided the time before the accident and afterward. She remembered almost nothing of her life before. Nothing but an occasional flash or a fragment of a memory. Nothing except fear and the knowledge that she was being hunted. Even so she couldn’t be completely certain of that, only that the fear was so strong she’d acted on that feeling. And judging by the fact that if it weren’t for this man sitting beside her she’d have been kidnapped, she’d been right.

  She was on the run. Running for her life?

  “Who are you calling?” Glenna asked Mitch.

  “Your brother Dylan. We’ll see if he can convince you of your real identity.”

  “You believe I have amnesia?”

  He studied her for a long moment, his fingers hovering over the phone. “If you don’t then you’re a damn good actress.”

  She didn’t answer. Mitch finished punching in the number.

  “I found her,” he said, and immediately lost the call. He tried texting but he couldn’t get that to go through either. “Great. Fucking great,” he muttered.

  “Come on,” he said to Glenna. “I need to be someplace with better reception.” They walked around the square and the adjacent streets until he found a café with free Wi-Fi. “This should do it.”

  This time it rang through and Dylan answered immediately. “Where are you? I tried to call you back but I couldn’t get it to go through. Where’s Glenna? I want to talk to her.”

  “First you need to listen to me. We’ve got a problem.”

  “What kind of a problem? Is Glenna hurt?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What the hell does that mean? I swear to God, Hardeman, if you—”

  Mitch cut him off. The sooner he told him what he thought, the better. “I’m convinced she’s Glenna, but she isn’t.” He glanced at her, nervously biting her lip.

  “Come again?”

  “The woman I believe is your sister has amnesia.”

  There was a long silence. “You’re shitting me,” Dylan Gallagher said flatly.

  “Yeah, I know how it sounds. It’s a long story and I’ll fill you in on it later, but in the meantime I’d like you to talk with her and see if that helps her remember something. So far she can’t recall a thing before she was in a bus accident a few weeks ago. She doesn’t know whether to believe me or not. I had a hell of a time getting this far with her. If you recognize her voice that would help, too.” He handed her the phone.

  “Hello,” she said hesitantly. “Who am I speaking to?” She was quiet a moment, then said, “You’re the rancher. The others are doctors. According to Mitch.” Another pause.

  Mitch wished he’d put it on speakerphone but he was afraid their voices might not be as clear or easily recognized. He didn’t know if Dylan recognized her, but it was pretty damn obvious she didn’t recognize him.

  “No. I’m sorry. None of that sounds familiar.” She handed Mitch the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

  He took it back. “Yeah,” he said grimly. “She didn’t recognize your voice.”

  “She didn’t know anything I told her. But it’s Glenna. It’s her voice.”

  Glenna got up, motioning to the back of the restaurant. She probably just wanted to use the restroom, but given what happened earlier he wasn’t about to let her out of his sight. He followed, still talking to Dylan.

  “Does she have any scars, distinguishing characteristics? Something hidden, that I can’t see? I’m not sure she’s buying what I’m telling her.”

  “She has freckles.”

  “So do lots of people.”

  “Her hair is a really pretty shade of dark red.”

  “It’s brown right now. Tell me something that’s hidden.”

  “She doesn’t have any birthmarks. Maybe—Wait, I’ve got it. High up on her right leg she has a scar from a barbed wire fence.”

  “Ouch. How did she get that?”

  “We were about twelve and thirteen. We went riding, bareback. Glenna wore shorts. She took a fall and ran into a barbed wire fence. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Riding bareback in shorts?”

  “We were young and not very bright.”

  Mitch gave a crack of laughter. “Okay, I’ll try that. Let me call you back later when I’m not loitering by the women’s restroom. I’m getting funny looks and besides, the reception is spotty where I’m standing.”

  “I don’t suppose we could video chat? It might help her to see me. Or my brothers.”

  “One, I don’t have the app on my phone. Two, the reception isn’t good enough here. Three, I doubt she’d go for it. She’s pretty skittish.�
� He frowned and rubbed his nose. “But once I can get her to my hotel I’ll convince her to try and we’ll use my computer.”

  “Damn it. Okay. When should I expect your call?”

  “Not for a while. First, I need to convince her who she is and then, when we’ve had a chance to figure out our next move, I’ll call. There’s more to the story,” he said, thinking of her would-be kidnappers. “I’ll text you first to see if you can talk.”

  “All right.”

  Mitch could tell he wasn’t happy but the last thing he needed was to be dealing with finding good reception to call the States. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”

  “You’d better. Tell Glenna we miss her and we love her.”

  “Will do.” He hung up and knocked on the bathroom door. “Glenna?”

  “I’m Rosalie and I’m busy.”

  “Do you have a scar on your right leg?”

  She yanked open the door and glared at him. “What?”

  “Dylan says you have a scar from a barbed wire fence, high up on your right leg.”

  She rolled her eyes and shut the door in his face. A minute or so later she reopened the door. Her expression was odd. A mixture of emotions, all battling for dominance.

  “Well?”

  “I have a scar. I don’t know what it’s from.”

  “Is it where Dylan said it was?”

  “Yes. But it could still be a coincidence.”

  “Unlikely. Dylan said he recognized your voice.” She still looked unsure. “Do you want me to look at it? I’ve seen barbed wire scars before.”

  “You just want to look at my legs.”

  Mitch laughed. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ve seen legs before. Your virtue is safe with me. You’re not my type.”

  The hell she’s not. She’s young, beautiful and smart enough to evade the Villareals’ men for weeks. She’s a goddamn damsel in distress. But her luck could be coming to an end. In fact, it might have ended today if I hadn’t managed to stop the snatch. She’s exactly the kind of woman who could get me into real trouble.

  “Well?” she asked sharply.

  Mitch realized she’d pulled up her dress on one side, high enough to show the scar. He stared at the scar, doing his best not to run his gaze over the rest of her very shapely leg, and failing.

  “Looks like barbed wire to me.”

  She’s a job.

  Right. Keep telling yourself that.

  Chapter Four

  They left the café and started walking, heading in the general direction of her hostel, though she didn’t tell Mitch that.

  “What now?” Mitch asked. “Is it sinking in that you really are Glenna Gallagher?”

  Sort of. The scar had shaken her, as well as going a long way toward convincing her of the truth of Mitch’s claim that she was Glenna. She’d felt a twinge of—not recognition, but something—when she talked to Dylan. He’d certainly talked to her as if she were his sister. He’d sounded sincere, and disappointed, though trying not to be, that she didn’t remember him. It still felt odd to be talking in English when she hadn’t even known she spoke it until a few hours ago.

  A lot had happened since a ridiculously hot man had plopped himself down at her table early that morning and begun spinning an impossible story. A story that seems more and more likely to be true.

  She looked at Mitch. Should she trust him? He seemed determined to hang around. Honestly, though she’d tried to get rid of him, the kidnapping attempt made her grateful for his company. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She sucked in a breath. “What do you suggest we do now?”

  “I think we should get out of here. The city and the country. I’d like to take you back to Marietta. Will you let me?”

  “If I had the money I’d already be out of South America. Aside from that, even if I had money, how am I supposed to get into the United States? According to you, my passport is fake and not very good.”

  “Are you sure your real one is gone? Maybe you hid it somewhere.”

  “I don’t know where.” She patted her backpack. “Everything I have is in this backpack, and there’s damn little of it.”

  “Can I look at your backpack? Maybe it’s in there and you don’t know it.”

  “Like a secret compartment?” she asked skeptically.

  “Exactly.” When she remained silent he said, “Is there anything I can do to prove to you I don’t mean you any harm? That all I want is to take you back to your family?”

  Oh, hell. If she refused he’d just follow her and right now she didn’t feel up to evading him. Her throat hurt, her knees were raw and painful, and she had a mother of a headache. She stopped walking. “All right.”

  “All right, what? What does that mean?”

  “I’ll let you look at my backpack and we can discuss what to do. But first I need a farmacia.”

  “We can still go to a clinic. I noticed your knees were bloody when you showed me your scar.” He raised a hand and very gently touched her throat. She flinched away. “That has to hurt like hell.”

  “It does,” she snapped. “Which is another reason I need a farmacia.”

  “Or a clinic,” Mitch repeated.

  “Farmacia,” she said firmly.

  They started walking again. “How much money do you have?” Mitch asked.

  “Very little.” Barely enough to pay for the cheapest hostel she could find. “Not enough to buy an airplane ticket.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Your brothers will take care of tickets.”

  “It doesn’t feel right, taking money from people I don’t know.”

  “But they know you. Dylan said to tell you they love you and miss you.”

  She wished she could remember. It would be nice to have a family. She turned onto a narrow street lined with cobblestones. The buildings and houses had been getting progressively shabbier and more neglected the longer they walked. The hostel she’d found wasn’t a big step up from a hovel, but it was cheap and that was her main concern.

  “This is where you’re staying?” Mitch eyed it with distaste.

  “Yes.” She raised her chin and met his eyes with a challenge in hers. “I can’t afford a more expensive place. It’s hard to find temporary work, especially for only a week or two.” Work that didn’t involve selling her body, anyway.

  After stopping at the pharmacy for bandages and antiseptic ointment—which Mitch had to fight her to pay for, they headed for her hostel. Mitch followed Glenna to her room: a bunk in the co-ed dormitory of the Casa En La Colina hostel. The House on the Hill was better on the inside than it looked on the outside, thank God. She was clearly low on funds, but she’d been traveling around South America for weeks now, so that wasn’t a big surprise. Another point in favor of her not being a thief. If she’d had the money she’d supposedly embezzled, she sure as hell wouldn’t stay in a place like this.

  No, if the Villareals wanted her, and he had to think they did, then they wanted her for another reason. But what? Glenna didn’t know. Hell, she didn’t know her name, much less why she was hiding from the Villareals. Or, as unlikely as it seemed, hiding from someone else. Maybe if they talked about it something would come back to her.

  The dorm room was empty except for the two of them. Glenna sat on the bed, told him to have a seat and dumped the contents of the backpack onto the bed. “I leave my clothes and a few toiletries here but the rest I carry with me. Not that there’s much.”

  Mitch sorted through the items on the bed. Pitifully little. Two fake IDs, a hairbrush, a small spiral notebook and pen, a candy bar that had seen better days and a local paper with jobs wanted ads. “No wallet?” he asked. “Where’s your money?”

  “In a pouch I wear around my waist. Or in an inside pocket of my jeans when I wear them. Otherwise there’s a high chance it will get stolen.”

  Mitch inspected the bag carefully. Opened every pouch. Checked the stitching for irregularities. He hit pay dirt on the inside bottom of the main compartment. He pulled out
his pocketknife and carefully began to pick apart the seam.

  “Remember, it’s the only one I have. Are you going to sew it back together when you finish?”

  He shot her a look. “I can’t sew. I’ll buy some glue. Better yet, I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “I don’t want your charity.”

  “It’s not from me. It’s from your family.”

  “Same thing.”

  He stopped picking at the stitching and looked at her. Her mouth—damn, a mouth made for kissing—had a stubborn set to it. No fucking way was this woman a thief. Mitch was intimately acquainted with more than one dishonest woman. Rosalie Torres/Glenna Gallagher didn’t fit the mold. He tried to soften his tone.

  “It’s not charity. Your family loves you and wants to help you. They want you to come to Marietta.” She pouted. A damn sexy pout. Shit, stop thinking about her mouth, you moron. She’s a job.

  “It’s charity, whatever way you look at it. I pay my own way.”

  “I can respect that. But you don’t have any money, unless you’ve got some stashed in this backpack. Looks to me like you have a choice. Accept the help and get out of the country, or stay in Chile and wait for someone to try to snatch you again. It’s up to you.” He left that for her to think about and went back to his task.

  After a long pause she started talking again. “I’m paying them back.”

  “Take that up with your family when you get there.” He had a feeling there’d be a fight about that, but that was for the Gallaghers to work out between them.

  One of her roommates came in just then and after a brief discussion in Spanish with Glenna, he gathered together clothes and a towel and left for the common bathroom. As soon as he was out of the room Mitch said, “We won’t be able to catch a flight tonight. First we have to either find your real passport or go to the embassy and get you a new one. In the meantime, let’s go to my hotel. It’s a lot more comfortable than this place.”

  “You go. I’ll stay here until you’ve worked out something definite.”

  “That’s not happening,” he said flatly. “Are you forgetting about your friends from this morning? Those two fine, upstanding citizens the Villareals sent after you? You’re a sitting duck here by yourself.”