Ambushed! Read online

  Cash watched his mother, seeing not the woman who’d been trying to ease her way back into their lives but one who, like the grizzly sow, was ready to fight to the death to protect her cub.

  He wasn’t sure what surprised him more. The fact that his mother had known about Jasmine or her apparent fear for him and need to protect him.

  “We need to keep Molly a secret until the fingerprint results come back,” Cash said. “If word got out, the press would have a field day.” Asa had somehow managed to keep Shelby’s return out of the papers, but hadn’t been able to stop this part of the state from talking about it. The Longhorn Café had been abuzz for weeks.

  “Trust me, I won’t breathe a word,” Shelby said, meeting his gaze. “And I think you know how good I am at keeping secrets.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “You have to bring Jasmine to dinner tomorrow night,” Shelby continued.

  “Molly,” Jasmine insisted.

  “Yes, Molly,” Shelby said, her smile anything but inviting. “You will come to dinner out at the ranch, won’t you?”

  It was clearly an order. “That would not be a good idea,” Cash said. It was bad enough that his mother knew about her. He didn’t need his whole family knowing. And then there was whatever was going on between his mother and Jasmine.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Shelby was saying. “Of course you’ll bring her. The ranch is the safest place for her. I will swear the family to secrecy.”

  Cash groaned. “Our family has enough secrets.”

  His mother shook her head as if he was wasting his time arguing with her. “You can’t leave Jasmine here alone and you’ve already promised to come to dinner. It isn’t as if you can keep her locked up in this house for weeks while you wait for the fingerprint results.”

  He realized she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Nor could he tell her in front of Jasmine that he had no intention of keeping her here for weeks. Just until he got the fingerprint results. Or until he knew on his own whom she really was.

  And then what?

  He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

  “Come out about six,” Shelby said, then gave Jasmine a forced smile and said she was looking forward to seeing her at dinner, before turning back to him. “Walk me to my car, will you, dear?”

  Shelby Ward McCall wasn’t the type of woman who needed a man to walk her anywhere.

  “Okay,” he said and shot a look at Jasmine. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Nice meeting you,” Molly said.

  “What was that about?” Cash asked Shelby the moment he closed the front door behind them.

  “You’re sure she’s Jasmine?” his mother asked, an edge to her voice that took him aback.

  “If I was sure, why would I send her fingerprints to the FBI?”

  “Cash…” Shelby gripped his arm, an urgency in her voice. “Don’t trust her.”

  He laughed. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were being one of those no-woman-is-good-enough-for-my-son mothers.” Except that she had happily welcomed both Cassidy and Regina into the family when Rourke and J.T. had brought them home.

  “If that woman in there is Jasmine, she’s dangerous,” Shelby said.

  He felt himself go cold inside just as he had earlier. “Why would you say that? If you know something, Mother—”

  She didn’t seem to notice that he’d called her Mother. “Don’t pretend with me. Whatever you once felt for that woman, don’t turn your back on her until you find out what she wants.”

  “This might surprise you, but I know what I’m doing.”

  She let go of his arm and gave him a tentative smile, worry in her eyes. “I’m sorry. But she fooled you once before. She’ll try again.” With that, she walked to her car with the stride of a woman half her age.

  Cash watched her go, filled with a sense of regret that he hadn’t known her all those years when she’d been pretending to be dead. She was a tough old broad, he thought with a smile.

  But how much did she know? He hated to think.

  Molly felt a chill the moment the front door closed behind Cash and his mother. The woman hated her. Molly had seen it in Shelby McCall’s expression, felt it in her handshake.

  “What have you gotten yourself into?” she whispered as she folded her arms to rub her shoulders, trying to fight off the icy dread that filled her. Being Molly Kilpatrick hadn’t been any picnic, but being Jasmine Wolfe was turning out to be even worse.

  What kind of trouble had Jasmine gotten herself into at the end? Something that had gotten her killed, Molly was pretty sure of that. Apparently, Jasmine had her share of enemies. And possible lovers. Unless she hadn’t slept with Kerrington either.

  She glanced toward the front door, wondering what Cash’s mother was telling him about her. Not her. Jasmine. Being Jasmine was becoming more of a pain than she ever could have imagined. And possibly more dangerous as well.

  The front door opened and Cash came back in. He frowned. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Just a little chilly.” Kind of like that reception I got from your mother.

  “Here.” He took a fleece jacket from the coat rack by the door, instead of her denim jacket. “It might be a little big but it’s warmer than yours. The house can be a bit drafty.”

  “Thanks.” She pulled on the soft fleece. The jacket was huge on her. He took one sleeve. She watched him roll it up, could feel his gaze on her face as he did.

  “Your mother seems nice,” she said.

  He stopped rolling the second sleeve to look at her. He must think she was a complete idiot not to notice his mother’s negative reaction to her. But he said nothing and after a moment, he finished rolling up the sleeve. “There. Warmer?”

  She nodded. “Were they close? Your mother and Jasmine?”

  “I had no idea my mother even knew you. You have no memory of her?” he said.

  Molly shook her head. He was referring to her as Jasmine again. Isn’t that what she’d hoped originally? That he and everyone else would think she was Jasmine?

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  Her stomach rumbled as if in answer.

  “Let’s get you fed before anyone else shows up at the door,” he said and led the way into the kitchen as if nothing were wrong.

  But Molly could see the change in him since his mother’s visit. He seemed even more wary of her—if that were possible. What had his mother said to him?

  Molly had hoped to gain his trust. But she realized there were some large key pieces of the Jasmine puzzle missing—just as if she really did have amnesia.

  Why wouldn’t he be suspicious of a woman who’d vanished into thin air and suddenly turned up on his doorstep, so to speak, seven years later?

  But she knew it was more than that. There were undercurrents here that she didn’t understand. Something to do with him and Jasmine. And his mother seemed to know about it.

  Molly could feel Cash pulling away from her and the irony was he seemed to be doing it not because he suspected she wasn’t Jasmine—but because he thought she was. “Are you sure I can’t help with dinner?”

  “Thanks but I’ve had it warming,” he said and motioned her to a chair at the table as he took a large casserole dish from the microwave.

  As he lifted the lid, she caught a whiff of dinner and everything but food was pushed from her mind. The casserole dish was filled with thick, juicy slices of pot roast surrounded by lightly braised carrots, potatoes and onions—and if that didn’t smell heavenly enough, he also retrieved warm rolls from the oven and a plate of real butter from the fridge.

  “Oh, that smells so wonderful.” She breathed in the scents as if she hadn’t eaten in days. It had been hours. At the moment, she didn’t care if he knew what she was up to or not. She didn’t care that everyone she’d met who’d known Jasmine besides Cash seemed to hate her. And what had been going on with Cash and Jasmine was still to be determined.

  The woman had been his fiancé
e. He’d put his life on hold since her disappearance. But there was more to the story. Much more, she suspected. She thought about what Kerrington had said and was reminded of that old adage: If you’ve never thought about murdering someone, you’ve never been in love.

  Cash handed her a large serving spoon. “Dig in,” he said, taking the chair across from her.

  She did, ladling the rich gravy over several luscious slices of pot roast, lightly browned small red potatoes, slivers of golden carrots and whole baby onions.

  “May I?” he asked as he buttered himself a roll and offered to do the same for her.

  “Please.” She took a bite of the pot roast and one of the small onions, closing her eyes as she let the amazing flavors fill her senses. So this was home cooking.

  “You like it?” he asked.

  She opened her eyes. “I love it.”

  He handed her the buttered roll and watched as she took a bite. She felt the melted butter dribble down her chin. She licked her lips, laughed again without thinking and reached for her napkin. Too late.

  He leaned across the table and touched his napkin to the edge of her mouth, then her chin. Her eyes locked with his. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Then he drew back, looking embarrassed.

  She wiped her mouth with her napkin, shaken. It had felt as if he were seeing her—not Jasmine. And for that instant, he’d looked at her with…desire—as if he could feel the chemistry bubbling between them and was as surprised about it as she was.

  She dropped her gaze to her plate. “You’re a good cook.” It was the only thing she could think to say.

  “Thank you.”

  He took a bite of his own meal and she did the same. They ate for a few minutes in silence. And she soon lost herself again in the food. She couldn’t remember a meal that had ever tasted so wonderful and told him so.

  “I’m happy to see you enjoying it,” he said smiling, but from his tone she knew she’d made another mistake, that he’d seen the card up her sleeve.

  She should have been worried. But the meal was too good and she was too hungry.

  “Tell me about Jasmine’s brother Bernard,” she said as she took the second buttered roll he offered her. Misdirection, a magician’s best friend. “What is Bernard like?” she asked, pretty sure if Cash didn’t like him, she wouldn’t either.

  “Spoiled, arrogant, superior.” Cash looked up at her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, I appreciate your honesty,” she said quickly.

  Cash looked down at his plate, took a bite, chewed, swallowed, then said, “I suppose you should know. Your brother thinks I had something to do with your disappearance.” His eyes locked with hers. “As a matter of fact, he thinks I killed you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Antelope Flats, Montana

  The moment Kerrington got back to his room at the Lariat Motel, he dialed Bernard’s cell-phone number. Not that Bernard had given it to him. The two hadn’t talked in years. They didn’t even like each other anymore. Maybe they never had. He’d had to copy the number from his caller ID before he left Georgia.

  “Jasmine is alive,” he said after the beep to leave a message.

  “You hear me? Jasmine is alive. Call me.” He left his cell-phone number and disconected, wishing he’d called from the motel land line so he could have at least slammed down the receiver. He wanted to smash something. Jasmine was alive and staying with the sheriff. How in the hell? He couldn’t imagine this being any worse.

  On top of that, he was trapped in a motel room that was smaller than his bathroom in Atlanta. What was he going to do? Just sit around and wait for Jasmine to remember?

  He wished Bernard would call him back. He was so desperate to talk to someone that he’d even take Sandra. He’d never liked being alone. If Sandra were here, he would have made a joke about the antelope print hanging on the wall and possibly even gotten a smile out of her.

  Not that he was in the mood to joke. Nor would Sandra have been thrilled about this motel or staying in Antelope Flats. And she would have hit the roof when she heard that Jasmine was alive. He counted his blessings that she was in Atlanta. Nothing could get Sandra out here. Not after growing up in the West.

  It was Jasmine’s fault that he’d ever even met Sandra, let alone married her. He’d only started dating Jasmine’s roommate to make her jealous. Instead, he’d gotten Sandra pregnant and ruined everything with Jasmine.

  He groaned at his own stupidity, opened his cell phone and dialed his home number. The phone rang and rang. Either Sandra wasn’t there or she wasn’t picking up. Maybe she hadn’t returned home, didn’t even know he’d left.

  He swore as he snapped the phone shut. He had worse problems than Sandra, he thought, rubbing his neck. Jasmine had looked right at him and hadn’t known him. Or at least pretended she hadn’t.

  The sheriff had said she couldn’t remember anything. What if it wasn’t an act? He knew amnesia was rare, but he supposed…

  No, this was Jasmine. Wasn’t it just like her to return from the dead and pretend she didn’t know any of them, jerk their chains for a while and then go in for the kill?

  He couldn’t stay in this motel room waiting for Bernard to call or he’d go crazy. What he wanted to do was go back to the sheriff’s house and confront Jasmine without the cop being there, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  Jasmine was no fool. She knew exactly what she was doing by staying with the sheriff—and worse, McCall believed her act. What a fool.

  Kerrington grabbed up the motel-room key and slammed out of the room, got into the SUV he’d rented and started the engine, belatedly realizing he didn’t have any idea where he was going. It wasn’t like there was anything to do in this town. Billings was hours away. He was stuck here.

  He remembered a bar on his way in. The Mello Dee. He drove to the edge of town, just outside the city limits, and pulled under the flashing neon. The place needed a good coat of paint among other things. A small hand-printed sign said it was under new ownership. He didn’t care, just as long as it was open and it served strong mixed drinks.

  As he got out, he noticed there were only two other cars in the lot. A country song twanged on the jukebox as he opened the door. A couple was playing pool at one end of the large open room. Several older guys were sitting at the far end of a long, scarred wooden bar.

  Everyone turned to look at him as he took a stool at the opposite end of the bar from the old guys. The patrons lost interest in him quickly and went back to what they were doing. The bartender, a woman with a head of spiky dyed red hair, was bent over the sink washing glasses.

  The moment the woman looked over at him, Kerrington realized he’d just made a horrible mistake.

  CASH SAW FEAR FLICKER in her green eyes before Molly said, “Bernard thinks you were responsible for Jasmine disappearing? That’s ridiculous.” She said it with almost enough conviction that Cash believed she meant it. “You loved her. You wouldn’t have hurt her. Anyway, if her brother knew you, he’d know you aren’t that kind of man.”

  Cash had to smile. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. You almost sound as if you’ve known me longer than a few hours.”

  “I’m a pretty good judge of character,” she said. “Anyway, you had no reason to hurt her.”

  He didn’t correct her. Instead, he slid the pot roast closer to her. “Well, with you alive, I guess that proves I’m innocent at least of killing you. But it remains to be seen whether or not I had something to do with your disappearance. Too bad you can’t remember that day.”

  She helped herself to seconds while he buttered her another roll and one for himself—and said nothing.

  There was no way Jasmine would have eaten even a small plate of pot roast, let alone two, and there was no way she’d have even touched a roll dripping with butter. Jasmine had been off bread long before the low-carb craze.

  He felt the prick of a memory, Jasmine making a scene at a café when serv
ed iceberg lettuce. He tried to swallow down the bad taste the memory left in his mouth. He’d forgotten how much he’d disliked eating with her because she always picked at her food and complained.

  So how could this woman who looked so much like Jasmine actually be her? He told himself that losing her identity, her money, possibly almost her life and being forced to live a hand-to-mouth existence could change a person. But Jasmine Wolfe?

  He couldn’t see her changing even if she were homeless and starving. He had a flash of Jasmine digging in a garbage can saying, “Iceberg lettuce? You have to be joking. I’d rather starve.”

  He studied the woman across the table from him. Was it possible that the Jasmine he’d known and this woman really were the same person?

  Jasmine had been one hell of an actress, playing any role she thought would get her what she wanted. But she wasn’t this good.

  He watched her clean her plate as if she’d never tasted anything so good. Watching her eat with such relish, such passion, he started to think of her as Molly—the last thing he wanted to do. “Would you like a glass of milk?”

  She seemed surprised, as if she’d been lost in the meal. She smiled and nodded. “That would be nice.”

  Jasmine wouldn’t touch milk, he thought as he went into the kitchen to the fridge. He brought back a tall glass of whole milk—not even two percent—and watched her chug half of it then smile and lick her lips. “Thank you. That was delicious.”

  He nodded. If she was Jasmine, he liked the changes, he thought, then realized he’d thought if. What if she wasn’t Jasmine? He wanted her to be Jasmine even more desperately than he had earlier. He wanted her to be alive. Needed her to be alive. And he would have gladly taken this Jasmine over the last one.

  But more and more, he realized he found himself thinking of her as Molly. Either way, his instincts warned him that it would be a mistake to misjudge this woman, whomever she was, but especially if she was Jasmine, didn’t really have amnesia at all and had come back for blood. His.