“I wasn’t there. My sons were riding near and they waved at you when they saw you. You waved back but your horse shied at something and you fell to the ground.”
He appeared thoughtful for a few seconds. “That boy must be your stepson—that is unless you married at ten.”
She laughed. “As a matter of fact, he’s twelve and I was only ten when he was born. About four years ago his mother died giving birth to a baby who also died. I was a mail-order bride who came to marry his father and take care of Davie, his ten-year-old sister, and seven-year-old brother.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Almost three years. My husband died a month ago.”
He pulled a face. “So you’re stuck with three step-kids and no husband.”
That sent anger charging through her. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Craig. I love the children as if they were my own. I’m lucky to have them as my family.”
He held up a hand. “Sorry, no offense intended. I suspect I don’t know anything about children.”
Mollified she exhaled a calming breath. “No offense taken. Yours is a common misconception, but without amnesia as an excuse.”
“How are you managing the ranch with three children to look after and no husband?”
She studied her work-roughened hands. “Now that my husband, our ranch hands, and half our cattle are gone, well… I won’t deny we’re having a difficult struggle.”
“I understand your husband has passed but how’d you lose the ranch hands and cattle?”
She hesitated then decided she might as well tell him the whole story. She explained about the cattle being rustled, the hands killed, and Ike being shot.
A frown marred Mr. Craig’s handsome face. “I’m sorry you’ve faced such misfortune. I understand replacing the cattle would be expensive but can’t you hire more ranch hands?”
“I could if any would work for me. Some are superstitious about working for a woman. Frankly, I think someone is scaring them off from hiring on here.”
“That doesn’t sound good. I hope you’re not in danger.” He set his empty bowl on the tray.
“I hope so as well, but I believe our danger is financial rather than physical. A wealthy neighbor is determined to acquire this ranch.” She moved the tray and helped him settle back on the pillows.
“Wish I could remember who I am. Maybe I’d know something or someone that would help you.”
She stared at him a moment wondering if he would help her when he recalled the money in his saddlebags. Dashing away the thought, she lowered the lamp but left it burning softly.
“Don’t try to force your memory or worry about regaining it. Things will sort themselves gradually. In the meantime, rest and concentrate on healing. I’ll sleep in the next room with my daughter, Susie. Call me if you need anything.”
She carried the tray to the kitchen and tidied up the things she’d used to prepare the soup. For a few seconds when Mr. Craig woke and had no memory, she’d been tempted to tell him he had come here to help her family. He wouldn’t know the difference until he’d recovered from the amnesia, but she simply couldn’t lie—even temporarily. What kind of example would that be for the children?
With a deep sigh, she turned out the kitchen lamp and went toward the bedroom. She needed no light to walk through the house. Susie had to have a lamp left on low all night since her father had been shot or she had nightmares.
Charlotte slipped off her dress and petticoat. She’d forgotten to get her gown and robe from the bedroom. Wearing her shift, she crawled into bed with her daughter.
Susie turned and snuggled up to her. “I’m glad you’re sleeping with me, Mama. Is that man scary or a good person?”
She held her daughter’s hand. “He’s not scary but I don’t know how good he is. He lost his memory and doesn’t know who he is or where he’s from or where he was going. One thing, though, he’s too injured to even get out of bed.”
“How did he lose his memory?”
“Sometimes when people are hurt badly or they see something so scary their mind can’t cope then their mind goes blank. They remember how to eat and breathe and walk, things like that which are automatic, but they can’t remember their name or their family or anything about their life. It’s called having amnesia and must be frightening.”
“That man has a-nees-ya?”
“Amnesia.” She spoke the word slowly so her daughter would understand. “Probably it won’t last long, maybe only a few days.”
“Do you think he could be one of those who shot Papa?”
“No, I’m certain he had nothing to do with Papa’s being hurt. You’ll be safe all night, dear. Good night, dearg.”
How sad when a little girl was afraid to go to sleep. Charlotte wished the men who had caused so much havoc in her life would be captured. At least then maybe her daughter could sleep without fear.
Chapter Nine
After his hostess left, Bret fought to remember anything. His mind was blank. No, not entirely blank—he had a vague recollection of riding a horse and leading one. And of a big house. Where was the house and who lived there?
Maybe it was his house. Could he have a wife and children somewhere? Surely he wouldn’t forget them if he had. Saddlebags! Mrs. Dunn had mentioned saddlebags. If he could look through them perhaps he’d remember something.
He slept fitfully off and on through the night. When dawn crept through the window he
