Her Secret Past Read online

  “I’m not running away.” She tried not to sound too defensive. “It is getting late. Lottie may be worried. She might send someone to look for me.”

  “And God forbid they should find you with me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JAMES BIRDSONG WAS one of only two attorneys-at-law listed in the Magnolia Bend telephone directory. The other was Darnell Henry, the Tremain family lawyer, but Amy didn’t think it a good idea to seek his advice on such a personal matter.

  James had agreed to see her late that afternoon, and after having spent three days at Amberly going through photo albums and family heirlooms—none of which had elicited even a glimmer of memory—and three nights where the tension remained so thick around the dinner table that she could have cut it with a knife, Amy welcomed the opportunity to get out of the house and drive into town.

  She hadn’t seen Con since that first night, even though she’d taken nightly walks down to the river, once with Jasmine and twice with Mena. The bridge was the one place that seemed to stir something inside her, and Amy told herself she wasn’t going there so much to look for Con as to search for memories. But it was hard to say which pull was stronger.

  All this and more rolled through Amy’s head as she pulled into a parking space in front of the Chop-powah County Courthouse. James Birdsong’s office was located across the street in a single-story brick building with an old-fashioned shingle hanging from the awning over the door. An attractive brunette greeted Amy in the reception area and ushered her into the inner office. James rose, dismissing the receptionist with a curt nod, then turned his full attention on Amy.

  “Amber! My God, it really is you. I still can’t believe it!” He came around the desk and took her hand, squeezing it warmly in both of his as his eager gaze moved over her features.

  In his late twenties, he was a tall, wiry man with a receding hairline, a hesitant smile and truly beautiful gray eyes that were magnified by wire-rim glasses. Those gray eyes glinted with admiration as he stared down at her. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.” Amy smiled, trying to alleviate the uneasiness his familiarity caused her. “I’m afraid there’s one big change, though.”

  He sobered. “Right. The amnesia thing.” Moving around his desk to sit, he motioned her to a comfortable, leather chair.

  “You know about it, then.” Amy settled herself in the chair.

  “News travels fast in a small town. You can’t keep anything a secret.”

  Except a marriage, she thought. Apparently, no one knew about her and Con’s elopement.

  James scratched his head. “To think you’ve been alive all these years, and none of us knew. It’s hard to believe.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Amy agreed.

  “This must be especially difficult for you, meeting people who knew you so well, but of whom you have no recollection.” His smile turned wry. “Take our situation, for instance. Here I am talking to you as if we’re old friends, which we are, but you don’t remember a thing about our past, do you?”

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

  He looked oddly disappointed by her answer. “When you called earlier, I was rather hoping it was because…” He trailed off, as if unwilling to finish his thought. Then, clearing his throat, he sat back in his chair and studied her thoughtfully. “I don’t mind telling you, I was surprised to hear from you. Delighted, but surprised. Darnell Henry has always represented both the Tremains and the Witherspoons.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ve met him, but under the circumstances, I didn’t want to consult with him on this matter.” She paused. “Whatever I tell you will be held in confidence, won’t it?”

  His brows rose over the rims of his glasses. “That goes without saying. Lawyer-client privilege aside, you’ve always been my friend. I would never betray your confidence.”

  “Thank you.” Amy took a long breath and released it. “I learned recently that I may have been married on the day I disappeared.”

  James stared at her, his expression frozen. “But that’s impossible…you weren’t seeing anyone…not seriously…” His gaze deepened on her. “Who?”

  “Conner Sullivan.”

  His gray eyes, so compassionate moments before, now hardened with disbelief. He removed his glasses, wiping the lenses almost fiercely with a tissue. “That’s preposterous. Who told you that?”

  Amy bit her lip. “He did.”

  James seemed speechless for a moment, then he blurted, “I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life! There were rumors about the two of you that summer, but I never believed them. And besides, your father would never have allowed you to marry—not at eighteen and especially not to someone like that. Sullivan was bad news. He was always into some kind of trouble. Judge Tremain even suspected he might have…been dangerous.”

  “I know all about my father’s accusations.” Lifting her hands palms up, Amy said, “But as you can see, he was wrong.”

  “Evidently,” James agreed with a frown. “But the point is, the judge would never have given his permission for you to marry Conner Sullivan.”

  “According to Con, my father didn’t know. We eloped. We were married by a justice of the peace in Memphis.” Amy wove her fingers together in her lap, trying to appear calm and in control. “Anyway, I need to…verify his claim, and if it turns out to be true…” She paused. “What would be the legal standing of our marriage?”

  James ran a hand through his thin hair. Without his glasses, his eyes looked slightly out of focus as he gazed at her. “Verification won’t be a problem. My cousin’s ex-wife is a supervisor in the county clerk’s office in Memphis. I can give her a call right now. Everything is computerized these days, so with the exact date, it should only take a matter of minutes to call up the records. We can even have her fax us a copy of the marriage license. If it exists, of course.”

  He slipped on his glasses, checked his Rolodex and placed the call. After politely inquiring about the woman’s two sons and her mother’s health, he repeated the names and date Amy had given him, explained what they needed and then hung up. “She’ll get back to us as soon as possible. Probably within the hour. But I don’t mind telling you that this worries me.” He glanced at Amy, his expression troubled. “I can’t help wondering what Sullivan may be up to.”

  His tone alarmed Amy. She sat forward slightly in her chair. “What do you mean?”

  He picked up a pen, absently rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “Property values along the river have been steadily going up for the last couple of years. A development company out of Memphis has a big project planned for the area—vacation homes, a golf course, you name it. Con sold them his mother’s old place, and now I hear he’s got some kind of arrangement with them. He finds property along the river, makes an offer well below market value, somehow gets a signature on a contract and then the development company swoops in and takes over before anyone can object, giving Con a sizeable finder’s fee for his troubles.”

  Somehow Amy had a hard time picturing Con as a ruthless businessman, although she wasn’t sure why. The image Jasmine had created last night—that of dark soldier and trained killer—had seemed almost too plausible. “What does any of that have to do with me?” she asked doubtfully.

  “Surely you know the terms of your mother’s will? Amberly belonged to her. The house has been in the Witherspoon family for generations. She left Amberly and a considerable amount of river property to you and your sister jointly, to be held in trust until each of you turned eighteen. Neither of you could sell the property without the other’s consent. In other words, once you turned eighteen, half of the inheritance became legally yours, but you couldn’t dispose of the house or land until Jasmine’s eighteenth birthday, and only then if she agreed. Now that Jasmine’s come of age, she’s received her half of the inheritance, and she’s made no secret of her desire to sell. I’ve heard talk that Sullivan’s been sniffing around, but, of course, now t
hat you’re back, Jasmine can’t do anything without your permission.”

  Amy had been given an inkling of the situation by Darnell Henry, and by Con’s insinuation that she’d returned to lay claim to Amberly. But until that moment, she wasn’t sure she’d quite absorbed all the implications.

  “Are you saying you think Con may try to buy Amberly?”

  James shrugged. “All I’m saying is that you need to be careful. He’s always been a bit…shady, if you ask me. It’s in his blood, I guess. His father, Jude Sullivan, would have sold his own mother for a buck, and then spent it on a quart of moonshine whiskey.”

  Amy had the strongest impulse to defend Con, although she couldn’t imagine why. Even if he turned out to be her husband, she didn’t remember him. She didn’t know anything about him. Maybe he was ruthless and cold. A trained killer, for all she knew.

  “I haven’t even talked to Jasmine about her plans,” Amy told him. “If she wants to sell Amberly, I’m not sure I have the right to stop her.” But even as she expressed her doubts, a feeling of resolve came over her, a fierce protectiveness of her ancestral home that she didn’t understand. She didn’t remember Amberly, either. The house meant nothing to her. So why did she feel so…possessive of it? Was it because, as Lottie told her yesterday, Amber had once loved the place as much as she did?

  James watched her intently. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Amber, because we’re talking about the potential for a great deal of money. With the Tremain sawmill and logging interests gone, Amberly is about all you and Jasmine have left. A house like that is a considerable financial drain, especially with the family’s dwindling resources, but with the right buyer, you and your sister could both make a nice profit.” He emphasized the word right. Another dig at Con, Amy thought. “In fact, I know of someone who may be interested.”

  Amy lifted a brow. “Who?”

  The phone cut him off before he could answer. He gave Amy a quick, anxious glance as he picked up the receiver. After a moment, he hung up and sighed. “Everything Conner Sullivan told you is true. The two of you were married nine years ago.”

  Amy’s head reeled suddenly. A myriad of emotions washed over her—disappointment, trepidation, fear and, oddly, relief. But why would she be relieved to know she and Con were married? It made no sense.

  “So then…are we still married?”

  “If neither of you filed for divorce or petitioned for an annulment, then yes.”

  Why hadn’t he gotten a divorce? If he really believed she’d married him to spite her father, why stay married to her?

  As if reading her mind, James said gravely, “This puts you in a precarious legal position, I’m afraid. As your husband, Conner Sullivan could have a claim against your inheritance.”

  His warning tone sent a chill up Amy’s spine. “Do you think he’d really do that?”

  James gave a sharp laugh. “Don’t let his appearance fool you. Sullivan is a very shrewd businessman. It occurs to me that the reason he never made a claim before, or never even made public your marriage, was because he knew that while the judge was still alive, he wouldn’t stand a chance in court. But now that your father’s gone, the dynamics have changed. Sullivan will be looking out for his own best interests—you can count on that. What we have to do is look out for yours.”

  “Meaning?”

  “As I said earlier, he’s made some money recently, quite a lot of it, from what I understand. As his wife, you could be entitled to half.”

  Amy stared at him in shock. “But I wouldn’t take his money. I don’t have any right—”

  He put up a quick hand, silencing her. “Don’t be too hasty in dismissing your options.”

  “But I don’t want anything from Con,” Amy said quickly. “I don’t even remember being his wife.”

  “In that case, maybe the best option for both of you would be anullment. It would be as if you were never married. I can start the paperwork immediately, if that’s what you want.”

  That would be the logical option, Amy thought, but something held her back from compliance. It wasn’t as if she cared about Con, or anything like that. It was just that she was hardly in any position to make important decisions of any kind right now. She had to first get her bearings.

  Or so she told herself.

  “Thanks for your time.” She rose. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”

  “Amber.” James stood and came around the desk to take her hand in his again. “Whether you decide to sell Amberly, or whether you decide to divorce Conner Sullivan—those are your decisions. But my advice in either scenario is to proceed with extreme caution. Like I said, we’re talking about the potential for a great deal of money here.”

  “I understand.”

  His grasp tightened on hers. “I’m not sure you do. Somehow I don’t think you realize how your coming back here changes things. For a lot of people.”

  “What are you getting at, James?”

  The door to his office burst open, and a feminine voice demanded, “I have to see you, Jimmy. Right now. You won’t believe what’s happened—”

  Fay stopped dead in the doorway, her expression one of shock when she saw Amy. James was still holding her hand, and he dropped it, almost guiltily, it seemed to Amy.

  Fay’s eyes narrowed on the two of them. “Well, that didn’t take long, did it?”

  “Can you please wait outside for a moment?” James’s voice was plainly conciliatory, as if he didn’t want to trigger Fay’s anger. “Amber and I are in the middle of something.”

  Fay arched a brow. “I can see that. What are the two of you doing anyway? Taking a little stroll down memory lane?”

  “I needed some advice,” Amy felt compelled to explain. To James, she said, “I’ll be in touch.”

  James said, too softly for Fay to hear, “I meant what I said. Take care, Amber.”

  The words would have been innocent sounding, spoken under ordinary circumstances, but in James’s hushed tones, and with Fay’s eyes shooting daggers at her, the farewell seemed almost ominous. As she left the office and stepped outside into the late-afternoon sunshine, Amy shivered.

  The warmth of the fading light did little to alleviate her growing chill. So she really was married to Conner Sullivan. The two of them had been husband and wife for nine years, during which time Amy hadn’t even known he existed.

  But that wasn’t really true, was it? She’d drawn his face countless times, stared at his dark features over and over as she’d wondered who he was. If he was real or a fantasy.

  In all those years, Con had been the one person, his the one face, she hadn’t been able to get out of her head—

  Her thoughts crashed to a halt as an uncanny feeling suddenly came over. An impression that some-one was watching her.

  It was the same sensation she’d experienced down by the river that first night, when she’d been sure someone was in the woods behind her. Had that same someone followed her into town?

  Warily, Amy glanced around, as if to make sure no evil presence lurked behind a tree or in a shop doorway. The streets were sunlit, the town ordinary in appearance, but an undercurrent of something she couldn’t name seemed to flow just beneath the surface.

  Her gaze moved across the street, to the courthouse nestled in a circle of magnolia trees and water oaks dripping with Spanish moss. A huge, bearlike man rose from a bench underneath one of the trees and lumbered toward the street, pulling a red Radio Flyer wagon full of aluminium cans. When he got to the curb, he glanced up and spotted Amy across the street, then stopped so abruptly several of the cans tumbled from the wagon and rolled toward the gutter.

  He wore a baseball cap pulled low over his face. Amy couldn’t make out his features, but something about him struck her. She’d seen him before. She knew this man.

  Her heart pounded in excitement. Her first thought was that she should cross the street and confront him, but something stopped her, an instinct buried deep inside her that warned he could b
e dangerous.

  He could hurt her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FOR THE LONGEST MOMENT, Amy stood motionless as they stared at one another across the street. She couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her gaze from his, and he appeared just as mesmerized by her. Who was he?

  “Amber?”

  A touch on her arm caused her to give a violent start. Amy’s gaze flew upward, and for a moment, she couldn’t disassociate the fear she felt for the man across the street from the one who stood before her. Without thinking, she took a step back from Con.

  He studied her quizzically. “Are you all right?”

  She finally found her voice. “That man across the street—who is he?”

  Con glanced toward the courthouse, then back at Amy, frowning. “What man?”

  Amy looked back. “He was there just a second ago. I thought I recognized him. He seemed to know me—”

  “He probably did know you. Everyone in town knows you.”

  “Yes, but—” She wrapped her arms around her middle.

  “Do you want me to go across the street and see if I can find him?” When she didn’t answer right away, Con said, “Amber?”

  She shook herself. “No. He’s gone now. And I’m sure you’re right. He was just someone who recognized me. I’ve gotten all kinds of strange looks today.” And maybe that’s all it had been. But she still couldn’t explain why he’d seemed so familiar to her. Or why he’d frightened her.

  Con took her arm. “You look as if you could use a drink.”

  This time, Amy didn’t move away from his touch. There was something almost comforting about his presence.

  She glanced back over her shoulder, but the man was nowhere in sight. For someone so big, he could certainly move fast, she thought with a shiver.

  * * *

  THE DECOR OF Jolene’s Diner was typical of small-town eateries everywhere—formica-top tables and stainless-steel chairs arranged haphazardly in the center of a large, square room while red-vinyl booths lined the sides.