The Cowboy And The Countess. Darlene Scalera

must be aware of Kent’s current condition, and, for the good of the company if nothing else, could be counted on for discretion. The receiver’s dial tone began to beep. She punched in Directory Assistance and got the number for Landover Technology.

      She asked to be connected to Kent Landover’s office, hoping to speak to whoever was steering the ship while the captain played cowboy. When a woman answered, “Mr. Landover’s office,” Anna gave her name and asked to speak to him. The woman hesitated, then asked what the call was in reference to.

      Anna simply said, “K.C.”

      A man’s voice came on the line immediately. “What’d you say your first name was?”

      “Anna.”

      The man moaned. “The countess?”

      She was uncertain how to reply.

      “This just keeps getting better and better.”

      “Who am I speaking to?” Anna asked.

      “No. Who am I speaking to?” the man countered.

      “I told you my name is Anna Delaney—”

      “The countess?”

      “No, well, not exactly.”

      “This is wonderful. This is rich. Miriam?” the man yelled. Anna pulled the phone away from her ear. “Where’s my Tagamet?”

      Without taking a breath, the man demanded, “What exactly is the nature of your current relationship with Kent Landover?”

      “I don’t have a current relationship with Kent Landover—”

      “But you did?”

      “Yes…once…but it was a very long time ago.”

      “What was it? A back-seat session in the limo after your coming-out ball? A fling in between semesters at Stanford? That weekend conference in Tahoe? Miriam, the Tagamet!”

      Anna struggled to keep her tone controlled. “I’d like to speak to someone else, please.”

      “No, sister. I’m your best bet. First of all, only a handful of others know about this situation, but they all have valid incentives to want to keep it that way. However, I doubt the motives of a one-night stand called The Countess. Unless you can fax me the family tree, I say you’re not even royalty.”

      “I’m not.” Anna could almost hear the man’s blood pressure rising. “I’m also not a one-night stand.”

      “Ha! Listen, lady, I don’t care what kind of relationship you had with Kent. In fact, I don’t even want to know, but if it could threaten the reputation of Kent Landover and this company, I’ll make it my business to know. I’ll dig up every time you so much as crossed against the light if I have to. Then try to go public with the story of your meaningless little affair with Kent. Just try. Do you really think they’ll listen to someone who goes by the name The Countess?”

      “Probably not.”

      “Probably…not.” She’d stopped the man cold. “Still, you’re still planning to go to the papers with your story?”

      “Of course not.”

      “Of course…not,” he parroted again, puzzled. “What do you want, then?”

      “I called to tell you that Mr. Landover is here with me.”

      “Good God!” His voice burst through the speaker. “You’ve kidnapped him.”

      Anna waited a second, then put the phone back to her ear.

      The man was still talking, threatening. “…and I’ll hunt you down and personally throttle you with—”

      “I did not kidnap Mr. Landover.” Anna made each word distinct. Her initial indignation, however, was tempered by the concern she heard in the man’s voice.

      “No, he just signed himself out of the hospital and walked in your door this morning?”

      “Is that what the hospital told you? When did they start letting patients sign themselves out of the psychiatric ward?”

      “Psychiatric ward?” The phone in Anna’s hand vibrated. “He wasn’t in the psychiatric ward. He’s not crazy.”

      “I see.” The more enraged the man’s voice became, the calmer Anna kept her responses. “Then the cowboy thing is a midlife career change?”

      There was a pause, then the man said, “Kent Landover had an accident yesterday. He swerved to avoid hitting a bus and lost control of his vehicle. Fortunately, he only suffered a concussion. Unfortunately, as a result of the head injury, he has amnesia.”

      “Amnesia.” She said it once, then twice more as if the word had magical powers. “That’s wonderful.”

      “I wouldn’t go that far.”

      “He’s not crazy?”

      “Believe me, Kent Landover is the sanest, most sensible man I know, and I can assure you, and the doctors can assure you, he’ll return to that sane, sensible man any minute now. But until then, he believes he’s a cowboy named K.C. in love with a countess named Anna.”

      “I know.” She spoke quietly.

      “Ms…?”

      “Delaney,” she again filled in.

      “Ms. Delaney, my name is Leon Skow. I’m executive vice president and one of the original investors in Landover Technology. I’m also Kent’s friend. I’m beginning to think you are, too. Am I right?”

      “Yes.”

      “Good. Then maybe you’d like to tell me how you fit into all this?”

      Leon listened in rare silence as she explained everything. He didn’t speak again until she was at the part when she’d decided to call Landover Tech instead of the UCLA Medical Center.

      “How’d you know he’d come from the medical center?”

      “Their name was stamped on his scrubs.”

      “He’s wearing scrubs?”

      “And foam rubber slippers.”

      “He walked through the streets of L.A. like that?”

      “I’m sure no one even noticed. After all, this is L.A.”

      “Do you know if he’s talked to anyone else besides you?”

      “My mother and Ronnie were here when he came in this morning.”

      Leon moaned.

      “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “My mother doesn’t think he’s crazy. She thinks he’s finally come to his senses. After some initial resistance, I think he’s charmed Ronnie, also.”

      “Who’s Ronnie? Your boyfriend?”

      “No, Ronnie’s our receptionist. Her real name is Veronica, but ‘Ronnie, the Bam Bam Bomber’ played better in the roller derby circuit.”

      “Exactly what kind of a business do you run, Ms. Delaney?”

      “Call me Anna. My mother just opened a cleaning service. The Clean Queens. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?”

      There was silence, then Leon was chuckling. “I think I’ve heard of you.”

      “Really? We wanted a name that’d attract attention.”

      “I think you accomplished that.”

      “We’ve been advertising, of course. Newspapers, a billboard, couple of late-night TV spots—”

      “Buses?” Leon asked.

      “You’ve seen the ads?”

      “Not me.