by Lori Wilde
His eye caught a glimpse of white. Looking closer into the drawer, he saw a corner of paper protruding from the folds of the shirt. Figuring it must have fallen from the drawer above, he retrieved the envelope and withdrew the contents: a lone check from Gerald’s personal account, already processed and canceled.
The payee was an Otto Hoskins, and the signature—composed of sharp, bold pen strokes—read Gerald E. Kirkland. The sum written on the check could have bought a lot of goodies from the television shopping channel.
Hoskins, Hoskins...where had he heard that name before? And why had Gerald paid him so much money? If it had been anyone other than Gerald, Jerry might have concluded he’d bought a used car from Otto Hoskins. But Gerald Kirkland was not the type to buy someone else’s castoffs.
Jerry returned the check to the drawer. Perhaps if he collected enough puzzle pieces, he’d be able to put them together in time to spare Kimber an untimely ending.
More and more, the focus of this assignment was shifting from merely earning a pair of wings to being deeply concerned about his charge’s welfare. In all his other jobs, he’d been able to keep a safe emotional distance while performing his duties.
Sure, he’d become rather fond of many of his protectees, but never had he experienced anything like what he felt for Kimber. And now, he was worried that his concern for her might hinder his effectiveness as her protectorate.
The printout sat on the desk in front of him, reminding him of his work obligation. But what was he supposed to do with these figures anyway? They didn’t make sense, especially since none of the column totals matched the printout he’d studied last night at Gerald’s condo.
He locked the desk drawer and dropped the key ring into his pocket. His fingers touched the scrap of paper that he’d transferred to his pants earlier that morning. He pulled it out and read the note again.
“Call Mr. Hoskins, comptroller. Goode Foods.” It was dated a couple of weeks prior to Gerald’s accident.
“Oh, good, they’re all signed.” Donna came in and swooped up the pile of memos and letters from his desk. “I’ll just get these out of your way.”
“Uh, Donna?” When she paused in her whirlwind activity, he laid the note on the desk and flattened it with his hand. “Do you remember why I was supposed to call Mr. Hoskins?”
Her penciled eyebrows drew together, creating a vertical crease that was the only flaw on her painstakingly painted face. She twisted her mouth to one side and chewed the inside of her lip as she silently pondered his question.
“Sorry,” she said at last. “I’ve never heard of Mr. Hoskins.”
“Otto Hoskins?” Jerry hinted.
She shook her head. “Nope.”
This time, Jerry felt his eyebrows pulling together in a line of concentration. “Didn’t you write this note?”
Donna leaned closer. “It looks like a woman’s handwriting all right, but it isn’t mine.” She started toward the door once again, then halted. “Speaking of handwriting”—she glanced down at the top paper on the stack of letters—“what’s with the new signature?”
It was then Jerry recalled the bold slashes of black ink on the check. Gerald must have been a firm believer in making an impression with everything he did, wore, or owned. Obviously, he wanted to be seen as aggressive and powerful.
Jerry’s own signature, however, was simple and straightforward. Strong, in its own way, but also unassuming.
He grinned at Donna, who was flipping through the stack of papers. “I guess you caught me in a mellow mood.”
She handed one of the sheets back to him and tilted her head as she fixed a look of concern on him. “You don’t seem to be yourself lately. Did you realize you signed this letter ‘Jared Kirkland’?”
Jerry didn’t know what to say, and when he didn’t respond, she gave a shrug and tried to laugh it off as she headed back to her desk.
“That bump on your head must have been quite a doozy.”
After waiting for the elevator that never came, Jerry walked up the single flight of stairs to Kimber’s office. Donna had offered to order lunch for him, but he had declined, hoping instead to spend his break with Kimber.
He bypassed Kimber’s assistant, walked into the office, and made himself comfortable in the visitor’s chair.
Her head was bent over a yellow pad, and she appeared deep in concentration. Jerry might have even believed it if her mouth hadn’t tensed into a straight line. He’d seen that expression often enough, mostly when she was trying to avoid being close to him. He wondered what Gerald had done to make her try to keep him at arm’s length.
Or was it him? He reached forward and touched her hand that gripped the pen with forceful determination.
Kimber jumped at his touch. Why did he have this effect on her? Why couldn’t she just wash her hands of him and get on with her life...the way it had been before she ever met Gerald?
Why did he have to keep reminding her with his presence how sweet and cute and sexy he was?
The physical and emotional cravings he stirred within her were stronger than any she’d ever known before...even stronger since the time she’d spent with him during his recuperation. It wasn’t fair that someone who was ultimately so wrong for her could make her feel so good inside.
“You startled me,” she said, blaming her reaction on surprise rather than barely restrained passion.
“Sorry.” It was clear that he knew the truth, but he didn’t call her bluff. “It’s lunch o’clock. Wanna go out to eat?”
“Oh, um...” She paused, wondering how she could avoid being near him and thus avoid feeding the craving in her soul.
Chapter Twelve
Luck intervened with the arrival of her stepmother. Alison popped in, also uninvited but definitely welcome.
“The elevator never came, and I had to walk up all twelve flights,” she said, her breath coming out in a whoosh. “Are you ready to go, dear? Your father wants to try that new Italian place over on Fourteenth Street.”
Jerry was all smiles. “Hey, that sounds great. I love Italian food.”
The truth was, he loved any kind of food.
But Kimber wouldn’t get into that now. She felt her brain spin as she tried to come up with a polite way to put the nix on his self-invitation. “But you have to stay here and—”
“He needs to eat,” Alison said, interrupting Kimber’s feeble excuse. Then, fixing her blue eyes on Jerry, she added, “We’ll be glad to have you join us.” She adjusted the purse strap over her shoulder and lifted the bag in a little wave to them. “Why don’t you two try to get an elevator while I drag Maxwell away from his desk? We’ll meet you there in a moment.”
Kimber glanced over at Jerry, who had already stood and was now offering a hand to her. Not wishing to compound her former rudeness by ignoring the gesture, she lifted her fingers to his and felt the strength and warmth in his hand.
Why, oh why, did she have to fall for the wrong man? Even crazier was the fact that she loved him more now than when they were engaged. She must have some sort of self-destructive tendencies that led her to fall more deeply in love with a man after learning of his infidelity. There was no other rational explanation for her absurd change of heart.
His fingers closed over hers, and he curled her hand through the crook of his arm. His palms, though formerly smooth, were covered with fresh calluses that lightly chafed her skin. The first blisters had come after a day spent clearing out the barn so that the wild ducks and geese would have a safe refuge from predators.
After that, he’d added more calluses while transforming the area near the lake into a tiny park where she could relax and reflect. He’d even ordered—with his own credit card this time—a wrought-iron bench for her and had promised he would move it to a shady spot and secure it once it was delivered.
These were things Gerald never would have done before his accident. Such a small thing, but the calluses drove home to her just how much he’d changed since their breaku
p.
She liked the changes and could easily get used to them. But breaking up with him the first time had hurt so much. How much more it would hurt to watch him turn back into the smooth-skinned, smooth talker who had brought her all that anguish.
She paused at the threshold. “Gerald...I mean, Jerry?”
He smiled down at her, his face radiant and kind. His dark eyebrows, classic nose, and firm chin were all the same.
However, there was a difference in the set of his mouth and even in the way he brushed his hair. No longer did he comb it severely and precisely, with each hair standing in regimented order. It was still neat and brushed to one side, but the wash-and-go look made him appear somehow more approachable and friendly.
There was something else, too. Another difference...one she couldn’t put a finger on. She’d heard of patients becoming gentler and more easygoing after a head trauma, but the change in him seemed to go beyond mere forgetfulness...beyond all outward changes in appearance and behavior.
Dr. Warren had remarked that, other than the amnesia, he showed no other physical symptoms of the brain injury that was suspected to have brought on his failed memory. So what was it about him that made her respond in a way she’d never felt before?
She wasn’t going to find the answer by staring into his questioning eyes. Trying to ignore the dark rim of lashes that surrounded pale-blue irises, she found herself struggling with a memory loss of her own as she fought to remember what she had started to say to him.
“Your parents are probably waiting for us,” he prompted.
Yes, that was it. She cleared her throat. “I, uh, haven’t told Alison or Dad that our engagement is off. With Dad’s history of heart problems, I didn’t think he should have to deal with the stress of our breakup on top of worrying about you.”
He considered that for a moment. “So you want me to act like a fiancé? Maybe give you a kiss in front of them?”
Did she detect a note of hopefulness in his voice? Worse, did she feel her heart do a backflip in her chest?
“I just meant that I’d rather you didn’t mention it to them.” She supposed she should get her own emotions straight before having to contend with the disappointment that was sure to come from her father and stepmother.
“Sure, on one condition.” He removed her hand from his elbow and pushed the door shut. Pressing his fist casually against the doorframe, he blocked her exit.
The posture served as a visual reminder of how large and powerful he was, just in case she took the notion to push past him. Then he leveled those mountain-sky eyes at her. “Tell me what caused your...our breakup.”
When he looked at her with such intensity, Kimber felt as though he could read every thought and feel every sensation she’d ever known. If she tried to brush off his question as she’d done the first time he asked—or, worse, lied—he would certainly know it.
She hadn’t wanted to get into this subject with him until his memory returned and he could answer a few questions of hers. And she especially didn’t want to delve into the matter while her father tapped his foot at the elevator. But seeing the determination in Jerry’s expression, she knew there would be no further stalling.
“There was someone else. Someone who came between us.” She looked down at the floor, focusing on the vacuum mark the cleaning crew had left on the plush carpet. “I don’t really understand how it happened to us...whether it was a matter of falling out of love or maybe not being in love in the first place.”
He looked crestfallen. Taking his hand off the doorframe, he slumped his body against it instead. When he looked at her again, she could see the pain and disappointment in his eyes.
“You cheated on your fiancé?” He shook his head as if trying to clear his mind of the horrible thought. “If it was anyone else—the president, or the pope even—I could see it as a common human failing. But you...I thought you were different.”
Suddenly, Kimber found herself in the bizarre position, not so much of defending her reputation, but of trying to ease the suffering that the confusion was putting Jerry through.
“No, no, you have it all wrong.” Kimber didn’t bother to point out that the pope would never be in a position to do such a thing, or even that more than one president had strayed from his promise to love, honor, and cherish.
She wanted him to know the truth, but she didn’t want to slap him in the face with it. She used care in phrasing her next words. “There was a woman...”
She didn’t have to say any more, for she could see his awareness grow as the gritty truth sank in.
Kimber snapped off a dead leaf from the ficus tree that stood beside the door. She tossed the casualty back into the planter.
It would serve as fodder for the next generation of leaves, just as her experience with Gerald would serve as a caution not to make the same mistakes with the next man who came into her life. “I think it would be better if we put what’s happened in the past behind us.”
“Better for whom?” he asked, stepping closer.
So close that Kimber had difficulty breathing.
She had to stop letting him do this to her. She turned aside and threw a barrier between herself and the man who had already turned her world upside down and who now threatened to set it spinning in reverse. “We have to go—”
“Why are you afraid of me?” He started to reach out to her, then seemed to think better of it and let his hands drop to his sides. “All I want to do is take care of you.”
She raised her chin and squared her shoulders. He still towered over her, but that didn’t keep her from putting up a good front. “I’m not afraid of anyone.”
“Then you must be afraid of something.” This time when he reached out to her, he brushed a hand along her arm and gently squeezed her elbow. When he spoke again, his voice was husky. “Whatever it is, I’m here to help.”
Help do what? Complicate her life and confuse her until she couldn’t remember from one minute to the next why she had given back his ring? Help fill her dreams with visions of a handsome, smiling man who wore her heart like a souvenir around his neck? If so, he was doing a good job of it.
Yes, she was afraid of something. She was afraid of acknowledging the chaotic emotions that he set bubbling in her spirit, and even more afraid of letting them out of the recesses of her heart. For she was sure that once she did, her life would never be the same again.
She sidestepped him, taking care to avoid contact with his steadfast gaze, and pulled open the door. “Dad and Alison must be wondering what happened to us.”
Without waiting for a response, she stepped out into the reception area and crossed to the tiled floor where, sure enough, her father’s foot tapped a steady rhythm on the polished surface. She was aware of Jerry joining them, but she didn’t acknowledge his presence.
“Still no elevator,” Alison said, setting to rest Kimber’s concern that Maxwell’s impatience was caused by their dawdling. Alison rummaged through her purse a moment before turning to her husband. “Max, honey, I can’t find my contact lens solution, and my eyes are burning like a California forest fire. I think I left the drops in your office.”
A bell chimed, and the light on the Down button went out.
“You two go ahead,” her father said, gesturing toward the tardy elevator. “We’ll meet you at the restaurant in a few minutes.”
The double doors slid open behind her. With her mind focused on the possibility that Jerry might be breaking through her fragile defenses, she continued watching her father accompany Alison back to his office.
As Kimber absentmindedly edged back toward the elevator, she was aware of Jerry’s expression changing to one of alarm. He reached for her. Instinctively, she sought to keep distance between her and the man who wreaked havoc on her emotions with his slightest touch. In the space of a split second, she saw his alarm grow. Her foot touched nothing, and she felt herself begin to keel backward.
Startled, she opened her mouth to scream. Like a
slow-motion moment in a movie, her arms went up and she seemed to hover for a second in midair. The next second followed with a blur of action when Jerry clasped her wrist in an iron-hard grip and gave a yank so hard it felt like he’d pulled her arm out of the socket.
Kimber lurched forward and slammed into the brick wall that was Jerry’s chest. She clutched desperately at his shirt, and his fingers dug into her back.
Her mouth was swollen from the impact against his ribs, and the scream she had gathered in her lungs was squeezed out in a muffled “Urmph!”
Sobs of relief and hysteria shortly followed. Jerry comforted her by refusing to loosen his hold on her, a hold that would no doubt leave bruises on her battered but grateful body. She felt his lips on her hair and heard him murmur soothing words as she pressed her face against the crisp white fabric of his shirt.
When Kimber’s heartbeat finally slowed to a fast gallop, she lifted her head to look at her rescuer. Her mascara and tears had smeared his shirt, and as she balanced precariously on her one remaining shoe, she could see that he was trembling.
Kimber became aware of a crowd gathering, but neither of them made a move to break their awkward embrace. It was Alison’s high-pitched voice that pierced through the fog of excited voices around them.
“Somebody call maintenance. There’s nothing here but an empty elevator shaft!
“I WANT TO MOVE BACK in with you.”
Kimber looked up from the flat “stones” they were making by pouring dyed concrete into a mold. When the project was finished, the artificial stones would form a quaint footpath down to the miniature park Jerry had designed by her lake.
He had been right about Mother Nature’s ability to wipe the day’s stresses from her body and mind.
But he wasn’t right about his reason for wanting to move in with her.
“I think you’re taking a couple of simple, understandable accidents and blowing them all out of proportion.”
Jerry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Okay, maybe the falling shoe rack was a mere accident. But what about the elevator?”