by Tammy Walsh
I wished I’d entered the farm slower so I could have reversed back up the drive before either of them had seen me.
Then I could have stewed and thought more about what I was going to do about this little pickle.
But they’d seen me and there was nothing for it but to pull up and get out.
It stung to see Isabella with such a guilty expression on her face.
Clint had a smile on his.
The fool.
“Good morning, officer,” he said brightly.
I bet it had been a good morning for the likes of him.
I wondered if he’d plundered her depths this morning as an encore after last night.
Slut.
It made me grit my teeth even harder, but I wore a smile as I climbed from my cruiser and approached them.
“Howdy.”
“What are you doing here?” Isabella said.
Well, that was nice, I thought. But I kept the smile plastered on my face.
“I wanted to check up on Clint, see how he was doing.”
Isabella eyed me suspiciously.
Clint beamed happily.
“I’m fine, thanks. Isabella was just showing me around the farm.”
I bet she was, I thought. I bet she’s been showing you a whole load of things.
“Have you remembered anything yet?” I said.
“Not yet,” Clint said.
“Don’t lose hope. I’m sure all it takes is time. Isabella, do you mind if I have a word with you for a sec?”
I took her by the elbow and led her to one side.
“How are you holding up?” I said.
“Fine. What’s all this about?”
I glanced over at Clint, who leaned against the fence and scratched the chin of the nearest sheep.
He couldn’t hear me from this distance but I lowered my voice anyway.
“I heard back from the Air Force,” I said.
That sparked her interest.
“You did? What did they say? Are they missing a pilot?”
I nodded.
“They are.”
“That’s good news.”
“It was… until I learned Clint isn’t the pilot that went missing.”
“What do you mean?”
I didn’t have a great deal of time to come up with my little story, so I borrowed heavily from a movie I watched the previous Friday night.
It didn’t matter it wasn’t true.
It didn’t matter the Air Force hadn’t said they were missing a pilot or an airplane.
What was important was keeping Isabella safe.
Even from herself.
“It turns out it’s the Russians,” I said.
“The Russians?”
Her exclamation was a little too loud for my liking, so I led her a few more yards distant.
“A Russian spy broke into a secret facility and killed the US pilot. Then he crept aboard a top-secret plane they’d been developing and flew it from the hangar. Fearing what the Soviets might do with that kind of technology, they decided to blow the plane up before he could escape with it.”
I took a moment to add drama to the revelation.
“Clint isn’t the US pilot. He’s the Russian spy!”
I would have preferred it if Clint wasn’t stroking a sheep right at that moment as it didn’t exactly paint the picture of a dangerous criminal I was trying to cultivate.
Isabella stumbled in shock and I caught her before she collapsed.
“Are… Are you sure?”
“There’s no denying it. They’re sending special agents now to take him away.”
Isabella looked over at him, the sheep so enamored with Clint that it almost fell asleep beneath his touch.
Clint caught us looking at him and waved.
I waved back and nodded my head before turning back to Isabella.
“He seems so… calm and relaxed,” Isabella said. “What about the amnesia?”
“All fake to lower your defenses. It worked, didn’t it? He made you believe he was a US pilot in need of help?”
“Yes. Yes, he did.”
“So I think the best thing to do is let me take him from you. We’ll tell him it’s because his commanding officers got in touch and want him returned. He’ll think it’s his Russian bosses and will go peacefully.”
“What about you?”
It was the first time she appeared genuinely concerned for my wellbeing.
I was quick to seize upon it.
I scooped her hand up in mine and raised it to my lips.
“Don’t worry about me. I can look after myself. All that matters is keeping you safe.”
She looked up into my face with an expression of… love?
No, love was too strong a word.
More like friendship.
It was a start, at least.
“You can put your trust in me,” I said. “Like always.”
Her expression soured faster than cream on Midsummer’s Day.
She yanked her hand from between mine.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“You! You’re what’s wrong! And to think I almost believed another one of your tall tales!”
“But this isn’t a lie! It’s the truth!”
“Oh yeah? Then how do you know he’s a spy working for the Russians?”
“Keep your voice down!” I growled.
She paid no attention to me.
“You think the Air Force would have willingly told you that? And why would they tell a local cop anything? They would just swoop down and take him out from under you if anything you just told me was true!”
My temper flared and I jabbed a finger at her.
“I’m the Sheriff of Ashbourne! I know all sorts of classified information! Some of it would make your head spin!”
I realized too late that my outburst had cost me her trust.
“Get away from me!” she screamed. “I’ll never believe a word you say! Not now! Not ever!”
She shoved me and my temper flared to the temperature of the surface of the Sun, white-hot and glaring.
I could have flown out and struck her and no one would have blamed me.
She deserves it!
You didn’t insult a man of the law and get away with it!
“All lies,” Isabella said. “Just like the lies you told me about Kelly.”
The blood rose to my cheeks at the memory of my little indiscretion with her high school friend.
“I told you,” I growled. “I was drunk and she was the one who came onto me!”
And right then, at the perfect moment, came her white knight.
“Is something wrong?”
Clint had crept up so quietly it took me by surprise to see him standing at my shoulder.
“No!” I snapped. “Nothing’s wrong! Go over there and mind your business!”
I reached for Isabella’s arm but she dodged to one side, stepping up beside Clint.
She reached for his hand—his hand!—and squeezed it.
My eyes narrowed and my fury boiled over.
“I think you should go,” Clint said calmly.
I shifted my eyes up at his hulking mass.
All his strength would count for nothing with my firearm in my hand.
A single movement and the pistol would be aimed at his chest and three rounds would enter him before he could even blink.
And Isabella…
Isabella.
Her eyes were filled with rage and shimmered with tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.
The only thing worse than being caught in a lie was losing the trust of the one person you had told the lie to in the first place.
“You’d better watch where you step,” I growled at Clint. “Because the minute you take a wrong step, you’re going to turn around and find me there.”
I marched over to my cruiser, slammed the door, spun the wheel, and spat gravel as I sped down the driveway.
I caught the sweet scent o
f the roses on the passenger seat.
The stink assaulted my senses and reminded me of the failure I’d endured.
The smell mocked me and everything I held dear.
I scooped them up off the seat and hurled them out the window.
I wouldn’t give up on Isabella so easily.
She would love me.
She had to.
Or I would take everything she cared about away from her.
Isabella
I pulled my sweater off over my head and hurled it in the corner.
I slammed my bedroom door shut and jumped on my bed.
I couldn’t believe what Liam tried to do.
He lied to me.
Again!
And I believed him.
Again!
I’m such an idiot, idiot, idiot!
I screamed into the blankets and pummeled at them with my fists.
Sometimes being away from a place made it difficult to recall certain aspects of it.
I forgot what it was like to be under someone’s finger and feel like I had no power as I had when I was a teenager.
He told lie upon lie, each one piling atop another, forming a fragile house of cards.
And I’d believed him.
Of course I did—why wouldn’t I?
Who would lie to their girlfriend?
Liam was a habitual liar, used to getting what he wanted by telling someone else whatever they wanted to hear.
It didn’t matter to him if someone got hurt in the process.
Least of all the girlfriend he supposedly loved.
I grabbed a pillow and buried a scream inside it.
Was it too much to ask for a regular, honest guy?
Or were there none to be found?
I never had any intention of making the same mistake twice.
I would never be with Liam again.
Ever.
Life was hard enough without being a part of someone’s sick twisted games.
The moment he said I could trust him, any trust I had for him slid rapidly from me.
I felt like the awkward teenager I had once been, lacking confidence when it came to feelings and emotions.
Well, I’d mastered them a long time ago and wasn’t about to let anyone—least of all that dickhead!—get the better of me again.
He’d grabbed me by the arm, twisted it painfully, and that dark and sinister look in his eye was one I recognized from other needy men in the past.
A deep savagery that suggested it was pointless to resist.
So, I didn’t resist.
The first chance I got, I went to the bathroom and slipped out the window and never saw those dudes ever again.
I dreaded to think what would have happened to me if Clint hadn’t been there to protect me.
The barn was just behind us and Liam could have forced me inside and had his way with me…
The thought alone made me quiver with fear.
It wasn’t only strangers I needed to be careful of.
It was the people I knew too.
That left me with a very small pool of people I could trust.
Was Clint one of them? I wondered.
He couldn’t be.
I hadn’t known him long enough.
But how long did it take to be able to trust someone?
Months?
Years?
Or was it better to listen to that little voice deep inside that informed me he was a good one?
A knock came at the door and made me jump.
“What?” I snapped with more bite than I intended.
“Lunch is ready,” Pop said.
“I’ll be right down.”
He turned and knocked on Clint’s door to tell him the same.
Dinner.
With my parents.
And the hot stranger.
After the scene that’d happened outside with Liam, I wasn’t sure I could show my face.
I glanced up into the small circular mirror hanging from a rusty nail and knew with certainty there was no way I could show that face.
I broke out my makeup and got to work tidying up the grey bags that hung under my eyes.
I really didn’t know why I was going to all this effort.
It wasn’t like I was doing it for anyone.
Or was I?
I’d had enough of relationships.
I needed to get on with my life.
The moment I helped Clint recover his memories, I would prepare to leave home and get as far away from here as possible.
This was meant to be a safe place where I could relax and recuperate.
Instead, it’d turned out to be another viper nest where the demons came out at night.
I finished adding a little makeup and noticed the blemishes on my dress.
Well, I’d gone this far…
I might as well finish the look.
I pulled the dress off over my head and tossed it in the wicker laundry basket.
I opened the wardrobe and flicked through one dress at a time.
I’d been quite a shopper while I was in the city.
I paused for a moment on the most comfortable items—plain summer dresses I usually wore when helping my parents out around the farm—before opting for something a little more… fancy.
After all, we did have company.
I didn’t want him to think I had bad manners…
Not that I cared what he thought, of course.
I slipped the dress on over my head and shimmied my body until it fell past my hips.
I checked myself in the mirror and altered the dress a little.
Lighter colors always looked good against my blonde hair.
It was the one feature I liked about myself.
He’ll never go for someone like you… I thought.
I slapped the thought down.
“I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” I told my reflection and poked my tongue out for good measure.
Another knock came at the door.
“Coming!” I said.
Honestly, by the way my parents ran this farm, you would have thought they’d been trained in the military.
I threw the door open and was instantly taken aback when I found Clint standing on the threshold.
“Oh,” I said limply. “I, uh, was expecting someone else.”
“We both have to go downstairs for lunch and I figured we might as well head down together.”
He extended his elbow to me.
“Oh,” I said. “Right. Um. Good thinking.”
Unsure how to proceed, I took his elbow and let him lead me out of my room.
The formality struck me as strange as we were only in my parents’ house and it was the least formal place you could find.
“You look very beautiful,” Clint said. “Not that you don’t look beautiful all the time. I just meant…”
I couldn’t help but smile at him fumbling over his words.
Usually, it was me that suffered from that affliction.
The stairs weren’t wide enough for the two of us to move down shoulder to shoulder, so he motioned for me to head down first.
“Thank you,” I said, wishing he could have gone first so I could enjoy the wondrous display of his ass again.
I felt his eyes on me and couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder back at him.
He didn’t notice me looking.
His eyes, I was pleased to find, were fixed firmly on my ass.
I wondered why it was a good thing for him to ogle me that way and not Liam, but as it brought back memories of that asshole, I pushed it from my mind.
Clint met me at the foot of the stairs and this time I was the one to offer my elbow.
He grinned and took it as we entered the dining room.
As expected, my mom had been hard at work in the kitchen again.
Her skill was, unfortunately, not something that’d been passed on to me.
I could barely struggle with cheese on toast when I lived alon
e and ended up spending a fortune at restaurants that came nowhere close to mom’s recipes.
I was a little embarrassed when my parents extended their hands to say a prayer before our meal—another habit I’d let slip by the wayside when I lived in the city.
I slipped right back into it the moment I returned, but it was different with Clint there.
Funny how old habits were tied to the places they’d been formed and nurtured.
Clint was a good sport and took their proffered hands.
He followed their lead and bowed his head too.
I grinned at him over the dining table and glanced at him every few seconds to admire his facial features in the soft afternoon light.
I tore my eyes from his the moment my pop said:
“Amen.”
Mom had outdone herself again.
It was a full roast, something she usually only made at the weekend.
My grandma was from England and eating roast every Sunday for lunch after church became a regular habit.
It was a large meal with a whole chicken, baked potatoes, boiled vegetables, Yorkshire puddings, and thick gravy.
Mom had opted for the good china, so she was clearly trying to impress someone.
It wasn’t hard to figure out who that had to be.
Clint cut off a slice of chicken, added a little gravy and veg, and placed it in his mouth.
His expression was a thoughtful one.
As he chewed, he nodded and enjoyed the flavor.
His eyes lit up and he bent back down over the plate to enjoy more.
“Do you have roasts where you come from?” Mom asked.
She took a sip from her glass of wine.
Clint hesitated before replying.
“He can’t remember, Mom,” I said. “Amnesia. Remember?”
Mom nodded and waved away my reminder.
“But food is different, isn’t it? The body knows what it wants. And your body must respond when you see food.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Mom…”
She waved a hand at me again.
“Shush. Let him answer.”
Clint thought for a moment before answering.
“I can’t remember whether we ate roast or not where I come from but my instincts are the same. I smell this delicious meal and react the same way anyone else would. It smells and tastes delicious.”
“That has to be good, right?” Mom said. “Every day you get to try something new even though you might have had it a million times before.”
“I suppose so,” Clint said. “But in this case, I wish I could remember every one of those times I ate your delicious roast so I could savor it in the future too.”