Virgin's Night Out

by Shiloh Walker

  To the good ol’ U.S. of A.

  And now he was only a few yards away from the house where Taylor had grown up. Taylor had told him that Boone had a condo up in Maine. Apparently, Boone had been born in Maine, although he had no memory of that time. But instead of putting Boone on a plane to take him to the northeast, Taylor had brought him here.

  To Nowhere, Alabama.

  The sound of the town’s name tugged at something inside him, but no matter how much he tried to unearth the memories, he couldn’t. Didn’t really matter, he figured. Anything he thought he might remember would likely end up being wrong. The few things he’d thought he remembered weren’t exactly what he’d thought they were.

  Like the woman.

  So many nights, he woke up, reaching for her, but according to Taylor, there was no her. He didn’t date. At all. No former marriages, no fiancée out there waiting for him to come home. Nobody.

  That pretty much sucked all the wind out of his sails, because he could have sworn there was somebody.

  “You know, you don’t have to put me up,” he said as the truck resumed its slow pace along the stretch of road. “I’m fine. Need to get some weight back on, scrub the past year out of my head. I dunno…maybe remember who I am, but I don’t need to be crashing in on you.”

  “You’re not crashing,” Taylor said, his voice easy. “And for your information, I’m doing this for me as much as for you. I…” His voice went husky. “Man, I know you don’t remember me, but I thought I’d lost you.”

  An awkward silence fell. Boone would have given anything to make that strained silence easier to bear, for both of them, but he knew from experience that anything he did or said would only make it worse.

  So he stayed quiet and when the truck stopped, he climbed out with only a pause to grab his bag.

  But when they met at the front of the truck, he looked at Taylor. He knew the man. No, he didn’t have any memories of him, but this man’s face was one of the faces he’d caught in those odd, flickering flashes of memory. Well, him and his twin.

  The twin was dead.

  Taylor had gruffly relayed those details, his eyes gleaming wetly and then he’d changed the subject. Boone had felt a tightness in his chest and despite the fact that he didn’t remember the other man—Pierce—his throat had clogged up and he’d felt the urge to weep.

  “Who is here?” he asked, slicking a hand gone damp with sweat down the sides of his jeans.

  “My wife, my sister.” Taylor gave him a quick smile. “You’ve met them. They know you.”

  “Fat lot of good that does me,” he muttered. Skimming a hand back through his hair, he glanced over at the house. “Do they know?”

  “No.” Taylor grimaced. “Things got so crazy, I didn’t have a chance to call until today and then I decided I’d just wait until we got here. Hell, who knows maybe seeing one of them will rock your memory clear. You danced with my wife at my wedding. The three of us spent some time together in Maine at your place last year. I…”

  Taylor trailed off and ended up shrugging.

  Boone wasn’t about to bet on his memory coming back now. Maybe not ever. But he nodded.

  He followed Taylor up the steps, carrying a duffel bag with what few clothes he had tucked inside. They’d given him clothes at the base, but nothing had fit so as soon as he’d been able, he bought more. Taylor had given him some cash and he’d tried to refuse, but then the man insisted the money was his. You’re not exactly loaded, man, but you ain’t hurting for money. I had the boss forward me some from the money you’ve got coming to you.

  Money for what, Boone didn’t know. But he’d needed the clothes so he’d taken the money. He’d figure out who this ‘boss’ was and what money was owed to him later. After he’d acclimated to what had happened.

  As Taylor pushed the door open, he glanced back. “Welcome home, man. Or to your temporary home.”

  Boone followed him inside. He went to say something, but the words froze.

  A woman stood in the doorway across from him.

  Long dark hair spilled down her back.

  She wore a sweater of soft, deep purple and it clung to soft breasts, ending just at the waistband of her jeans. Long, long legs were covered in denim and he had to drag his gaze away. This would be the wife or the sister. In other words, a woman he had no business ogling.

  “Boone…”

  Her voice was a throaty whisper and déjà vu grabbed him. That voice, murmuring his name—

  “Sloane.”

  Taylor’s voice interrupted, shattering the edges of the memory before it could come together.

  The woman tore her gaze from Boone. “Taylor, I need—”

  “Boone,” Taylor spoke at the same time. “This is my sister…”

  The woman stopped speaking, her mouth falling open.

  “Sloane, Boone’s dealing with some amnesia. He doesn’t remember us.”

  Boone rubbed the back of his neck and glanced at the woman, then away. Another awkward silence settled around them. Finally, though, he forced himself to look back at her. With a short nod, he said, “Ma’am.”

  A baby’s cry drifted through his house.

  She spun on her heel and disappeared into the house.

  Boone had the damnedest desire to chase her down. But he just shoved his hands into his pockets. “You a daddy now, Taylor?”

  “No.” Taylor laughed. “That’s Sloane’s baby. My sister. The woman who…”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Boone found his temper edging into the red at those words. That’s Sloane’s baby.

  Sloane.

  The woman’s name was Sloane and she was a mother. That meant there was probably a dad, too.

  Definitely not a woman he needed to be ogling.

  She’d disappear and hide, if she could.

  But Sloane had stopped running, stopped hiding, stopping cowering on the sidelines some time ago. Maybe she wasn’t the take-charge woman that her sister-in-law was, but she could hold her own and she’d hold her own, right here, right now, damn it.

  In her own kitchen, while Boone, Ellen and Taylor shared a beer.

  She had a glass of sweet tea in front of her and for the first time in a long time, she kind of wished she could a beer. Or something stronger.

  Dani had fallen asleep and Taylor had brought in the little bouncer, tucking the baby inside it and urging his sister to sit down with them.

  She wondered if Taylor realized that Boone wanted to be down there with them about as much as Sloane did. Well, probably less. Because Sloane was all but starving for the sight of him, he looked at her with the eyes of a total stranger. He didn’t know her from Adam. He’d looked at his daughter without a flicker of curiosity and he had to be reminded of Ellen’s name.

  He hadn’t needed a reminder on her name, but Sloane suspected that was because he just didn’t care. He wasn’t talking to her, wasn’t talking to anybody at this point, really.

  “I’m getting tired.” Sloane stood up, pasted the smile on her face.

  “Do you need help with Dani?” Ellen asked, going to stand.

  “Let me help.” Taylor caught her with a hand on her shoulder.

  “I don’t need any help,” Sloane said, forcing a smile. “You should stay down here with…them.” She covered the minute hesitation quickly. She’d been about ready to say Boone’s name, but feared something in her voice would give her away.

  “I want to see my niece,” Taylor said, tugging on her hair. He paused by the bouncer and crouched down, unbuckling it and lifting the baby with competent hands.

  Rolling her eyes, she gestured for him to precede her. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  She glanced back behind her, smiled at Ellen and then forced herself to look over at Boone.

  He was staring right at her.

  The jolt of his gaze sizzled through her and she fought to keep her voice steady as she softly said, “I’m glad you’re okay, Boone.”

  “Does her
husband work late?”

  The question escaped him before he realized he was going to ask it.

  “Her…” Ellen looked startled. Then she laughed.

  Was it him or did the laughter seem to have a forced edge of humor in it? He didn’t know.

  “Sloane’s not married. The…” She smiled. “The baby’s dad is sort of out of the picture.”

  “Dead beat,” Boone said, irritated in a ways that didn’t entirely make sense. Oh, he had good reason to despise dead beat dads—and he did—but it was an abject sort of dislike. This felt personal. Maybe because he knew Sloane—or he had. Maybe that part of him remembered.

  “No,” Ellen said quietly, interrupting his reverie. “It’s complicated, really. But it’s more a matter of, well. A lack of a communication, on both parts.”

  “So she didn’t tell him?” Even as he asked it, he told himself to let it go. This didn’t concern him. Yet he didn’t tell her to forget it.

  And to his surprise, she had an answer for him.

  “She told him—in a matter of speaking. He asked the wrong question and she gave him the best answer.” Ellen nibbled on her lower lip for a moment, as if debating saying anything more. Finally, she leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table. “Sloane and Taylor, they didn’t have the best father figure. When it comes to being a parent, both of them are going to be all in. And if they get the feeling the other person involved isn’t all in, they’ll draw back. They’d rather go it alone than have somebody who didn’t want a baby in the picture.” With a shrug, she finished. “Sloane was being cautious. The guy…well, if she’d given him a chance, I think he would have surprised her.”

  “He should have made sure,” Boone muttered. Ellen’s vague response didn’t do anything to lessen his irritation at the unknown father. Because he wanted to know more, more than he had a right to, he brushed it off. “It’s none of my business, though. Looks like she’s got a handle on things. Taylor, too.”

  “Oh, yes.” Ellen grinned. “Taylor is getting plenty of experience with diaper-changing.”

  “Hey.”

  Both of them turned toward the man striding into the kitchen. Taylor paused by his wife and tugged on a loose curl. “I’ll have you know, I had plenty of experience with changing diapers. Both Pierce and I took our turns helping out with Sloane, thank you very much.”

  Ellen’s response was cut off by Boone. Out of the blue, he said, “Your mother should have tried more. I know she was trying to keep the farm going, but…”

  He stopped abruptly, red rushing up to heat his cheeks. “I…whoa. Shit. I’m sorry.”

  Taylor didn’t look offended, though. He looked intense. Hooking his thumbs in his front pockets, he said, “You remember me talking about her—my mother.”

  “No.” Boone scowled, the ever-present frustration rearing its ugly head. He reached up, rubbing at the scar that ran along his head, from the hairline on the left side, all the way past his crown. It was uneven and jagged and even now, he could feel the raised edges caused by inexpertly placed stitches. “I just…it came to me. Things do that.”

  “You’re remembering, though,” Taylor said, eyes gleaming. “Maybe not all the way—yet—but you’re remembering. That’s gotta be a good thing.”

  Boone managed to smile. But in the pit of his gut, he wondered. Was there really any life worth remembering?

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was unsettling as hell, Sloane decided.

  Her heart was still hammering in her chest and Danielle made a discontented squeak. Glancing down, she realized she’d subconsciously shifted her hold on the baby, bringing her up to shield her bare breast from the man who’d silently appeared in the doorway.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice level despite the chaotic emotions rushing inside her. As Dani started to fuss, she grabbed the blanket from the arm of the chair and threw it over the baby’s head. Guiding Danielle’s hungry mouth to her breast under the concealment of the blanket, she forced herself to smile at Boone. “Did you need anything?”

  “No.” He stared, and then, to her surprise, a blush crept up his cheeks.

  He’d been staring at her, watching as she nursed the baby, and she had no idea how long he’d been watching her.

  It was unsettling as hell.

  She finally managed to figure out the right way to phrase her next question—well, if there’s nothing you need, Dani and I are busy—but Boone had moved into the quiet library where she liked to feed the baby in the afternoons. She fought the urge to squirm uncomfortably. Nursing, at least until now, hadn’t bothered her, even if her brother was around. Taylor had gotten slightly red-faced about it at first and then, like somebody had flipped a switch, he’d gotten completely nonchalant about it. More often than not, she had a blanket on hand in case she wasn’t alone, but it had stopped bothering her within a few days of coming home from the hospital.

  Boone changed all of that.

  She wasn’t self-conscious, exactly.

  No, more like she was Boone-conscious. Too conscious of him and everything he did, so much so that she couldn’t help but notice he was just as aware of her. And damn curious about the baby. She’d seen him, just last night, staring at the bassinet in the living room with something that looked like longing in his eyes.

  Now he was sitting a few feet away.

  As a blush crept up her cheeks, she focused on adjusting the blanket that Danielle kept trying to kick away. “How…um. How are things going in the memory department? Anything new?”

  “Bits and pieces,” he said, his voice gruff.

  She looked at him just in time to see him look away.

  He’d been watching her.

  Again.

  It had been more than a week since he’d arrived and in that time, she’d caught him in the act of staring at her more often than she could count. It was a unique thing, the way he watched her and she wished she could brush it off, forget about it—or even say something to discourage it.

  But she liked the feel of his eyes on her. She liked it more than she cared to admit.

  She liked him.

  She’d always thought she would, although their correspondence had always been brief and informal. Something about a quiet, understated sense of humor had captured her interest and she found that his humor wasn’t just understated; it was so dry, most people would have missed it.

  She liked the way he had of sitting there, listening as everybody spoke and it was clear he did listen. He listened, and he thought, deliberated before offering any insight or opinion.

  And she liked the way he could sit in a room without saying a single thing, as if words, to him, didn’t matter all that much.

  It was too easy sitting in the silence with him. Intimate, even. As intimate as feeling his mouth brush over her skin, but in a wholly different way.

  “She doesn’t cry much,” Boone said, disturbing her reverie.

  Dani went oddly still and Sloane had the odd little thought that maybe some part of the child recognized her father. But that was a fanciful, foolish idea.

  “No,” Sloane said. She had to clear her throat before she could continue. “No, she doesn’t. She’s a very good baby.”

  “Does she look like you?”

  Sloane jerked her head up at that, staring into Boone’s pale eyes. “Um…” She tried to shrug nonchalantly and wished she could lie worth a damn. “No, not really.”

  Dani didn’t look like her. Although she still had that baby plumpness, her chin showed the promise of being sharper, almost pointed and her cute little nose turned up more than Sloane’s. And her eyes…

  She blew out a steadying breath.

  She had her father’s eyes. The blue of a newborn baby had shifted over the past couple of weeks and was even more noticeable now. Danielle had pale, pale green eyes and if a person really looked, they might even notice the similarity between the gazes of the small baby and the big, quiet man sitting a few feet away.

  I need to tell
him, she thought. Despair and desperation were hot on the heels of that thought. How did she tell a man who couldn’t remember her that he’d helped her bring a new life into the world? That wasn’t exactly something you could blurt out over after dinner coffee.

  She’d brush the idea aside entirely, except…the way he watched her. How he’d look at the baby. Something acute and dark burned in his eyes as he watched them—something that was akin to greed.

  Sloane understand that.

  She was greedy.

  Greedy for him, greedy for more, greedy for the promise of a family that had eluded her from the very breath she’d taken. Her mother had been a good mom, she knew that. Georgia Redding had tried, raising three kids on her own, struggling to keep the Redding farm going even when it was clear the end was near. She’d tried, but too often, it had been Taylor or Pierce to cook supper, to help Sloane get ready for bed and as she’d gotten older, it had been the twins who’d been there to help with homework or the secret little miseries that too often happened to a young, gawky girl who was too smart for her age.

  A family—a real one—was all Sloane had ever wanted.

  And the way he watched her tore jagged claws into wounds she’d hope to bury.

  “He’s crazy, you know.”

  Sloane jerked her head up as Boone rose from his chair.

  “Who? What?”

  Boone shrugged, the motion almost awkward. “Whoever he is—the dad. He should be here with you. I can’t get why he wouldn’t want…” He made an abstract gesture that seemed to encompass Sloane’s entire world—the baby, the farm, her home. “This.”

  Then he left, walking away as a knot formed in Sloane’s throat.

  “I have to tell him.”

  Ellen sipped from her glass of wine. “I agree.”

  “Good. Okay. I’ll…”

  Realizing that Ellen was still watching her, too intently, Sloane stopped. “What?”

  Ellen looked down, pondering her glass with a scrutiny that seemed almost out of place. “I do think you should tell him. I just…” She stopped and looked away. “Is now the right time? He still isn’t remembering much.”