Without a Past

by Debra Salonen

  “How could a person with a fear of heights stand it up here?” Andi asked. She knew the jittery feeling in her tummy wasn’t from acrophobia.

  “I never looked down. But maybe we’d better move to the bed—just to be safe.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows à la Groucho Marx. Andi laughed. First times could be awkward, but she wasn’t really nervous. True, he might leave once the trial was over, but she’d deal with that when it happened. Maybe if we’re good together, she thought, he’ll be tempted to stay.

  Harley scooted backward until he was sitting cross-legged on the mattress. Leaning over, he reached for her hand, and with as much grace as a courtier, kissed her knuckles. “Come,” he said, giving a light tug. There wasn’t room to stand, so Andi moved catlike to join him.

  She had to look down to make sure she didn’t impede her progress by kneeling on the hem of her shirt. Harley helped by reaching out and pushing the neckline over her shoulders. Then he slipped the right half over her shoulder and tugged the sleeve free. He did the same to the other side. Naked, except for her panties, Andi stayed in her feline position and watched his gaze roam over her body.

  For the most part, Andi liked her body. Her hips were a little wide and her legs were layered with the sinewy muscles of a runner, but her breasts didn’t sag; her belly was flat.

  “I may not be able to remember everything about my past, but I’m certain I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight,” Harley said. The look in his eyes started a tremor of desire that turned her knees weak.

  It had been a long time since anyone had told her she was beautiful. Desirable. Sexy. She moved closer, straddling him so that her knees framed his hips. She sat—the apex of her legs touching his quite noticeable erection. She moved closer, finding that perfect fit.

  Harley made a small sound—air passing through clenched teeth. He jammed two pillows behind his head then reached out with both hands to grasp her waist. When his thumbs stroked her belly, a pool of heat fanned out in every direction, redirecting all thought.

  Her nipples puckered, and his hands moved upward in response. When his thumbs brushed the sensitive tips, Andi couldn’t suppress a moan of desire.

  “This isn’t going to be slow and tender, Andi,” Harley warned, his fingers squeezing. “Not this time. I need you too damn much.”

  She covered his hands with her own and arched her back. “It’s the same for me.” The movement brought her hips forward. “Why did I put these damn panties back on? And what’s with those sweatpants? Why aren’t you naked?”

  His chuckle preceded a slight bucking sensation that prompted her to move to one side. While she stripped off the scrap of white material, she watched Harley shed the bulky jersey sweats. He untied the drawstring waistband then pulled the elasticized band up and over his erection. His sweatshirt disappeared in one smooth yank.

  The warm air rising from the little stove in the living quarters down below had turned the alcove into a cozy nook. Harley got to his knees to meet her face-to-face.

  “You are amazing,” he said softly. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

  Andi knew she’d never felt this intense a desire. The depth of her need left her a little frightened. But she was no coward. “Me, too,” she said, reaching out to brush the back of her hand down his smooth chest.

  His nipples puckered. Her hand dipped lower and the muscles of his lean belly tensed.

  She closed her eyes as his arms went around her and pulled her close. She caressed his rock-hard buttocks, locking him against her. Naked skin—cool yet steamy—created a language of its own. And Andi’s body had no trouble understanding every nuance. She ran her tongue across the hard shelf of his collarbone. He did the same to her.

  “Broken,” he whispered, his tongue flicking back and forth in the shallow depression. “How?”

  “Fell off the neighbor’s mule. Kristin dared me. I was eleven. I didn’t tell Ida Jane until it was too late for the doctor to do anything. It healed funny.”

  He kissed the old wound so tenderly her breath caught in her chest. “It’s so you,” he whispered. “Willful and independent. If we had a child…”

  He went no further with the thought.

  Andi didn’t care. She was engrossed by her exploration. The taste and smell of his skin. His chest was tanned from the warm spell they’d had last month. His belly fascinated her—tight ridges with just the right amount of fat to give it contours.

  “You have a beautiful body,” she said. As her tongue circled the depression of his belly button, his stomach muscles contracted.

  He jerked slightly and her chin brushed against a velvety softness. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the musky scent of desire and male body. She was ready, and he hadn’t even touched her.

  As if reading her mind, he drew her upright so he could nuzzle her breasts. She gasped with relief when he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked. A sweet pressure built inside her and she threaded her fingers through his hair, pressing him to her. When he switched to the other breast, his fingers toyed with the neglected nipple, pinching softly.

  “Harley, please,” she whispered. “Touch me. Now.”

  His gaze locked with hers as his hand found her. His finger entered her and she cried out, melting against him. She’d never felt more consumed with need. “Tell me you found the protection,” she growled.

  His low chuckle reassured her. He pulled away and reached for the sweatpants. From the pocket he pulled a strip of foil-wrapped condoms. Andi looked toward the ceiling. “Lars, wherever you are, I send my heartfelt thanks,” she said then dropped to a seated position, reclining on her elbows to watch him.

  She grinned as Harley impatiently opened the first package with his teeth then sheathed himself. Next time, she’d help, but there was something powerfully sexy about the way he did it.

  “I can’t promise finesse, Andi,” Harley said, his tone apologetic.

  She reached up to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. “Just make love to me,” Andi said, closing her eyes to better feel every amazing sensation. “I guarantee that will be enough for me.”

  “HARLEY,” a voice said.

  Harley? Who’s Harley?

  Still half-asleep and drugged from the most incredible lovemaking of his life, Jonathan had trouble focusing.

  Then it hit him. Where he was. Who was running her fingertips up his spine. Who he was.

  He sat up too fast. His breath coming in quick, shallow gasps made him dizzy. His head filled with a raucous noise that made him squeeze his eyes shut.

  “What’s wrong? Headache?”

  Her voice was soft, concerned. Harley…Jonathan—whatever his name was—knew something was expected of him. He’d made love with Andi and now he needed to say something. But his throat was dry and his brain was about to explode.

  “Aspirin?” he croaked.

  “Oh, sweetie,” she said, massaging his shoulder sympathetically. “Is it a migraine? I’ll be right back.”

  He heard her leave the bed and quickly dress. Her feet made faint squeaky sounds on the ladder. He sank into the soft bedding. Once in a prone position, the pain lessened. From below he could hear her drawing water, speaking to Sarge, adding wood to the fire. A bead of sweat broke out on his forehead. He’d made love with the woman of his dreams. The plain fact was he loved her—or did he? Maybe Harley loved her. Jonathan was incapable of love. Wasn’t that what Miranda, his girlfriend of four years, told him when they broke up?

  The memory rushed back. Crisp and clear.

  He’d been planning to ask her to marry him. But when he arrived at her condo—shortly after his disastrous meeting with his father—she’d made it clear that he wasn’t part of her future.

  “I used to think we had a chance, Jon,” she’d told him, tucking his glittery ring back in his pocket. “But I know now that your father’s right. You weren’t cut out for small-town life. JJ Newhall doesn’t do hearth and home.”

  The words held a
veracity that made him cringe. Yet, a few hours earlier, Andi had suggested he might live here in the cabin that belonged to him and write. But he was a nomad, wasn’t he?

  “Here’s super-duper aspirin. Military issue. Lars had a bottle in his medicine cabinet,” she said, materializing at his side. He hadn’t even heard her climb the ladder.

  He sat up, positioning a pillow against the cabin wall. The blankets pooled at his waist.

  She’d mis-buttoned her flannel shirt, making the collar lopsided. Her hair stood up in little tufts. Her skin was cosmetic-free and beautiful. He’d never seen anything more appealing.

  She passed him the glass then fished two large white pills from the breast pocket of the shirt. “I’m going to run up to Margaret’s and make a few calls while you’re recuperating.”

  Harley swallowed the bitter pills and took a large gulp of water. “I’ll go with you.” Better to move around than lie here and think.

  “No. Rest. I want you in good shape for later.”

  The humor in her tone could not be missed. Nor the innuendo. Harley took another drink. They’d made love twice. Once with a mindless urgency that made the whole experience end too quickly. The second time had been a languid journey of discovery. But a feeling of remorse had arrived with his headache. Was this fair to Andi?

  “What time is it?” Harley asked, reaching for his shirt.

  “It’s 8:00 p.m. I figure people might be getting a little jittery about our whereabouts. The rain just let up, so I can run to Margaret’s and make the call. We aren’t getting out of here until morning. The road over the pass is going to be a quagmire—even with four-wheel drive. I don’t have to be at the Rocking M till noon for the wedding rehearsal, then Kris and I are throwing a wedding shower for Jenny at the bordello at four. I’ve closed the shop for the whole weekend.”

  They’d already discussed using Lars’s truck to drive back into town instead of waiting for the tow truck, which would be needed for Rosemarie.

  “How’s Sarge doing?” Harley asked.

  “Not bad. I think he’s been bruised. He made it outside with barely any help, but he’s still limping. He snarfed down a can of dog food, though. So, that’s a good sign.”

  “Do you still want to drop him at the vet’s when we get to town?” Harley had checked on the dog between lovemaking, and Sarge seemed to be resting comfortably. The old dog had lifted his head and licked Harley’s hand as if to say thank-you for his concern.

  Harley had petted him in return—with mixed emotions. He still felt uncomfortable around Sarge.

  “Rich Rumbolt’s office is on the way to the ranch,” she said. “I’d feel better if he took an X ray or two. Just to be safe.” Andi started to back down the ladder. “Rest. I’ll be baaack,” she said in a horrible Arnold Swarzeneggar imitation.

  For the first time since opening his eyes, Harley felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, they’d figure this out. Maybe, he could make peace with his past and find a way to integrate his old persona into a new life. But he knew, without a doubt, that Andi was the key to making this happen.

  “I’m going with you.” Before she could protest, he added, “There’s a snake on the loose.”

  “I’m not afraid of snakes.”

  He chuckled. “Humor me. I wouldn’t feel right hanging out here while you wrestle a boa for the phone. Maybe it’s a guy thing.”

  She smiled. “Oh. Okay, then. The sooner we go, the sooner we can…” The gleam in her eyes was unmistakable.

  Harley felt a correlating response. They had the whole night ahead of them. Right or wrong. There was no turning back.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING there was a chill in the air. “I’m surprised we didn’t get snow,” Andi said as she led the way to the barn. The crisp fresh breeze made her nostrils crinkle.

  Her bare knees tingled, but at least her feet and calves were warm. She’d borrowed Lars’s thermal socks. Thick gray tubes with a red band that reached to her knees. Stylish? Not a chance, but that’s what happened when you went into the mountains dressed as a girl.

  A gust of wind made her wish she’d borrowed one of Lars’s stocking caps, too. Without electricity she hadn’t been able to dry her hair. Thanks to the resourceful miner who’d built a water tower to provide gravity-fed water to the propane water heater, she and Harley had shared a shower after breakfast—and made use of the last condom in the strip.

  Then, without a word of debate, they’d divvied up the chores. Harley had handled the loft, dropping a pillowcase filled with the sheets and the clothes they’d borrowed over the edge. It had landed with a plop that had made Andi jump. Once she’d finished putting away their breakfast dishes, she tamped down the fire and checked all the windows.

  As they left the cabin—Harley carrying Sarge—she paused to tack the yellow police tape back in place.

  “Are we going to talk about this on the way back?” Harley asked, following a few steps behind her.

  She hated mornings after. “We have to hurry. I have a million things to do today. Anyway, what’s to talk about? We had great sex. Let’s not pretend it was more than it was.”

  “That’s all it was to you?” He had to juggle Sarge to free his hand to grab the hem of her jacket. The dog let out a groan.

  Since Harley and Sarge blocked her way to the shed, which was on the far side of the clearing, she couldn’t avoid the confrontation.

  “Like I said, we had great sex.” Make that an epiphany of love and redemption. She planned to keep that little truth to herself. I’m not a complete fool. Say the L-word and he’ll run for sure.

  “I don’t believe that’s all it was to you,” he repeated.

  His comment irked her. “Okay, then, I’ll tell you the truth. The sex was unlike any I’d ever experienced. And I feel an emotional connection to you in a way I’ve never felt for another man.” Andi swallowed. “But I’m trying my hardest to avoid the huge—humongous—letdown that is bound to hit when you decide to leave.”

  He opened his mouth, but she quickly added, “And I don’t blame you for not wanting to stay. Small towns aren’t always easy to take even if you’re born there. They’re filled with nosy, well-meaning people who think nothing of giving you advice you don’t want. Gossip spreads faster than the flu. And business is so bad…don’t get me started. Suffice it to say it sucks.”

  Since Harley didn’t say anything to refute her premise, she stepped off the path—instantly soaking her socks—and stomped toward the shed. “So now you know. Can we please just get going?”

  He followed. Once they reached the garage, he carefully eased Sarge on to a soft bed of packing blankets then faced her, hands on his hips in a belligerent manner.

  “It isn’t fair to assume the worst just because you think you know what I feel.”

  Andi felt between the grillwork of the truck until she found the latch then lifted the heavy hood, which was a patchwork of rust and primer paint. “You told me last night your father wants you to return home to Florida.”

  “Florida is not my home. It never has been. He wants me to go back with him to see an amnesia specialist. I haven’t agreed to go.”

  She wanted that to mean he was staying here, but that wasn’t what he was saying. “If you stay in Gold Creek, what will you do? Work at the Rocking M?” She answered her own questions. “Of course not. You’re a world-famous journalist. What could a little town in the Sierras hold for you?”

  He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You.” His breath was warm on her ear and neck. She wanted to melt against him and never leave their tiny hunk of paradise.

  “Oh, Harley,” she said on a sigh.

  He stiffened slightly.

  She turned to face him, her right hand holding the oil dipstick, her left a rag. “What’s wrong?”

  “The name is an issue.”

  “Do you want to be called Jonathan?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. At first, it sounded foreign, b
ut now Harley sounds odd to my ear.”

  “Well, at the risk of sounding flip, let me know when you’ve made up your mind. In the meantime, we really need to hit the road. Jenny sounded pretty calm on the phone last night, but at the rehearsal she’ll have two squirming babies and a mother-in-law. She’ll need my help.”

  Harley/Jonathan pitched in to help her get the old truck started, then offered to drive. Whether his motive was altruistic or a means to avoid holding Sarge on his lap, she couldn’t decide. Being a passenger would give her time to think.

  Why is Sarge overjoyed every time Harley gives him any attention, but Harley, no, Jonathan—definitely, Jonathan—looks pained whenever he has to touch the dog?

  Andi petted Sarge’s big, knobby head as they topped the summit. The snow tires only lost traction once. The sensation made Andi’s stomach rise to her throat, but Harley kept the truck under control.

  Although the engine noise made it difficult to be heard, Andi was surprised when he chose to put on the radio. “I thought you wanted to talk,” she said.

  “Um, okay,” he said, raising his voice. “Tell me about the wedding plans.”

  Andi made a face. “Planning large social engagements gives me a headache. That’s Jenny’s thing. All I do is show up.”

  “What kind of wedding do you want?”

  “Theoretically? The simpler the better. A justice of the peace in Tahoe is more my style. But, at least, Jenny isn’t going overboard this time. When she and Josh got married, they invited practically the whole town, plus all their friends from college. It was crazy.”

  He glanced her way and smiled. “I thought the whole town was invited to this wedding, too.”

  God, she liked his smile. His Harley smile.

  “It’s different,” she said. “Jenny and Sam are holding a small, private ceremony, first. Then the reception will coincide with the annual St. Patrick’s Day barbecue. That’s always very well attended because it’s so much fun. And the local civic groups—the Garden Club, the Volunteer Fire Department, and the Moose—reap the benefits.”