Roman's Heart

by Sharon Sala

  Chapter 3

  The assortment of clothing he had laid out for her was, to say the least, eclectic. There were odds and ends that didn’t match, and all of them smelled a bit like the cedar chest they’d been in, but Daisy didn’t care. They were clean and, except for having to roll up the waistband of the gray wool pants she had on, almost a fit. The old red flannel shirt was soft and comfortable, and a welcome respite against her scrapes and bruises. And when she sat down to put on her shoes, she saw that he’d left her a pair of socks, as well. She pulled them on, savoring the warmth against her skin. They made her shoes a bit too tight, but she wasn’t going to sacrifice warmth for comfort.

  When she bent down to straighten her pants, a lock of her hair slid forward. Still wet from her shampoo, it felt cold against her cheek. Shivering, she headed for the stairs and the fire that was blazing below.

  Roman looked up as he heard her coming, thinking he was prepared for the sight of a stranger in his mother’s old clothes. She was shorter than Barbara Justice had been, but there was that same unmistakable air of fragility in their build. Just for a moment, he felt as if he were seeing a ghost. He stared at her, unaware he was frowning.

  Daisy paused in midstep, with her hand still on the banister. If she was honest with herself, she would have to admit Roman Justice scared her to death. He was so big and his expression so cold. It was as if his very presence sucked the life out of a room. But there was something inside of her that refused to let him know how she felt. Instead of cowering, she lifted her chin and met his gaze straight on.

  “Thank you for the clothes,” she said quietly. “They feel warm and wonderful.”

  He nodded.

  “Your sister’s?” she asked, trying to make conversation.

  He shook his head. “Don’t have one.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence lengthened between them. Finally, it was Daisy who broke it.

  “Do I smell coffee?”

  Her question made him remember she hadn’t eaten. “Yes. I left you a few strips of bacon on the back of the stove, and there’s bread in the box. You better make yourself a sandwich to go with the coffee. I won’t cook again until evening.”

  “Thank you.”

  Green. Her eyes are green. For some reason, he felt satisfied with having answered that question. A few moments passed before he realized that she’d spoken.

  “What did you say?”

  “Thank you,” Daisy repeated. “I said thank you.”

  He shrugged. “You’re welcome.” Then he remembered her hands and the injuries she’d suffered.

  He caught her by the arm as she started into the kitchen, then grabbed her hands, turning them palms up. They didn’t look much better than they had before her bath. He knew they must be painful.

  “I’ll get your food. You dry your hair. It’s bad enough that we’re stuck here together. The last thing I need is for you to get sick.”

  Daisy didn’t know whether to thank him or kick him in the shins. His offer of help could be taken several ways, and none of them was particularly complimentary.

  “Yes...well, I...” Daisy said, and then gave up conversation as a lost cause when he walked away.

  With a shrug, she turned toward the fireplace. No use talking to herself. And the fire did feel good.

  When he came back in the room, Daisy was still running her fingers through her hair, using them in lieu of a comb to separate the strands so they would dry. He set the coffee and sandwich on the table at the end of the sofa and then took a tube of ointment from his pocket.

  “After you eat, I’ll doctor your cuts. You don’t want to get an infection.”

  Again, Daisy was forced into accepting his reluctant offers of help. She nodded, wondering what she’d done to deserve such a plight as she was experiencing now. If she was a crook, her justice was being meted out in a more effective manner than any the criminal system could have accomplished.

  There is the money, she reminded herself. But until she knew where it came from, she wasn’t the least bit comfortable about considering it as any sort of backup.

  Uncomfortable at Roman’s nearness, Daisy picked up her sandwich and then looked away as she took the first bite. But the wonderful flavor of crisp smoked bacon and sliced tomato, coupled with soft, fresh bread and some sort of sandwich spread came as a great surprise. She hadn’t been expecting the garnishes he’d added, and made no effort to hide her appreciation.

  “Mmm, this is good!” she said, and then leaned back on the sofa and proceeded to down the rest of it like a starving pup.

  Roman turned away, refusing to acknowledge her appreciation.

  “Just a sandwich,” he said shortly. “Let me know when you’re through. I’ll see to your cuts.”

  She looked up. “It’s much warmer by the fire. You don’t have to leave on my account.”

  Roman stood for a moment, staring intently down at the woman in his mother’s clothes, and wondered what Barbara Justice would have had to say about her. Her hair was almost dry. The same length all over, the chocolate brown strands fell just short of her shoulders. A single strand of hair was stuck to her cheek near the corner of her eye. It startled him to know he’d thought of brushing it back.

  “Oh, but I think I do,” he said, and left her to make what she chose of the ambiguous remark. Besides that, he was still trying to get through to Royal, although none of his calls would go through. He supposed it was because of the storm.

  So Daisy ate, alternating bites with slow sips of coffee as Roman finished unpacking. A short while later, he went upstairs with an armload of linens. When she heard him walking from one side of the bed to the other, she realized he must be making it up. A quick wave of panic came and went as she thought of the money hidden beneath it. What would he do if he found it? While he didn’t seem like the type of man who would kill for money, she already knew that he was the type of man who, if he had to, wouldn’t hesitate to kill. She set her cup aside and then leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, staring down at the floor and praying for insight that would help her get through this.

  There was no sudden revelation—no bright burst of light holding badly needed answers—only the realization that she was on her own. Despair settled heavily on her shoulders as she buried her face in her hands.

  And that was how Roman found her.

  She looked so lost. He wondered if she was crying and was angry with himself for caring. He didn’t want to be embroiled in anything personal, especially with a woman. When you got personal with a woman, emotions became involved, and Roman had learned long ago to keep his emotions in check. Life had aged him far beyond his thirty years. He didn’t want to care. People who cared were people who set themselves up for a fall.

  “Are you sick?”

  Daisy jerked. She hadn’t heard his approach, and that deep, angry voice startled her.

  “No.”

  She refused to look up at his face. She was an unwelcome presence in his life, and she knew it.

  Roman’s conscience pulled. For a woman, she was being a trouper. Not once had she relied on tears or hysterics. His admiration for her lifted a notch.

  “Let’s take a look at those cuts,” he said.

  Daisy looked up, and although there were tears glittering in her eyes, she would have choked on them before she let one fall.

  “Please do,” she said. “I’d hate to be a larger burden than I already am.”

  Her sarcasm was impossible to miss, and Roman’s guilt deepened.

  “I never said you were a burden,” he muttered, and reached for the ointment he’d laid on the table.

  “Should I sit or stand?”

  He glanced at her face. It was void of any expression, save that of waiting.

  “Stay where you are,” Roman said. “I’ll come to you.”

  It was a poor choice of words. The moment be said them, they both knew there was another connotation that could have been taken.

  She shift
ed farther back onto the sofa cushions and looked into the fire, telling herself that the flush on her face was from the heat and nothing else.

  Roman stood behind her, waiting until she settled, then bent forward, carefully moving aside a lock of her hair above her eyebrow, then searching for the injury that had been the source of all that blood. Moments later, he felt a great lump beneath her scalp and frowned at the size of the cut on top of it. No wonder she didn’t remember her name. Hell, it was a wonder she’d had enough sense left in her to walk.

  “This might hurt,” he said, squeezing a bit of ointment onto his finger before applying it to the cut.

  She didn’t flinch, but as he leaned closer, he heard the rapid and shallow breaths she was taking, and knew she was hiding her pain. Wishing there were a way to do this without hurting her, he touched her shoulder, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse pounding through her body.

  “I’m sorry.”

  It was the quiet in his voice that calmed Daisy as nothing else could have done. At last, he said something she could believe.

  She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before she trusted herself to speak. But when she looked up, she found herself locked into a clear blue stare. She shuddered.

  I don’t know this man and yet I’m letting him call every shot about me, including my physical well-being.

  The urge to bolt was strong, but there was something in his gaze—something strong and solid—that told her to stay, that it would be okay.

  “It had to be done,” she said, and held out her hands.

  Roman circled the sofa, then sat on the cushion next to her. Again, the unexpected contact of her skin against his made him antsy, and he forced himself to focus on her injuries.

  “You need a number on these,” he said, turning them palms up, then palms down before applying ointment to both sides.

  “If I’d been able to fly, it would have been easier to get out of the tree.”

  The unexpected bit of humor made him laugh before he thought, and a small smile played at the corner of his mouth as he finished the first aid.

  But something had happened to Daisy she hadn’t been prepared to withstand. In the short space of time between his laughter and his smile, she’d seen the man beneath the mask. In that moment, he’d become more than her captor, more than an unwilling host. He’d become human. For Daisy, that was a danger she couldn’t afford. There were too many unanswered questions about her life to risk trusting anyone, especially a man who had her at his mercy.

  “I think that’s enough. Thank you very much,” she said quickly. Before he could argue, she reached for her plate and cup and headed for the kitchen.

  The smile died on his face as he watched her walk away. Everything in him was on alert. A woman with a past was always a complication. A woman with no past spelled trouble with a capital T.

  He tossed the antibiotic aside and strode to the door, yanking it open with a jerk and then standing in the doorway, breathing in deep, cleansing drafts of the cold, sharp air. Tiny flurries of snow blistered his cheeks and burned his eyes, but he didn’t budge. He stood, letting the wind and snow cleanse his mind in a way he could not.

  By the time he stepped back, his focus was clear. All they had to do was coexist for a few more days. The weather would clear. He’d take her down off the mountain, and she’d be out of his life. The plan was a good one. It should have made him happy. It did not.

  The scent of their supper was still in the air. Although Daisy’s memory was as blank on food as it was on her personal past, she was pretty sure that she’d never had anything as good as the wieners he’d grilled over the fireplace and the beans he’d poured out of a can. For dessert, he’d opened a package of chocolate cookies filled with double helpings of white cream filling. When she saw them, she smiled in anticipation.

  “Ooh, those are my favorites,” she said, and then the smile froze on her face. “How did I know that?”

  From his seat on the floor near the fireplace, he handed her a couple of cookies, then took one for himself.

  “People with amnesia rarely forget everything about their lives,” he said, twisting the cookie apart and then licking at the filling in a studied manner. “They will remember inconsequential facts. It’s the big things that usually take time.”

  “Oh.” It was all she could manage to say. Her gaze fell on the slow, steady lick of his tongue as it swirled around the cookie. There was something sensuous about the act that made her stomach pull. She swallowed nervously.

  Look away. Look away. Don’t let him see you watching.

  Something crunched in her hand and she looked down. The cookie she’d been holding was in bits.

  “I, uh—”

  “Give it to me,” he said, and held out his hand.

  Embarrassed, she dumped the broken pieces into his palm and watched as he turned and tossed them in the fire.

  “Here you go,” he said, handing her another one. “Easy does it this time, Daisy Mae. You’re supposed to put it in your mouth before you crunch.”

  There was a glimmer of jest in his eyes that she fought to ignore. Daisy Mae, indeed! She couldn’t believe he was actually comfortable enough with her to tease, and she kept telling herself to lighten up.

  Just eat your cookie, woman, before you do something you will regret.

  Pretending great interest in which side to bite first, she turned the cookie around and around before she put it in her mouth. When the rich, familiar flavor of chocolate hit her tongue, she closed her eyes with pleasure and chewed slowly, savoring every bite. Then she proceeded to eat the two that he’d given her, and three others besides. When he offered her another, she shook her head.

  “I couldn’t possibly, but thanks,” she said, daintily wiping at the edges of her mouth with the tips of her fingers.

  Roman hid another grin. She’d be irked to know there was still a bit of cookie on her chin, but he wasn’t going to tell her. With all her fussing and wiping, she was bound to come across it soon enough.

  “Want a beer?” he asked as he got to his feet.

  Daisy looked startled. “Uh, no. I don’t drink. At least, I don’t think I—”

  Roman shook his head. “Don’t apologize, and don’t secondguess yourself. First instincts are always the best. How about some coffee, or maybe a pop?”

  Daisy’s interest returned. She’d seen the six-packs on the cabinet earlier.

  “Too late for coffee, but I would like a pop. However, you don’t need to wait on me. I can get it for myself.”

  Roman folded himself back up and sat down on the floor without arguing. “Fine. Bring me a beer when you come.”

  Her eyebrows rose, but she refrained from making a remark as she went into the kitchen. He’s been waiting on me all day. It’s the least I can do, she reminded herself. But she knew there was something inbred in her that resented like hell taking orders from a man. It made her wonder what her life had been like before.

  As she was reaching into the refrigerator, the wind suddenly rattled the window over the sink and she looked up in fright. There was nothing beyond the glass but darkness. In a quick burst of panic, she grabbed the drinks and bolted for the living room, sliding to a halt as she reached the fire.

  “Here’s your beer,” she said, still breathless from her sprint.

  He’d heard her coming, her footsteps short and quick...all but running out of the kitchen. He took the can without comment as she settled onto the sofa. She was still fidgeting, even as he was taking the first drink. He stared at her without making any apology for doing so.

  She stood up to him in ways that would have made his brothers laugh. She wasn’t prone to hysterics and seemed to have a high tolerance for pain. Yet she ran from the night like a child afraid of the dark. Taking another drink, he tilted his head as the fluid slid down his throat, savoring the smooth tang.

  “Tell me, Daisy, what do you remember?”

  The question took her aback. But the images were qu
ick to come to mind.

  “Waking up in a tree—and hurting.” She looked away for a moment.

  Roman sensed she wasn’t trying to hide her thoughts, but rather to gather them. He waited. It was her tale to tell.

  She set the can of pop aside and then held out her hands.

  “The blood. There was so much blood. I remember wondering if I was going to die.”

  Roman’s gut knotted. He knew what that felt like.

  She shuddered. “Each time I tried to move, the parachute ripped. I thought I would fall, you know.” Then she looked at him. “The tree was very tall.”

  And you are very small.

  Again, Roman was startled by the empathy he was feeling for her. It wasn’t like him to be soft, not about anybody or anything—except Maddie. Where she was concerned, he was putty.

  “But you got down,” he said.

  She nodded. “Yes. I got down.” She thought of the bag and the money and looked away.

  Her hesitation was obvious to a man of his profession. There was something she wasn’t saying, yet he refrained from pressing the issue.

  “Then what did you do?”

  She looked back at him. “I started walking.”

  “How did you know where to go?”

  “I didn’t. I just followed the down slope of the mountain.”

  Smart girl. But he only nodded.

  Her tone deepened as she continued, and he could hear the stress in her voice.

  “It was almost dark before I saw the cabin.” Caught up in the telling, she leaned forward. “You don’t know how glad I was to see that roof. It was getting cold, and I’m afraid of the dark.”

  Again, saying that came as a surprise to her. She tried to laugh.

  “This feels so weird. You know what I mean? It’s the not knowing those little things about myself until they’ve snuck up on me that’s driving me crazy.”

  Roman emptied the last of his beer and then set the can against the wall, giving her time to settle before he spoke.