by Bonnie Vanak
“Did your mom like to cook?” Quinn asked.
An innocent question, one that caused the familiar guilt to surface. But if talking about his childhood helped Quinn recover her memory, he’d go down that painful path.
“My father said my mother could burn water.” He smiled, the memory not quite so painful now. “When they got married, he did all the cooking. Later, when the job meant he’d work long hours, she took classes so she could have a hot meal waiting for him when he got home. Mom taught me to cook, and my sisters. She said a man should learn to make meals and not rely on a woman to do it for him. And then Dad would wink at me and say that he didn’t marry Mom for her talent in the kitchen, and he could still turn out a better rump roast than she did.”
Quinn laughed. “Your parents sound wonderful.” Her expression turned sad. “I’m sorry you lost your family. Even though it feels like I’ve lost mine as well because I can’t remember them, I can’t imagine how horrible it is to lose all of them in an accident.”
An accident. West rubbed his chest, remembering the flames, the sirens, the horrified looks of neighbors as his home, his family and his life went up in flames.
“Let’s get back. Going to be dark soon.” He stood, offered his hand, which she took, giving him a puzzled glance.
Damn, he was not ready to discuss his own past, his life. Too busy trying to live in the present, trying to reconcile himself with the only woman he vowed to love for the rest of his life.
A woman who had no memory of him, but trusted him enough to come here alone. Her level of trust astounded him. Quinn’s values hadn’t changed. She’d always been optimistic, determined to see the best in everyone.
Even a cynical FBI agent who shied away from most people, devoting himself to his work and his canine.
* * *
West Brand was a total enigma. She’d tried to coax out details of his past, his childhood, and he’d shut down like a machine.
Maybe he didn’t have a nice childhood and didn’t want to discuss it. But it couldn’t have been as hectic and unsettled as hers, always moving from one home to another, a nomadic lifestyle she detested.
Moving until she’d gone off on her own, determined to settle in one place, find one special man to love and marry.
She’d agreed to settle down with West before the explosion. Maybe it was time to see what kind of man he really was.
Clearing her throat, she pointed at his cell. “Does that even work out here?”
West thumbed through his phone, put it away. “Sometimes. More of a habit than anything.”
“Good. No more phone time. I need your help.” Quinn looked at the oven. “Special Agent Brand, I’m going to make you a special dinner.”
West’s nose wrinkled. “Tofu again?”
She grinned. “No. I’m setting aside my usual vegetarian preferences for tonight. But I’ll need you to make another trip into the grocery store. And I do hope you like bacon.”
His dark eyes lit up. “Real bacon? Not that fake stuff?”
“Real bacon.” She handed him a list. “Be prepared to exercise tomorrow ’cause, honey, you won’t want to stop eating.”
While he took the truck into town, she took her journal from the suitcase and began jotting notes. Bits of memory, slices of childhood.
Nothing from the present.
Now was not the time to recall her attacker’s hot breath on her neck, the hissing words he spat at her, the ill-concealed fury in his rough hand as he clapped it over her mouth...
As if sensing her distress, Rex pushed his nose into her lap. Quinn patted his head. The dog proved himself an excellent caretaker and guardian. Almost as nurturing as West himself.
Needing to stay busy, she started gathering the pots, pans and mixing bowls she needed for dinner. The cabin was surprisingly stocked, but West had mentioned his friend rented it out sometimes during the summer to vacationing families.
By the time West returned, her aplomb had, as well. Rex greeted him at the screen door with a happy woof and wagging tail.
West unpacked the bag, set down the bacon, spices and okra, and put the chicken in the refrigerator. “Can’t I get some idea of what you’re making?”
“Creole chicken.” Quinn pointed to a handwritten recipe. “My special mixture I made when I was a teen.”
“Can I help?”
She liked this about him. He didn’t nose around the kitchen, like Rex was doing, but offered. “Start slicing the okra after you wash it. And then get a cookie sheet. I bake my okra. Makes it less gooey.”
Soon they stood side by side in the kitchen, working in a comfortable rhythm as bacon sizzled in the big cast-iron skillet on the stove. She washed and cut the chicken into smaller slices, dried them with a paper towel and rubbed the garlic clove onto the skin.
Cooking soothed her, and she needed something familiar after being alone in this big cabin with West. No need to instruct him either, for he was turning the bacon, making sure it didn’t burn.
Next, he finished slicing the okra. She told him to set it on the cookie sheet, sprinkle it with salt and pepper, and add a little olive oil.
After he did, West slid it into the oven. He watched her work, his gaze thoughtful. “You never did tell me when and why you fell into catering.”
Funny, that was a memory she did recall.
“I started cooking to nurture my mother.” Quinn crumbled the bacon and added it to the chicken, tomatoes and Tabasco. She sprinkled in parsley. “I remember parts of my childhood. She worked hard and came home so exhausted. Food was my outlet, my way of telling her I cared. She’d sit, eat a few bites, and her whole face would light up. That meant the world to me.”
“You put your love, your caring, into your creations.” West slid his arms around her midsection. Quinn stiffened but did not pull away.
She kept working. “Those were the good times, in between all the steps.”
West kissed the top of her head. “Steps?”
“Stepfathers. One after another. Mom was a single mother, and she wanted to settle, find a good man to care for her, and me. It never worked out. So I kept cooking. Each time I heard her fighting with a new step downstairs, I’d climb out of bed, scribble in my journal. Not my emotions, but recipes. Ways to make a new dish fun, exciting. I’d close my eyes and remember the aroma of freshly roasted peppers or the fragrance of blueberries bubbling in a pie. Hear the sizzle of bacon-wrapped asparagus. It was my way of self-soothing.”
“Most kids that age turn to alcohol, drugs or worse,” he murmured.
“I had enough of that with my father, seeing how people regarded him. I needed something more, something that I could claim myself. Cooking taught me patience. You can’t be in a hurry if you want to create something wonderful for someone you care about.”
When dinner was ready, they set the table together. West fed Rex and then sat at the table, doling out a portion of chicken for her, and helped himself to a larger one.
When he tasted it, his dark eyes sparkled. “Wow. This is really tasty.” He chewed some more, looked hopeful. “Can we make another recipe like this tomorrow night?”
Quinn laughed. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t like what I usually make for customers?”
“I’m a guy. Meat and potatoes. He-man chow.” West winked at her.
She found him utterly charming. No wonder I fell in love with you. I wish I could remember that.
“Maybe I’ll let you cook tomorrow night. All those he-man genes must mean you carry the dominant Grill Man gene, as well.”
A quick, knowing grin. “There is a nice gas grill out back. I bought some ribs, and the sauce I make will turn you back into a carnivore for good.”
Quinn forked another piece of chicken. “You can try.”
She needed to know more about their life, their relationship, befo
re the explosion. “Did we set a wedding date yet?”
West’s dark gaze fell on her bare left hand. “We didn’t plan yet because of the Groom Killer and we’d only just become engaged. We had agreed to keep our relationship secret.”
“Too bad. No wedding cake talk, flowers, dresses. That romantic stuff brides love.” Quinn fluttered her lashes and heaved an exaggerated sigh.
But instead of laughing, he looked solemn. “If it made you happy, Quinn, I’d have invited the whole damn town. All that mattered to me, still does, is making you happy.”
Such devotional talk warmed her, and made her uncomfortable because she couldn’t demonstrate the same to him. “Why did you ask me out in the first place?”
Maybe a memory of their dating would surface. She could hope.
“Your personality and being genuine. You say what’s on your mind and what you want, instead of what you think I want. You’re not ostentatious. You care more about what’s inside a person than the outer shell. It’s one trait that attracted me to you.”
Such quiet admiration in his voice. “I must have some negative traits that you dislike. No woman can live on a pedestal.”
West speared a forkful of chicken, lifted it to regard it thoughtfully. “Your vegan cooking. But after this, wow, I may have to put you back on your pedestal.”
She laughed.
They talked about cooking for a while. West made a gesture with his fork and she saw the unmistakable sign of scar tissue. Nasty burn. She had a few minor ones on her right arm, but nothing like his.
“How did you get that?” She pointed to his right hand. “Was that something that happened while we dated?”
She doubted it. But maybe he’d open up about his family.
West barely glanced down. “It was a long time ago, when I was a teenager. Say, this is really good with the flavoring. Not too spicy, but tasty. Did you have other recipes with Tabasco?”
So it was cooking talk. Safer, not the morass of the past. Quinn let it slide and told him about the composition book and the recipes she’d collected.
He sipped the water they’d drawn straight from the tap. Cold, refreshing. Nothing bottled here. “Tomorrow, we’ll go fishing. Before we leave, I’m taking you to Pine Paradise, the vacation spot you once stayed at with your sister.”
A cold shiver raced down her spine, not caused by the chilly breeze blowing in from the open living room windows. “Is it safe enough, after what happened to Tia?”
His gaze met hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you, honey. That’s a promise.”
* * *
A promise he intended to keep.
Doubts had flickered on her face. West didn’t know what hurt more, her failure to trust him fully, or the memories she’d kicked up with her questions about his childhood.
And his burned palm.
He’d hoped being alone out here would ease her back into the relationship they once shared. Instead, no memories surfaced. It was starting all over again, with Quinn getting to know him, except for his faint, deep fear that she’d change her mind.
Decide she didn’t want to get married, decide she never wanted to see him again. West didn’t want her to know about his family, the circumstances surrounding their deaths.
Not now. Those wounds ran too deep and Quinn had wounds of her own to heal.
And once she discovered his true assignment in Red Ridge?
Would she kick him to the curb, or forgive him for hiding the truth from her?
West felt confident the old Quinn would lean toward forgiveness. This Quinn, who hardly knew him, might not be so merciful.
After dinner, she headed into the bedroom. West washed up, thinking of this area, these woods that could hide Demi Colton herself.
He finished washing the dishes and went into the bedroom. West ground to a halt, seeing Quinn stretched out on the bed in her fleece pajamas.
She looked defenseless, young and vulnerable in her sleep. For a moment he felt tempted to bend over, kiss her awake. Like Prince Charming to Sleeping Beauty.
This was no fairy tale, and he needed to remember Quinn had a long recuperation period ahead of her. She required rest, not long, loving kisses.
No matter how passionate those kisses were.
West covered her with a thick wool blanket. Sighing, he headed into the living room to resign himself to another night sleeping on the sofa.
First, he went outside, taking Rex with him. The Lab bounded off toward a tree. Bracing his hands on the porch railing, West relaxed. The woods always comforted him, solitude never bothered him. He preferred to be alone. Until Quinn had come along.
Sounds of the night greeted him, insects humming in the nearby field, an owl hooting close by...
Gunfire.
He listened.
Far off in the distance came another series of shots. Large caliber, perhaps a rifle. Gunfire in these mountains wasn’t unusual. Probably some drunk taking potshots at a tree trunk.
But the gunfire came from the direction of Pine Paradise Cabins.
West circled around the cabin, checked the property. Phone lines and electrical were underground and protected by ridges of razor wire, and couldn’t be easily cut by intruders. It was why he’d elected to stay here with Quinn. Security was tight.
Still, unease pricked his skin. West whistled for Rex, who came running, and then locked the dead bolt after they went inside. He shut and locked all the windows, checking the bolts.
Before getting ready for bed, he took his pistol, made sure it was loaded and set it on the end table by the sofa.
If someone found out Quinn was here and came after her, that bastard would have to go through him first.
Chapter 14
Sunshine dappled the canyon and the birds chirped overhead in outstretched pine boughs as he hiked with Quinn the next day. She’d protested that she needed exercise, so they set out to stretch their legs.
They took a break after two miles, resting on a boulder alongside the path. West drank some water, wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. He nodded at her left wrist, which she rubbed.
The bandage had been removed a few days ago, but she kept touching it, as if the sprain still hurt.
“You okay?”
“Habit.” Quinn dangled her legs over the boulder, drank some water.
“Did Demi like hiking in the woods?” West touched her right wrist, feeling her pulse beat steady.
Quinn didn’t take the bait. “How should I know? I told you, I have a memory of barely knowing her. We weren’t close.”
Each question he asked about her sister met with a shrug or a change of subject.
They resumed hiking again, until reaching a bluff overlooking the canyon below. He sat on the park bench, patted the space beside him. Quinn joined him, sighing with pleasure.
“So lovely. Peaceful. Places like this are great for getting away from work pressure. I bet your buddy knew this and that’s why he bought it.”
He grunted.
“What’s one of the worst cases you’ve ever had?” She curled up her legs beneath her.
West didn’t want to talk about it. Talking about his work had been off-limits for them both. Bringing home the ugliness of his job.
“They’re all bad.”
“How do you handle the pressure of seeing these things?” Quinn studied her injured wrist. “The cruelty that others inflict?”
“Takes time. I have an internal switch that I click on when I’m investigating.”
“But there must have been one case that got to you.”
West leaned against the bench.
“It was back East, before I moved to South Dakota. Someone had been cooking meth in an apartment complex and a mother and child were caught in the explosion and killed. I was assigned to search the third quadrant,
where they lived. Rowan, the dog I had at the time, searched every inch of that bedroom and then we found it.”
The doll had been burned in the explosion, but not destroyed. Blackened, partly melted face, one eye missing, the hair half turned to cinders. Scorch marks on the pink-and-white dress. He’d held the doll in his gloved hands for a long time, thinking about the little girl who once held that doll. Once held tea parties and hugged her doll, and slept with her at night until a killer erased her off this planet.
The old scar tissue on his right hand ached like a phantom limb.
“This was somebody’s life and they were just gone, in a matter of seconds. That one got to me.”
“Why?”
Maybe it was time he told her. Reveal a secret. Get her to trust him again. West studied his burned hand. No. Not now.
“Because the doll reminded me of the innocence of childhood. My sisters... They died when they were barely out of childhood.”
Quinn snuggled closer to him. “I keep feeling as if you’re not leveling with me, West. So thank you for sharing that. It helps me to get to know you all over again.”
He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of apple shampoo. “I don’t like bringing work home with me, Quinn. There’s too much ugliness in the job. I switch it off when I get home.”
They headed back to the cabin. Once there, Rex settled on the porch, lying down as he and Quinn took to the wicker love seat overlooking the canyon. For a few minutes they sat in companionable silence.
Finally she looked at him. “How can you do your job? I don’t know how you manage to face all that, seeing the bodies, the crime scenes.” She gave a delicate shiver.
“The others, you go into automatic. Recovering evidence, doing field investigations and you can’t get personally involved because emotions prevent you from doing the job to the best of your ability.”
“What happens when you do get personally involved? When it’s someone you know, like me?”
He looked her square on. “That’s the worst.”
She took his hand, turning it over to examine the scar tissue. West stiffened but did not pull away.