A Memory Away

by Melinda Curtis

  Duffy’s touch soothed. His voice calmed. “And then...”

  “I didn’t want to. I was afraid of...” It was gone, the hint of memory. Only the unease remained. “I don’t know what I was afraid of.” She studied their joined hands, knowing she should let him go.

  “I don’t like the idea of Greg scaring you.” He threaded the fingers of his other hand through her hair, brushing it behind her ear.

  She leaned into him and his arms came around her.

  This, her heart whispered, more vocal than it had been in the bakery.

  “It wasn’t a physical fear.”

  “But you were scared.” Duffy released her, bending his knees until he was eye to eye with her. “That’s why you didn’t tell Greg. On some level, you knew things would change if he found out about Baby. Greg wasn’t father material.”

  “Do you always have to be so negative?” Her words were barbed. She couldn’t help it.

  “Just when it comes to my brother.” So matter-of-fact. He sprinkled mushrooms in the pan. They sizzled in the combination of oil and meat juices. “Admit it. You had an inkling of what he was up to.”

  The warm smells pulled Jess further into the present, into the warm kitchen with the now familiar beat of rain on the roof. “It doesn’t seem like that’s where my fear was coming from.”

  “Let’s talk about something else.” He stirred the mushrooms, and then met her gaze without the doubt he’d had at the bakery. “Do you want a bakery of your own?”

  “I do... I did...before Baby.” She didn’t feel fear when she thought of owning Martin’s Bakery in Harmony Valley. Not the fear she’d recalled with going into partnership with Greg. Why had she felt such gut-shaking anxiousness with him?

  A new feeling, one of shoulder-bending betrayal, took hold. Maybe she hadn’t loved Greg. At least, not the way she should have.

  Oh, how she wished she could remember everything.

  “What do you love about the idea of having your own bakery?” Duffy’s voice. Grounded. Supportive.

  Jess swallowed. “I’ll be able to bake what I want. To try things I want to try. To...” The Martin family recipe book came to mind. “To pass on the things that I love to Baby.”

  Baby elbowed her lovingly.

  “I don’t have much of a connection to my mother,” Jess continued, rubbing the spot where Baby moved. “But passing on recipes—sharing a kitchen together—it creates a bond that lasts long after people are gone from your life.” She glanced up at him, hoping her words reached him. “Don’t you agree?”

  It was then she realized they were sharing the kitchen. She and Duffy. Creating a bond.

  Her gaze dropped to his lips and then skittered away.

  I do not want to kiss this man.

  Baby elbowed her again.

  It’s just echoes of Greg.

  Baby elbowed her harder. Why was it so difficult to lie to her child?

  Her attention ping-ponged around the kitchen. The cookie dough needed something. Brown sugar? Cinnamon? She couldn’t remember. Her face began to heat. Duffy somehow managed to capture her gaze again. And there it was—awareness. Of her. As a woman.

  Her pulse pounded and her body felt lighter than it had in months.

  And then he chuckled in a way that destroyed the impression.

  As it should have. She didn’t want his male appreciation. She didn’t feel like a woman. She felt like an overinflated beach ball with legs. Darn pregnancy brain couldn’t be trusted to read anything right.

  “You and I will always have a bond in Baby.” He spoke gently, from the heart. It was the truth. “You mentioned you don’t know who your father is. What happened to your mother? When did she give you over to foster care?”

  Admitting the details of her past would only make her feel closer to him. She told him anyway. “My earliest memories are of living in a small room in a big house. My mother took care of the children. Later, we moved to another big house and another small room where Mom did the cooking.” Those were the good memories—of warm kitchens and warm beds. But there were other recollections she wished she could erase. “And then we were homeless. For a long time. I didn’t figure it out until I was about nine. I hated the days I wasn’t in school.” She picked up the wooden spoon and gave the dough a halfhearted stir. “We’d had a couple of rough weeks where Mom had fought off men. I didn’t understand back then, but I realize now they had intentions...”

  Duffy cursed under his breath.

  “I like to think she left me at the shelter because she knew the system would take care of me better than she could on her own.” Jess also liked to think her mother was watching over her, waiting for a time when she’d be back on her feet and able to care for her daughter again. It had made leaving the Los Angeles area difficult. But chances were that her mother had started a new life without Jess as a burden.

  Duffy cradled her chin in his big hand. His touch was no doubt meant to be friendly and supportive, but all she felt was his compassion and the need to touch him. “It took guts for her to leave you.”

  “Do you think so?” Jessica’s voice shrunk to a small, fragile thread. “Sometimes I think she took the cowardly way out.”

  His hand dropped away, but his gaze remained. Rock-steady. Certain. “Doing nothing is the coward’s way out.”

  Jess repeated the words to herself for the rest of the evening: Doing nothing is the coward’s way out.

  She could continue to work for Vera and do nothing to create a future for herself and Baby. Or she could adopt the family who’d started the bakery and risk ruining everything.

  * * *

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS.

  Duffy had only really known Jess for twenty-four hours. Their first meeting didn’t count.

  In twenty-four hours, he’d learned more about her than he knew about his boss or any of his coworkers.

  Her lost memory was a fragile thing that rolled in as quickly as the tide and receded almost as swiftly. He could tell by the distance in her eyes if she was regaining a memory. He could recognize a memory’s impact on her by the crinkle in her brow—unpleasant—or the smile at the corner of her lips—pleasing. He could sense her mood by the shifting tempo of her voice.

  He felt a friendship forming. Something comfortable. Except while they’d been in the kitchen earlier discussing her fears and her past. A tug of attraction had passed between them, so tentative he wasn’t convinced she’d felt it. But he had. And he’d moved quickly to reestablish their boundaries.

  The dinner dishes had been cleared. Some oatmeal raisin cookies eaten. Jessica sat curled in one corner of the couch and Duffy in the other. He’d called the hospital to check on Rutgar and his concussion, receiving a verbal thrashing from the old man for bothering him.

  It still rained. The television was tuned to a do-it-yourself program about small houses, those less than four hundred square feet. They didn’t talk. He and Jess seemed to have run out of things to say.

  “I bet your house qualifies as a tiny house.” Jess yawned.

  “That apartment over the bakery would, too.”

  Her body convulsed. “Ouch.” She rubbed the curve of her stomach.

  “Was that a kick?”

  She extended her upper body. “No. It’s an, um...contraction.”

  “What!” Duffy shot to his feet. “I’ll call the sheriff. He’ll get Patti.”

  “No... I...” She put her feet on the ground with a groan. “These are Braxton Hicks contractions. Practice contractions. Although... I’ve never had them so strong before.” Her face was turning red, features contorting with pain.

  “What do we do? What can I do? What do you need?” Darn you, Greg.

  “Walk it out.” Jess extended a hand for him to help her up. “Remind me to breathe.”


  Duffy backed up a step. “Shouldn’t you relax?”

  She waved her hand impatiently. “Help. Me. Up.” She was as far from relaxed as relaxed could be. Her words sounded more like choppy groans. “Need. To. Walk.”

  He got her to her feet and led her around the room. “Better?”

  Her cheeks were flushed. Her breath came in rapid pants. Even her hair seemed unsettled. It was as mussed as if he’d been kissing her.

  Duffy ground to a halt.

  Jess stumbled against him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing is wrong.” He was just being a guy. A dumb, insensitive guy. Duffy began walking again, tugging her along, tugging his defenses back in place.

  “Whew. It stopped.” She drew him to a halt this time. “Thank you for not panicking when I did.”

  Duffy had to look at her because she was talking to him.

  He gazed down into her dark brown eyes. It seemed natural to smooth her silky hair behind her ears. It seemed natural to allow his gaze to brush over her lips. It would seem natural to close the distance between them and kiss her.

  Her grateful smile faded under his scrutiny.

  Idiot.

  Duffy forced himself to release her arm and think about something else. Football or his vineyard to-do list or the sweet way her cookies tasted fresh out of the oven. He would not think about her independent streak or how she defended Greg or her desire to be part of a family. And he certainly would never, ever, not in a million years, dwell on how her lips might feel beneath his.

  And then she was in his arms, lips pressing to his. She was warm. Soft. Curvy. And sweet. She tasted so sweet. Unbearably sweet.

  Her hands were in his hair, fingers circling the cowlick at his temple. His arms drew her closer.

  And they kissed.

  It was like surrendering to a craving for nachos and finding everything in that one first bite made the world seem right.

  There was a sound at the front door.

  Eunice. He was going to kill her.

  He and Jess drew apart slowly. She looked dazed and ready to be kissed again. He wanted to oblige. He wanted to hold her hand and tell her to reach for her dreams. He’d be there to help, come rain or shine, good times or bad. He’d help her. He’d help...

  Help!

  His arms dropped to his sides. His gaze dropped to her belly. He liked Jess, but he would not take on more responsibility. And that’s where more kisses would lead. Not to being a sounding board if she took over the bakery. Not to having a date to go to the movies with. Jess and Baby. They were a package deal.

  Duffy felt sick for his selfishness. But she had to know. He couldn’t lie to her. And he couldn’t be—

  There it was again. The sound on the porch.

  He practically ran to the door. “Eunice, it’s too late for visitors.” Or one of her off-the-wall food dishes. She’d probably brought over pickles and ice cream for Jess.

  No one was there. The wind blew the rain in his face.

  Duffy stepped onto the porch. “Hello?”

  “Who is it?” Jessica stood in the doorway behind him. “Oh, hey.” She knelt and held out her hand. “You’re all wet.”

  There was a clack-clack-clacking noise from the far end of the porch. A cream-colored dog the size of a football trotted forward with dainty steps. Its long fur was drenched and matted. It shivered pitifully.

  “Poor baby,” Jess cooed. “Come inside. We’ll get you dry.”

  Duffy searched the street for the dog’s owner. But the street was empty.

  Jess picked up the little beast and cuddled it on top of her baby bulge. Big brown eyes stared up at him.

  “Poor thing. Get me a towel, will you, Duff?”

  Duff? No one called him that. He was Michael to his parents and Duffy to his friends. Not Duff.

  They needed to talk about that kiss and what it didn’t mean.

  But Jess was already sitting near the fire, talking baby talk to the wet pup.

  He got the dog a towel. And a bowl of water. And some leftover chicken from a few days ago, which he shredded. “I bet someone’s looking for that dog.” He thought no such thing. No collar. No tags. Matted hair. Thin as a rail. That pup was a stray.

  Duffy took up his position in the couch corner.

  “We’ll find your doggy parents in the morning,” Jess promised, setting the tiny, fluffy beast in Duffy’s lap.

  The dog stretched across Duffy’s legs and closed its eyes.

  “You can call someone, right?” Jess asked in a whisper, as if she didn’t want to wake the dog. She sat next to him instead of in her corner. “To find its home?”

  “There’s a vet in town. And I can ask the sheriff.” Now was the time to broach the topic of that kiss.

  The dog snuggled closer.

  “And Eunice. She’d know whose dog this is.” Jess stroked the dog’s fur.

  She sat close enough that he felt the warmth of her thigh near his. She’d been warm in his arms, too.

  Here came the silence. There was something they needed to discuss. Pregnant brain must be contagious. Duffy couldn’t remember what it was.

  “Such a sweet little thing,” Jess murmured. “She’d be a good dog for you, Duff.”

  “Oh, no.” Dogs were like kids. You couldn’t just take off on a whim. They needed to be fed and walked and loved. Duffy wasn’t in that stage of life. He was a carefree bachelor. Ah, yes. The topic of conversation returned. His gaze managed to find Jessica’s lips. They’d talk about that kiss just as soon as he tackled the dog issue. “You can have her.”

  “My apartment has a no-pet policy.” Jess sounded wistful. No doubt, she considered animals part of that family she’d never had.

  “I can’t keep her.” The words couldn’t tumble out fast enough.

  “Why not?” Jess scooted a seat cushion away, nearer the opposite corner. “Ah, your rule about no responsibility.”

  “Yes.” He was relieved she understood. This would make the kissing conversation that much easier.

  But Jess wasn’t understanding. “Eunice wouldn’t be able to sneak up on you if you had a dog.”

  “I’m not keeping this dog.” The dog’s ears slanted back. Without realizing it, Duffy softened his tone. “It doesn’t like me anyway.”

  Jessica’s smile refuted his words.

  And when Duffy woke up the next morning, the dog was spooning him on the couch.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “AM I TOO LATE?” Eunice stood outside Duffy’s door holding a plate, eyes blinking at Jess at an unnerving pace. Eunice’s purplish hair was flat on the left, as if she’d rushed to get ready and forgotten to tease it out on one side. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “No.” Jess sniffed cautiously, not sure if she wanted to let Eunice in with something that would make her nauseous.

  The rain had finally diminished to a drizzle. The little stray sniffed Eunice’s feet. Duffy was in the shower. To date, they’d avoided discussing their kiss.

  Jess didn’t want to dissect it. Not who had initiated it—her. Not whether she’d thought of Greg before, during, or after—definitely no. Not the escape-from-responsibility lecture she was sure Duffy wanted to give her—ugh.

  The old woman put her purple blinkers on pause and squinted at the pup. “How could I miss Duffy getting a dog?”

  “She showed up late last night.” The cutie definitely preferred Duffy to Jess. She’d even attempted to join him in the bathroom. Jess tried not to take it personally, but at this rate when Baby came she hoped it didn’t prefer Duffy to her. “Did you bring something for breakfast, Eunice? You shouldn’t have.”

  Really, Eunice, you shouldn’t have.

  “It’s fried cornmeal mash.” Eunice shuffled closer, c
rowding Jess at the door.

  Jess smelled corn bread and something fruity. Baby approved. She stepped back and let Eunice inside.

  “I made it the way Mama used to.” Eunice handed the plate to Jess and removed her shoes. “Flavored with strawberry Jell-O and jalapeños.”

  Baby did not approve. Baby shuddered as if Jess had eaten five-alarm chili.

  “Eunice.” Duffy stood in the doorway to his bedroom in jeans and a gray T-shirt. He rubbed his hair with a black towel. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “That’s what Jess said.” Eunice was oblivious to his sarcasm as she headed toward the kitchen.

  The dog trotted to his side. Jess stopped herself from doing the same. Stopped herself from grinning at him stupidly. Stopped herself from staring at his strong shoulders.

  “What is it?” Duffy tossed the towel over one shoulder and followed Eunice, the stray trailing happily at his heels. “Broiled Spam with chipotle and celery topping? Rum cake with tequila icing? Pigs’ feet with Alfredo sauce?”

  “Duffy.” Jess closed the door, trying not to imagine any of the tastes he’d suggested.

  “Such imagination for a man who shows none when it comes to his own diet.” Eunice smirked. “Bacon and eggs, sausage and eggs, toast and eggs. Where’s the fun in that?”

  Duffy flashed Jess a look of disbelief before turning back to his neighbor. “You’ve been spying on me.” Not a question.

  “Of course not.” Eunice sniffed, but stared at the floor. “Your garbage tells a better story.”

  “Did you put on your glasses to Dumpster dive?” Duffy retorted.

  “I do not need glasses.” Eunice’s words shook as indignantly as half of her purplish curls—the teased-out ones.

  “Eu-nice.” Duffy wound out her name like a pitcher about to deliver the game-winning fastball.

  “I don’t think we need to go there.” Jess raised her voice to an octave she imagined mothers used to keep kids in line. “In fact, we’re not going there. Get some coffee. Cut up the mash and let’s eat.”

  They both blinked at her. Even the dog stared at her with wide eyes.