by Leona Karr
“That’s okay. Sometimes food isn’t the answer. You’re probably needing a good night’s sleep. I’ll make up the cot in my computer room so you can have the bedroom.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you like that,” she protested, already sensing that just having her there was putting some kind of pressure on him.
“It’s no bother,” he answered politely. “Everything will look different in the morning.”
“Yes, I’m sure it will.” She forced a level of confidence into the words. Surely, whatever had caused her to lose her memory would be healed in sleep, allowing her to draw out of the depths of her unconscious the answers that were hidden from her. Somehow she knew that a temporary loss of memory could return as quickly as it was lost. Surely by morning she would know who she was, and why she had nearly lost her life in the raging storm.
ANDREW TRIED unsuccessfully to ignore the presence of the woman sleeping in his bed. As was his custom, he worked at his computer until after midnight, and then finally gave up because his mind kept wandering, plagued by unanswered questions about her. Why did he have a nagging suspicion that he was being used in some fashion? Even though his rescue of her seemed legit, could she have faked the whole thing for some nefarious purpose?
He plopped down on the living room couch. Sitting there and staring at the ebbing fire, he tried to come to some understanding of what he was feeling and what he should do next. His experience with conniving women had left him guarded and slightly bitter. He had long since decided that he wasn’t cut out for the mating games that went with heavy dating. His few ventures into romantic relationships had proved what he already knew—opening oneself up only brought hurt, big time.
He leaned his head back on the couch and had just closed his eyes when a piercing scream rent the silence of the house. He lurched to his feet, threw open the bedroom door, and saw her writhing on the bed, sobbing and crying.
“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he soothed and gathered her trembling body into his arms. Tears poured down her cheeks and she clung to him with the fierceness of a terrified child. Her breathing was rapid. Her body felt cold to his touch and she was caught in a spasm of shivers. Any doubts about her anguish being genuine were instantly dispelled. There was no way she could have pretended such an upheaval of emotion.
Trish heard his voice and struggled to find her way out of an enveloping panic. She clung to him and felt the warmth of his arms encircling her.
“You just had a bad dream,” he said gently.
A bad dream. Her mind grabbed at his reassurance. That’s all it was. A nightmare. Only fragments of images remained in her consciousness, and even as she tried to capture them, they faded away like shadows in a mist. Whatever had triggered the terror that had brought her screaming out of a tortured sleep, slipped away, leaving her empty and shaken.
As the drumming of her heart began to lessen, she managed to stammer, “I’m…I’m sorry…”
“It’s all right.” He stroked her hair and lifted it away from her moist cheeks, aware of the delicate contour of her face and the totally feminine body pressed against his. “Everything will look different in the morning,” he promised once again. He held her close until her breathing settled into a normal rhythm, then he eased her back down on the bed and quietly left the room.
Sleep evaded him as he settled down for the night on the cot in his computer room. His mind kept turning over unanswered questions. He was certain now that she was truly frightened about something or someone. Although he was sympathetic to her situation, whatever it might be, he still didn’t want to get involved. He suspected that there was a lover somewhere in the picture. She was very attractive, and more appealing than he was ready to admit. Holding her in his arms had ignited some tender needs that he thought he’d buried a long time ago. Turning restlessly on the narrow cot, he tried to forget how soft and vulnerable she had felt in his arms.
WHEN TRISH WOKE UP early the next morning, she was disoriented as she looked around the small room. Then a quiver of relief shot through her. She knew where she was. Everything came back from the moment that she’d been carried into the house. A man named Andrew had rescued her. And before that? And before that? The question kept ricocheting from one side of her head to the other.
Her lips quivered. Nothing. Nothing.
Hugging Andrew’s faded robe around her, she walked to the window and stared at the scene stretched out before her. The summer storm had passed, leaving a soft mist moving away from the land.
Dragging her eyes over a small rocky cove below the cottage, she searched the empty beach and rolling breakers, struggling to recover some vision of what had happened to bring her to that deserted stretch of sand.
A new day lay fresh and glistening in the sunlight. She swallowed hard. A new day. For what? Running and hiding? Running from what? Hiding from whom? She turned back toward the bed, ready to crawl back in and cover up her head, but hesitated when she heard sounds in the other rooms.
Andrew was up. She knew he would be wanting some answers, but what should she tell him? If she admitted that she had no clue who she was, or how she had ended up on his beach, he would probably insist on taking her somewhere. Something deep within warned her not to leave this haven of safety until she could remember why she felt threatened and in danger. She decided to take the coward’s way out—climb back in bed, cover up her head and pretend to be asleep.
Andrew prepared his usual breakfast of cereal and toast, and made two extra cups of coffee. This was one of his days in the office, but he’d hoped that he and his houseguest would have some time to talk before he left. Glancing at his watch, he knew that wasn’t going to happen unless she got up in the next few minutes.
She didn’t appear. The bedroom door was still closed when he was ready to leave. He listened for any sounds inside, and then quietly opened the door and peeked in. She was still in bed. He was about to close it again when she raised her head and gave him a startled look.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m about to leave for the office.” He frowned. He didn’t feel right about leaving her after last night’s sobbing nightmare, but he didn’t have any choice. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she readily lied. “Just tired.”
“Well, sleep in as long as you like. I’ve left some breakfast for you.” He hesitated, wanting to ask what her plans were, but it didn’t seem to be the right time. After her ordeal yesterday and the kind of night she’d had, it was clear that she needed rest. He felt a little uneasy, leaving a stranger alone in his house, but he really had no choice. “I’ve left a note with my cell phone number if you want to call me.”
She nodded.
There didn’t seem to be anything more to be said so he closed the bedroom door and left the house. The whole business was unreal. Never in the world would he have imagined twenty-four hours ago that he would have a strange woman sleeping in his bed, sabotaging his well-ordered life and cluttering up his mind with irritating questions. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t forget the way she’d clung to him last night. He’d been careful not to allow anyone to be dependent upon him for anything, but there was something of a lost soul about her that could easily get to him if he let it. Anyway, she’d probably be gone when he got back home, he told himself, and he could chalk the whole episode up to some kind of weird adventure.
His unsettled mood must have been communicated to his fellow workers because several of them asked, “What’s the matter with you today, Andrew? You don’t seem like yourself.”
He brushed off their comments with a shrug and vague answer. He couldn’t help but laugh to himself, wondering what their reaction would be if he told them the truth—that there was a strange lovely waif sleeping in his bed.
As usual, Andrew had lunch by himself in the coffee shop that he frequented. He exchanged pleasantries with the motherly waitress who was used to serving him in a back booth where he ate his usual corned beef sandwich with
a book opened on the table beside his plate. He tried to resume his usual routine, but when he found himself staring at the pages without reading the words, he pulled out his cell phone and called home.
No one answered.
He let it ring six times before he hung up. She must have left or was still sleeping. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or irritated.
Later that afternoon, he called again. Still no answer.
TRISH HAD STAYED huddled in bed until midmorning. Finally, she took herself in hand, retrieved her clean clothes from the dryer and dressed. Thankful that she’d been given a slight reprieve from having to make any kind of decision, she went into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee.
She saw that Andrew had left bread on the counter for toast and some cereal waiting to be heated on the stove, but her stomach was churning with too much anxiety to feel like eating anything.
What should she do? Where should she go?
Her mind played the questions over and over again. If she left the safety of this cottage, would she be walking straight into some unnamed danger? She knew with sickening certainty that something terrifying had happened to her, but that was all she knew. How could she protect herself when she didn’t even know who she was or where the threat lay?
Taking the cup of hot coffee with her into the living room, she sat down in his easy chair. A faint masculine scent was strangely comforting as she thought about the man who had rescued her. Who was this Andrew Davis? His personal imprint was all over the small house. Wooden shelves flanking the fireplace were crowded with books of all kinds, and in the corner of the room was a guitar. Framed pictures on the wall were obviously prints taken with a simple camera, probably his, she thought. The modest furnishings suggested a man comfortable with himself, and a man who invited trust. She remembered how he had held her last night, and the way his gentle reassurances had soothed her shattered state. Up until now, he hadn’t burdened her with a lot of questions, but she knew that that couldn’t go on. She had to make a decision. Either she was going to have to start lying or tell him the truth.
If she told him that she couldn’t remember anything before he found her on the beach, would he believe her? He might think she was just trying to con him with such a tale, and show her the door. Where would she go?
Maybe a lie would be better, she reasoned. Almost any story would seem more acceptable than the truth. What kind of a tale could she weave that would make it reasonable for her to stay here until she had some glimmer of her Lost Identity?
The sudden ring of the telephone sent her into instant panic. She was afraid to answer. What if they asked, “Who is this?” And what was more frightening, someone might be trying to find her.
She held her breath until it stopped ringing. Too late, she realized that it might have been Andrew calling to see if she was still there. Maybe he had wanted to tell her that he expected her to be gone by the time he got home?
If only she could remember anything, even a glimmer, maybe she would know what to do. She hated the thought of going back down to the beach where he had found her, but maybe something there would trigger her memory. Nothing could be more terrifying than not knowing anything about what had happened to her.
Cautiously she opened the front door and peered out at a redwood deck that stretched across the front of the cottage on the ocean side. A small mahogany picnic table, benches and two matching chairs presented an inviting scene, but as she stood in the doorway, her feet refused to move outside. Her fear was stronger than her will.
Slamming the door shut, she leaned back against it with tears in her eyes and her fists clenched. Maybe she didn’t know her name, but there was one question that was imbedded deep in every cell of her being.
Had she been fleeing for her life when Andrew found her on that beach?
Chapter Two
Andrew returned home that evening just after the sun had set. Twilight was slowly creeping across the ocean, and turning relentless rolling breakers into a dull gray. When he saw that there weren’t any lights on in the cottage, he felt a momentary pang of disappointment. Although he was used to coming home to an empty house and grateful to be out of the hustle and bustle of the city, his mysterious houseguest had made this homecoming out of the ordinary. Just in case she might still be there, he had stopped and picked up some fried chicken and salad.
Well, so much for taking the time to plan supper, he thought, impatient with the whole situation. Even though he knew she’d been shaken by her ordeal, she could have had the courtesy to explain herself before she took off. She could have phoned him, he argued with himself, and then shoved the thought away. It didn’t matter. Maybe it was better that she disappear as suddenly as she had come. At least she’d locked the door before she left, he thought as he let himself in.
As the door swung open, Trish jerked up from the couch where she’d been lying, and her cry of terror was like a sharp knife renting the air.
“It’s just me, Andrew,” he said quickly as he flipped a light switch just inside the door.
“I thought…I thought…” She took a deep breath to steady her voice.
“I’m sorry I frightened you. The house was dark. I thought you’d gone, but I guess I woke you up?”
She wanted to run into his arms, let him hold her the way he had last night, and end the torturing long hours of trying to retrieve something that lay at the edges of her memory. His reassuring figure and concerned expression invited the kind of security that she desperately needed. Somehow, she knew she was safe now that he was home.
“Have you been sleeping all day?” he said, wondering why the telephone hadn’t awakened her.
She nodded, not wanting to admit that for hours she’d been staring at the ceiling, trying to hold on to flickering impressions that faded too quickly for her to hold and examine them. Several times the darkness curtain in her mind seemed about ready to lift, causing her to hold her breathe as sweat beaded on her forehead. And then nothing.
“I brought supper,” he said, holding up the sack that was redolent with the odor of fried chicken. “Did you raid the fridge and fix yourself some lunch?”
“I made some tea and nibbled on some cheese and crackers. I wasn’t very hungry.”
“Well, I’ll fix us a couple of plates and we can go out on the deck to eat. The sun has burned off yesterday’s rain, and it’s going to be a lovely evening. Did you get out at all today?”
The question was casual, but it brought a tightness in her chest. “No, I stayed inside.”
“I called a couple of times, but no one answered.”
“I—I guess I must have been sleeping too hard to hear it.”
He didn’t believe her. The way she was avoiding his eyes spoke volumes. Why was she lying to him, and acting as if she was trying to come up with some believable story? He wanted to ask if she’d phoned anyone, or made arrangements to go back to wherever she belonged.
“Well, you probably needed the rest.” She had touched a sympathetic chord in him, but loud and clear it vibrated with a warning. Her continued presence could completely upset his life. She’d already played havoc with his normal routine and he’d spent more time thinking about her than was wise.
“Why don’t you freshen up, while I get things ready?” he suggested. After they had eaten, he’d insist that she level with him. He deserved to know what in the hell was going on.
She sensed his simmering impatience, and her stomach tightened as she went into the bathroom. Staring at herself, she was embarrassed at her disheveled appearance reflected in the mirror. Her hair was tangled, her eyes heavy, and deep lines of worry and fatigue etched her face. No wonder he had suggested that she freshen up. She was embarrassed that she’d let anyone see her in such a washed-out state. Somehow she knew that she’d always tried to look her best.
I have pride, she thought with a deep sense of satisfaction as she washed her face briskly with cold water. This little discovery was like a gem shining in a
foggy darkness. It strengthened an inner confidence that seemed natural to her, and she glimpsed a tensile strength that had not been destroyed in the throes of amnesia.
I’ll remember everything soon, she told herself as she carefully brushed her hair around the tender spot on the back of her head. She had just put the brush back on the shelf, and automatically reached out her hand to pick up something when she froze. Nothing was there.
For a split second the curtains of darkness in her head split and she could see a dark blue cosmetic bag decorated with bright butterflies just beyond her empty hand. The flash of remembrance was clear and unmistakable.
Joy like a surge of adrenaline shot through her. I own a bright blue-and-yellow cosmetic bag. My memory is coming back! Her heartbeat quickened and the palms of her hands were suddenly moist with sweat. It wasn’t much, but it was a beginning.
With a stronger step, she hurried out to the living room to join Andrew, but he was already outside on the deck. She saw him through the large picture window. He had lit some patio lamps, which sent a soft glow over the deck.
“Come on out. Food’s ready.” Andrew gave her an inviting wave of his hand.
As Trish stood in the doorway, looking out, her burst of well-being faded. Her mouth went dry and her chest was suddenly weighted. She fixed her eyes on Andrew’s reassuring figure as she slowly pushed opened the screen, and forced herself to step out on the deck.
As her frantic gaze searched the beach below the house, she didn’t know what or whom she was expecting to see. In the twilight only a peaceful scene of water, sand and sky greeted her eyes. She saw that Andrew’s house was nestled in a small cove isolated from other structures whose roofs she could glimpse in both directions some distance away.
Andrew was puzzled by the visible signs of a struggle going on inside her as she stood there, her eyes searching in every direction. Had she expected to see something or someone? She was certainly attractive enough to have a man chasing after her. Had she been fleeing from a lovers’ quarrel when she got lost in the storm? By this time, the poor guy was probably frantic from her disappearance.