Memory of Love

by J. J. Keller

  He approached. By the look of her legs twined under her, she would be tall. At least six feet. Dark blonde hair spiked in different directions. Scratches and bruises marked her wrists and long slender hands. Dirt patched her gray blouse and one side of her jeans, confirming his theory of her zigzagging through the brush. Blood oozed from a wound on her arm.

  His fur bristled in excitement. He inhaled her pheromone scent. In addition to the vanilla-lavender aroma came a snippet of a vision. She wore very little, but her shit-ass grin shook his core as she swung a sword, trying to give him a belly piercing. What was her name? How did he know her?

  Had she been a client? As a veterinarian, he met a lot of people and may have treated her pet or stock. Except the sword and skimpy leather clothing in the vision didn’t fit this time frame. His heart pounded faster. Had she been planted here, to entice him?

  She squatted. Their glances met, but not one hint of panic crossed her face. He was a fearsome wolf, and yet no fear registered on her countenance. Regardless, she needed to find refuge from the three. He snarled. His bared teeth usually had people dancing from foot to foot.

  Nothing.

  He tilted his head waiting for the terror to enter and, of course, the eventual chase. Instead of fright, resignation held steady in her pretty blues. Her jaw tightened. He took a step forward. Pine needles stuck to her legs as she lifted off the ground. Her hands closed into fists.

  Aidan turned and sprinted along the path. Although the whispering of brush sliding against stems rippled through the air, no footsteps padded on the packed dirt. He retraced the few steps. She stood in the center of the clearing, wearing a confused expression. He barked. Something he never did. Sometimes he’d howl when an innocent animal was left wounded, near death as a result of gunfire or arrow, but barking seemed beneath him. The simple, squeaky yelp brought her focus to him. Gazes locked, he nodded, turned, and trotted along the trail. This time, footsteps followed.

  He kept a slow pace, allowing her to stay at a decent trusting distance. She didn’t appear to have any major outward injuries, just the scratches on her arm. Every so often he stopped and waited for her, then continued. Five miles into the walk, he spotted his house. The woman, several yards behind, would arrive in a few minutes. That would provide him with enough time to transform.

  For the second time in over two hundred years, he barked.

  Chapter Two

  Every step she took on her lacerated feet stung, yet she forged ahead. If she stopped, rested even for a moment, she wouldn’t be able to pull herself up again. Dizzy and unbalanced, she stumbled into the clearing. The glow from one single lit window cast four squares on the ground in front of a Greek revival house.

  Please let someone be inside.

  A few staggering steps later, she climbed onto the portico and pounded on the door. Seconds later and no response, she rested her head on the mahogany panel and crab-crawled her fingers to the brass rectangle at the side and pressed the button until chimes played an odd old-fashioned tune. Relief from escaping danger had her impotent body near to collapsing. The adrenaline that enabled her to fight and run eventually lost out to shock and exhaustion. Yet, she had to alert someone to the men in the woods.

  Where had the wolf gone? There wasn’t any doubt he’d led her to this house. As of today, she had a greater appreciation for wildlife. Footsteps approached the door from inside. She stood straight, finger-combing her hair to flatten the spiked strands. As her fingers pulled the short ends, she had a distinct impression her hair was typically long, beyond her shoulders. Had her kidnappers cut her hair as some sort of sick joke?

  She jerked at her blouse and the cotton tee underneath. Blood had crusted on her upper arm. By the looks of the small stripes, a mere scratch, but it burned like hell. Her jeans, stiff and spattered with dirt and grass, made it obvious she’d been in contact with the ground. There wasn’t a way to improve her poor appearance. The door pulled open. Odin willing, the person would know her.

  The barefooted man standing in the doorway, with his jeans unbuttoned, was six foot of pure viewing pleasure. He had ordinary facial features, not broad, not thin. His nose, just the right size, separated his prominent cheeks. His eyes were gray, the color of polished silver. His hair looked soft, reminding her of turned soil on the mountain range of Asgard, deep reddish brown that reached his broad neck.

  Her gut tightened. Soil? Asgard?

  She shook her head. Having barely escaped the despicable trio, why would she desire one of the same gender? How messed up was she really?

  Unsteady, she gripped the doorpost.

  He reached around the door and held her arm. “May I help you?” His voice was low. Sexy.

  “Yes, I’m sorry to wake you, but I was…do you know me?” Calm and relaxed her breathing steadied. Birth, death, and rebirth, the idyllic ratio of Norse religion, had she died and been reborn? Was she having an out of body experience? Did she rise above and look down on a bloodstained, dirty, disheveled stranger posing questions to, hopefully, a half-dressed sexy friend?

  “No, but it is four fifty in the morning, and you look pale as a snowflake.” He waved his hand as if to say, “not awake” and stepped to the side. “Come in. Should I call road-side assistance?” His glance traveled along her body. “Or an ambulance?”

  She shook her head. Reality settled and she was once again her unfamiliar self. Had she made a mistake by knocking on this door? She didn’t have a choice, but peered into the corners of the room—just in case. What if he was one of them? He could be a member of the group in the woods. What if they were playing some twisted game. In most movies the victims escaped only to be caught once they lowered their guards thinking they’d run away from danger. Amazing how bits and pieces of frivolous information flooded her mind, and her true memory remained a blur.

  At least two of her kidnappers were alive and kicking and, no doubt, looking for her. Knees weak and ready to crash, she exhaled. “I don’t think I have a car. Forest. Men…tied.” She fell forward.

  Thankfully, he caught her in his brawny arms. With little effort, he cradled her, slammed the door, and carried her through a large dark corridor. Afraid she’d paint his skin with her sweat and blood, she held her face away from his beautiful strong chest. A single table lamp shaped like a full moon illuminated the room. Curtainless windows exposed the dawn and a view to the wonderful, yet frightening, forest. He laid her on a solid brown sofa. The material was soft, the cushions bouncy, but she had to bend her legs to fit.

  He didn’t say anything, simply threw a blanket on top of her and went into an adjacent room. The snick of a cupboard opening and closing and then water running reassured her he planned to help her. She closed her eyes, hoping he’d give her something for her aching head.

  “Here, take a sip.”

  Her mouth watered as he held a glass to her lips.

  She took a long slow drink. Cool and refreshing, the water rushed down her throat, flushing the grit and fear. She gripped the crystal, intending to guzzle the rest.

  He held her hand. “No, just sips for now. You’ve been traumatized, and you’ll vomit if you gulp it.”

  She nodded and released the glass. “What’s your name?”

  “Aidan. Dr. Aidan Hall.” He placed the crystal on the table beside the moon lamp.

  Relieved she’d get medical care she closed her eyes. Maybe he could jolt her memory. “Good. Doctor.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t make sense of the past few hours. Can you help me?”

  Aidan placed a chilled palm on her hot forehead. “I’m not that kind of a doctor. I’m a veterinarian. But I imagine you’ve got a concussion. Let me look at your head, then we’ll go to the hospital. I’ll have the police meet us there.”

  It was odd. Most people would insist she try to remember. Instead, levelheaded and composed, he treated her. Strange women must appear on his doorstep every morning. “Thank you, Aidan.” She couldn’t say his name enough. “This must happen all the tim
e.”

  “What?” He lifted the glass again, then lowered his weight to the side of the sofa.

  “Women falling at your feet.”

  Blush splotches quickly spotted his lean face. A firm grip to her neck, and he placed the glass to her lips. She held the cup at her lips, but looked into those silver-gray eyes, clear, bright, and transfixing. Her brain must have been damaged, because they appeared familiar.

  He coughed, a slight clearing of his throat, so she drank the not so cold water. A few sips more and she shoved it away.

  “You’re the first injured woman to pound on my door.” He placed the glass on the floor next to her, then spread his hands as if to cradle her crown and tilted his head. “Can you recall anything?”

  She nodded. “No. Yes. There were three men. One I’m sure was Wilson, the other Applegate and…maybe Cracker.” She gripped the edge of her dirty shirt. “Do you know where Asgard is?”

  Aidan jerked, then stilled. “No.”

  His fingers roamed around her head, a gentle prying. “There is a Wilson, former owner of a horse rescue ranch nearby.”

  “Why would he be hiding in the woods?” Ripe rampant pain shot through her. “Ouch!”

  “I guess we found the injury and the possible cause for your memory loss. It’s not sticky, but let me get an ice pack, and a flashlight to look closer.” He shot off the side of the sofa. Lean and agile, he went into a room. She assumed the place where the ice was stored. Cupboards opened and shut, water ran, and an icemaker made a clunk-clunk sound as it spit out cubes.

  Twenty heartbeats later, he returned with a tray and lowered it to the floor next to her. She spared a glance at the items—a blue bag, a wire device, and a bowl of steaming water.

  “What is the wire thing?” She’d hoped the prying was over. Although tender, his touch made her head pound, and his half-naked closeness made her stomach muscles quiver.

  “Flashlight. I want to make sure the skin isn’t broken.” He extended the shiny silver thing. She pressed a black circle and a bright small beam shot out the end. The wire bent this way and that.

  “It’s tiny and pliable. I like it.” She passed the tool to his outstretched hand.

  He took the torch, touching her. Soft and gentle, yet strong his fingers ignited a rush of heat through her. Instantly that heat was overridden by pain as he searched around the sore spot, carefully peeling the hair to the side. She thanked Odin for giving her grace and providing kind and considerate Aidan to help her.

  There it was again, Odin. Should she ask Aidan about Odin? He strongly reacted at the mention of Asgard. The powerful urge to trust became distorted as an inkling of mistrust wormed its way into her mind. Who could she trust if she had no memory? Her heart warming wasn’t an indication of familiarity.

  “You’ve a three centimeter hematoma—a patch of blood formed into a ball. It doesn’t appear to be broken. I’m going to wash it with warm water and then apply an ice pack to control the swelling.” He handed her the flashlight, wrung a cloth over the bowl, and then pressed the hot compress against her bump. Startled at the unfamiliar pain, she bit her tongue.

  “Shh, just another second and I’ll be done.” A few swipes and the heat left. He snatched the bag from the tray, then wrapped the pack in a thin blue cloth and held it to her head. “Can you hold this?”

  “Yes.” Using her free hand, she placed the ice against her noggin. Instantly, the cold numbed the painful spot.

  “All right. Let me take a look at your feet.” Washrag in hand, he lifted one foot and gently swabbed the bottom. The aroma of mercury or iodine wafted through the air as he massaged the gravel bits from her open gashes, but she tolerated the painful administration. She was drawn to this quiet man, not because of hero-worship. Maybe. He mimicked the action on the other foot, and her heart fluttered with a strange awareness.

  “Just a little bruising and some cuts on your arm. They’ll heal in a couple of days.” He lifted her sleeve. “Looks like a bullet grazed your arm, but it’s a surface wound. I’ll clean and dress it. The doctor will determine if you need stitches.”

  She looked into his face, drowned in those beautiful eyes. “Thank you.”

  Tingles continued to run through her body and not from the twitches of pain or his endearing administration of the bandage.

  “Let’s go to the hospital.” He put the medicinal items on the tray. She handed him the ice bag, and he put the lot onto a table.

  “Do we need to? I’d rather stay here.” Not wanting to publically declare her lack of memory, she had to change his mind or at least stall.

  “You’ve gotten through the worst of it, so you wouldn’t classify as a true emergency. However, I think an MD should evaluate you.” His glance raked over her. He tugged her hair and showed her a pine needle. “We’ll call the cops. Maybe they can find out who you are.” His tone had changed to inquisitive.

  “Yes.” She wanted to find that piece of this weird puzzle, but sudden fear of the unknown made her quake. Deep down, she knew she didn’t belong here.

  He clasped her free hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you. I know the local law enforcement, and they’ll do everything possible to assist you.” He helped her to stand. “Are you able to walk or shall I carry you?”

  An image of Han Solo carrying Princess Leah came to her mind, and yet no identifying name could she attach to herself. “Thanks, I can walk on my own.”

  ****

  The hospital scents reminded Aidan why he chose veterinary medicine over human. People’s illnesses were putrid, rank, and the cleaning products used to cover the foul odors added to the stench instead of removing it. Odd, how his keen wolf senses stayed with him.

  Various personnel moved about in scrubs, their sneakers squeaked on the vinyl floors as they darted across the corridors. Aidan ignored the piercing noise. He focused on pretending to be human and the sheriff’s words.

  “She has nowhere to go. We’ll try to locate someone who might know her. The doctor said he would keep her overnight for observation. Tomorrow I’ll contact the Salvation Army to see if they have room for her at the mission.”

  His quiet voice seemed out of sync with his tall form. The brown uniform stretched across his shoulders and the belt holding a gun, baton, and miscellaneous items creaked every time he moved. Aidan had respect for the law, appreciating the people who were willing to put their lives on the line every day, but sometimes he had to act on his own accord. He’d search for the men who did this to the woman and, in turn, find out her background.

  “Thanks, Bill.” He wouldn’t let her go. “No need to call the mission, I’ll be responsible for her. When you locate her family or can identify her, you’ll know where to find me.”

  Aidan scanned the sterile room, then gazed at her. Always her. She’d had such an effect on him that he took risks he’d never taken before—like taking responsibility for a human. Her eyes were closed, but her hands were fisted at her sides. Three bruisers didn’t make her fearful, but echoing rooms and cold instruments sent her into a panic. That and her random references from science fiction movies made him extremely curious about her past. “If she escaped from a psychiatric unit, you’d be aware, right?”

  “Yep. We checked. I’ve got a guy going through Interpol now.” Bill tucked his shirt tighter into his waistband.

  And what about that sense of awareness? “Interpol?”

  “Yep, because of her European accent.”

  “Accent?” Christ, so taken with her appearance—that sweet body, those beautiful turquoise eyes, and her courage—he’d overlooked a major voice intonation? What else had he missed? He’d need to determine her true nature. It wouldn’t be unlike his kind to plant a Trojan horse.

  Bill nudged him. “Focused on her…ah, big personality, you missed the accent?”

  Large tits reference. Aidan smiled as he assumed any straight guy would. “You could say that.”

  “So, if she agrees, I’ll record the fac
t you’re going to take her with you.” Bill flipped open a notebook open and extracted a pen.

  “Yeah. Let me know what you find.” He glanced at the mystery woman and back again. “What about Wilson and the other two who attacked her?”

  “Already have men looking around. Of course she hit her head, hard enough she can’t remember her name, so without evidence we won’t assume Wilson was indeed the one who attacked her.”

  Rumors around town indicated Wilson was an evil character. Hell would welcome him, of that Aidan was certain. Relatively new to the community, he needed to keep his true identity a secret. He couldn’t tell the sheriff he was a witness and could identify her attackers. “What if you only find a campsite?”

  “Don’t fret, Doc, we’ll investigate. In the meantime, keep an eye on her.” Bill Brown nodded. His phone rang as he thundered along the corridor, greeting people with a two-finger salute on his way out of the Emergency Room.

  Aidan brought his calendar onto the screen of his cell phone. Today he had a full schedule, but could move late afternoon vaccinations until Saturday. He sent a text to the rancher. He’d search for Wilson and the others, then help the woman retrace her steps, and ease the unsettling thoughts. Despite his fear of her being planted by his pack, he experienced an attraction. An unrecognizable emotional link connected them, tethering his heart.

  Stowing the phone in the holder, attached to his belt, he walked into the hospital room and touched the woman’s rigid-cold fist, resting on the bleach-scented sheets. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. What’d the cop say?”

  He tapped the back of her hand, trying to be a comfort while biding time before responding.

  She flipped her palm up, solid against his. “Am I a criminal?”

  Maybe a spy. He shook his head. “You’re not a criminal.”

  Harshness appeared in her eyes. “No missing person report of a woman fitting my description?”