Lost Down Deep

by Sara Davison

  Summer set the last pot on the rack and dried her hands on his towel. “Have you seen them?”

  “Yes, a few times.”

  “And?”

  “We’re making progress.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” She rested her hands, still warm and slightly damp from the water, on his forearms. “I’d love to meet them sometime.”

  Jude swallowed. Not only because of her words, but because the feel of her hands on his skin was weakening any resolve he had not to move too quickly with her. It was killing him, being well into the book of their story when, as far as she could remember, she’d only read the first few pages. “I’d love that too. Maybe when I’m on a little surer footing with them.”

  “Of course.” She smiled. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I feel like I understand you better now.”

  “Good. I do want that, you know.”

  “I do, too.” She raised herself up on her toes to press her lips to his. Jude kept a tight grip on the bowl and towel, but he did allow himself to close his eyes and sink deep into the feel and taste of her. The faint scent of coconut drifted from her dark, shimmering curls, and he breathed it in.

  When she pulled away, the smile she offered him weakened his knees. He hadn’t seen her smile at him like that for so long, he’d almost forgotten the way that look brushed across his skin like a physical touch and burrowed deep inside him. The last time she’d looked at him that way was the night he’d turned up at her place to try and explain to her why he wasn’t ready to marry her. She’d flung open the door, flashed him that smile, then thrown her arms around his neck and held him.

  Minutes later his words had driven that smile from her face.

  Jude couldn’t think about that tonight. Like he’d decided he needed to do with his family, he had to keep moving forward with Summer. Although he hadn’t allowed himself to truly consider the possibility that she might never regain her memory, the possibility did exist. And if that was the case, the past didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered, all the two of them could share, was the present and any future they might have together.

  He returned her smile. “Wow.”

  She laughed. “No kidding.” She stepped out of his arms. Jude set the bowl in the cupboard and hung the towel over the rack to dry.

  “I guess I should call it a night. I have church in the morning.” She hesitated. “Would you be interested in coming with me?”

  He hadn’t been to church since her attack. Suddenly there was nothing he wanted more. And not only for the chance to spend more time with her. Jude nodded. “I’d like that. I went to a great church in Toronto but haven’t found one here yet.”

  Summer flashed him that smile again. Seriously, she had to stop doing that, or he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. “Great. I’ll see you in the morning, then.” She started for the door.

  “I’ll be here.”

  She stopped and turned back. “Thank you for that, for being here. It does make me feel better.”

  “Good. Me too.” He stood for a long time after she had gone, staring at the doorway and remembering the feel of her lips on his, the warmth in her eyes when she looked at him. The feelings that coursed through him were so strong he hardly knew how to handle them. How could he have ever hesitated, even for a second, to marry her? If it wouldn’t freak her out completely, he’d go upstairs right now and ask her to spend the rest of her life with him.

  Focus, Jude. He blew out a long breath. Good advice. Someone was still out there, still after her. Maybe even watching the house right now. He couldn’t forget that, not for a second.

  Jude almost wished the guy would show himself. After tonight, he was ready to face whoever it was, ready to tear him limb from limb if tried to get to Summer. Jude clenched his fists.

  The sooner whoever it was did step out of the shadows, the sooner he and Summer could get back to writing the rest of their story together.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Jude planned to stay close to the café today, sit inside for a while and then watch from down the block somewhere. Ever since he’d found out a stranger had been in Summer’s house, he’d sensed that something big was about to happen. Evan still hadn’t contacted him, so the case must not have broken open yet. How much longer could they all go on like this, knowing the clock was ticking down toward some kind of event but not knowing when or where it would happen, or what it would look like when it did?

  Maybe this was the event. The waiting. The not knowing. The apprehension. It was possible that whoever had broken into Nancy’s house did so solely because he knew it would throw everyone involved into a crazy turmoil. This could very well be his sick and twisted end game.

  Or it might not be.

  So they waited. Him. Summer. The police. On edge but trying not to give this man the satisfaction of causing them to live their lives in fear.

  Jude tugged on jeans and a long-sleeved navy T-shirt. Summer had already gone to the café and he was anxious to join her there as soon as possible. A light spring mist filled the air. He left his leather jacket on the chair inside the door and pulled on the wind-breaker he’d grabbed from his motel room the day before, after he’d gone to church with Summer.

  The service had been great. A little less formal than the church they’d attended in Toronto, but filled with the same sense of being in the presence of God. He definitely planned to go with her every week. He yanked up the zipper on the wind-breaker. Making any kind of plans for the future at the moment felt a little futile.

  When he strode down the porch steps, a dark car was driving past the house, slowly. The driver didn’t speed up when Jude walked toward the sidewalk, which meant that, if it was someone watching the house, it was probably one of Evan’s guys. The thought made him feel better about leaving Nancy alone in the house.

  The café was busy. Summer handed him a coffee, but he shook his head when she asked him if he wanted anything to eat. “I think I better lay off the sweets for awhile. Cash runs laps around me at the gym and, frankly, I’m getting a little tired of it.”

  She laughed as he headed over to his usual table and opened up his laptop. For a couple of hours he sat there, pretending to work but really watching her over the top of it. Thankfully, he’d managed to avoid running into the blonde woman again, but the mother, daughter, and grandson were there, as well as several other regulars Jude recognized. Having his laptop open limited the number of people coming over to talk to him, but he did get a lot of waves, nods, and friendly smiles from customers he’d seen there before. Ah, life in a small town. He really had missed it.

  Finally his rapidly cramping muscles drove him to his feet. He packed everything up and walked over to the counter. This late in the morning, the line-up had finally dissipated, and Summer came over to him, running a cloth over the counter as they spoke. “Did you get your work done?”

  “For now.” Jude set his laptop bag down on the counter.

  “Good. I’d love to read one of your articles sometime.”

  “Maybe. I don’t really have anything ready for anyone to read at this point.”

  She stopped scrubbing the counter. “Older articles are fine. Maybe tonight after dinner we could go online and look something up.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see.” Jude shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Why was she pushing this? Was she starting to get suspicious about the writing story? Possibly she’d noticed he wasn’t really typing when he was sitting there. Which of course he could have and should have been doing. Or maybe she’d looked him up online and not been able to find anything he’d written. His stomach tightened. If she believed—or could even prove—that he’d lied to her about one thing, everything he had ever told her would be called into question. And if she started to believe she couldn’t trust him, the next logical step would be to ask him to leave her home. Hang in there with me, Summer. Only another day or two.

  She was still watching him. “It’s been two days.”


  “Since what?”

  “Since you offered to come and stay at our place for two days. I’m pretty sure whoever was in the house the other night is long gone by now.”

  Jude wished he could be as sure. Someone got into line behind him. “Now isn’t a good time to talk about this. Why don’t I come to your place this evening and we’ll discuss how to proceed from here. Okay? I’ll even cook for you and Nancy.”

  He waited through a long few seconds of silence, during which the customer behind him heaved out two or three heavy sighs, clearly wondering why nothing was happening in front of him.

  Finally, Summer tossed the cloth under the counter. “Fine. We’ll talk about it tonight.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Although her tone of voice was not encouraging, he loved the way the words sounded, as though they were already a married couple who needed to discuss something when they got home. Would that ever be them?

  Before she could change her mind, Jude hauled his laptop bag off the counter and slung it over his shoulder. “See you at home.” He couldn’t resist saying the words, in case he never got the chance again.

  As he’d hoped, an almost imperceptible smile softened her features. “See you.”

  He moved out of the way so the impatient man behind him could leap toward the counter. Summer was running out of patience with having a bodyguard. Not surprising. But if he played his cards right, if dinner was good enough, he might be granted a reprieve. For one more day.

  If nothing happened tonight, though, given the way Summer was looking at him, his time would definitely run out.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Summer wasn’t sure what to think. All morning she’d been glancing over at Ryan and she hadn’t seen his fingers moving over the keyboard once. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure she’d ever actually seen that. Had he lied to her about being a writer? And if he had, what else had he lied about?

  After she left work at 6 p.m., she strolled down the street in the direction of Nancy’s house, taking her time getting home. Ryan would be there, cooking in her kitchen. Given the growing suspicion in her mind, she should be apprehensive about that. Maybe she shouldn’t have even told him he could go to their place, knowing that would leave him and Nancy alone in the house. Somehow, though, the thought of him there, preparing food, eating with them as though he belonged there, sent warmth into her chest instead of trepidation.

  Which wasn’t good. She’d grown complacent again, even though someone had broken into their house. It had been so comforting having Ryan around that she’d allowed her emotions to take over. A mistake like that could hurt her. After dinner tonight she would tell him to go. And then, until this situation with the man who had attacked her was resolved, she should definitely restrict the amount of time she spent with him.

  Summer reached the walkway of Nancy’s place. For a moment she stood there, contemplating the old house. Light spilled from the front windows. Inside, she knew, it would be warm and cozy. They would enjoy good food and laughter, and Ryan’s presence, his touch when he brushed by her or handed her something, would do strange things to her insides, and chances were she’d forget that she was supposed to be wary around him. That she was considering evicting him from the property as soon as they’d finished eating.

  She took a deep breath, fortifying herself. God, help me. If I can’t trust Ryan, help me to see that. Protect Nancy and me from anyone who might be threatening us, whether that person comes into the house invited or uninvited. Give me strength and courage.

  Straightening her shoulders, she climbed the steps to the porch and pushed open the door. Voices and laughter and the clanging of dishes drifted from the kitchen. Summer removed her boots, hung up her coat, and headed in that direction.

  The sight of Ryan in black jeans and a wine-colored T-shirt, stirring a pot on the stove, hit her even harder than she’d expected. She was cold and tired, not only from her long day but from the lingering effects of her injury and the weeks of anxiety that had followed. A ridiculous urge to walk over to him and throw herself into his arms, allow him to hold her until the last of the chills left her body, gripped her.

  He looked over at that moment and his eyes met hers. They softened as though he could read her thoughts, and he set the spoon down on the stove and came toward her.

  Move, Summer. No lo dejes que se acerque. If she did let him touch her, she wouldn’t want him to let go.

  Her feet remained rooted to the floor. Ryan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Welcome home,” he breathed, close to her ear.

  And somehow, in spite of her best intentions, it felt as though that’s exactly where she was. For several moments she allowed that feeling to cocoon her, helpless to break their connection.

  He was the one who stepped back, finally, and searched her face. “Are you hungry?”

  At the mention of food, she became aware suddenly of the smells drifting in the air. Sautéed onions and cilantro? “You made chicken enchiladas?”

  He took her hand and led her to the table where Nancy was setting out knives and forks. “Yes. Is that okay?”

  Okay? Enchiladas were her favorite food in the world, although there was no way he could have known that. Except that she was Mexican, of course, so… lucky guess. Maybe. “More than okay. I love enchiladas.”

  When he let go of her hand to go back to the stove, her fingers felt as cold as they had the night they broke through the puddle into icy water.

  Still clutching a handful of cutlery, Nancy gave her a one-armed hug. “How was work?”

  “Good. Busy.”

  “You must be exhausted.”

  Ryan glanced over his shoulder at that. “Sit down and relax, Ana. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  His concern warmed her almost as much as his embrace had. She couldn’t remember anyone ever being that worried about her when she came home after a long day. Her parents would grill her sometimes, but that was always about whom she’d been with and what she’d been up to—an attempt to confirm that she hadn’t done anything she wasn’t supposed to be doing rather than an actual interest in her well-being. Summer had to admit it felt kind of nice to be cared for like this.

  She sank onto a kitchen chair. It felt good to get off her feet, too. And the sense of being taken care of only increased when Ryan brought over plates and bowls loaded with food. Any lingering apprehension dissipated into the warm, spice-laden air in the kitchen as the three of them sat around the table talking and laughing.

  As a last-ditch effort to perform her due diligence, Summer swallowed another delicious bite of enchilada and wiped her mouth on her napkin. “When we’re done cleaning up, can we take a look at one of your articles, like you promised?” Promised was a bit of a stretch, but she was determined to use any weapon in her arsenal to find out if he had been telling the truth about his profession.

  “Absolutely. Except that we’re not cleaning up, I am. You’ve been on your feet enough today. As soon as I’m finished here we can sit down and I’ll show you some of my work.”

  Any hint of the hesitation he’d shown in the café that morning regarding what he did for a living was gone. Had she imagined it? Her mind could very well be inclined to play tricks on her these days, given the trauma she’d put it through. Or, to be more accurate, that the man who’d pushed her down the stairs had put it through. Yes, that was it. Brain injury. She hadn’t used that lame excuse for awhile. Maybe it was time to pull it out and dust it off.

  “I can help. I don’t need to sit around doing nothing.”

  “No, you can’t help. But you could go upstairs and take a bath, or put your pajamas on, or read a book, whatever it will take to get you to relax. I’ll meet you in the living room when I’m through in here.”

  “But…” Her protest was weak. A bath did sound incredibly appealing.

  “I need to go too, I’m afraid. Bridge night at Theresa’s.” Nancy carried over a bowl of refried beans and one of lettuce that she set on the counte
r.

  “Good. Both of you go. I’ll take care of the clean-up. It’s the least I can do to thank you for making me feel so welcome in your home the last couple of days.”

  “Keep feeding us like this and you can stay as long as you like.” Nancy kissed him on the cheek before sailing out of the kitchen.

  Summer met Ryan’s eyes. He lifted his shoulders. “I didn’t tell her to say that.”

  “She’s a pushover. Give her a nice meal and flash a little of your charm her way and she’s putty in your hands.”

  “But you’re not.” His lips twitched as he walked toward her.

  “Definitely not.” The words she’d intended to sound forceful came out more like a question and his smile widened.

  “So if my cooking doesn’t do it, or my charm,” he took a step closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body even though he wasn’t touching her, “then what will it take to win you over, I wonder.” Ryan rested a hand on her cheek, stroking her skin with his thumb. His touch was incredibly gentle, like a feather brushing over her, yet the effect on her was immediate. Her heart pounded against her ribs and her knees went so weak she had to grasp the back of the kitchen chair to stay on her feet.

  “A lot more than that.” As soon as the words crossed her lips, she knew they’d been a mistake.

  A gleam ignited in his eyes. “I accept your challenge. Because I can do a lot more than that.” He kissed her behind her ear and along her jaw, his lips leaving a trail of blazing heat in their wake. He paused then spoke in a low voice, “If you want me to stop, just say the word.”

  Her head was spinning. Summer gripped the back of the chair so tightly her knuckles went white. “Which word?”

  He pulled back and that slow smile crossed his face. “Stop.”

  “Oh. That word.”

  He waited a heartbeat before pressing his lips to her skin again. “Tell me I can stay.” He whispered the request, his breath warm against her skin. A shiver passed through her, but she shook her head. He kissed the other side of her face along the same pathway, his fingertips brushing across her throat. “Tell me.”