by Kit Tunstall
As soon as the doctor had left, she started sobbing. Jackson sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her against his chest. The level of trust she showed in him overwhelmed him as she curled against his body while he rubbed her back. He let the tears abate before trying to speak. “What’s wrong, Hannah?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t know anything about who I am, or who fathered my child. It’s terrifying. What if he’s out there looking for me right now?” There should have been hope in her tone, but instead, it was laced with fear.
He pulled away slightly, examining both of her hands. He focused most of his attention on her left, but neither hand had any mark suggesting she regularly wore a ring that might have been lost in the ocean. “There’s no ring, so you might not be married. If someone’s looking for you, your face will pop up all over the news, and we’ll be able to find your partner quickly. Maybe your memory will return as soon as he’s there to fill in the blanks.”
Her eyes widened, and she seemed to reject the idea with her entire being. “I don’t want to know anything. I don’t want him to find me.”
He frowned in concern. “Have you remembered something?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know anything, but I feel afraid.”
It could have simply been what she’d been through affecting her emotions, but he wasn’t one to dismiss instinct. As a shifter, instinct was a big part of his life, especially his cougar side. If she was afraid, perhaps she had reason to fear, and he wouldn’t discount the idea. He only hoped her memory returned quickly, so she could answer the questions for herself.
As she curled against him, he found himself hoping maybe not too quickly, because the sooner she regained her memory, the sooner she would leave him. His cat growled its dissatisfaction at the idea, and he tightened his arms a little more around her. The idea of losing Hannah didn’t sit well with him, though he barely knew her, and she certainly didn’t belong with him.
Chapter Two
Hannah followed him into an immaculately kept apartment, though it was sparse on furnishings. It also lacked any personal details, including pictures on the wall.
As though he’d read her thoughts, he commented in passing, “I just moved here a few months ago from Los Angeles, and I haven’t really bothered with décor or much of anything. It has a couch and a television, which is about all I’m interested in after a long day.”
She managed the ghost of a smile and nodded her head. She swayed, realizing how tired she was, and again he seemed to sense her thoughts, though it was far more likely he just observed her state of physical exhaustion.
Jackson led her down the hallway, passing the first door and the second before selecting the third door, which was on the left side. He opened it and stood back waving a hand to indicate she should step inside. She did so a moment later, finding this room just as impersonal as the rest of the apartment, though it did have a full-size bed, so she wouldn’t be sleeping on the floor. It didn’t take long to look around, and she nodded as she turned to look at him. “This will work just fine. Thank you for your generosity.”
He waved a hand, clearly shrugging off her compliment. “Are you hungry? Can I get you anything before you have a rest?”
She wasn’t hungry, but she felt sticky and gross from who knew how long in the saltwater. “I’d like a bath, if I may?”
He nodded. “Of course you can. The bathroom is the second door down the hallway. I’m sorry there’s just the one.”
She shrugged. “One is better than none.”
He chuckled at her feeble joke, though it was probably mostly charity on his part.
As she followed him into the hallway, he walked first to the bathroom and twisted the handle to open it. She stepped through the doorway, surprised by how nice the accommodation was. Then again, it was clearly a nice apartment in an expensive neighborhood, but she hadn’t expected the luxury of a soaker tub.
Sensibly, she should take a shower in a separate stall, but the bathtub sounded better and like less of an energy expenditure in her current state. She was about to ask where she’d find a towel when he reached into the cupboard beside the bathroom and pulled out a fluffy white bath sheet. She’d be able to wrap it around herself at least twice. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “I’m down the hall if you need anything, and try not to fall asleep in the bath. It’s too dangerous, and you look dead on your feet.”
She nodded, appreciating his concern as she watched him exit the bathroom. When the door closed behind him a moment later, she started slipping off the scrubs the hospital had loaned her, not realizing until they were on the floor that she had nothing else to wear. Terrific. It was a good thing the towel wrapped at least twice around her, because she might be wearing it for a while.
She walked to the tub and started the water, wishing he had something like bath oil or bubble bath, but realizing she’d have to settle for a bar of soap that she found after a bit of snooping under the sink, hoping to find more feminine bath products. The thought sent a jolt through her, and she quickly reconsidered. Maybe she was happy not to find any touches of feminine cohabitation.
As the water filled the tub, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and turned to examine her body. She craned her back awkwardly so she could see the marks the doctor had mentioned and cringed when she saw them. A sharp pain went through her back, and she was convinced it was a phantom memory of how it had actually felt to have the leather strap biting into her back.
She quickly averted her gaze and turned more fully to face the mirror, eyeing the front of her instead. She bypassed her moderately sized breasts and focused her gaze on the bulge of her stomach. At that moment, the baby inside her decided to kick, and she let out a small gasp of surprise. It was the first movement she’d noticed since waking, though he’d probably been moving the whole time.
With a sense of wonder, she put her hand on her stomach, feeling a tap, tap, tap against her palm, surprised by how strong it was. It was a marvel, and she might have stood there all day staring at her stomach and waiting for the next movement from the baby if it hadn’t been for a rap at the bathroom door. She snatched up the towel and wrapped it around herself before calling a shaky, “Come in.”
Jackson stuck his head in just a bit. “I think I found something for you to wear for now. It’s not ideal, but it will do until we can get you something else.” His head disappeared, and his arm appeared a moment later, a black shirt in his hand.
She moved over to take it from him, whispering a thanks, but he was already gone. He hadn’t lingered, and she appreciated his attempts to give her privacy. It was one of the reasons she felt safe with him, and though she couldn’t remember anything about her life, she knew on an instinctive level that feeling safe was something that had been in short supply for a while.
The tub had filled, so she turned off the water and slipped out of the towel, laying it on the shirt he’d provided on the counter before sliding into the hot water. She let out a small moan of delight, overwhelmed with pleasure at the hot water. It was blissful to wash away the last of the sticky residue from the ocean, and she shampooed her hair twice to remove the last traces of it.
After her bath, where she wanted to linger but dared not since she was starting to fall asleep, she hopped out of the tub and into the separate shower stall, rinsing quickly. After drying off, she donned the shirt Jackson had given her, noticing his scent permeated it as she slipped it over her head. He smelled good. Kind of woodsy, perhaps with a hint of pine, and his own male musk. It was obviously clean, with the fresh scent of detergent, but was also well-worn and still carried his scent.
She looked at herself in the mirror and managed a small smile. The shirt was too big in the shoulders, arms, and length, but it stretched over her baby bump, illustrating the fact she was pregnant. She looked silly in it, but she shrugged. It wasn’t like she had any other choice in what to wear. With a deep breath, she opened the door
and stepped into the hallway.
The smell of food beckoned, and her stomach growled. She had planned to just fall into bed, but the realization of her hunger inspired her feet to turn in that direction instead of the bedroom. She padded down the laminate flooring that looked like hardwood and found her way to the kitchen.
She paused in the doorway to observe Jackson, smiling at the neat white apron he wore. He was clearly a bit of a neat freak, but she liked that about him. Pausing to admire his tall frame, lean but wiry build, and dark blond hair shot through with lowlights of golden-brown, she decided his clean tendencies weren’t the only things she appreciated about him. He was an attractive man, and though he was probably just helping her because he was being kind, it didn’t stop her from feeling a stirring of attraction.
She guessed it would be an inappropriate response under the circumstances, and she did her best to ignore it as she stepped into the kitchen, moving closer to the stove to see what he was cooking, but staying out of his way to avoid distracting him.
He didn’t look up, but he spoke in her vicinity. “There’s juice in the refrigerator, and there’s coffee, though I don’t know if you’re supposed to drink it in your condition.”
She shrugged, not sure of that herself. If she had known anything about pregnancy, and surely she had at thirty weeks along, she’d forgotten all of it except for abstract things she must have learned in school. For example, she knew a human pregnancy lasted forty weeks, but she had no memory of her own pregnancy, or how she had conceived.
It was strange and a bit bewildering to know she was sharing her body with someone else and had no idea how he’d been created. Of course she knew the physical process of conception, but she had no face to put with the act, and as she tried to remember, a cold sweat broke out over her forehead. She shut down that thought process and moved to the refrigerator, saying, “Juice is great. Where can I find a glass?” When he waved at the cabinet closest to the refrigerator, she opened the door and took down a clear crystal glass. “Would you like one too?”
He nodded. “Sure, thanks.”
She took a second glass and poured them both orange juice from the fridge before moving to the table. The plates were already there, and she felt kind of useless as she tugged at the T-shirt’s hem, realizing it had ridden up to mid-thigh. “May I help you with anything?”
He shook his head. “Just sit down, because it’s almost ready.” Less than thirty seconds later, he turned from the stove with the skillet in hand and moved closer to the table.
She wasn’t entirely certain what she was smelling, but it was enough to make her mouth water and her nostrils flare. A moment later, he slid half an omelet on her plate, and she let out a small sound of appreciation. “This looks delicious.”
He inclined his head, not thanking her, but not acting shy or coy either. He was just straightforward, clearly not needing the praise, but not hiding behind false modesty or self-deprecating comments to shrug off the act as no big deal. She liked his confidence, and her heart rate picked up a bit.
After serving himself, he stashed the skillet in the sink and sat down beside her at the table. At first, they ate in silence, and she was starving. She wondered how long she’d been in the ocean, but shied away from probing the thought when she remembered the cold sweat and sick feeling she had gotten in her stomach a few minutes before. It seemed safer to focus on the present than the past for the moment. “It’s really good,” she said as she washed down another bite with the orange juice.
“Glad you like it.”
“Do you cook a lot?”
He nodded. “I do now. Back when I was still on the force in L.A., my schedule was erratic, so there wasn’t time to really indulge the hobby. Since I’ve moved here and slowed down considerably, I have more time to focus on things I enjoy. I’ve been teaching myself how to cook with cookbooks and cooking shows, and I think I’m coming along nicely.”
She nodded as mushroom and cheese practically melted in her mouth. “I’ll say you’re doing just fine.”
He grinned at her. “If you have any special requests, let me know. I’ll be going to the store in a day or two.” His brow furrowed. “Do you know anything about your taste preferences? Is that something you remember?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on the question and trying to picture her reaction to foods that paraded through her mind. She couldn’t be certain, but her mouth watered when she pictured strawberries, so she opened her eyes again. “I think I’d like strawberries.”
“Your wish is my command.”
She smiled at him, finding him charming, though it seemed like a dangerous realization. She had no idea what she’d been through, which made the whole experience even more frightening. The last thing she should be noticing was the dimple in his chin when he smiled at her, flashing a large grin, and she certainly shouldn’t appreciate his pale hazel eyes, or the thick fringe of lashes framing them.
She should be focused on recovering from her experience and trying to jar her memory. Mooning over the man who had saved her wasn’t going to accomplish anything. With that in mind, she tried to marshal her thoughts. “I do need some clothes, though I hate to ask you for anything else.”
He nodded. “That won’t be a problem. My partner Lucas has asked his wife to pick you up some things. Libby should be here in under an hour, unless it takes her longer. I don’t know how long shopping takes when you actually enjoy doing it.”
She laughed, wishing she could remember if she enjoyed shopping or not. “Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Jackson. You’ve made this a lot easier on me today, and I also need to thank you for pulling me out of the ocean.”
He shrugged. “I couldn’t just leave you there, as much as I don’t like the water.”
That surprised her, and she eyed the muscles in his arms without thinking about it for a moment. He was a man who was clearly active on a regular basis, and she couldn’t imagine him fearing anything. To hear he didn’t like swimming was a surprise, but it also added another dimension to him to know he wasn’t completely perfect or good at everything.
They finished breakfast, and she appreciated that he didn’t push her for answers about her missing memory or try to force any connections in her brain. He was simply polite, warm, and occasionally charming. It was exactly what she needed to restore a bit of her equilibrium, and by the time the doorbell rang, they had just finished their long and leisurely breakfast.
She assumed it would be the aforementioned Libby, so she followed him from the kitchen, though she hung back, feeling a bit shy as he opened the door, and a curvy black-haired woman stepped over the threshold. She was several inches taller than Hannah, and she also had a friendly smile when their gazes locked. Hannah smiled in return, feeling warmth spread through her at the other woman’s open friendliness.
Jackson closed the door before turning to Libby, who had her arms full of packages. “Where is Angel?”
“She’s with her daddy. I wasn’t taking her shopping.”
“Who is Angel?” asked Hannah softly.
“My daughter,” said Libby as she moved closer, extending a hand. “I’m Libby Anderson, and you must be Hannah.”
She nodded as she shook hands with the other woman before taking some of the bags that Libby had awkwardly shifted so she could offer a hand. She headed toward the bedroom as Libby followed behind her, setting the purchases on the floor as the other woman did the same.
Libby looked her over from head to toe before nodding. “I think just about everything will fit. I went for safe things like size medium, based on Jackson’s description. Everything’s maternity, of course, so it should give you some extra room if they’re too snug. Anything can be exchanged or returned, and I’ll leave the receipt with Jackson.”
“Thank you so much for everything. You’ve all been so kind, with the exception of the registrar at the hospital,” she said with a small smile, trying to stave off the urge to cry. Was she always so clos
e to tears, or was it a side effect of exhaustion or even just the pregnancy itself? She had no answer, and she was afraid to probe too deeply. “Would you mind telling Jackson I’m going to lie down for a while?”
Libby shook her head. “Of course not. Have a good nap.”
After Libby had left the bedroom, closing the door behind her, Hannah briefly thought about unpacking the bags and hanging items or folding them into the utilitarian dresser in the corner. Deciding she was too tired to bother, she slipped into the bed, still wearing Jackson’s T-shirt. She could have searched for nightgowns or sleepwear, because Libby was sure to have brought at least a couple, but she found his shirt comforting and his scent soothing as she drifted off to sleep within minutes of her head touching the pillow. It was almost like having his arms around her as she slept, keeping her safe.
***
She woke screaming and thrashing, struggling to throw off the weight holding her down. “No,” she screamed.
“Hannah, it’s me, Jackson. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
Her eyes blinked open, and awareness returned gradually. Finally, she realized she was in the guestroom, and the weight pinning her down was simply the blankets that had tangled around her as she’d thrashed in the throes of a nightmare. Her hair was sweaty at the nape of her neck, and her heart raced in her chest. There was a surge of nausea up her throat, and she lay perfectly still for a moment until it had passed. She stared at him with haunted eyes, incapable of speaking for the moment.
He took her hand, his thumb gliding along the back of it as he squeezed lightly. “It’s okay. It was just a nightmare. You’re safe here with me.”
His words, as much as his sincerity, convinced her he was right. She did feel safe with him, and as her eyelids started to close, she squeezed his hand and whispered, “Will you stay?”