by Laura Taylor
"No telling."
Leah chalked up Brett’s heightened state of alertness to what she assumed were his usual security standards, although she considered his preoccupation with the vehicle behind them unnecessary. She decided that he must be recalling the drunk driver of the truck who’d nearly mowed them down in the urgent care clinic parking lot a few nights earlier. To distract him, she asked, "Did I grow up in a rural environment?"
He shot her a quick, startled look. "Part of the time."
"I keep having mental images of playing hide–and–seek in an orchard filled with apple trees."
"Your dad owns several hundred acres of apple orchards. It’s more a hobby than anything else, since he runs his own accounting firm. You once told me that you spent your childhood summers on the farm he inherited from his parents."
"And my mother? Does she work in the medical field?"
Brett nodded. "Helene’s an ER nurse. She works part–time."
"Carrie’s tenth birthday–party was a disaster," she recalled. "Gavin tried to give his frog swimming lessons in the punch bowl. Micah rescued them both, or they wouldn’t have lived to see the next day."
Brett quietly asked, "Any memories of more recent events?"
"No, just the early ones so far. I must be twelve or thirteen in the time frame I’m dealing with right now, because I’m a few years older than Carrie."
"That’s great, Leah."
"It’s kind of eerie. I’m seeing myself during my childhood in my mind’s eye. Scab–covered knees, long braids, nothing hips, flat–chested and wondering if I’d ever grow breasts. Some of the memories are as clear as a crystal, but others are disjointed and surreal."
"When did you start remembering?"
"This morning. In the shower, of all places."
He chuckled. "That’s as good a place as any, I suppose. What else do you remember?"
She smiled, traveling mentally through a portion of her adolescence that seemed, for the most part, very innocent. "The week I spent in bed when I had the measles. Micah must have been in high school then, probably a senior. He was my hero. He used to sneak cookies up to me when no one was looking, and he’d read to me until I fell asleep at night. I adored him."
"You still do."
"We’ve stayed close?"
"You two have a special bond. You always have. He calls you his conscience."
Leah looked confused. "I wonder why."
"I think I’ll let him tell you."
"He’s that wild, huh?"
"Not really. Unconventional is probably a better word for Micah. He’s always marched to his own drummer. Do your recollections of the past feel like they belong to you?"
Leah thought about his question for a moment before she responded. "Most of them."
Brett reached out and snagged her hand. His gaze continued to travel to the rearview mirror as he navigated the winding road that led to the Oregon border.
Leah welcomed his warm touch and the casual way he laced their fingers together. Because he’d done his scrupulous best to avoid any physical contact, even the most innocent, since their departure from the hotel early that morning, she felt relieved that they’d finally bridged the gap created by the tension of their sexually–charged encounter the previous night.
A short while later Brett exited the highway. He guided the rental car into a partially–filled parking lot in front of a group of retail stores that offered everything from homemade doughnuts to sporting goods.
Leah spotted the antique shop the instant Brett pulled into a parking space. He turned off the ignition, pocketed his keys, and looked at Leah, the hint of a self–satisfied grin tugging at the edges of his mouth.
She hurriedly unfastened her seatbelt, her fingers clumsy in her haste and excitement. She flashed a smile at him, a brilliant smile that made her aquamarine eyes sparkle as she studied the huge sign in front of them that read, COLLECTIBLES. "I love antiques, don’t I?"
"Almost as much as you love kids and dogs," he confirmed. "Did you forget about the house you’ve spent the last four years remodeling?"
She nodded, surprised at herself for neglecting to remember what he’d told her. "I guess I did."
"I need to check under the hood, so why don’t you poke around inside? I’ll join you when I’m done."
Leah leaned forward to thank him with a hug. Pleasure flooded her senses when he didn’t pull away. If anything, he seemed inclined to move closer, to actually welcome her touch. She found a world of peace in his embrace, and she let herself bask in the warmth of it. As well, she loved the feel of his strong hands bracketing her waist, almost as much as she loved the scent of his skin.
"You’re a mind reader, Brett Upton," she whispered in his ear before pressing a light kiss to the side of his neck. She felt a tremor run through him a heartbeat before his fingers snugged at her waist. Easing backward, Leah very nearly tumbled into the depths of his bottomless dark eyes.
"It’s good to see you smiling again."
She heard the ragged quality of his voice, and she felt the possessiveness of his hands as they skimmed up and down her back. Leah allowed herself a moment to imagine what it would be like to experience the full force of his passion. She trembled at the image her mind produced as she met his gaze.
Sensation after sensation shimmied through her body, making her so breathless and so hungry for him, she wanted to weep. "You’re the cause, so you get to take all the credit." Her smile lingered as she eased free of him, pushed open the passenger door, and exited the car.
Brett watched her until she was safely inside the antique shop, aware the entire time that the driver of the pick–up truck had followed them into the parking lot. He turned his attention to the two men who’d tracked them since their departure from San Francisco. Although they looked like weekend fisherman as they left their vehicle and made a show of stretching their legs, his uneasiness about their presence persisted. He didn’t intend to tolerate it, or them, any longer.
He waited, still and watchful as he observed the two men. One wore a shoulder holster beneath an unzipped jacket; the other attempted to jerk down his sweatshirt before the weapon tucked into the back waistband of his jeans could be seen. Brett missed nothing. He watched the men enter the sporting goods store adjacent to the antique shop Leah was now exploring. He sensed he had but a few minutes to change the dynamic of their current situation and blunt the threat posed to Leah.
Brett moved with practiced stealth. Although he disliked leaving Leah alone, he reminded himself that there were enough people in the antique store to forestall any overt behavior by the two men. Forcing himself to stay calm, he timed his actions to coincide with a lull in the traffic flowing into and out of the parking lot.
Satisfied a few minutes later that the men would be delayed indefinitely, Brett made his way into the antique store. He found Leah chatting with the elderly owner and several other customers. He even managed to contain and conceal his fury, despite the covetous looks on the faces of the two men as they watched Leah.
He used patience he didn’t even know he possessed to participate in a brief conversation with Leah and the shop owner before circling her shoulders with his arm and guiding her back outside to their Jeep. Her lack of protest spoke volumes about her trust, and he couldn’t ignore the reality that he hardly deserved it.
** ** **
Leah settled back in the passenger seat and refastened her seatbelt. As they exited the parking lot, she noticed the flat tires on the pick–up truck of the two men who’d followed her into the antique shop. They’d made her uneasy when she’d felt their attention on her, although she’d ignored them.
"Interesting. What do you suppose the odds are against four flat tires?"
"Remote." He bit out the word.
"Remind me to never underestimate you."
He exhaled, the sound as hard as the man. "They were armed."
"I believe you," she whispered.
He glanced at her, saw how
pale she’d suddenly become. He linked their hands and gently squeezed her fingers. "We’re fine… for now."
She glanced at Brett. "They were following you?"
Brett kept his eyes on the traffic in front of them. "Probably," he answered, his grip on the steering wheel tight enough to whiten his knuckles. "I told you, Leah. I have enemies. That makes you a target, too."
"There’s a whole lot more to this than having enemies, isn’t there? I’m certain you’re keeping something really important from me." She hesitated, glancing down at the photographs she invariably felt the need to hold. "I get the same unsettling feeling every time I look at this picture taken at Yellowstone. It’s almost as though you’re keeping a secret from me that everyone else knows. Are you afraid I won’t be able to handle the truth if you’re honest with me about a recent family tragedy or an incident that involved the two of us at some point in the past?"
Brett paled, but his denial came swiftly. "Of course, not. When the time is right, I promise we’ll talk. Bombarding you with information isn’t going to help you. For now, we only have one priority. You need to relax enough to let all of your memories return. Distractions of any kind will simply interfere with the process. Will you please trust me on this?"
Leah said nothing at first. More than anything, she felt the frustration of not knowing enough about herself to refute his reasoning. When Brett glanced at her again, she saw both his conviction that he was doing the right thing and his concern for her.
Still baffled by his stubborn behavior, not just annoyed with him and the situation, she exhaled softly and tried to think of a rational explanation for his apparent need to control the flow of information she received. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t find one.
"Please trust me," he urged once more, his tone of voice so serious that she almost felt guilty for pressing him. Almost, but not quite.
"I do trust you. I’ve trusted you from the start," she reminded him, her exasperation evident. "That won’t change, Brett. Look, I know I can’t force you to reveal what’s got you so worried, but I don’t believe I’m the kind of woman who’ll tolerate being wrapped in cotton batting on an indefinite basis. It doesn’t feel right. In fact, it feels totally wrong, even patronizing at times. Perhaps getting hit on the head has made me a stronger person. I honestly don’t know."
"You are strong, Leah. You’ve always been strong, although I didn’t always see it."
She pressed harder. "I expect the truth, the complete truth, and I won’t wait much longer for it. I’m certain I don’t possess a limitless amount of patience. So, fair warning. The next time I ask a question, I expect an honest reply from you. No more dodging reality and no more half–truths. I refuse to be treated like a child."
He nodded, his expression grim as he lapsed into an extended silence that lasted as they crossed the state line into Oregon. They left the more heavily traveled Route 101 for a back road to the coast, pausing for cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes at a coffee shop about an hour later in the first coastal town they reached.
Leah remained very watchful of both Brett and their surroundings as they continued north following a silent lunch. She didn’t question him when he pulled into a small town rental–car agency to exchange their Jeep for a nondescript sedan. Neither did she press him for an explanation late that afternoon when he failed to consult her about his decision to check them into a rustic–looking lodge situated atop a high bluff that overlooked a boulder–strewn beach and the surging, white–capped waters of the Pacific Ocean.
As she got out of the car, Leah thought the lodge looked like a sturdy timber–and–rock fortress. She quickly realized that the building, not just the rugged outcropping of ancient volcanic rock on which it sat, reminded her of Brett.
Convinced that she was growing whimsical, she remained subdued as he escorted her to the top floor at the far end of the main building of the lodge. Their room, spacious and decorated in a pleasantly rustic motif, contained a huge stone fireplace, two double beds, a sitting area, a table and chairs, and a large bathroom that boasted the unexpected luxury of a whirlpool tub.
Leah watched him drop her suitcase on one bed, his own on the second bed. The look he gave her, a steely look that challenged Leah to disagree with his desire to keep his distance from her, made her step back a pace. She stopped herself before she backed all the way out of the room, silently vowing that this stubborn, moody man, this man whom she loved, wasn’t going to intimidate her or deprive her of her desire for him, despite his apparent determination to keep her at arm’s length.
She felt Brett’s tension intensify as the weather grew increasingly inclement. When he wasn’t brooding and looking out the window to ponder the heavy rain, he paced their room like a caged panther as dusk turned to darkness.
Although she wondered if she should continue to ignore his behavior, Leah cared too much about him to allow him to shut her out much longer. She felt determined to help him relax. Perhaps then, she reasoned silently, he would feel freer to confide in her and provide her with the truths he seemed determined to conceal from her. Perhaps then, she also prayed, he would allow himself to express his emotions.
After freshening up and changing into warmer clothes, Leah joined Brett for the walk down to the small restaurant off the main lobby of the lodge. He persisted in his role as a silent, watchful sentry while they dined, thus prompting Leah to make her move.
"I’ve remembered some of the names of my classmates and teachers from the academy I attended in Seattle during high school. I must have been a student there when you visited with Micah. I only got home one weekend a month, so that explains why we didn’t meet until I came to Washington."
She smiled at Brett, an innocent smile that should have warned him of the nature of the next comment. "I also remember stuffing my bra with socks for the first boy–girl dance I attended my freshman year. My roommate and I were late bloomers. Unfortunately, one of my socks fell out while I was dancing. Once I figured out that everyone had stopped dancing to stare at my uneven chest, I was totally humiliated. I must have stayed holed up in my dorm room for at least a week after that incident."
Leah laughed at the surprise that flickered in his eyes, the sound of her humor warm and intimate. "It’s a miracle my psyche wasn’t permanently dented, especially since some twit on the yearbook staff decided to put a picture of an abandoned gym sock next to my graduation photo."
Brett’s harsh façade finally cracked. His gazed dipped below her chin for a lingering inspection of her physical attributes. Leah heard the ragged half–sigh, half–laugh that escaped him as he studied the gentle swells beneath her sweater.
"Nature obviously rewarded you for your patience in that department," he observed, his gaze heating as he visually stroked her with his dark eyes.
Her pulse picked up speed. Leah grinned and congratulated herself on penetrating the wall of silence he’d erected around himself. She continued to share snippets of her past, primarily recollections from her teenage and early college years, as they lingered over coffee and dessert. They were the last diners in the restaurant when their waitress brought them the check for their meal.
"I almost feel like I’m being deluged by my memories," Leah confided. "There are gaps, of course, but my past is coming back to me in big chunks. I’m having trouble with some of the chronology, but I’ll eventually get the sequence of events straightened out."
As she continued to speak, Leah kept a close eye on his body language, which appeared to be undergoing a subtle transformation. She watched the tension in his face and upper body ease, and she also noticed that he’d stopped gripping the handle of his coffee cup like a weapon. And when he smiled at her as she described another humorous escapade from her college days, she managed not to stand up and cheer. She wanted to, though.
A short while later he placed three twenty–dollar bills on the table. "It’s getting late. Why don’t we head back to our room?"
Leah leaned forward, confes
sing softly, "I’m in need of a hug."
He looked vaguely thoughtful before he nodded. "I think that can be arranged."
"I hate it when we’re at odds with each other, Brett. I’ve felt so lonely all day."
A muscle in his jaw jumped. He reached for her hand and ran the blunt tip of one of his fingers back and forth across her exposed palm. Leah felt his touch in the depths of her heart.
"Me, too, Leah. Me, too," he finally gritted out before releasing her hand and getting to his feet.
She collected her purse and stood. Noting Brett’s hesitation, she asked, "Is something wrong?"
"The only thing that’s wrong is me. I’ve behaved like a bastard all day. I owe you an apology."
"An apology isn’t necessary," she said. "Just don’t treat me as though I’m invisible if you’re worried about something or if you’re angry with me. Be willing to talk to me, because when you shut me out, I feel like I’m dying inside."
Leah welcomed the strong arm he slipped around her shoulders as they left the restaurant, just as she welcomed the warmth and strength of his embrace when they turned out all of the lights in their room and settled into the loveseat in front of a roaring fire. Her intuition told her that Brett cared more deeply for her than he was prepared to admit, but she felt no such restrictions on her emotions.
Gathered against his chest, Leah whispered, "I love you," just seconds before the security she found in his embrace and the steady cadence of his heartbeat lulled her to sleep.
I love you.
Her words reverberated within his soul, stunning him, briefly stilling his pulse. Brett hadn’t ever expected to hear her utter them again. His heart rocketed into the heavens, but it quickly reversed course and plummeted back to reality. The startling burst of pleasure he’d initially felt died in the space of a single breath, leaving him mired in a state of emotional defeat.
Brett knew better than to believe Leah. She would loathe him when she finally remembered the truth, which he suspected would happen very soon given the almost sequential nature of her returning memory. As well, he cautioned himself against hoping for the impossible—her forgiveness—because life had already taught him that some things are never forgiven or retrieved.