His fault. If he hadn’t barged into her life, she’d have been enjoying a lazy summer day at the beach. Sure, her house would have needed some repair work after the storm, but she wouldn’t have landed smack in the middle of Hell. “I want to talk to you,” he said.
She looked up. “All right.”
“The paper says—”
“You went out and got it?” She looked horrified.
“I waited until the sun came up and the guy was gone.”
She glanced at the window. “He could have been hiding.”
“But he wasn’t,” J.D. pointed out. “Anyway, the paper said the causeway will be open late today or tomorrow morning. As soon as it does, I want you out of here.”
“You want me out of here. Out of my house?” She went still and her eyes narrowed. Her voice was razor-sharp. “Since when do you make the rules?”
“Since I showed up here and got you shot at. Dammit!” His voice rose. “This has nothing to do with one-upmanship or male chauvinism or whatever is going through that red head of yours.”
He stood and leaned across the table so his face was inches from hers. “He—that guy out there, the one with the rifle—makes the rules. Not me. Not you. I don’t want you getting hurt because he’s out to get me.” His voice cracked, and he dropped back onto his chair. “I couldn’t live with it.” He didn’t even try to hide his pain. The hell with that. Let her see how he felt.
Her eyes were wide, shocked. “All right,” she said, her voice calmer now, “you want me to leave. I guess I can spend the rest of my vacation in Houston. What about you?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find a place. I’ll sleep on the beach or in the park if I have to.”
“Oh, that’ll be great. And are you going to wear a sign that says ‘shoot me’?”
“I said I’ll find a place. It’s midweek after a storm. The motels can’t be too full. Besides,” he said with a half smile, “you are paying me for the repair work, aren’t you?”
“Of course. I’ll give you a check…”
“Better make it cash.”
She looked puzzled. “Why? Oh…”
“Yeah, no ID.”
“I’ll cash a check, then,” Christy said.
“Good. And then you’ll leave,” he said firmly.
Christy took a deep breath. “You could come with me.”
“And camp in your living room until I get my memory back? Might be years. Might be never. Look,” he said, “this is where everything started. Here’s where I lost my memory. My best chance of finding it is here, too.”
Christy swallowed, looked down at her hands. “When you do, will you let me know?”
“Sure,” he answered softly. And if he could, if he was somebody she wouldn’t be ashamed to know, he’d come to her. He hoped to God he was free of any entanglements that would keep him from doing that.
“Thanks,” she said, “and by the way, don’t call me a redhead. My hair’s auburn.”
“I stand corrected. But you’ve got a redhead’s temper.”
She stuck her nose in the air. “I don’t have a temper.”
“Really? You could have fooled me. What about the glare you just gave me?”
“You pushed the wrong button,” she said, fiddling with the ends of her hair. “You reminded me of Keith.”
Ah, now he understood. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
It probably wasn’t really okay, but at least he’d resolved the main issue. Now that she’d agreed to leave, he wondered if he could get her out of here today. To do that, he’d need to check the bridge, see if it had opened earlier than expected. He could use her car, but no way would he leave her here alone. He’d have to take her with him. He wasn’t thrilled with that idea either but he figured they’d have to take a chance on going outside.
He glanced at Christy. Her cheek rested on her hand and she stared into space. She looked miserable. Damn, if she stayed here much longer, she might make herself sick. That decided it. “Now that your car is fixed, how about we drive into town and report the incident last night to the sheriff?”
“Why?” she asked.
“The authorities needed to know what happened.”
Christy paused in the midst of shoveling cereal from one side of her bowl to the other. “Um, okay,” she said doubtfully. She got up and emptied her half-eaten breakfast into the trash.
He followed.
As she stepped back and he moved forward, their bodies brushed. Immediately, his responded.
“’Scuse me,” Christy muttered, reddening.
“Sorry.”
As Christy scooted away and busied herself with the dishes, J.D. thought, yeah, he was sorry for a lot of things but not for last night. Those few minutes he’d held her had been the best of his new life, maybe of his old life, too. Not that they’d be repeated, but at least he’d have a memory. No one knew better than he how precious memories were.
By now he knew Christy wanted every dish washed and put in the cabinet. But he waited until she moved well out of his way before taking his place at the sink. He didn’t want to risk touching her again. Amnesia or not, he was a healthy male, and that pre-dawn kiss had programmed his body to respond instantly to her. A whiff of the flower-fresh perfume she wore, a brush of her fingertips and he’d be ready to take her to bed.
Damn, he had to stop thinking about how much he wanted her and get her away from here. Away from him.
He folded the dish towel and hung it on a hook under the sink. “Ready to go?”
Christy hesitated. “Maybe we shouldn’t go outside.”
“It’s broad daylight.”
“He shot at us yesterday in broad daylight. I—I don’t want to go.”
“I’ll be with you. We’ll be careful. It’ll be all right.”
He led her out of the kitchen and through the living room. “I’ll go first,” he said and opened the front door.
One glance outside, and he slammed it shut.
“What’s wrong?” Christy grabbed his arm. “Is he back?”
“Um, no. Just some trash by the door. Go back in the kitchen. I’ll take care of it.”
“What is it?” She let go of his hand and before he could stop her, she peered out the window. “Oh, my God.” Eyes wide, hand over her mouth, she stared at J.D.
Damn, he hadn’t meant for her to see the dead snake parked by the door.
He caught her arm, afraid she’d topple over. “I said I’d take care of it. Go sit down. Put your head between your knees.”
“I’m not going to faint. I’ve seen worse than that in the E.R.,” she said, pushing her hair back in a gesture he sensed was defiant. “I’m scared, that’s all.” She walked over and flipped the light switch as if willing the electricity to be on and the nightmare to end. “That snake didn’t drown. It was clubbed. He came back and put it here, didn’t he?”
J.D. nodded. “Some time after I got the newspaper.”
“Thank heaven for that. He could have taken another shot at you.”
“Yeah,” J.D. muttered. And this time he might have gotten lucky. Keeping his tone as bland as he could, he said, “I’ll get rid of the snake. You go…make the beds or something.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
When he’d finished, he went to find her. She was in the kitchen. She’d found the newspaper he’d brought in earlier and was reading it.
“If we’re not going outside, I may as well make myself useful,” he told her. “What do you need done in the house?”
“One of the legs on the coffee table is wobbly. Think you could fix it?”
“Sure.”
Christy watched him disappear into the living room. Soon he’d disappear from her life. When he found himself, would he call to let her know or just dash off an e-mail? Or, despite his promise just now, would he not give her another thought?
The day stretched before her. She needed to fill her time with something that would keep her mind off the dangerous
man outside and the man inside, who was dangerous in a completely different way.
She went to the utility room and got out a package of shelf paper. Soon she was engrossed in removing dishes from the kitchen cabinets, putting down fresh paper, and setting the dishes back on the shelves. Mindless work like this usually helped her relax. And heaven knew, she needed something to calm her jumpy nerves.
She picked up an old sugar bowl with a chipped handle. Steve had broken it washing the dishes, and her father had glued part of the handle back on. And here was her old plastic cup decorated with a grinning red lobster, a treasure she’d bought at age ten in one of the schlocky souvenir shops along the beach. Christy smiled at the memory, then wondered what J.D. thought about while he was working.
“Hey.”
She jumped. Then she turned to find J.D. leaning against the kitchen door, watching her. “You scared me,” she accused. “I thought it was… Never mind. What’re you doing in here?”
“Waiting for my next job order. Table’s fixed.”
“Maybe you could, um, wash the windows.”
“Consider it done.” He grinned at her, and her breath caught.
He looked so—so male standing there. His cheeks were dark with the beginnings of a beard; his teeth were white against the bronze of his face. A face that belonged on the cover of a steamy novel. She wanted to make love with him, to feel his weight pressing her down on the bed. Why had Fate sent him into her life only to steal him away?
Was it really better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Not that this was love exactly. Her friend and fellow nurse Kim would agree and say, “After one kiss? Of course it couldn’t be love. It’s lust.” So she was falling in lust. While lust was an okay thing, Christy knew the kiss wasn’t the only reason for her attraction to J.D.
The man himself—his smile, the humor that slipped out every now and then, the strength and courage in the face of his tragedy—those were what had her nearly melting at his feet.
“You look like you’re melting,” J.D. said and she jumped. Had she spoken her thoughts aloud? Then she realized he was talking about the heat.
“It is hot,” she agreed, swiping a hand at her hair. She got down from the chair she’d been standing on. “I’ll get you the window cleaner.”
She had to pass close by him to get to the cabinet that held the cleaning supplies. But she was careful to avoid body contact. Only eye contact was allowed. And even that was too much, she thought as she met his dark gaze.
As the day wore on, no matter how cautious they were with one another, the tension between them built and grew higher until she was sure one of them would explode.
Heat, worry and inactivity preyed on her nerves. Once she had no more tasks to give him, J.D. prowled the house. Back and forth to the window or the door, the gun tucked in the waistband of his jeans.
“Do you think he’s lurking around?” Christy asked, her mind filled with visions of the hideous snake.
“I hope not, but if he is, I’m ready.”
Despite his attempt at reassurance, Christy grew edgier as the hours passed. She felt like a prisoner trapped in these too-close quarters. Every sound from outside accelerated her anxiety. Would the prowler come back and break in? Try to smoke them out some way? When J.D. dropped a book in the living room, she jumped. When she heard a car engine revving down the street, she dropped a can of tomato sauce on her toe. “Ow, dammit,” she muttered.
Not only was she frightened that the man would come back, but the sexual tension between her and J.D. was unbearable. Every accidental touch, every covert glance fueled the flames. When would this end?
She needed a break from cleaning so she decided to search for J.D. Maybe they could have a conversation. About what? Movies, she decided. He remembered movies.
At the living-room door she stopped. He was on the floor doing push-ups. Fascinated, she watched him do one after another. Sweat dripped off his shoulders; his biceps bunched as he lifted himself. God, he was in wonderful shape. He wasn’t even breathing hard. His lips moved. He was counting.
“Made it to a hundred?” Christy asked.
He stopped. “Eighty-three. I didn’t see you standing there.”
“You were concentrating. Isn’t it too hot for a workout?”
“No hotter than for cleaning windows,” he said, wiping his face with a towel. “Besides, exercise is good for reducing all kinds of, um, tension.”
She knew about several kinds. “I could use some tension relief myself,” she said.
“Why don’t you join me?”
“Okay. After all, we told Warner we met in a gym.” She kicked off her shoes. “Ready for some sit-ups?”
He gave her a teasing smile. “Sure. How many are you good for?”
Christy calculated. The room was stifling, but God, she needed to expend some of this pent-up energy. “I can manage forty.”
He cocked his head. “Nah.”
“I’ll bet you…a tuna dinner.”
J.D. chuckled. “How can I pass that up? Okay, let’s go.”
Christy sat beside him and they began. They moved in sync as J.D. counted aloud. Christy found it hard to tear her eyes from the masculine form beside her. This was not an antidote for sexual tension. Just the opposite, it made her long for a more intimate kind of exercise. Thinking of that, she nearly toppled sideways.
“You okay?” J.D. sat up straight. “Want to stop?”
“No way,” she gasped. Growing up with a brother, she’d lived a life of “dare you’s.” Sexual desire or not, she’d never give up.
Listening to him count, she made it to forty, then collapsed on the floor.
“I’ll be darned.” J.D. grinned. “I guess I’ll have to open the tuna can tonight. You’re stronger than you look.”
“Have to be,” she panted. “I have to maneuver some pretty hefty people in the hospital.”
“You look like you could use a drink, with some of that imaginary ice.” He stood and stretched out a hand to help her up.
How would it feel if she tripped and landed in his arms?
Bad idea. As soon as she was on her feet, she let go of his hand and stepped back. They had their tepid drink, and she went back to cleaning cabinets.
Late in the afternoon, as Christy rearranged items in the pantry for at least the third time, she heard a sound. A loud hum, deep and steady, it was—
“The air conditioner,” she cried as a rush of cool air flowed over her shoulders. “J.D.,” she shouted, “the power’s back on.” She ran to find him.
They almost collided in the living room. “Hallelujah!” he cried, grabbing her in his arms and spinning her in a circle.
For a moment, she hung on, laughing, giddy with relief. Then J.D. set her down, and they both stepped back. One brief hug of celebration was allowed, but extending the embrace would be…madness. Instead Christy concentrated on what was happening around them.
“Let’s see if the phone’s working, too.”
It wasn’t, but the light was on in the living room, and sounds from the TV in the kitchen brought the world back.
“Let’s check out the news,” J.D. suggested.
San Sebastian was too small to have a local station, but a Houston station was broadcasting the six o’clock news. One segment focused on the island. The bridge would be open tomorrow.
“Tomorrow morning—” J.D. began.
“I know, you want me to leave. I’ll pack tonight,” Christy promised. “Don’t nag.”
“Why would I? That’s a woman’s role. Ow,” he said as she punched his arm.
“It’s dinner time,” Christy said as the sports news began. “I wish we had some real food here.”
“I can take your car, go pick up some steaks,” J.D. offered.
Christy shook her head. She was still frightened at the thought of the outside. “The bet was tuna. There’s a can of mushroom soup in the pantry. Know how to make a tuna casserole?”
“N
ot really.”
“So you renege on the bet?” When he nodded, she gave him a mock frown. “Tell you what. I’ll make the casserole, and you owe me a steak dinner…sometime.” She bit her lip. There she went again, assuming there’d be a “sometime.”
While she got ingredients together, J.D. checked the phone again. “Dial tone,” he told Christy. “Want to call anyone?”
“My brother. My parents are vacationing in Hawaii.” She placed the call, got Steve’s answering machine and left a message that she was fine and would be returning home tomorrow. She’d call him from Houston. Then she returned to the kitchen and quickly mixed the tuna and soup.
Watching her put dinner together, J.D. reflected that it was the first time he’d seen her cook. The last time, too. With everything functioning again, her world was back to normal. Tomorrow she’d be out of here, back in Houston, back to everyday life.
And he’d still be…lost. But for now, he only wanted to think of sharing dinner and an evening with Christy.
When they finished their meal, they moved into the living room and turned on the TV there. They sat on the couch…at opposite ends. “What do you want to watch?” Christy asked, offering him the remote.
J.D. flipped through channels. Summer rerun season was in full swing. They debated between an episode from the second season of “Sex and the City” and a newsmagazine show. Christy preferred the comedy, J.D. the news story. “Your house, your choice,” J.D. said.
“You’re company,” Christy argued. “You pick.”
Gallantly, J.D. chose “Sex and the City.”
“Oh, heck.” Christy leaned over and grabbed the remote from his hand. “Stop being so polite. You don’t really want to watch a chick show. We’ll do ‘Dateline.’”
They settled back. A segment on the marketing of pharmaceuticals kept them engrossed and silent. Even the commercials afterward held their attention. “We’ve been tube-deprived,” Christy remarked. “We’ll watch anything.” Besides, this gave them something to think about other than the predator who might be lurking outside again…and each other.
Stone Phillips introduced the next segment.
Columbus, Georgia, a thriving city of nearly two hundred thousand inhabitants on the western border of the state, is home to the Coca Cola Space Center and to beautiful Calloway Gardens. Bounded on the east and south by Fort Benning, one of the largest army bases in the United States, Columbus is known for providing a warm welcome to the military in its midst. But lately this openness has changed. Distrust and fear now mark the attitude of Columbus citizens to the young soldiers who were once eagerly received here. The reason? A series of brutal killings, which police believe were committed by someone stationed at Fort Benning.
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