by Metsy Hingle
Josie laughed. “Want me to take her? I think it’d be best if we kept them on the same nap schedule.”
“She’s all yours,” he told her. But when he started to hand Miranda over, something tugged at his neck. “Hey, short stuff. What’ve you got there?”
Josie stepped closer. “It’s the medal,” she informed him.
Then he noted Miranda’s little mouth fastened around a disc he wore suspended from a chain around his neck. Hope sluiced through his veins as he disengaged the baby from her treasure. “Sugar britches, you’re beautiful,” he told her. After kissing the top of her head, he handed Miranda off to Josie.
“I forgot about the medal,” Josie told him. Her eyes darted to his and back to the medal as he removed the chain from his neck. “I saw it last night when I put you to bed and meant to check it, but got busy with the babies. I was going to check it out this morning.”
But she hadn’t had the chance to, he realized, because he’d distracted her when he’d tumbled her to the bed and kissed her. At the time, his identity had been the last thing on his mind. Whipping the towel from his shoulders, he wiped off the baby drool and stared at the silver disc of a knight fighting a dragon. “Strange medal,” he muttered.
“It’s Saint George. He’s the patron saint of soldiers,” she told him. At the arch in his brow, she explained, “I spent most of my childhood in a Catholic orphanage. You get to know a lot about the saints. Turn it over. See if there’s any inscription.”
There was.
He heard Josie’s gasp even before he read the words:
“Blake—Take care while slaying those dragons. Love, Lily.”
Four
“Blake.” He repeated the name as though trying it on for size.
There was no reason to feel disappointed, Josie reasoned. She’d known from the first that there was most likely a woman in his life. Probably even a wife. The man had twins, for pity’s sake! And wedding ring or not, men like this one did not lack for female company. That she’d allowed herself, for even a moment, to think otherwise had been beyond foolish. It had been just plain dumb. Just as dumb as all those fairy-tale dreams that had been a part of her daily diet for far too long. Well, she’d sworn off those silly dreams, hadn’t she? And she could just swear off any romantic notions she might have had about him. She’d simply add handsome strangers with chocolate eyes and steamy kisses to the list of impossible dreams.
“Sugar bntches, I love you.”
Startled from her musings, Josie barely had time to register what he’d said before he leaned close to her and planted a noisy kiss on baby Miranda’s head, then swept them both into his arms. Josie gasped as he spun them around in a circle. “What are you doing?”
“Celebrating,” he informed her, and executed another spin.
“Blake! Put me down,” she ordered, but couldn’t manage any heat behind the words—not when both he and the baby seemed to be enjoying themselves so much. Instead, she found herself laughing along with him.
“Can you believe it, angel? Can you believe that little sugar britches here found out my name for me? I’m Blake. My name is Blake,” he informed her, a silly grin lighting up his face. He planted another kiss on Miranda’s tiny head, which earned him a toothless smile, then gave her a quick smack on the lips, too.
Josie struggled to catch her breath, to slow the quickened beat of her heart. Emotions jumbled inside her as he lowered her so that her feet touched the floor again. “Blake, does that mean—”
He captured her face in his hands. And as he moved in with his mouth, she forgot what she’d been planning to ask him. Bracing herself for the jolt, she closed her eyes and waited for his lips to touch hers. The jolt hit at the first brush of his lips, an electric spark that short-circuited her system and made her body turn to liquid. But when she would have stepped back, given her body and heart a chance to recover, he continued to hold her face in his hands, continued to move that skilled mouth of his across hers lazily, seductively, temptingly. That first jolt spun into a hum, and the hum gave way to a slow sizzle in her blood. Then Josie forgot all about the vices she’d just sworn off, including this man. She forgot all about thinking and common sense. She forgot all about what a fool she was making of herself and the heartache she would be letting herself in for if she didn’t nip this attraction now. She forgot about everything—except for the feel of Blake’s mouth caressing her mouth, the feel of his teeth gently nibbling at her lips, the feel of his tongue stroking the spot where he’d bitten, the joy of having him slip his tongue inside to taste her. So lost was she in his kiss that it took several seconds before she registered that the squirming sensation against her chest wasn’t her heart straining to be free. It was the baby.
Mortified, Josie yanked her mouth free. She stepped back, her legs faltering a second as her knees sagged. Still clutching Miranda, she worked to slow her galloping pulse. When she finally lifted her gaze to his, the raw desire she saw there set her pulse racing all over again.
He took a step toward her.
She retreated. “Don’t.”
“But...”
“I need to be able to think, and I can’t think when you kiss me.”
Grinning, he reached for her.
“I mean it. Back off.” Giving herself a mental shake, she finally focused on what she’d been planning to ask him. “Is your memory starting to come back now?”
The smile slipped from his lips. “Not exactly.”
His response confused her, concerned her. “But when you said that your name was Blake. I thought...I assumed the medal triggered your memory. That you remembered that you were the Blake in the inscription.”
“I am the Blake in the inscription. Or at least I’m pretty sure that I’m him.” He sighed, shoved a hand through his hair.
“You’re pretty sure?”
“The name feels ‘right.’ And since I am wearing the medal,” he continued, closing his fingers around the disc that hung from his neck, “it stands to reason that I’m the Blake this refers to.”
Her legs even less steady now than when he’d kissed her, Josie sank to one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Then you still don’t remember.”
He shook his head. “Everything’s mostly blank.”
At Miranda’s whimpers, Josie dragged her attention from the man standing shirtless before her, looking far too dangerous for her peace of mind. She shifted the baby in her arms and picked up the bottle to feed her. Striving to keep her voice neutral, Josie asked, “What about the name Lily? Do you remember if she‘s—” Her throat suddenly dry, she licked her lips and decided to rephrase the question. “Do you have any idea who she is?”
“Not a clue. The name doesn’t ring any bells.” He began to pace the length of the small kitchen like a jungle cat. A sleek, beautiful panther, she decided, noting the way the black jeans fitted across his butt, how the sun-darkened muscles in his shoulders and back rippled as he moved. When he turned around and faced her again, his eyes had gone nearly black. “But whoever Lily is, she isn’t my wife.”
“How do you know?” Josie asked, proud at how normal she was able to sound. Removing the bottle from Miranda’s mouth, she shifted the baby to her shoulder to burp her.
“Because I know.”
She stared at that unsmiling mouth. Dangerous, she told herself, and forced her gaze back up to his. “But how can you know when you can’t remember?”
“The same way I know that the twins aren’t mine. Because I know it here,” he told her, angling a thumb at his middle. “I can feel it. Whoever this Lily is, she is not my wife.”
Foolish or not, she wanted to believe him. And because she wanted to, Josie scooted away from the table, away from those piercing dark eyes and the temptation he represented. She jostled the baby, patting Miranda’s diaper-clad bottom. “All right. Maybe you’re right. Maybe this Lily isn’t your wife.”
“She isn’t.”
“It still doesn’t tell us who you are beyond t
he name Blake. Since we can’t go back to your car to search for an ID until the weather clears, maybe you should concentrate on the medal. Does the line about slaying dragons mean anything to you?”
Blake frowned as he fingered the medal, creating a sharp line across his forehead that disappeared beneath the bandage. “No,” he said disgustedly.
Suddenly an idea struck her. “Blake, you were carrying a gun and wearing a medal of St. George. St. George is the patron saint of soldiers. Maybe you’re in the military,” she offered.
“I guess it’s possible,” he said as though chewing over the idea. He looked down at his jeans. “Obviously, if I am, I wasn’t in uniform. Do you remember seeing any kind of military uniform in the car? Maybe a jacket or a hat lying on the seat?”
Josie thought back to the quick visual sweep she’d given the interior of the car. “No,” she admitted. “The twins’ jackets were that camouflage pattern, but I thought it was a fashion thing. Not military.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
She rocked Miranda in her arms, noted the flutter of lashes against the baby-soft cheeks. Grateful the baby was finally drifting off, she deliberately kept her voice low as she said, “After I got the twins and you into my truck, I went back for the diaper bags and then headed here. I didn’t see any other bags or things inside the car—not even a flight bag or anything for you. Just the baby stuff. But it doesn’t mean there wasn’t something in the trunk. To be honest, it didn’t even occur to me to check. The babies were crying. You were bleeding, and the storm seemed to be getting worse by the minute.” If she had taken another moment to check the trunk, would they both have been spared this not knowing who he was? Would she still be agonizing over who the mysterious Lily was?
“Hey, you did the smart thing. You got me and the twins out of there. As far as your stopping to help us, it was a very brave and foolish thing to do.”
“But, I—”
He held up a hand to stern her protest, then cupped her cheek. “It was very brave and very foolish. And I’m grateful that you did, Josie. I owe you my life, and those two munchkins’ lives, too.”
“I did what anyone would have done,” she countered, turning away from the warmth of his touch.
“Not everyone.” He dropped his hand, looked at the baby she held and smoothed a finger along the tiny cheek. “Because of me, she and her brother could have been killed. When I think what might have happened to them if you hadn’t come along—”
“Don’t,” Josie said, a fist tightening around her heart at the idea of any harm coming to the twins. A shudder went through her as she recalled discovering that very morning that the always-dry creek bed had overflowed during the night—which meant the road where she’d found Blake and the twins was now under water. She didn’t even want to think about what might have happened had she not come along when she had.
“You all right?”
“Fine,” Josie fibbed, not wanting to even voice the hideous thoughts aloud.
He eyed her speculatively for a moment, then apparently decided to let the matter drop. “Maybe I ought to take a look at the money clip. See if it triggers anything.”
“It’s in the bedroom. I put it in the armoire, the first drawer on the left.”
He disappeared down the hall, and when he returned a few moments later, the gun was tucked inside the waistband of his jeans, and the money clip was in his palm. A scowl marred his face.
“What’s wrong?”
When he lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes were dark, stormy. “I think we can rule out that theory about me being a soldier.”
“Why?”
“Besides the fact that I wasn’t wearing a uniform, I can tell you that this gun is definitely not standard military issue. It’s a Glock. Most of the time cops use them.”
She didn’t ask how he knew such a thing. Instead she suggested, “Maybe you’re a policeman, then.”
He shook his head, and withdrew the wad of bills. “No cop I ever heard of walks around with ten grand as pocket change.”
“Ten thousand? Dollars?” she asked, barely able to get the words out.
“Yeah.” He fanned the edges of the bills with his thumb as though it were a deck of cards. “Give or take a few hundred.”
“Ten thousand dollars,” Josie repeated, staggered by the figure. Granted, she’d known he’d had a lot of cash on him, had seen the large denomination on the bills, even wondered if they were real. But she’d never realized it amounted to so much. “But why would you be carrying around that much cash?” she asked, not realizing she’d voiced her thoughts until the words were out.
“I’m wondering the same thing.”
Blake was still wondering why he’d been carrying so much cash later as he stared out the window of the farmhouse. His thoughts turned inward, he barely noticed the angry sky that continued to dump rain into the yard, turning the area into one giant mud puddle. Where had the money come from? And why had he been carrying a Glock equipped with a silencer?
Whatever the answers, they remained locked in a past he couldn’t remember. Or had deliberately blocked out? Sighing, Blake leaned his forehead against the window. He closed his eyes, and the chill of the glass surface seeped through the gauze bandage to cool his skin. Once again, his thoughts returned to the money and its implications. The answers were locked in his memory, he reasoned. Somehow he had to find a way to access them.
He was still searching for those answers when suddenly a hazy image nickered across his shuttered lids. The image of a man, dressed all in black, who stood on a dark cliff in the moonlight. A strong wind whipped around him, carrying with it the sound of the surf crashing against the jagged rocks that stretched out below.
Blake tensed. Adrenaline pumped through his system, and he braced his hands against the window. A sense of urgency, of danger rushed through him, making his heart pound, his senses sharpen. Then suddenly, as though a door had been flung open, he could see the face of the man. It was his face. He was barking out orders in what sounded like French, but wasn’t, and passing out hundred-dollar bills to men in uniforms with strange insignias on their sleeves.
Then just as quickly as the door had opened, it slammed shut, and the images began to fade. Try as he might, Blake couldn’t hold on to them. His pulse still racing, he opened his eyes and lifted his head. But instead of the dark cliffs and foreign soldiers, he saw only the dreary, rain-soaked yard of Josie’s farm.
What did it mean? Was it just a crazy dream? Or was it an actual memory of something that had happened? How had he understood the strange tongue? More important, what kind of business was he involved in that required him to meet with foreign militia at night?
“Just what I need, more questions without answers,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, only to flinch when his fingers brushed against the bandage on his forehead. He swore. Why couldn’t he remember the accident? And why couldn’t he remember who the twins belonged to or who their mother was? Damn it. He wanted his memory back. He wanted his past back.
But his memory and his past continued to elude him. Frustrated, Blake balled his hands into fists, not sure which infuriated him more—not being able to remember anything or this sense of urgency, this feeling that there was something he had to do. Something important. But what? What? Maybe if he went back to where he’d had the accident...
That was the key, he decided. He would borrow Josie’s truck and go back to the accident site. He knew he could maneuver the truck on the washed-out roads, and walk or swim wherever the truck wouldn’t go. The water wasn’t so high that his car would be submerged. All he had to do was reach it. If he couldn’t find a wallet or ID, the car’s registration papers would surely provide him at least with the answer to who he was and where he was from.
What about the twins?
Blake frowned. Until he knew who he was and why he’d had the twins with him, he would have to assume Josie was right and that they did belong to him or that
he was at least their legal guardian. Recalling the way little Miranda had held out her arms to him, he was hit by equal measures of pleasure and panic. His relationship to the twins was just one more reason to return to the accident site. He needed to know if he was their father—and the sooner he found out the answer, the better. He was all set to go in search of Josie and ask her about borrowing the truck, when he recognized her scent. Suddenly the impatience riding him began to ebb.
It didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t even remember his last name or whether or not he was a father, but without seeing her or hearing her voice, he knew she was nearby. Roses and rain. The fragrance seemed to cling to her...to her skin, to her hair, even to her bed. Thinking of her bed, his hps curved into a smile. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget that expression on her face when he’d tumbled her into the bed on top of him. Desire licked through him as he recalled the feel of Josie in his arms, the taste of her on his lips. And if he was smart he’d put such thoughts right out of his head until he had the answers he needed. Determined to do just that, he turned around slowly. It took him a moment before he realized that she hadn’t spotted him in the shadowed corner by the window. Deciding to take advantage of the opportunity to study her more closely, he remained silent. Despite her efforts to tame her hair, dark strands escaped the braid and fell about her face. He thought of freeing her hair from the braid and allowing it to fall in long waves down her shoulders, over her breasts. His fingers bunched into fists as he envisioned all that thick black silk slipping through his hands. A male reaction he was sure, and one that Josie would not appreciate. He also doubted that she would appreciate the fact that he liked her long, coltish legs and the way she filled out those jeans and shirt.
Taking in her tall, slender frame, he wondered how she would look in a dress. The word regal came to mind. And he could imagine her reaction to that. From what he’d learned of Josie, there wasn’t a pretentious bone in her body, and she went to great lengths to make sure you knew she wasn’t a woman in need of a man. The question was, Why? She was young to be a widow, Blake conceded. And far too young to shut herself off here on this farm Had she done so because she’d loved her husband so much? The idea that she might disturbed him. Josie didn’t deserve only memories. She was a woman who should have a man in her life, someone to love her and to raise babies with.