by Metsy Hingle
But that man isn’t you. If you have even an ounce of decency in you, you’ll leave the woman alone until you know who and what you are.
The voice of his conscience was as effective as a slap, and he turned away to stare out the window once more. He may have lost his memory, Blake admitted silently, but he had no trouble recognizing the signals Josie sent out unconsciously. She may be wary of him, but she was attracted to him all the same. It had been there in those shy, yearning looks she gave him, in the heated response to his kisses. That old cliché about a moth being drawn to a flame came to mind and only added to his sense of frustration.
The woman had saved his life and the lives of the twins, he reminded himself. He owed her—big-time. The least of which was not to take advantage of the situation this storm had left them in. The decent thing to do, the right thing to do, would be to ignore those sexual sparks they kept striking off each other. “Easier said than done,” he muttered, uncomfortably aware of the bulge already pressing against the zipper of his jeans.
“Blake? Goodness, I didn’t see you. What are you doing standing there in the dark?”
Deciding to avoid temptation, he kept his back to her. “Just taking a look at the weather.”
She flipped on a lamp somewhere behind him, flooding the area with soft light. “Looking at the weather or worrying about the money?”
“Both,” he admitted, giving her marks for her perception as he turned to face her. How had she come to read him so well in such a short time?
“I’m sure there’s a simple explanation for the money. You’re probably worrying over nothing.”
“I hope you’re right,” he replied, but at the mention of the money, all the questions came rushing back—along with that disturbing scene of him on the cliff and that nagging sense of urgency that there was something he had to do.
“Blake? Are you feeling all right?”
“Yeah,” he told her, but a knot the size of Texas was forming in his stomach again, as more questions, to which he had no answers, raced through his head. Who was he? What was he involved in? And where had he been going when he’d had the wreck?
“Are you sure?”
“I’m fine. Honest. I’ve just got a headache,” he told her, and realized it was the truth. His head really did hurt. Not only did the knot at the back of his skull ache, but the cut on his forehead throbbed like a sore tooth. He pressed his fingers to the bandage and frowned when they came away sticky with blood.
“I’m afraid it’s too soon for you to take any more aspirin, but—” Whatever suggestion she had been about to make never got past her lips. Moving closer, she stared at his forehead, then snatched up his hand. Her eyes widened at the sight of the blood. “Oh, my God, your head. It’s bleeding.”
“Take it easy,” he said, alarmed at how pale her face had gone. He closed his fingers around hers and squeezed. “I’m all right. I bumped my hand against the bandage a few minutes ago and evidently reopened the cut. It’s nothing.”
Pulling her hand free, she shook her head. “It is not nothing. It’s a serious cut, and it should have been stitched. I should have tried to get you to a doctor instead of bringing you back here.”
“Calm down and quit beating yourself up. You made the right decision. Suppose you had tried to get me to a doctor and been caught in the storm? What would have happened to the twins?” He waited a moment for the message to sink in.
“I guess you’re right.”
“Sure I am.” But he could feel the warm seepage of blood staining the bandage on his forehead, and knew he had to take care of it or she would become alarmed all over again. “Besides this thing probably looks a lot worse than it is.”
“I doubt that.”
He shrugged. “Tell you what. Why don’t you point me to the bandages and I’ll change it?”
“The gauze and tape are in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom,” she told him, leading the way. “I used an antibiotic ointment to fight off any infection the glass might have caused.”
In the bathroom she took out the bandages and medicated ointment and set them on the vanity beside the sink. Standing behind him, she watched as he peeled away the tape and removed the blood-soaked gauze. “You got an old towel I can use? I don’t want to get blood on your good ones.”
She retrieved a towel from the shelf unit above the toilet and handed it to him. “You don’t have to be polite. These are as old as sin, and we both know it.”
“Thanks,” he said taking the towel from her. Then he proceeded to clean the cut and dry it. Keeping pressure on the wound to stern the bleeding, he studied his image in the mirror. Heavy stubble shadowed a face that seemed chalky beneath the bronzed skin. The shock of dark blond hair appeared in dire need of a haircut. But it was the two-inch gash across his forehead that made Blake frown. Josie had been right. The thing probably did need to be stitched, but every instinct in him still said to stay away from hospitals, doctors, all official agencies. He’d experienced the same reluctance when Josie had mentioned contacting the sheriffs office to report his accident. Why did the thought of drawing any attention to himself disturb him?
“I was right. Wasn’t I?” she asked, her voice anxious, her green eyes nervous as she stared at him in the mirror. “It really is bad, isn’t it?”
It wasn’t really bad, but it wasn’t good, either. “It could be worse,” he told her as he kept pressure on the wound. He could tell her how to stitch the cut for him, probably even do it himself, he realized, not sure how he knew such things. Just that he did. From the expression on Josie’s face, Blake suspected it would be wiser and safer not to suggest either option to her. “It’s just a nasty scratch,” he informed her. “A fresh bandage and some more of that ointment should do the trick.”
When he turned around to retrieve the ointment, Josie held it. “Sit down. I’ll take care of it for you.”
He did as she instructed, seating himself on the closed lid of the toilet. Josie moved closer, positioned herself between his legs, and tipped his face up to the light. As she ministered to him, Blake watched her. He noted the fine bones of her face, the sweep of dark lashes that framed her green eyes, the way her teeth worried at her bottom lip while she worked. In the confined space, he was painfully aware of everything about her—not only her scent, but the long line of her throat, the way her breasts rose and fell as she breathed. She smoothed ointment over the cut. Her fingers were soft, cool and should have been soothing. They made him restless instead, because he kept imagining how it would feel to have those fingers moving over other parts of his body. Aware of the effect such thoughts were having on him, Blake shifted. Using her teeth, she cut off the strip of tape she’d measured and bent toward him to adhere it to the gauze. As she did so, her leg brushed against his thigh, and Blake bit off a groan.
Her fingers stilled. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” he replied, barely able to get the word out.
“There. All done.” She took a step back and looked everywhere in that tiny bathroom except at him, making him wonder if she had experienced that same slap of desire that he had. “I probably should go check on the babies.”
“Right, the babies,” Blake muttered, making an effort to clear the lust from his brain.
She began to pack away the gauze, tape and ointment in the medicine cabinet. “I don’t suppose you recall anything about their feeding schedules, do you?”
“Afraid not,” Blake said, suddenly remembering that he had a lot of other questions that he still had to find answers to. And the place he needed to start was his car. He stood.
“Well don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out.” She closed the door to the medicine cabinet and started to leave.
“Josie, wait.”
She stopped midstride and turned to face him. “Yes?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask after everything you’ve done for me already. But I was wondering if you’d let me borrow your truck? I’d like to
drive out to the accident site and see if I can find my wallet or some sort of ID.”
“Blake, I’m sorry, but—”
“Listen, I can understand your reluctance to lend me the truck, especially given the fact that I don’t even know who I am. But that’s why I want to check out the car,” he explained, determined to get her to trust him. “So we can both find out who I am. You have my word that I’ll be careful. And I promise—”
“Blake, it has nothing to do with me trusting you or not trusting you,” she said. “I’d be happy to lend you my truck, but it wouldn’t do you any good. The truck won’t be able to get you there.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. My truck isn’t the problem. It’s the road. The creek bed overflowed during the night and flooded the main road that leads to this place.”
“I’m not worried about driving through a little water, Josie. And I’d be really careful with your truck.”
She shook her head and released a sigh filled with exasperation. “You don’t understand. We’re not talking about a little water here. We’re talking serious water.”
“How serious?” Blake asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Several feet serious,” she replied. “The fact is, until the rain stops and the water starts to drain off, I’m afraid you’re stuck here. We both are. You and I can’t get out, and nobody else can get in.”
Five
She’d told Blake the truth. They were stuck here, trapped together at the farmhouse. And while the floodwaters had virtually isolated her and Blake, making it impossible for them to get out or anyone to get in, Josie couldn’t help but wonder if somewhere there was a woman waiting for Blake and the twins to return. If she were the woman waiting for them, Josie admitted, she would be a bundle of nerves, listening for the ring of the telephone or the sound of Blake’s footsteps at the door. And she would be growing more and more anxious by the moment when neither came.
Princess Anna von Oberland sat on the edge of the couch in the apartment that had been her home for the past three months, growing more and more anxious with each tick of the clock, each setting of the sun. She willed the phone to ring, to hear a knock at the door and the sweet gurgling sounds of her late sister Sara’s twins Neither came.
Blake, where are you? Why haven’t you at least called?
As usual, no answers came. Try as she might, Anna couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something had gone wrong with the rescue mission. Blake was now nearly a week late, and from the reports she had received, Gregory had yet to hear from his brother. Wherever Blake and the twins were, she could only pray that they were safe from Prince Ivan.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?”
Anna dragged her attention from her worries and focused on her son William. Reaching out, she brushed the dark brown hair from his eyes—eyes so like his father’s. As always when she looked at her four-year-old son her heart swelled with love. She smiled at him. “Nothing’s wrong—except that you, my son, are growing up too fast.” She ruffled his hair, then hugged him to her.
“Mr. Hunt says that ‘I’m getting taller,” he told her squirming out of her arms. “He says it’s the Texas air. He says I’m a big boy.”
Anna’s heart clenched at the mention of Gregory. “I think Mr. Hunt’s right. You’re not my baby William anymore. You are a big boy.”
“Oh what a big boy you are,” Josie cooed to baby Edward who lay on the tea cart that she’d converted into a changing table. After securing the adhesive tabs on his diaper, she leaned over and planted a noisy kiss on his tummy. Just as she’d hoped, he gave her a sweet baby giggle. Laughing, she snapped his blue and white jumper closed. Then carefully she removed her braid from his tiny fingers, kissing the little hands from which she’d taken his prize. When he reached for her, Josie’s heart did a nosedive. In the space of six days the little scamp and his twin had completely stolen her heart.
And unless she was careful, she feared their father would do the same thing. Resisting the urge to pick him up and cuddle him again, she straightened his socks and shoes. The task completed, she tipped her head to the side and smiled. “There now. Aren’t you the handsome one? Just like your daddy.”
“So, you think I’m handsome, huh?”
Josie jerked her gaze to the doorway, where Blake stood watching her, amusement twinkling in his dark eyes. Heat flooded her cheeks, and her traitorous pulse began what was becoming an all-too-familiar tap dance whenever the man came within ten feet of her—which was often since they remained trapped inside the house due to the continued rain and washed-out roads.
“Why, Eddie, pal, I do believe our Josie’s embarrassed,” he teased, a wicked grin curving his mouth. He shoved away from the doorway. “Do you think she meant it? Does she really think I’m handsome?”
Rats, Josie thought, wishing she could take back that remark. But since this was one wish that didn’t have a prayer of coming true, she tipped up her chin and met Blake’s amused gaze. “Really, Blake. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that you’re handsome,” she replied in a voice that sounded amazingly calm, considering the nerves jumping in her stomach.
“I don’t?”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
He arched his brow in a way that reminded her of James Bond in those action movies where bevies of sultry females were always falling into the secret agent’s arms. “Why not?”
“Because all you have to do is look in the mirror,” she tossed back. Just as all she needed to do was look into a mirror to know that she was a far cry from beautiful. Pleasant looking and sweet natured had been the terms she’d heard used in describing her to couples who came to the orphanage wanting to adopt a child. But pleasant looking wasn’t pretty, and sweet natured wasn’t lovable. And since no one had ever wanted to adopt her, she’d figured out lickety-split that her pleasant-looking face and sweet nature didn’t measure up. Not for prospective parents, not for cheating husbands, either, and certainly not for handsome men like Blake. A man who, more than likely, had a gorgeous wife to go with those twins, she reminded herself.
He pretended to study his reflection in a water glass. “I don’t know. It’s pretty hard to tell what I look like under this,” he told her, rubbing at his chin.
But even with the heavy stubble shading his jaw and a bandage across his forehead, Blake would draw a woman’s eye. And it wasn’t just his face and body—although there was certainly nothing wrong with either. Amnesia or not, the man had an aura about him that made him difficult to ignore. She should know since she’d been trying her best to do just that for nearly a week—with little success. If anything the too-long hair and scruffy beard added to his appeal. “Take my word for it. You’re easy on the eyes.” Trying to keep it light, she added, “In fact, in the school where I used to teach, the teenage girls would have called you a hunk.”
“What about the grown-up girls at your school?” he asked, moving closer.
“I guess that would depend on the girl.” Picking up Edward, she hugged the baby to her like a shield and moved past Blake to the baby seat that sat on top of the kitchen table beside his sister’s. She placed him in his seat and secured the safety belt, then proceeded to prepare their bottles.
Blake automatically reached for one of the bottles and began filling it with formula. “What about you, Josie? You think I’m a hunk?”
His question caught her off guard. He was in a strange mood, she decided. After several days of brooding and avoiding her, he seemed almost playful—more like the man who’d kissed her in the middle of the road and had toppled her to the bed that first morning. Setting the bottle aside, she retrieved two of the jars from the large stash of baby food and formula that had been stored in the diaper bags, and struggled to open the jar of spinach.
Blake held out his hand, and she turned the jar over without comment. He gave the top one hard twist, and the blasted thing opened. Another grin spread across his lips as he handed it back to her. “Not g
oing to answer me?”
“Your ego doesn’t need feeding,” she said, shoving the jar of peaches at him. “The twins do.”
Suddenly his playful expression turned serious, and Josie could have bitten off her tongue for the careless remark. “You’re right.”
But she wasn’t right, Josie realized. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head, the questions running through his mind, wondering what kind of man he was. Was he the kind of man who needed a woman to stroke his ego? She could have told him that he wasn’t. He was a good man, a responsible man. Otherwise why would he have assumed responsibility for the twins immediately despite his out-and-out terror of them and the fact that he wasn’t sure they were his? And only an honorable man would have stopped that last kiss from going too far when she’d been overwhelmed by the passion that had flared between them. She wanted to tell him these things and put his fears about his character to rest, but from the look on his face she suspected Blake wouldn’t welcome her observations.
Josie sighed as she watched him spoon peaches into the dishes. She’d faced the demons of self-doubt and loneliness for too many years not to recognize them in someone else. Blake was struggling with those demons now. She could have resisted the skilled charmer she’d first mistaken him for. But resisting this strong man made vulnerable by his uncertainties about himself was about as futile as her trying to stop the sun from coming up in the morning. “For what it’s worth, this grown-up girl thinks you’re a hunk.”