Midnight Bride

by Barbara Mccauley

  “Caleb?”

  She called him from the kitchen, and it startled him how just the sound of her voice made his pulse pick up. He’d never had a home, a real home, where a woman greeted him at the end of a day. He felt an unfamiliar warmth in his chest and realized he was actually smiling.

  His smile faded. Sarah, like this home, was temporary, he reminded himself. Anything else was a fantasy. A warm fire and the smell of baking bread were luxuries he couldn’t afford to grow accustomed to.

  He started to turn, thinking he’d go back outside and let the cold air clear his mind. But then she stood in the kitchen doorway, and he could barely move. She’d taken off her sweater and was wearing the denim shirt again, with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. She’d also taken off her boots and slipped on a pair of white socks. He stared at those socks, his socks, that stretched over her small feet and disappeared into her jeans. It was hardly a picture that fantasies were made of, and yet the sight of her standing there, her gaze shy, her cheeks flushed, hit him like a sledgehammer straight to the gut.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said hesitantly. “I’ll put it on the table while you wash up.”

  He nodded, and when she disappeared back into the kitchen, he washed, then ran a comb through his hair. She was setting a bowl of carrots next to a plate of pork chops when he came back into the kitchen. Wolf was by the back door, busy gulping down a bowl of dog food Sarah had given him.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” he said, moving beside her.

  She glanced at him, then quickly looked away. “I need to do something. You not only saved my life, you’ve taken care of me and fed me. I’m feeling better now, and cooking a meal is the least I can do.”

  He noticed a spot of flour on her neck, imagined how soft and smooth her skin would feel if he licked off the white powder. He had a brief, lustful thought about several things she could do for him, none of which included food.

  “I’ve got the potatoes warming in the oven,” she said hurriedly. “I hope you like mashed, but they’re a little lumpy because I didn’t know if you had an electric mixer, and I didn’t want you to think I’d snoop through your cupboards, but the pork chops were in the freezer, and I saw the yeast and flour next to the dishes, so I thought I’d surprise you and…”

  She continued to ramble about the food preparation while she grabbed two pot holders and pulled the potatoes out of the oven, apologizing that the food probably wasn’t going to taste very good and her feelings wouldn’t be hurt if he didn’t eat it. She’d carefully avoided looking at him while she was rattling on, and he realized she was nervous.

  He also knew why.

  Despite his better judgment, he reached for her hand as she set the bowl of steaming potatoes on the table. She stiffened at his touch.

  “Sarah,” he said gently, “I think we better talk about what happened this afternoon or neither one of us is going to enjoy this meal.”

  He watched her fingers tighten around the green terry cloth pot holders in her hands. She stared at the hot pads and nodded slowly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  She was apologizing to him? Confused, he simply stared at her.

  “I’m sure I wasn’t like that before,” she went on. “Maybe the hit on my head has caused me to be a wanton woman.”

  A wanton woman? It was obvious she was serious, and he tried very hard not to laugh. He’d seen more than his share of “wanton women” and she most definitely was not one of them. If he tried to tell her, would she even understand that no woman, wanton or not, had ever made him lose control like that? That he’d nearly taken her, right there in the forest, despite the fact that she might belong to someone else, despite the fact that he had no right?

  “Sarah, look, you’ve got this all wrong—”

  “I know I do.” She twisted the pot holders. “I—I thought you wanted to kiss me. I thought that you, well, that you were—” She stopped then, her face a bright red.

  “That I was what?”

  “You know.” She looked away. “Turned on.”

  The words were a whisper on her lips. And as he stared at those lips, he wanted nothing more than to drag her against him and show her just how right she was.

  “I threw myself at you.” She closed her eyes and drew in a long, slow breath. “I can’t even imagine what you must think of me.”

  Obviously she couldn’t imagine, Caleb thought in amazement. And if he pulled her against him right now, there would be little left to the imagination. But he’d learned his lesson once today already, and he knew if he did pull her into his arms and kiss her like he wanted, this time he wouldn’t stop, consequences be damned.

  “I’m not used to explaining or defending my actions,” he said firmly. “Most of the time I don’t much give a damn what anyone thinks, and I sure as hell don’t give a damn what anyone says. But I want you to listen to me, and listen hard.” He slipped one finger under her chin and forced her to look at him. “You’re a beautiful woman—”

  She shook her head. “You don’t have to say that. I know I’m not—”

  “Stop interrupting. You are a beautiful woman, and you didn’t throw yourself at me this afternoon. I wanted to kiss you.”

  She stared at him, her baby blue eyes wide and soft. “You did?”

  Lord, don’t look at me like that, Caleb thought. “I wanted to do a hell of a lot more, too,” he said, unable to stop himself as he ran his thumb over her jaw. “But I can’t.”

  “You can’t?”

  “No.” Damn, but she smelled good. A scent that was hers alone, a scent that triggered a response in him that left him aching. Her skin felt like silk under his fingers, and he nearly groaned as he realized that she’d leaned closer.

  The perfect seduction, he thought, and with that thought came the doubt. She was too perfect. As if a computer had linked itself into his mind, tapped into his fantasies and created a woman he’d only dreamed about. A woman who was strong yet soft. Innocent yet passionate.

  A woman he could trust.

  But he couldn’t trust her. He couldn’t trust anyone. And even if he could, what difference would it make? She wasn’t staying. She couldn’t stay.

  He sighed heavily and let his hand drop from her. “Sarah, you’ll be leaving soon. If I’d made love to you earlier, or if I took you to my bed right now, I’d only be taking advantage of you. It would be a physical release, nothing else. And whatever you may think of yourself at the moment, I have the distinct feeling that sleeping with a man for sex alone is not something you would normally do.”

  Did she? Sarah wondered. She must, because she almost opened her mouth to argue the point with him. I’ve done it again, she thought miserably. Made an idiot out of myself. She was throwing herself at Caleb like some kind of floozy. She was almost afraid to get her memory back and find out exactly what kind of woman she was.

  “No, of course not,” she murmured. “I’m just a little…confused by everything that’s happened, that’s all.” She stepped away awkwardly and pulled out a chair. “Why don’t we eat…before it gets cold?”

  He slid into the chair across from her and helped himself to a pork chop and potatoes, obviously unaffected by the exchange between them. He ate with enthusiasm, and when he bit into the fresh bread she’d baked, he even groaned with delight.

  She stared at the mashed potatoes she’d put on her plate, but they may as well have been wet cement.

  At least he was interested in her cooking, she thought with a silent sigh. And if he liked this, then she could make him a grilled garlic butter chicken that would make his mouth water and a cr&e4;me brul&e2;e that would knock his socks off.

  She smiled at the image, then went suddenly still. Her vision blurred, and a heavy, dull pain shot through her head.

  How did she know how to cook like that?

  A kitchen. Wooden cows and sunflowers. Blue curtains…

  “Sarah?”
/>   She heard Caleb call her, but she couldn’t move.

  “What is it?” he said gently. “Tell me what you see.”

  “My…house,” she whispered. “My kitchen. My living room. Suitcases. I’m going somewhere…on a trip.”

  “Where?”

  She closed her eyes. The pain increased in her temples.

  “Where, Sarah?” Caleb asked again.

  “The mountains?” She shook her head. “No, the ocean.”

  She’d packed a bathing suit.. Bright pink. Plants watered. Mail stopped. A knock at the door…her taxi? She moved toward the door, stopped at the sound of a low, deep growl…

  “Sarah!”

  She opened her eyes, heard the knock again. Not in her mind this time, but coming from Caleb’s front door. Wolf growled again. Caleb pointed a finger at Wolf and the animal immediately quieted.

  The lines of Caleb’s face were rigid when he turned back to her. “I want you to stay in the kitchen and keep out of sight. Don’t say a word.”

  Eyes wide, she stared at him, then nodded slowly.

  He pulled the door closed behind him as he left the kitchen. Knees shaking, Sarah moved to the door, quietly opening it an inch so she could see into the living room. She watched Caleb reach for the gun he kept on the mantel, then tug his shirt from his pants and slip the gun into his waistband before he opened the front door. She strained to see around him, but his large frame blocked her view.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Sarah heard an eerily familiar voice say. “But I was wondering if you’ve seen this woman.”

  Breath held, she watched Caleb take a picture from the man and look at it.

  “Who is she?” Caleb asked.

  “Sarah Phillips,” the man replied. “My wife.”

  Five

  Caleb stared at the snapshot in his hand, a head shot of a woman. Her hair was pulled back, and she looked a couple of years younger, but it was definitely Sarah. Caleb looked back at the man standing in front of him. A little old for Sarah, Caleb thought irritably. He had short cropped blond hair, and stood at six-one or two. The man smiled, but it never reached his steelgray eyes. There were two other men standing a few feet away, outside a black Suburban. They all wore hunting clothes and heavy jackets.

  “Name’s Sam.” He held out his hand. “Sam Phillips. I’m staying a few miles away in the Kramer cabin.”

  The Kramer place was a part-time rental cabin on the other side of Pinewood, nearly five miles away, Caleb thought, accepting the man’s hand. His palm was smooth, his fingers cold. He had the build of an athlete, but the hands of a pencil pusher.

  Caleb instantly disliked him.

  “You lost your wife?”

  “It’s a little complicated.” He rubbed at his nose and shifted uncomfortably. “You see, she—Sarah-hasn’t been well, so when my brother and cousin and I decided to come up to the mountains for a few days—” he pointed to the other men, who smiled stiffly “—well, I thought maybe the mountain air would help clear her mind a little. She’s been very…confused lately.”

  Caleb handed the picture back. “Oh?”

  Sam slipped the picture into his jacket pocket and sighed heavily. “She’d been in a…clinic since she miscarried the baby three months ago, but she hadn’t had an episode for over a month, so I thought it would be safe to bring her home.”

  A knot grew in Caleb’s stomach. Though he felt anything but, he folded his arms and leaned casually against the doorjamb, carefully blocking any view into the cabin. “Episode?”

  “Paranoia,” Sam said, shaking his head. “She imagines she’s someone else, or people are after her. She’s all right if she takes her medication, but I’m afraid she hasn’t had it for a few days now.”

  It would explain so much, Caleb thought, forcing himself to appear friendly and relaxed. The men after her, her loss of memory.

  “How long has she been missing?” he asked, glancing at the other men again. The shorter, stockier of the two wore a bandage on his right hand. Caleb made a mental note of the license plate on the car.

  “Four days now,” Sam said. “She’d told me she heard a storm was coming and she didn’t want to stay in the mountains. She said she’d called a friend of hers to come pick her up and they were going to spend a few days in Santa Barbara. The phones weren’t working during the storm, and by the time I reached the friend and found out that Sarah had never even called her, three days had already gone by. I’ve been searching for her since this morning.”

  Dammit! It made sense. Too much sense. “You think she’s still around here?”

  “I don’t know. She’s gone off on her own before, but she usually isn’t away this long. I haven’t called the authorities yet because I was so sure she’d show up by now, but I’m starting to worry that something may have happened to her.”

  Starting to worry? Anger surged through Caleb. This man’s wife was missing for four days, and he was just starting to worry? He thought of Sarah, how frightened she’d been, how bruised and scratched she’d been when he’d brought her back to the cabin that night. His anger intensified, as did his protective feeling toward her.

  All feelings he had no right to. Not if she was married to this man. And that was still the question…if. “You got a number I can call you at if I see her?” Caleb asked.

  Sam reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a card. “We’re still at the cabin, but my calls are being forwarded from my office.”

  Caleb looked at the card. “Phillips Import. Los Angeles, California.” There was an address and a phone number.

  His jaw tightened. Everything this man told him made sense. The trauma of losing a baby could certainly have messed her up mentally. And if she had been confused, as Sam said, it was possible she’d wandered down the main road that far and accidentally fallen over the cliff. The shock to her body, combined with her emotional state, might have triggered her paranoia.

  Dammit, anyway! The pieces fit together, too well, but the picture was wrong somehow. Or was he seeing a different picture because he didn’t like the one right in front of his face?

  He shouldn’t—couldn’t—let the fact that he was attracted to her and felt a certain responsibility for her, color his better judgment, which was to let her husband take care of her. Logic told him to turn Sarah over now.

  His gut told him no.

  “Hope you find her,” Caleb said good-naturedly and shook Sam’s hand again.

  “Thanks.” Sam smiled and turned to leave.

  The sound of shattering glass from inside the cabin, then a small cry, stopped Sam. Eyes narrowed, he turned back around and stared at Caleb. The other men straightened.

  Without missing a beat, Caleb called over his shoulder. “You okay, honey?” He heard a mumbled reply, then turned back to Sam. “My wife.”

  “Maybe I could talk to her.” Sam stared hard at Caleb. “Just in case she’s seen something.”

  Caleb’s smile was cocky. “Only thing she’s seen for the past two weeks is me. We just got married. And besides—” Caleb gave a conspiratorial wink “—this isn’t exactly a good time, if you know what I mean.”

  Sam laughed, and the other two grinned. “Sorry to have bothered you,” he said. “And congratulations.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be sure and call you if we see anything.”

  Caleb closed the door, then watched at the window until the Suburban drove away. When he turned he saw Sarah standing in the kitchen doorway, her face ashen, arms held limply at her sides.

  “I knocked over a glass on the counter,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  “You heard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tall guy, blond. Gray eyes.” He handed her the card. “He had a picture of you, too.”

  Her hand shook as she stared at the business card. She lifted her gaze to his and asked quietly, “Why didn’t you tell him about me?”

  “I didn’t like his haircut,” Caleb said dryly.

  She reached out and t
ouched his arm, her eyes narrowed and pleading. “He’s not my husband, Caleb. I may not know who I am, but I know I can’t be married to that man, and I don’t believe I was pregnant.”

  If she’s been traumatized, Caleb thought grimly, denial would be her best defense—denial that she was ever pregnant or even that she’d been married.

  He stared at her long, soft fingers clutching his arm. His skin burned where she touched him. “He knows you,” Caleb said.

  “Yes.” She nodded slowly and let her hand drop away. “We’ve met somehow, I’m sure of that. I’ve heard his voice before. It scares me. Would I be afraid of my own husband?”

  Her voice was small, almost childlike. He could have told her that a lot of women were afraid of their husbands, but she had enough to deal with at the moment. If Phillips was her husband, and he had hurt her, Caleb would make sure the man never hurt her again.

  When she hugged her arms tightly to her, he started to reach for her, then stopped. He didn’t dare touch her. There was too much emotion between them at the moment. He didn’t know what he’d do if he touched her, and that frightened the hell out of him.

  “I’m going into town,” he said roughly. “I’ll check it out. Don’t go outside, don’t answer the door.”

  He reached for his jacket and headed for the door, then stopped and turned back to her. “Sarah.”

  She looked at him, and the fear in her eyes almost made him go back to her. “What?”

  “There’s a gun in that drawer.” He pointed to the end table by the couch. “If you need to, use it.”

  Sarah sat in front of the fire and stared blankly into the slowly dying flames. Wolf slept close by, his large black head nestled between his long, muscular legs. Caleb had been gone for over three hours, and every minute had seemed like a lifetime. A cuckoo clock over the mantel announced it was ten o’clock, and she listened to the persistent chirp as if it were speaking directly to her….

  Cuckoo…cuckoo…cuckoo…