The Sheriff’s Amnesiac Bride

by Linda Conrad

  When he could see inside, he found the bathroom awash in limited, flickering light. Just the two night-lights were burning, but the overheads had been left off.

  Rosie stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at herself through the dim light in the mirror. And sobbing uncontrollably.

  “You okay?” he whispered. “Do you need help?”

  She gasped, and it was only then he noticed she didn’t have on any clothes. She didn’t turn around but grabbed a towel and held it to her body, trying to cover the intimate parts.

  But she couldn’t cover her long, lovely backside. And he let himself take it all in. From the crown of her strange red-colored head, down her slender neck and past the slim torso all the way to her perfectly rounded buttocks and those mile-long legs. My God. She was perfect. He’d known she would be. But this was better than all his idle dreams.

  “Go away. I’m…okay,” she began with a stutter. “No, that’s not true, Jericho. I do need help. I need…”

  She started to turn, but then their eyes met in the glass and she halted. She blinked and licked her upper lip. “The doctor said it was all right to shower, but not to get the bandage too wet. It seems I got the dressing all muddy earlier. So then I tried to change it myself, but I…can’t reach.”

  Jericho watched as the tears began again. They glistened against her cheeks in the low light and swamped her beautiful blue eyes.

  “Let me,” he said and took a step closer.

  Rosie tried to stem the flow of her tears. What an idiot she must be. It was a simple thing. Just changing her bandage after a shower. But when she couldn’t seem to help herself, she’d remembered how all alone she was and the tears poured in earnest.

  Jericho was being so nice. But nice wasn’t really what she wanted from him. She wanted—well, she wasn’t sure.

  Glancing up into the mirror over the sink, their gazes met—and locked. Oh, yes. That’s what she wanted from him. Whatever that was, there in his eyes. Was it a hunger? A wanting so desperate he looked ready to pounce.

  “Give me the bandage and show me where,” he demanded roughly.

  Her heart pounded wildly as his gaze lowered to the edge of her towel in the mirror. She could feel her nipples tighten painfully in response to that look. She wanted him to touch her there, relieve her aching.

  “The bandage is on the counter,” she said, but was surprised at how deep her voice sounded. “And the wound is on my side, under my left arm.”

  “Show me,” he repeated slowly, and put his hand on her shoulder.

  Her skin sizzled at his touch. It was too much temptation. She nodded and dropped the towel.

  Rosie didn’t know what to expect. Would he turn away? Every moment the unspoken question hung in the air her passion spun higher. Yet, so help her, she could not have blinked as much as an eyelid if her life had depended on it.

  He didn’t turn. He didn’t budge. He didn’t seem to be breathing.

  Part of her wanted him to whisk her up and carry her to bed. But the part of her that could’ve moved stood transfixed as his hand finally…finally…flexed and began caressing her shoulder as he bent to place kisses against her neck.

  Even in the shadowed lighting, the sight of his darkly suntanned hand, contrasting against her pale body, was exciting. The skin lying under his fingers grew heated and began to tingle.

  He stepped in closer and she could feel his warmth against her back. Her sensitive skin flamed and flushed, igniting at every point they came together. She could also feel the hard ridge under the placket of his jeans zipper poking into the small of her back. The juncture of her thighs flooded with moisture and she watched her own eyes going wide in the mirror.

  She opened her mouth to beg, but no sound came out. Wanting to face him, to touch him, she started to turn. But his right hand came up under her arm to her ribcage and pulled her back into his chest.

  “Stay,” he growled.

  He rubbed his palm upward so that his fingers were in position to trace her taut peaks. She moaned. Wanted to squirm. Instead her head fell back against his shoulder as he pulled and lightly pinched her sensitive nipples.

  Every movement felt so wonderful. So perfect. Had sex ever been good before? Not like this, she was sure.

  Jericho’s other hand slid around her hips, flattening against her belly. A downpour of sensation raced straight to the spot between her legs that ached for him, as his hand slowly inched lower through the curly hair under her belly button.

  Her eyelids drooped and her knees trembled.

  “Watch,” he gasped.

  Her lids popped open and she stared straight ahead at the sight of the two of them in the mirror. While with one hand he rubbed and provoked the tips of her breasts, his other thumb flicked over her feminine nub—stroking, tempting, tormenting.

  The woman in the mirror looked so wanton. She was sensual, heavy-lidded, breathing through an open mouth and with startling rosy nipples that grew higher at every caress.

  But as Jericho continued to tighten the string on her reserves, Rosie decided she didn’t care how it all looked. She only wanted to experience an end to this growing pull inside her.

  “Jericho, please.” How sexy she sounded to her own ears. Every movement of Jericho’s and every sound she made only served to build the tension higher and higher inside her.

  He began murmuring soft words of lust into her ear in that lazy, erotic Texas drawl of his. Stroking and caressing, his fingers worked faster, harder, until she thought her whole body would burst into flame.

  At last the tight rubber band inside her snapped in a flood of sensation as the orgasm washed over her. In the mirror, her eyes widened impossibly and her mouth dropped open in a very unfeminine scream.

  Pulsating aftershocks hit her in waves of pure pleasure. Her knees buckled and Jericho lifted her into his arms.

  He turned to carry her into the bedroom as she whimpered against his chest. This was going to be a long but fantastic night. She couldn’t wait.

  Chapter 9

  “H ang on.” Jericho carefully laid her down on the guest bed, flipped on the bedside lamp then turned and strode back out the door.

  Hang on? What could he mean, and where was he going?

  Rosie’s senses still reeled. But she suddenly felt cold without him. He should be here beside her. She needed to touch him and make him feel every bit as good as he’d done for her. Together they were going to be spectacular. So why wasn’t he here?

  Minutes dragged by before he reappeared in the doorway, carrying something in his hand.

  “If you’re worried about protection,” she began, “I can understand your concern. But the doctor’s tests would probably have caught anything I might’ve had. And if it’s for the other reason, wouldn’t that be like locking the prison door after the criminals already escaped?”

  “Turn on your side.” Ignoring her comments, he slid a hand beneath her and urged her to turn on her right side, facing away from him.

  Hmm. Was this usual? she wondered. Why couldn’t she remember having sex? This was like being a virgin—at least in her mind.

  Instead of sliding his body into the bed behind her, he raised her arm above her head and began rebandaging her wound. “This won’t take but a minute. Then you can get some sleep.”

  “What? Aren’t you coming to bed with me?” She couldn’t see his expression as he worked on her side, but his tight silence told her everything.

  “Jericho, I don’t want to go to bed alone.” She heard the tones of exasperation mingling with her near desperation and tried to calm down. “I want you to come to bed with me so we can finish what we started. You didn’t…I mean, you didn’t have your…um…turn. Let me touch you. Let me feel you inside me.”

  Instead of answering, she felt him patting down the edges of the tape around the bandage. Then he gently placed her arm down at her side and turned her over on her back. Staring up at him, Rosie became so frustrated she wanted to scream.

/>   Jericho’s eyes gleamed bright with what she would swear must be desire as he gazed down on her naked body. He reached over and placed his palm flat against her belly. The fire his hand caused seared her there and set her aflame once more.

  She groaned and reached her arms out to him.

  “No.” He grimaced but left his wide hand gently but firmly against her flushed skin. “Tucked safely under my hand is someone else we have to consider. We can’t just act without thinking through the consequences for everyone. Your child has a father—somewhere.

  “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that,” he went on. “The two of you need to know where you belong—before making any decisions you might come to regret. Tonight was all my fault. I’ve promised to protect you, and I mean to, even if it has to be protection from me.”

  He took a deep breath. “You’ve had a bad night. Mostly due to my mistakes. I’d appreciate it if you would sleep now.”

  Too stunned at his little speech to speak, Rosie blinked up at him as he lifted the covers and tucked her in. This guy was definitely too good. Or was that more like so good it could be bad?

  As he turned off the light and backed out the door, she worked to bite back her neediness, closing her eyes and wishing a dream to come for what she really wanted.

  But when the images came into her mind, she couldn’t tell if they were dreams or not. Everything seemed so familiar. But then again…it might not be her own reality.

  The soft evening air, tenderly perfumed with the scent of flowers, ruffled her hair. The sounds of an orchestra played in the background. Gentle laughter and conversation floated lightly on a sweet breeze.

  How strange.

  She was floating, too. In a long blue gown. Shimmering up a staircase that appeared out of nowhere. A staircase that looked as though it must belong in a castle.

  How amusing. And how thrilling.

  Before her appeared a prince. Wearing a tux, his royal bearing quickly became a powerful aphrodisiac. Tall and lean, with dark brown hair combed in an impeccable style, he stood out above all the rest. She felt a tiny pang of regret, somehow missing dark blond hair that grew over the collar and always appeared messy.

  But then the prince gave her a generous smile that eased into a deep dimple on his left cheek, and her heart fluttered. Thoughts of any other smiles flittered away as his eyes filled with romance, passion and sex.

  The prince held out his hand to her, and she stepped into his arms. Music filled her head with sparkling, erotic diamonds of pure passion as they danced across a ballroom floor like a royal couple.

  Was she a princess? Looking down at herself, she saw glass slippers on her feet. So…not a princess. She must be only pretending.

  But she quickly decided she didn’t care. Twirling around the dance floor, she felt beautiful—and powerful. Like nothing could ever hurt her, and like everyone in the room would want to be her.

  A bolt of lightning suddenly shot golden flashes through the ballroom. With the boom of thunder that followed, spears of panic darted straight into her heart. She gasped, stepping back and holding a hand to her breast to still the fear.

  Glancing at the prince for reassurance, what she saw instead sent chills up her spine. Dark, demon eyes glared at her with fury and hunger.

  Sinister.

  Evil.

  My God. She stumbled back, turned and fled.

  The music disappeared and she was barefoot, running through a field of blood. It was after her. The monster was hot on her heels.

  Closing in faster and faster.

  She had to hide. Ripping at her clothes, she stripped off the gown and streaked through the foggy night. Shivering now, and mewling like a wounded animal, she fell to her knees. But all around her was blood. A sea of it.

  The contents of her stomach curdled with nausea as she tried to crawl away. But the simmering scarlet ocean clung to her, dragging her down. Tentacles reached around her body, tugging at her ferociously.

  Dragging at her body.

  Pulling her further and further down.

  Clawing her way up, Rosie forced her eyes to open. Sunshine glittered into the room, nearly blinding her with its welcoming reality. She was safe. Safe in Jericho’s guest bedroom.

  Thank heaven. The sheets were twisted around her body, a reminder of her nightmare. They clung to her, tying her to the bed.

  She fought them off and swung her legs over the side. Trying to clear the last bit of fog from her brain, Rosie stood up, took a deep breath—and nearly doubled over from the nausea.

  That must be still part of the dream, right?

  In the next moment, she found out that being sick to her stomach was unfortunately very real. She made a mad dash for the bathroom across the hall, praying she would make it in time.

  At nearly midday, Jericho hurried his way through morning bathroom chores. He wasn’t too sure he would ever again be able to spend much time in his bathroom. Images of what he and Rosie had done together last night surrounded him and punched him in the gut. Trying to shave, he’d felt himself suffocating on the visions he remembered in the mirror.

  Dumb. Taking advantage of the situation last night had been a purely dumb-ass move. He’d always imagined himself to have more self-control. Guess not. At least not when it came to Rosie.

  In only two days, the woman had gotten under his skin. Having her stay here in his home wasn’t smart. Obviously he couldn’t be trusted to keep his hands to himself. Maybe this afternoon he would be better off sneaking her over to one of the neighbor’s houses to stay the night. If handled properly, the move could easily remain a secret and she should be safe.

  Rubbing at a sudden ache in his chest, Jericho braced himself for seeing her again. Was she still asleep? They’d had a late night, which he hadn’t done a blessed thing to help. He hoped to hell she’d been getting the rest she needed since then.

  Jericho headed for the kitchen and the coffeepot. But before he could even leave the shelter of the hallway, Rosie’s voice wafted through the air and met his ears. Coming to a halt, he stood and listened to her speaking softly to the dogs. In another second she began humming, sweet and low in her throat.

  A disturbing memory ambushed him. He hadn’t awoken to a woman humming in the kitchen since he’d been seven years old. Sharp, edgy memories of growing up and hoping against hope to hear those feminine sounds once more came darting through his conscious mind.

  Waking up in his room upstairs at home, sneaking down to peek into his dad’s kitchen and praying that Momma would’ve finally come home. He’d been so sure that any day now she would be back and tell him she’d made a big mistake in leaving him. Despite Daddy forever saying it would never happen.

  Dumb again, Jericho told himself while he exhaled heavily and cleared his head. As an adult, he realized that the family had been much better off without his alcoholic mother. He’d been better off, too.

  Still, what a surprise to suddenly find that aching need had never completely gone away. That it had just been lurking there in his subconscious. Irritated with himself for being so vulnerable, he stuffed the old feelings back into the dark corner of his mind and went into the kitchen to confront all his demons.

  “Good morning,” Rosie said and looked up at him as he entered the room. She was sitting on the kitchen floor, trying to coax Shep into drinking water.

  God, she was even more beautiful in the light of day than she’d been last night. If that was even possible.

  Refusing to just stand and stare at her, he bent on one knee and checked Shep’s eyes. They were much clearer and the old dog seemed to recognize his master.

  Jericho cleared his throat. “It’s nearly noon, but it looks like the day will be good one. The dogs are better.”

  “Yes.” She gently placed Shep’s head back down on his dog bed and stood. “I hope that means they’re going to make it.”

  “I think it must. Though Quinn said it would take a couple of days to be sure.” He stood too and
turned to the coffeepot. “Have you had anything to eat?”

  “Uh, no. I fixed myself some tea and made you some coffee. But I’m not really very hungry.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, really looking at her, and saw that her face was pale, her hair standing up on end as though she’d run her hands through it. “You okay?”

  “I had a nightmare. But I think it might mean something. Maybe my memories will be coming back through my dreams. What do you think?”

  His first thought, that her returning memory was the last thing he wanted, sideswiped him with unusual force. When she remembered, she would leave him and go back to her life. Breathe. After another moment, he got his bearings and mentally kicked himself for being such a fool. Of course she needed to remember. It was her life.

  “It’s possible,” he said. “Doc O’Neal said the memories might come back in bits and pieces.” Jericho tried to smile at her, to reassure her, but he didn’t feel much like smiling. “What did you dream?”

  “Most of it was silly—or scary. But I clearly remember looking down at myself and thinking I looked like a fairy princess. With long, beautiful and shiny hair.” She reached up and tugged at her own short locks. “Not the horrible-looking mess that’s there now.”

  He blinked a couple of times and all of sudden the image of her naked in the mirror last night sprang into his head. “You know, I believe you probably are a natural blonde. If that makes you feel any better.”

  She frowned. “No. That just makes things worse. I want to know for sure. I wish I had a picture. Being sure about my looks might make it easier for the rest of it to come back.”

  “Well, now,” he said as the idea gelled in his mind. “I think we need an expert opinion. And maybe you might discover something you enjoy doing at the same time.

  “Get your shoes on. I’ll call one of the neighbors to come over and stay with the dogs for the afternoon. I know where we’ll find just the person we need to figure it out.”

  Rosie once again stared intently at herself in a mirror. Only this time the mirror was at Sallie Jo’s Cut N Curl, a few doors down from the sheriff’s office. The person standing directly behind Rosie with her fingers sliding through Rosie’s hair was the owner, Sallie Jo Stanton.