The Interpreter

by RaeAnne Thayne

  He closed his eyes, disgusted with himself.

  Despite his undeniable attraction, he didn’t trust the woman. He couldn’t trust her. He had more than just himself to look out for now; he had the care of two grieving children who needed him to be ever watchful, always on guard.

  How long had it been since he’d been with a woman? he wondered again.

  Too damn long, if he could become so aroused by a mysterious stranger with a head injury and a boatload of trouble.

  He had never been some kind of James Bond type, with a different woman on his arm every day of the week. But he was a red-blooded male. He enjoyed women and enjoyed sex.

  But he had the children to think about now. Even if he could find someone willing, he couldn’t just go running around town, scratching any random itch. What kind of example would that set for Charlie and Miriam?

  He couldn’t forget the hard reality that his life had changed forever the day Samuel and Lianne were killed. His swinging bachelor days were gone now, traded in for SpongeBob cartoons and McDonald’s Happy Meals.

  This was his life now and he couldn’t regret it.

  The coyote howled from the mountains again and this time it was joined by another cry farther to the south.

  Mason listened to their duet for a moment longer, then turned around and walked back inside to find his solitary bed.

  Chapter 6

  She awoke to the soft patois of Tagalog coming from the doorway of the bedroom.

  Still caught in the hazy world between sleep and consciousness, she listened to the murmurs and caught snatches of low-pitched conversation, mostly giggles from Charlie and solemn responses from his sister.

  She couldn’t quite bring herself to open her eyes, charmed by these children and their sweet innocence.

  The world outside seemed frightening, intrusive. She wanted to stay here in these cozy blankets forever listening to them, safe and at peace, but inevitably the wispy tendrils of sleep began to recede.

  With her return to full consciousness, she knew these children were Charlie and Miriam Betran, their adoptive father was a darkly gorgeous man named Mason Keller and they had a talkative but kind housekeeper by the name of Pam Lewis.

  But who was she?

  She dug around in her memory but still came up with nothing.

  Oh, she remembered vividly all that had happened the day before, from the moment she’d opened her eyes and found Mason Keller standing over her, to that oddly intimate encounter with him in the hush of midnight.

  She had no trouble conjuring up the scent of him, that enticing combination of sandalwood and sage and the way his silver-gray eyes narrowed with suspicion whenever he looked at her.

  Like a movie she had seen a dozen times, the events of the day before were crystal-clear in her mind. But anything beyond that moment he had found her was still shrouded in a hazy, ominous darkness.

  The comfortable warmth and peace of a moment before gave way to a sharp burst of panic.

  She still had no idea who she was, where she had come from, what she was doing here, and the realization terrified her all over again.

  Had she ever given much thought to how a person’s memories define her? Without memories, she had nothing. She was nothing—an empty, aimless husk.

  “I think she is awake.” Even through her efforts to squash the rising anxiety, Jane had to smile at Charlie’s firm, over-loud declaration.

  She opened her eyes and discovered he had moved from the doorway into the room and stood by her bed watching her like an entomologist with a particularly interesting specimen.

  Miriam still hovered just outside the room, her small features entirely too solemn for such a young girl.

  “How did you know I was awake?” Jane asked Charlie in Tagalog.

  “When you sleep, you sound like this.” Mouth open, he made a tiny snoring sound.

  Jane gasped with laughter. “I do not! Do I?”

  She looked to Miriam for confirmation. The older girl smiled a little and nodded as she moved into the room.

  “Our papa made noise when he slept,” Charlie announced. “He sounded like this.”

  He made a loud, snorting noise rather like an angry bull and Jane couldn’t help laughing.

  “Oh, dear. I don’t believe Mason would appreciate you sharing that information!”

  “Not Mr. Mason. Our other papa.”

  “He is dead.” Miriam’s resigned voice just about broke Jane’s heart. “So is our mama.”

  Oh, my dears. She wanted to hug them both to her and kiss away the pain in their dark eyes. “You told me yesterday. I am very sorry.”

  “Mr. Mason is our new papa now,” Charlie told her. “He is nice for a new papa but not the same as our old papa. Our old papa told us stories and gave us sweets and tickled us. Mr. Mason does not know the stories. And we don’t have a mama at all. Mr. Mason said we don’t need one, but Miriam and me, we think we do.”

  She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “You have Pam,” she pointed out.

  Miriam’s shrug seemed to discount that observation. “She is nice but she does not live here like a real mama would.”

  Both gave her expectant looks loaded with meaning and Jane felt a spurt of panic of a completely different sort.

  Somehow she doubted Mason would be keen on that idea. Or on this conversation at all, she suddenly remembered. What were his words of the night before?

  All I’m asking is that you not encourage the children to form a friendship with you. They’ve been through enough loss and pain the last few months. They don’t need to befriend someone who’s leaving in a day or two.

  She cast a quick glance toward the door, half-afraid he would come bursting into the room at any moment, guns blazing, and order the children from the room.

  “Where is Mr. Mason?” She tried for a nonchalant tone, though she suspected she failed miserably.

  “He is gone today,” Miriam said. “We are to stay with Pam and out of trouble, he said.”

  Where? she wondered but couldn’t bring herself to ask. His whereabouts were none of her business, she supposed, and it seemed somewhat underhanded to interrogate the children.

  She couldn’t help her curiosity, though, nor could she deny that she found the man fascinating. He seemed such a study of contrasts—intense, almost dangerous, yet gentle and patient with these wounded children.

  There was also something so intriguingly familiar about him. She couldn’t escape the sensation that she should know him, though he assured her they hadn’t met.

  She sat up and was relieved when the room only spun a little.

  “You are feeling better?” Miriam asked in English.

  “Much better. Thank you.”

  “I am glad you will not die.”

  Jane gave the girl a wobbly smile, humbled and immeasurably touched. What a sweetheart this child was.

  “I’m glad for that too, ne ne.” Little sister.

  Miriam’s smile lit up her thin features, revealing tiny dimples in her cheeks.

  “Mama called me ne ne,” she said softly.

  Did Mason know that? Jane wondered. Perhaps she ought to remember to tell him. It might help the girl transition to her new life if she could hear the same endearment her mother used from her new caregiver.

  “There you are, you rascals.”

  Jane looked up at the voice from the doorway. Pam stood there watching them, her hands on her hips and her broad features exasperated. “You know you’re not supposed to be in here bothering Jane while she’s trying to get some rest!”

  The children exchanged guilty looks and both stepped away from the bedside.

  “It’s all right,” Jane said quickly, loathe to see the children in trouble. “I don’t mind their company. They’re both dears.”

  “You need to sleep.”

  “I’m fine, honestly. I can’t lie around here all day.” To put action to her words, she slid from the bed, hitching her too-big nightgown up her sho
ulder.

  “To be perfectly honest, I was hoping you might put me to work somehow. I don’t believe I like this lady-of-leisure business.”

  Pam looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. Mason left orders that you should rest.”

  He also left orders for her to stay away from his children. She thought of his arguments, that Miriam and Charlie had suffered enough loss, that spending time with her would only lead to more heartbreak for them when she left here.

  She couldn’t discount his fears. Somehow she thought she had some idea what it was like to lose someone dear to her. But wouldn’t they be hurt and feel rejected if she treated them with cold disdain and shunned their company, hiding out here in her room?

  Perhaps she could find some middle ground. If she treated them with polite but distant friendliness, they wouldn’t be able to grow too attached to her and thus wouldn’t suffer when she left.

  “Will Mason return soon?”

  Pam shook her head. “He and Burnell—my husband, remember?—drove up to Weber County this morning for a cattle auction. They won’t be back until tonight.”

  She ignored the twinge of guilt for what she was about to do. “I can’t stay in this room by myself all day, Pam. I could never stand it. I would love to be useful.”

  Pam appeared to consider. “Well, the children and I have strawberries to pick and then we were going to make some of my famous jam, weren’t we, kiddos?”

  The children both nodded and Jane realized Mason was right about this, at least—both children appeared to understand far more English than they let on. They seemed to know exactly what Pam had said.

  “I love the strawberries,” Charlie declared, smacking his lips.

  Pam chuckled and tousled his hair. “Don’t I know it, mister? We’re lucky we have any berries left in the garden with those sticky fingers of yours.”

  Okay, maybe their English wasn’t perfect yet. Idioms appeared beyond Charlie as he gazed at his hands in confusion.

  “Making jam sounds lovely. Will you let me help, then?”

  Pam made a face. “Don’t know why you want to. It’s a sticky, hot business. But I won’t turn down another set of hands.”

  Jane smiled, delighted at the prospect of doing something useful. “I’ll just dress then and be down shortly.”

  The anticipation gathering steam inside her crashed to the ground in an ignoble heap. “Oh, dear. I forgot. I have nothing to wear.”

  “Not to worry, honey,” Pam answered. “I raided my daughter’s closet for a couple of outfits since you’re such a little thing. The two of you look to be about the same size. I’ll leave them on the bed here for you.”

  “You’ve been so kind. I can never thank you enough.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You just work on getting your memory back so you can give me all the dirty details of your life. I’ll be the hit of my bunco club for months with the inside gossip track.”

  Jane showered quickly. She combed out her hair but wasn’t sure how she usually fixed it so she simply pulled it back into a ponytail then gazed intently at her reflection for some hint of something recognizable.

  What an odd feeling, to be staring at a virtual stranger in the mirror—and quite an ordinary one, at that. Her eyes were quite lovely, she had to admit, a deep, dark blue, but the rest of her features were unremarkable. Straight nose, slightly large mouth, pale skin.

  After several fruitless moments of gazing at that stranger in the mirror, she gave up and returned to her bedroom, where she found two pairs of blue jeans and several cotton blouses, all in eye-popping colors, folded neatly on the quilt.

  Oh, my. She wasn’t used to such bright shades.

  The thought took her aback. How would she possibly know that? She wracked her brain trying to remember and suddenly had a clear image of a black suitcase sitting open on a bed in a nondescript hotel room.

  The luggage was packed with what looked to be a half-dozen business suits in black and navy blue, all of them classic in cut and style and utterly, completely boring.

  Was the suitcase hers? It had to be. Why else would she remember it so clearly and also know without a doubt that she favored conservative suits rather than cropped lime-green T-shirts?

  Why couldn’t she remember something useful, like where that suitcase might be sitting at this very moment?

  If her subconscious was going to send her such a tantalizing memory, it ought at least to have the decency to let her get a peek at the luggage tag, she thought, disgruntled.

  No, the only thing she could see clearly was that suitcase full of drab clothing lying open on a bed.

  Did that mean she was a businesswoman of some sort? Could that be a clue into why she was in the States, if, indeed, she was British as her accent seemed to indicate? A business trip might make sense, but how had she ended up in the mountains, lying in the middle of the road?

  She couldn’t come up with any more explanations than she had before that random memory popped into her mind, and she finally sighed.

  She ought to at least tell Mason. Perhaps that might help him determine where she had come from and he could check local hotels to see if someone matching her description came up missing.

  He wasn’t here, though, she remembered, and wouldn’t be back at his ranch until that evening. She would just have to remember to tell him when he returned, she decided, and studied the youthful-looking clothes on the bed once more.

  Perhaps they weren’t in her usual style but they looked comfortable enough and it was kind of Pam’s daughter to lend them. Anyway, right now she didn’t really have a usual style. She wasn’t bound by expectations, either her own or from others.

  It was a curiously liberating realization. Without a past to tie herself to, she could become whatever kind of person she wanted to be. If she wanted to be young and hip, who would tell her she couldn’t?

  She pulled on the blue jeans and the T-shirt, then gazed at herself in the mirror above the dresser. She looked like a young university student on holiday.

  She tossed her hair back, grinned at that vibrant, fun-looking woman in the mirror, then headed off to make strawberry jam.

  Following the sound of voices, she found her way back to the huge farm kitchen where Miriam and Charlie were at the table, nearly bouncing off their chairs with impatience.

  “All right, then,” she said with a smile. “Let’s go pick some strawberries.”

  “Not so fast, girl.”

  Pam set down a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns and thickly buttered toast. She followed it up with a tall glass of orange juice, then gestured to the table.

  “Sit. We’re not going anywhere until you eat something.”

  Jane studied the overloaded plate. “You didn’t need to go to so much trouble. Toast and coffee would be fine, honestly. I’m afraid I’m not much for eating breakfast.”

  Pam raised an eyebrow. “And how would you possibly know that?”

  The same way she knew she rarely wore lime green, but for some reason she decided to keep that information to herself.

  “Instinct,” she murmured.

  “Maybe your instincts are wrong,” Pam answered. “Anyway, even if they’re not, there’s no reason you can’t change that. In some ways, you’re starting all over again.”

  She thought of that refreshing moment in her bedroom when she’d realized she could become anyone she wanted—for now, at least, until her memory returned.

  Pam was right. She was hungry and she couldn’t think of a single reason why she shouldn’t eat a hearty breakfast, simply because she didn’t think it was the norm for her.

  “Thank you,” she said and sat at the wide, scarred table across from the children.

  “You’re welcome. Dig in, now. It’s the best way for your strength to come back.”

  She did, and was amused to find the children watching her every move as she carefully spread a napkin on her lap, sipped at her juice, then sampled a delicate bite of eggs.

/>   “Delicious,” she declared.

  Pam smiled her gratitude and went back to cleaning the countertop of toast crumbs.

  “Thank you for the clothes, by the way,” Jane added. “Please tell your daughter thank you, as well.”

  “I thought you might be close to Julie’s size. She left plenty of things when she went off to college last year. I’m afraid they’re a little young in style, mostly Abercrombie & Fitch and Old Navy, but at least you’ll have something more your size.”

  “Will she mind me borrowing them?”

  “Oh, heaven’s no. Julie’s a sweet thing and I’m not saying that just because I’m her mother. I’m sorry you can’t meet her but she’s working up at Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming during summer break.”

  “Do you have other children?”

  “A boy, Anson. He’s in college, too, set to graduate in the fall. Goes to Utah State University up in Logan, ag science. He’s been on the dean’s list every term since he was a freshman.”

  “How wonderful!”

  “He’s a good kid. They both are. Usually Anson comes home to help his dad in the summers on the ranch but he had some credits to finish so he decided to go summer term and wrap things up. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he has a girlfriend up there. I guess she’s probably a lot more exciting than the old family ranch.”

  “Two children in college! That’s marvelous.”

  “Not on the pocketbook, I’ll tell you. That’s why Burnell agreed to run the Bittercreek after Mason’s father died in addition to our place. Mase needed somebody to manage it while he was gone and we needed the extra cash. It worked out for everybody.”

  Jane wanted to ask where Mason had been but before she had the chance, Charlie heaved a deep sigh and shifted in his seat. The children were both fidgeting impatiently, probably anxious for the grown-up conversation to be done so they all could get to the berries.

  Pam must have had a similar thought. “Why don’t you two take a couple of those old ice-cream buckets from under the sink and get started out there? We’ll join you in a minute.”