The Interpreter

by RaeAnne Thayne

  She had to think it would be worth breaking her neck in exchange for basking in that precious light of approval in Mason’s eye for a while.

  “Let me just stable Unforgettable here so he doesn’t stir things up and then I’ll bring out the mare,” he said.

  All too soon, Mason returned leading a small saddled chestnut mare with a gentle gait and friendly eyes.

  Wonderful choice for the children, was her first thought. She paused at the absurdity of that. How would she possibly know what kind of horse Miriam and Charlie should have?

  Still, she took it as a good sign that her subconscious—that nasty customer who no doubt remembered all kinds of things it had decided to keep from her—deemed this horse appropriate for children.

  Though Jane sensed her borrowed runners weren’t quite the thing for riding, Mason assured her she’d be fine for a few moments. He helped her into the saddle, where she rocked to and fro, trying to settle in.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  She frowned. “It feels familiar but wrong somehow. I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

  He adjusted a stirrup, hovering entirely too near her leg for her personal comfort. “It’s probably the saddle. You could be used to an English saddle instead of the Western one. Try to imagine it without the high horn in front and with a lower cantle in the back.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated on the changes he suggested. It did seem as if it would be more natural the way he described. She decided to experiment with what she had. She held the reins loosely in her hand, straightened her spine and nudged the little mare forward with her knees.

  The horse instantly responded and soon they were walking, trotting, cantering and even galloping around the corral.

  After a few stiff moments, she laughed out loud. Mason had to be right. This seemed familiar—wonderfully, joyously familiar. She wanted to ride forever. Still, her muscles seemed stiff and a bit awkward in the saddle and she wondered if perhaps she hadn’t ridden for a while.

  Oh, for her memory to return so she would be able to answer these simple questions, even in her own mind!

  Though she longed to leap the fence and see how fast the mare could take her, she had to be content with riding around the paddock until she thought the children must be growing bored. She reined the horse to a stop in front of the three of them.

  “That was wonderful! Thank you. Miriam, Charlie, you need to have a go-round!”

  “I will ride the horse now,” Charlie said.

  “Why don’t I put you both up and lead you around the corral a few times?” Mason said. “You can hold on to each other.”

  Jane gave the girl a reassuring smile and then started to dismount to allow them a turn. Before she could jump the last few feet to the ground, Mason stepped forward and lifted her the remainder of the way.

  Her startled gaze flew to his and she found him watching her, his silver eyes gleaming in the afternoon sunlight with an unreadable expression that left her feeling as if she’d just taken a hard tumble.

  She couldn’t seem to breathe as his wide, powerful hands stayed in place just beneath her ribcage for several seconds longer than strictly necessary. She fought a shiver as her body seemed to sigh with delight at his touch. She wanted more. She wanted him to pull her into those strong arms and hold her close, to press his mouth to hers…

  “We ride! We ride!” Charlie exclaimed.

  At the boy’s voice, Mason released her so quickly she almost wobbled, then he turned to lift Miriam up in her place.

  Jane backed against the corral railing, fighting the urge to press her hands to her hot cheeks.

  Good heavens! What on earth was the matter with her? Bad enough that she’d lost her memory, now she appeared well on her way to throwing off what was left of her sanity.

  She could only be grateful for Charlie’s impatience to make them both come to their senses.

  Or so she told herself, anyway.

  Mason stood in his darkened great room watching raindrops drizzle down the windows.

  In Utah, as opposed to the tropical humidity of the Philippines, a good soaker of a summer rain was a rare and precious thing. He knew this was priceless to the ranchers and farmers around here; it was one less time they would have to irrigate thirsty crops, but he still couldn’t help resenting it.

  The storm left him restless, unable to settle. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. Though he was tired from a long day of physical exertion and fully expected another one the next day, he knew himself well enough to realize that trying to sleep would be an exercise in futility.

  He had tried to read for a while but the book hadn’t held his attention. From there, he’d started to wander around the house like some kind of wild animal searching for something he couldn’t find.

  As soon as he realized it, he had forced himself to stop and was now using all his willpower to stay in one place and stare out at the confounded rain.

  Who was he trying to fool? He sighed. It wasn’t the rain leaving him so itchy and uncomfortable.

  The reason was asleep in his guest room upstairs—and he was doing his level best not to picture her up there, that dark hair spread out on the pillow and her lovely, delicate features relaxed and warm.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted a woman with such a fierce, hungry need until he could think of little else. How could his body burn for her with this urgent desire when his mind still had so many unanswered questions?

  He had to admit, he was having a tough time hanging on to his suspicions about her, though he was still trying his best. She seemed too fragile, too lost for him to go on thinking with any confidence that the whole amnesia thing was an act.

  He wanted to believe her.

  If he should find anything unsettling, it ought to be that realization. How lowering to discover he wanted to throw a dozen years in counterintelligence out the window and believe the word of a woman who appeared to have dropped out of the sky.

  He was thinking with his gonads, not his head. He knew it but he was struck by the memory of her riding the little mare he’d bought for the children, of her stunned delight as she had trotted around the corral that afternoon.

  Her eyes had glowed and she hadn’t stopped smiling, like a child discovering an old toy, long-forgotten but still very beloved.

  As he had helped her from the horse, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her. If the kids hadn’t been there with them, he would have dragged her against the wood corral railing and kissed her until neither of them could move.

  Hell, he had been perilously close to doing that, anyway, even with the kids looking on with dark, curious eyes.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling they were on the cusp of something—either she would regain her memory soon or someone would come forward and file a missing person’s report.

  To his self-contempt, he wanted it to be the former. He wasn’t sure he could handle finding out she had a boyfriend or husband out there looking for her.

  Lightning flashed in the distance suddenly and a second later the lamp flickered out for an instant, then flashed back on.

  The strike must have hit the power grid somewhere, he thought. Better prepare for an outage in case the next one hit closer and knocked out the grid for longer than an instant.

  Relieved to have something to do, he walked through the silent house in search of a flashlight.

  He dug through his dad’s old junk drawer in the kitchen, through scissors and rubber bands and assorted tools until his hand closed around a heavy Maglite he thought he remembered sending Boyd one year for Father’s Day.

  He heard the cry just as he was closing the drawer again.

  The sound rose from upstairs, a low, frightened moan that spiked the hairs on the back of his neck and sent his body into full-alert status.

  One of the kids or Jane? He raced up the stairs two at a time, still clutching the flashlight. At the top, he heard it again, louder this time, a sound of c
omplete terror.

  With a grim sense of inevitability, he realized it emanated from Jane’s room. He couldn’t escape her, he thought. No matter what he did, how hard he tried, he couldn’t stay away.

  He didn’t bother to knock, just pushed open the door. She must have left a small lamp on by the bed when she went to sleep, as she had the night before. What terrors lurked in the dark for her?

  In the small, low circle of light he could see Jane huddled beneath the quilt. She slept curled into a ball, in the age-old position of self-protection, but even from the doorway he could see the tiny tremors that shook her slender frame.

  She moaned a little and Mason hovered in the doorway, unsure what to do. Should he wake her or let the dream work itself out? He didn’t know. He hated thinking of her being afraid, even in a nightmare, but maybe her subconscious would give away a clue or two he could use to uncover her identity.

  She slept quietly for a moment or two more. He might have thought the nightmare had left her if not for her rapid, panicked breathing.

  “Hurry! They’re coming,” she cried suddenly. “Oh, please. Daddy! Hurry. No!”

  Okay, that was enough. He couldn’t stand this. He stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Jane? Wake up.” He tried to use a soft, calming tone, though adrenaline still spurted through him. “Come on, wake up, sweetheart. You’re having a nightmare.”

  Her eyes flickered open and he saw panic and fear in them, then she scrambled to the foot of the bed, kicking and flailing her arms to fight off the perceived attack.

  Acting wholly on instinct, he moved in low and grabbed her in a tight hold so she couldn’t strike out at him. “It’s okay, baby,” he murmured. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  He crooned nonsense words to her, holding her tight so she didn’t hurt him or herself.

  Her eyes were huge, dilated with shock and sleep, and he could see instantly when realization hit her. Though she still looked dazed, she shuddered a little then finally went still in his arms.

  “Mason?” she whispered

  “I’m here. You’re safe now.”

  “They killed him. Dear God, they killed him and I couldn’t do anything. All I could do was run as he told me to.”

  His gut clenched at her words. What the hell kind of trouble was she in? “Who? Your father?”

  She blinked at him and whatever shadows were there seemed to be gone as she came back to full awareness. “What?”

  “Who was killed?”

  She frowned. “Killed? Why would you say that? What makes you think someone was killed?”

  He stared at her, frustration growing like an algae bloom. “You just said so. You were talking in your sleep and you said something about how someone killed him and all you could do was watch.”

  She was starting to look frightened again, only this time, because she was fully conscious, he found it more disconcerting. “I did?”

  With great care, he managed to contain his heavy sigh. Every time he thought he might make a little progress discovering clues to her identity, she managed to slap his hopes down.

  He released her and slid a safe distance away on the bed. “Have you had any memories of your family?” he asked. “Anything at all that we might use to help figure out who you are?”

  She took her time answering. “I had an odd thought yesterday that my father wouldn’t have approved of my wardrobe choices. When I tried to put a face to him, I couldn’t. I didn’t mention it because it seems so foolish and insignificant.”

  “I don’t think it’s insignificant at all. You were terrified in your dream. Look at you, you’re still trembling.”

  She lifted her hand into the air and watched her fingers quiver for only a few seconds before she curled them into a fist and folded her arms around herself tightly.

  “This is horrible. I’m not sure I want my memory back. What if I don’t like what I find?”

  To his further self-disgust, her small, frightened admission put him in full protective mode. He couldn’t seem to control his actions; it was almost like watching someone else as he pulled her back into his arms.

  She settled there just as if she belonged, tucking her head against his chest.

  “Hiding from something, even inside your head, won’t make it disappear,” he murmured.

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “Maybe your brain has gone into self-protection mode and is keeping something unpleasant from you because it’s too painful to face.”

  “Something about my father?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. We have no way of knowing for sure until your memory comes back.”

  “And if it never does?”

  Before he could answer, he saw several distant flashes in quick succession, followed by the low rumble of thunder. An instant later, the small lamp by the bed flickered, only this time it stayed off.

  Jane stiffened in his arms. “What’s happening?”

  “The lightning or wind must have knocked the power out. Don’t worry about it. The lights will be on again in a moment.”

  “I hate the dark!”

  “It’s okay. I’ve got a flashlight. I left it on the bookshelf.” He moved to retrieve it but she clung to him like a howler monkey.

  “Don’t leave! Please don’t leave me!”

  “Okay, okay.” He tightened his arms around her, those damn protective instincts buzzing like crazy at the panic clear once more in her voice. “I’m not going anywhere. Easy now. I’ve got you.”

  “Thank you. Oh, Mason, thank you.”

  She seemed to shudder in his arms and then, before he realized what she intended, she pressed her soft mouth to his.

  He froze, shocked and dismayed and instantly, painfully aroused. He should stop this, a corner of his brain warned, while the kiss was still tentative and relatively innocent.

  But then she drew him closer and murmured his name in that low, sexy British voice and he was lost.

  Chapter 10

  As her mouth connected with his, Jane felt as if her heart would pound from her chest.

  Could he hear it? she wondered, in that tiny instant before he returned the kiss. How could he miss it? The ruckus in her ears sounded like a dozen bass drums beating in unison.

  After a moment, she wouldn’t have cared if an entire marching band suddenly wandered through. She was too carried away by the avalanche of sensations sweeping her off her feet.

  She forgot everything in his arms, forgot the electrical outage, the strain of the last few days, the hundreds of questions she had about who she was and where she had come from.

  All she could think of was Mason. In the dark, she was surrounded by him, engulfed by him. She was intensely aware of the solid, comforting strength of his chest against her and she wanted to burrow close to him like a wild creature in need of sanctuary.

  He pressed her back against the pillows, his hard, powerful body covering her, and her skin seemed to melt into him. Though the quilt still covered her from the waist down, she could feel heat and energy pouring off him in waves. Her body moved restlessly, eager for more contact.

  This was incredible! Was kissing always like this, a wanton rush of heat, this slow churn of blood, the breathless anticipation that something wonderful waited just around some corner?

  Somehow she knew their kiss was different. It had to be. Wouldn’t people want to spend every waking moment with their mouths locked together if it was always like this?

  This all seemed so magically new. If she had a husband or a boyfriend tucked away somewhere, wouldn’t she remember the intoxicating warmth of a man’s body, of strong, hard arms holding her close? Surely these kinds of incredible sensations would be burned into her synapses and not even a head injury could compel her to forget.

  She’d ridden that horse today with an instinct and skill she couldn’t explain. But here in Mason’s arms, she felt an absolute novice. Everything seemed brand-new, a whole wonderful, undiscovered
world she couldn’t wait to explore.

  Breathless and rather dazed, she twisted her arms around his neck and he groaned and deepened the kiss, his mouth hard and urgent. His lips and tongue explored her mouth and she nearly gasped at the wonder of it.

  Ah, heaven. She wanted to see him but only a little hazy moonlight shone through the bedroom. Instead of frightening her, the enforced darkness now lent an intimacy to their embrace and she wondered if he ever would have kissed her if the power hadn’t failed.

  “Say something,” he murmured, a rather odd request. His voice sounded raspy, tight, but she found it incredibly erotic—almost as arousing as his hand that suddenly explored her ribcage through the cotton of her borrowed nightgown.

  She shivered, her nipples hard and tight and painfully eager. “Touch me,” she gasped when his fingers stilled. “Oh, please, Mason.”

  He made an aroused sound low in his throat and an instant later she gasped again and thought she would faint when his hand cupped the curve of one breast over the soft brushed cotton.

  This had to be new. Surely she would have remembered this! She felt as if every nerve cell in her body was aflame, as if she would burn away into cinders any moment.

  Though her arms still clung tightly around his neck, she bowed back against the mattress to give him more room to maneuver his hand between their bodies, desperately eager for more of those touches.

  She completely forgot to breathe when his hand moved to the trio of buttons at the neckline of her nightgown. She waited, stomach muscles tense with anticipation, as he worked them free.

  A talented man, that Mason Keller, she thought. How could he manage to work tiny buttons at the same time as his mouth continued its relentless assault on hers?

  He had just reached the last one and started to touch bare skin when the lights flickered back on. Later, she wasn’t sure if it was the shock of his intimate touch or the unexpected illumination or a combination of both but she jerked, startled, and her head connected smartly with his jaw.

  He made a sound of pain and surprise, then rolled away from her, his hand at his jaw.