by Kimberly van Meter - A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska)
“Do you want to keep seeing me?” he asked.
“Of course I do, but—” Clint cut short her tailspin by pulling her to him and kissing her quiet. Jordana stilled, surprised at how easily his touch calmed her overactive brain.
“It’s going to be fine,” he promised, and when he said it, she believed him. “The thing about not growing up in a small town? You don’t worry too much about the opinions of strangers.”
Jordana wished she had that freedom. “If only it were that easy.” She exhaled a short breath, refocusing. “We have to keep this on the down-low. You might have the freedom of not caring about what people are saying but I have to care. My reputation is on the line. You understand that, right?”
Clint sobered. “Of course I do. I will keep my hands to myself when we’re not in private,” he said, but added as he pulled her into his lap, “but when we’re not in the public eye, that’s a different story.”
She melted beneath his touch. “I’m good with that compromise.”
“Excellent,” he said, brushing his lips against hers, “because I plan to spend as much time as possible in your naked company. Have I mentioned you have the most amazing body?”
She blushed. “You have. Several times.”
“Well, it bears repeating. Over and over and over again.”
Jordana laughed. “You’re too much of a charmer to be completely single. Are you sure you don’t have someone waiting for you back in Chicago?”
“Not that I’m aware. I think Jeana would’ve mentioned something, like, ‘Oh, Tina has been calling nonstop,’ or ‘Do you want me to let Rhonda know you’ll call her soon?’ but she never said anything similar, which leads me to believe I’m footloose and fancy-free.”
Jordana was skeptical. “That’s not a convincing argument. She might just be respecting your privacy.”
“I could just ask Jeana if I’m seeing anyone. As my assistant, she’d probably know.”
“That would be a really weird question to ask, don’t you think?”
Clint shrugged. “If it eases your concern, I’ll do it.”
“No, I’m fine. I don’t want you to do anything that will tip off your people that you’ve lost your memory. Something like that could affect confidence.”
He tightened his embrace, pleased. “I love that you care. You’re really sweet.”
“I’m not actually,” Jordana confessed with a chagrined expression. “Sweet is definitely not a word used to describe me.”
“I disagree,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.
She blushed again, saying, “That’s not what I meant.”
Clint chuckled, the sound a low rumble against her body. “When you blush, it shows off the tiny smattering of freckles dancing across the bridge of your nose.”
Jordana rubbed her nose with a gasp. “I do not have freckles.”
“You do and I love them.” He grinned. “You also snore a little.”
Now she was truly mortified but she didn’t have time to dwell on it because Clint was determined to make good on his promise of keeping her occupied when they were alone.
Her head fell back on a groan as he nuzzled her neck and nipped at the tender skin. Goose bumps rioted along her forearms and her nipples stood at attention, ready for his mouth.
To which he obliged.
Oh, good God, did he oblige.
* * *
As much as Clint wanted to hole up in that tiny motel room, they had to check out and return to the real world—a world that left him still wondering who had knocked his lights out.
After another round of naked fun, a shower and a quick bite to eat on the road, they headed back to Braxville. Each mile closer to town brought a change in Jordana. Away from the stress and expectation, Jordana was a different person. She laughed more easily and the tension coiling her in knots disappeared.
He hated that he felt half a person with the loss of his memory. Clint liked to pretend that he was taking the situation in stride but, deep down, a niggling sense that he really needed to return to Chicago was becoming more insistent.
The doc had suggested memory exercises, which he wasn’t sure was helping. The truth of the matter was, the best way to trigger his memory was to return to the place where he’d made memories. Braxville was an empty slate.
But he didn’t want to leave Jordana. She created a light inside him that felt new and intoxicating, brightening all the dark spots that he hadn’t known were there.
“I’m going to leave a five-star review on Yelp for our little motel,” Clint said, winking at Jordana.
She laughed. “Make sure you use an assumed name. I don’t need people connecting the dots.”
“You are thorough,” he said with an appreciative whistle. “Have you considered a career in the FBI?”
“I did,” she replied with a cheeky grin. “I decided to stay local but I like to keep my options open.”
“I love a dangerous woman,” he quipped.
“That’s what they all say until she’s better with a gun than he is.”
He didn’t know about other men but that excited him. “Maybe you’ve been hanging around the wrong men.”
“Maybe so,” she agreed.
They got back to Braxville by evening and Jordana was already in work mode, as if feeling guilty for taking a few days off. He sensed he ought to keep his thoughts to himself at the moment because Jordana had a wall up around her in spite of everything they’d shared.
Something about that drive felt familiar to him. Maybe in his previous life he’d been a workaholic, too. While Jordana buried herself in work files, Clint found a quiet place to call his assistant.
“Hello, Mr. Broderick,” came her pert reply even though it was considered after-hours. Maybe he always expected his assistant to work the same hours as he did, no matter how late. That pinched at his conscience a little, but in this instance, he needed to ask a few questions.
“Sorry for the late call,” he said.
“No trouble at all,” Jeana assured him, which told Clint he probably needed to make some changes in his life for the benefit of his most trusted employee. He’d have to work on that later. For now, he had more pressing issues. “Jeana, I need to trust you with something that no one else knows. Can I trust you?”
He was taking a risk in confiding in Jeana but he had to start trusting someone who knew him from before the assault. If he couldn’t trust his assistant, he was in sorry shape.
“Of course, Mr. Broderick,” Jeana replied without hesitation. “Is there a problem?”
“Yeah, a pretty big one actually,” he admitted, glancing up at the ceiling with a sigh. “Seems I lost my memory.”
“Come again?”
“Yeah, you heard me right. I was assaulted when I arrived in Braxville and the damage to my head was enough to knock my memories sidewise. Mostly short-term memory. I can remember stuff about my childhood, but I can’t remember much about my adult life, especially within the last year.”
“Oh, Mr. Broderick,” Jeana gasped with genuine horror. “What can I do? Shall I call your doctor? What do you need? How can I help?”
“That’s the thing, I don’t really know what I need except that I need someone I can trust to help me through this without alarming anyone within the company. The doc here says it’s temporary so I just have to find something to jog my memory back into place.”
“Perhaps you should come back to Chicago,” Jeana suggested, which wasn’t far from what his own counsel had advised, but he didn’t want to leave.
“I appreciate the advice and you’re probably right but I have things I need to do here for the time being. I need to ask, what’s my relationship like with my business partner?”
“Mr. Locke? Well, you seem like close friends. He’s been your right-hand man since you started the busi
ness. Why do you ask?”
“Just trying to get the lay of the land.” He didn’t want to admit that Jordana had planted a seed of suspicion in his head because he couldn’t remember much of his relationship with Locke to defend him. Now, to the next awkward question. “Uh, okay, so I’m just going to come out and ask, am I currently dating anyone?”
God, that was hard to get out of his mouth. Please say no. It was going to get real ugly real fast if it turned out he had someone waiting for him when all he wanted to do was be with Jordana.
But Jeana gave him wonderful news. “No, sir. You were dating a woman named Iris Yearly but you broke it off about three months ago. Since then, you’ve preferred to bury yourself in work rather than date.”
Relief coated his voice as he said, “Thank God.” He hastened to clarify, adding, “I just mean, I’m glad no one’s sitting at home worried about me.”
“Of course, sir.”
Another question popped in his head. “Are you always this formal with me? All the ‘yes, sir, no, sir’ makes me feel like I’m from the IRS or something.”
Jeana answered carefully. “Well, you do prefer a certain level of decorum between us but I don’t mind, sir. I appreciate your professionalism.”
“How long have we been working together?” he asked.
“Going on six years.”
“Six years and you still call me ‘sir’? Good grief, Jeana, was I an asshole?”
He didn’t expect her to be truthful but the answer was evident to his eyes even if his memory was faulty. “Look, can I apologize for the person I was before I got knocked in the head? I sound like a real jerk. No wonder someone was trying to kill me.”
“Oh, no, sir. You’re very kind and a good boss. I can’t imagine who would want to hurt you. I enjoy working for you and most of everyone who knows you seem good with your authority.”
He ought to drop it but he was bothered. Maybe the person who tried to kill him was a disgruntled employee? What if he’d been ruthless and cold to the wrong person? Had he brought this on himself?
The only way to find out was to return to Chicago. But he wasn’t ready. Not yet.
“I’ll be in touch,” he told Jeana. “Remember, keep this between me and you. Don’t tell Locke, even.”
“Of course, sir.”
And stop calling me sir.
But really, that was the least of his problems. Going forward, he needed to figure out who he wanted to be and if that was the same person he’d been when someone tried to put out his lights. Hell, who was he kidding? Right now, all he wanted to do was fall asleep with Jordana in his arms and think about all this crap tomorrow.
Good plan.
Chapter 12
Jordana walked into her parents’ house and found her mother, Lilly, in the kitchen, scrubbing a pot with an agitation she recognized from her childhood.
Lilly Colton had always exorcised her stress through the power of elbow grease—a coping mechanism Jordana had inherited, as well—but seeing as their home had always been spotless in spite of six kids, that said a lot about the level of stress her mother had endured.
And now she was back to scrubbing.
“What’s wrong?” Jordana asked, going straight to the point.
Lilly looked up with a warm but strained smile. “Nothing, darling, so good to see you,” she answered, presenting her cheek for a kiss, which Jordana dutifully provided. “I just needed to get these pots cleaned before starting dinner. You know I can’t cook in a dirty kitchen,” she reminded Jordana.
“Mom, by no stretch of the imagination would anyone dare to call your kitchen dirty. I’m pretty sure your kitchen is cleaner than most hospitals.”
“Hospitals are dirty places,” Lilly said with a scowl. “That’s hardly a welcome compliment.”
“Sorry.” Jordana shook her head, knowing she wasn’t going to win. “So, what’s new? Aside from Bridgette being here again. Are you two getting under each other’s skin yet?”
“I love having Bridgette home,” Lilly insisted. “It’s been so long since we’ve had any decent visit with that job of hers.”
“Well, being a public health official has its demands on her time,” Jordana said, defending her sister, but added, “Don’t you think it’s interesting that a cancer cluster popped up in Braxville?”
“Oh, whatever.” Lilly waved away Jordana’s comment. “Can’t hardly blow your nose somewhere without someone saying something is going to give you cancer. Can’t drink the water, can’t eat the vegetables, can’t breathe the air...it’s exhausting if you think about it. For my own mental health, I’ve resolved to stop thinking about it. If the good Lord sees fit to send me home, that’s what happens.”
“Mom, I hardly think people getting cancer is God’s will. That’s pretty macabre, don’t you think?”
“Jordana, let’s not argue,” Lilly said, resuming her scrubbing. “Did you come over to snipe at me or did you come to actually visit?”
A wave of guilt made Jordana soften her tone. She reached for a freshly baked cookie from the display plate. “Of course not, Mom. I wanted to pop in and say hi, see how you’re doing. By the looks of the force you’re putting on that poor pot, I’d say something is bothering you.”
“Nothing is bothering me,” Lilly insisted with a slight clip. “Just trying to get this house in order in time for your uncle Shep, is all.”
She paused with the cookie midway to her mouth. “Uncle Shep? What do you mean? He’s coming home?” Jordana’s uncle Shep was an infrequent visitor to the Colton homestead because he was too busy with his naval career, a path she’d followed, in part because of her admiration for her uncle. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?” she asked, excited.
“I wasn’t sure until yesterday. Your father offered the carriage house, though I don’t know why Shep can’t find his own place. He has plenty of money seeing as he had no children of his own.”
True, Uncle Shep had never married but Jordana had understood because Uncle Shep had been married to the military—happily, one might argue—given he’d risen through the ranks with a stellar reputation.
And Jordana idolized her uncle Shep. “I can’t wait to see him,” she said with a bright smile. “So I’m guessing he finally retired, then?”
“Yes,” Lilly answered, wiping away a small bead of sweat with the back of her hand. Her restless gaze swept the kitchen as if searching for something else to direct her attention but everything gleamed as if on display, a fact which dismayed Lilly. “Yes, retired. And he’ll probably be underfoot the whole time, pestering me.”
“Pestering you? Mom, Uncle Shep is hilarious and sweet. I doubt he’ll pester you for anything,” Jordana disputed, shaking her head at her mother. “Did you and Uncle Shep get into it or something?”
At Lilly’s sudden sharp look and subtle flushing as she murmured, “No, don’t be silly,” Jordana recalled a hazy memory that popped in her head for no reason she could figure.
It was the summer her dad was working long days and nights—barely home at all—and Uncle Shep was helping out around the house, filling in the gaps for Fitz. She remembered her mom laughing a lot with Shep, something she rarely did with Dad. Dad was a hard man to please and that critical eye fell on his wife often, particularly after the triplets arrived.
To be fair, triplets would’ve put a strain on any family. And then her baby sister, Yvette, came along—it was a lot of kids.
But there was love, too. There had to be for Lilly to stick around; that was always the argument Jordana made when people whispered under their breath about Fitz Colton being a raging maniac.
Fitz was as different as one could be from his half brother, Shep. Maybe that’s why Jordana had gravitated toward her uncle. Uncle Shep had been encouraging and entertaining whereas her dad...well, he was so focused on work that he’d had little ti
me for the six kids all clamoring for a bit of his attention.
Again, six kids was a lot.
She didn’t fault her dad for being overwhelmed.
“You don’t want Shep moving into the carriage house?” Jordana surmised, curious as to her mom’s reaction.
“I’m too old for a roommate, Jordana,” Lilly said stiffly.
“Mom, the carriage house isn’t even attached to the main house. You’re hardly roommates. You and Dad had talked about renting out the carriage house for extra cash.”
“Yes, and ultimately we decided against it,” reminded Lilly, straightening the dish towel for the third time. “Honestly, I just don’t understand why your dad couldn’t have encouraged Shep to find a nice apartment in town.”
“Maybe because we’re family and there’s no reason? The carriage house isn’t doing anything but collecting dust. It’ll be fine, Mom.”
But Lilly looked more agitated than ever. “Yes, of course. You’re right. I’m just feeling out of sorts today.” And then she did what she always did, pasted a blinding smile on her lips as if nothing had happened because Lilly Colton had the steel spine of a soldier who made living through chaos look like a walk in the park.
* * *
While Jordana was out, Clint made use of the empty house to study his own business, Broadlocke Enterprises. He figured it was time to make that call to his partner, Alex, but he wanted to have some kind of idea what they might have to talk about.
Dialing the number Jeana gave him for Alex, he made the call.
Alex picked up on the fourth ring, as if he were on the other end trying to figure out who was calling.
“Alex Locke,” he answered.
“Hey, Alex, it’s me, Clint. Thought I’d reach out to you and see how things are going without me barking orders all the time.”
The surprise in Locke’s voice was evident as he answered, “Clint, where the hell have you been? No one’s seen or heard from you in days. I was starting to get worried. Not even Jeana knew where you were.”