by Kay Stockham
“You…You?” she asked when he drew near. Her voice was hoarse, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she continued to stare at him, looking like a deer frozen in headlights.
“Me.” He added another smile. “Do I know you?”
Expressions flickered over her face in rapid succession. Shock gave way to pain, hurt to anger. “Nice.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
Bright green eyes stared into his, and the woman’s hands fisted at her sides. “Seriously?” The word was barely a whisper. “You’re seriously going to stand there and pretend you don’t even—” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat determinedly. “Nice.”
He stepped closer. “Look, obviously you know me, but you’re going to have to give me a hint here, sweetheart.”
Her jaw firmed at the endearment. “I am not your sweetheart.”
And he got the feeling he’d stumbled into a minefield. Dean stood behind her, making no attempt to hide his appreciation as he studied her backside. Eli stood off to the side, a confused look on his face as if he didn’t know whether to charge in swinging or stay out of the way. Smart kid chose the latter.
Beau took another step and she backed up before she caught herself and stood her ground. “Drop the act.”
“Let me explain.”
“Explain what?” A bitter sound came from her throat. “What are you doing here, Beau?”
CHAPTER FOUR
MARLEY STARED into Beau’s beautiful blue eyes and despised the quivering sensation inside her, her mind filled with images she never wanted to revisit. Why her? Why now?
“It’s not an act. I don’t remember you.” Beau’s expression was one of concern and despite the anger that had built inside her over the past five years, she felt drawn to him on a basic level. How sick and twisted was that? The only person Beau had ever been concerned about was himself, and he’d proven it to her in the cruelest way.
Marley blinked hard to ease the sting of unwanted and humiliating tears. This was adding to the stress of her mother’s coldness and the little hold she maintained on her self-control was rapidly slipping. In response Beau moved yet closer, his gaze locked on hers. She looked away. She didn’t want him to see what he could do to her after all this time.
A scab covered a cut stretching from forehead to temple and it matched the other cuts and scrapes on his face, a few colorful bruises beginning to fade with purple and yellow hues. The imperfections didn’t detract from his looks, however. Beau was still tall, dark and horrible for a woman’s equilibrium.
Pull yourself together. Trying to do just that, she took in the width of his chest, and noted the arm not covered by a royal blue sling was corded with muscle.
“Are you okay?”
Not exactly. She nodded, unable to speak because of the lump of fear lodged in her throat. Despite the numerous times she’d held this very confrontation in her head, she was speechless. Amazing.
“Look, ah…” He lifted his arm, the one hanging in the sling. “I was in an accident and don’t remember so well these days.”
She snorted, wondering how many women had bought that story when he told it. “It’s okay, Beau. Spare me the lies and the games. There isn’t any need for them and I heard plenty from you five years ago.”
Beau closed what little distance remained between them and she stiffened. Heat rolled off him, hotter than the sun overhead. A frown pulled his brows into a deep V, and she had to give him credit, he really did look confused. For a second her resolve faltered, but no. Lying came as second nature to him.
“It’s not a lie. Crazy as it sounds, I have amnesia.”
Marley blinked then released a ragged laugh. “I see,” she drawled, unable to control her sarcasm but careful to keep her voice low due to their audience. She shook her head, disgusted with herself and him.
Who was he trying to kid? Beau had been well-known among his friends as being a BS’er. But amnesia? She’d read novels with better story lines.
“I’m not lying.” He squeezed the cell phone so tight the belt clip unhinged from the casing with a snap. “I’m sorry I don’t recognize you, but at least give me a chance to explain.”
She shook her head firmly. “Save it.” No way would he do this to her again.
“What did I—” He groaned and shut his eyes, lifting the hand that held the phone to his head and rubbing hard. “Look,” he continued in a softer tone, “I was in the Marines and took a couple of hits, one of which was to my head. See the scar? I don’t remember things now. I don’t remember you. It’s nothing personal.”
Her mouth parted to draw in much-needed air. Nothing personal?
Beau squinted at her, and standing so close she saw the strain etched on his features. Beau might have been good when it came to putting on a show for potential bedmates, but she didn’t think he could fake that much pain. She saw it now that the shock was starting to wear off.
“Maybe if you tell me your name?”
“No need. You’ve forgotten it, let’s just leave it that way, shall we?”
She turned to go back to work, but Beau caught her arm in a gentle grip. “Wait.”
“What’s going on here?” An older man emerged from a house the crew was working on and hurried toward them. “Is there a problem?”
Beau dropped his hold, but not until he’d slid his hand down the length and left a trail of fire behind. Taking a couple steps back, he waited.
People watched. She could feel them, knew they were the topic of conversation all around the site as more and more of the workers paused to see what was happening.
More attention. Just what she didn’t need. Why now? Why now? Marley fought the panic. She’d worked so hard to overcome her past, to make up with her family. How long would it be before the gossips informed her parents of Beau’s presence in town? Here? “Beau was telling me a story.” She struggled to find a careless smile and knew her effort came up lacking.
“It’s not a ‘story,’” Beau insisted again. “Pop, help me out here.”
“I’m Barry Buchanan.” Stepping close, the older man stuck out his hand and waited until she reluctantly placed her smaller palm in his. “Buchanan & Son Electric. You know my son?”
“We’ve met.” She could certainly see the resemblance. Mr. Buchanan wore a ball cap, but he had the same intense blue eyes, the same build. Beau stood a good three inches above his father, but it was easy to picture the man Beau would become. Physically, anyway.
First impressions being what they were, Barry Buchanan seemed like a sincere man. A friendly, fatherly type. Too bad his son was a louse.
“You own the landscaping business, right? I heard about the trouble some of the men have been giving you. I want to assure you I won’t put up with it from my crew. You let me know if they give you any problems.”
She ignored the snort she heard behind her.
Barry Buchanan didn’t. “Dean, why’re you standing around like—” The man’s gaze narrowed on the worker who’d been harassing her, then shifted to her. “Something happen?”
Dean was the least of her problems at the moment.
“I was just playing around,” Dean said. “It won’t happen again. Sorry, ma’am.”
She nodded.
Mr. Buchanan sent the man back to work with a pointed glare, then shifted his attention to her. “I saw the mock-up of the plans. These houses will sell fast once you get things looking pretty. What was your name again?”
Beau’s father was being so good ol’ boy polite, Marley couldn’t blast him with her anger. “Marley Pierce. I own Marley’s Treehouse.”
She saw Beau frown as though mulling over her name, and her anger increased. She knew guys thought differently, but did they really forget the women they played? How could he have forgotten getting her pregnant?
Because you didn’t matter to him.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Pierce. As for Beau, my son’s telling you the truth. He’s fresh from Iraq and sporting a few wo
unds as you can see. It’s not a game that he can’t remember you.”
Unable to do anything but accept the man’s words about his son, she nodded. “I see. Well, Beau, I’m sorry for what happened to you and…I’ll let you both get back to work.”
She wasn’t sure how she managed to get the words out, but she did. With one last look at Beau, Marley turned on her heel and retraced her steps to the garden she’d left.
It wasn’t the greatest of exits. In fact, it wasn’t impressive at all, but given the way her legs shook she figured getting back to where she was supposed to be without falling on her face would have to do.
“THAT WAS…interesting.” Pop waggled his fingers for Beau to hand him the phone. “Let me make that call and we’ll go in a few minutes.”
Beau nodded, but didn’t take his gaze off Marley Pierce. She obviously couldn’t wait to get away from him, but before leaving she’d hesitated and looked him dead in the eyes.
He’d hurt her and hurt her bad.
The pain on her face had shot straight to his gut and made him feel like the lowest of the low. It didn’t take a genius to figure out sex had been part of whatever had happened. He couldn’t imagine knowing Marley Pierce and not wanting her. Not when he wanted her now despite the pain of his injuries. Her mouth had looked soft and delicious, and her lips had quivered with the anger she felt toward him, but he’d noticed the goose bumps on her arms despite the heat. A strong response, one he wanted to explore. The fact that she’d known him before only made her more intriguing.
Amnesia. How many guys had used that line over the years as everything from a pickup to an excuse? Had he used it on her? Pretended not to remember?
He grimaced. She didn’t know what to make of his memory loss and neither did he. But he wanted answers Pop refused to give him, and Marley Pierce might be the key to getting them.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Beau climbed into the truck, unable to pull his gaze from her. “Do you know when I met her?”
Pop released a gusty sigh. “No, son, I don’t. But I think it’s apparent things didn’t end well. You’d best keep away from her. You’ve got enough on your plate to deal with right now.”
True enough. Beau tilted his head and winced when it felt as though someone was using his brain as a drum. He motioned to the house across the street and the woman shoveling dirt as if there was a pot of gold at the bottom of the hole. “She blasted me for being a liar. Come on, Pop, give me something. Do you know what happened with us? What I said to her?”
His father started the diesel engine. “I don’t know what happened with that girl and even if I did, I couldn’t tell you. The doc’s said—”
“I have to remember on my own.” He growled the words, disgusted with himself.
Pop rubbed his hand roughly over his face and let the truck idle. “Look, Beau, if it makes you feel any better, you had a lot of friends I knew nothing about. Girls looking for more when you were only looking for a good time. I’d say she was one of them. All I know is that I’ve got better things to do than to play ref between the two of you, and I’d better not see you giving her a hard time. I’m here for a job and running behind, and you need to recuperate. Hassling some girl isn’t going to help either one of us. Leave that one alone, you hear me?”
Once again he glanced over at the house. Marley Pierce was rounded in all the right places, and memory or not, he liked what he saw. All except her expression.
“That’s an order, Beau. I don’t need some woman siccing the law on you for stalking. If she wants to talk to you, she will.”
Pop’s words rang true and he knew it. They didn’t need that kind of trouble and Marley Pierce looked angry enough, hurt enough, to call in reinforcements if she felt they were necessary.
But if she’d known him five years ago she might be able to tell him where he’d liked to go and hang out. What he’d liked to do. Music, movies. Friends? Maybe talking with her would jar his memory. Give him something to go on rather than the big, fat nothing he had now.
His head throbbed in response to his thoughts and the vibration from the motor made him rub his temple in a useless effort to rid himself of the pain.
Marley kept her head carefully averted when they drove by her. He stared anyway, just in case she looked up, and he settled himself more comfortably in the seat, his mind made up. He’d talk to Marley later—after she’d had a chance to calm down and adjust to the fact she was going to be seeing him on a regular basis.
MARLEY NEARLY CHOPPED her toes off with the shovel.
Swearing beneath her breath, she waited impatiently for Beau and his father to drive off in their big Ford Super Crew before she tossed the shovel aside and gave up on the hope of getting any work done. Eli was due to leave for the day so she had him help her pack up the equipment before sending him on his way.
She sensed multiple stares aimed at her and hoped they were her imagination, not the start of gossip. With any luck, maybe the crews would think she’d discussed Dean’s actions with the owners of Buchanan & Son and quit hassling her.
Marley climbed into her truck and sat a moment. She had calls to make and paperwork to do, one last product order to place for her entry in South Ridge’s upcoming Winter Festival and—
What was Beau doing here?
Rolling through town, she picked up lunch enroute to the garden center. Not because she was hungry but because she was determined to stick to her routine and be as normal as possible. As though she hadn’t just seen the grim specter of her past.
If nothing else, taking a break before her two o’clock appointment would give her a chance to pull herself together. She hoped so. She hated that her hand still shook from the shock of meeting up with Beau again. Hated that he still had that much of an impact on her.
Five bad designs later, Marley tossed her pencil aside and slouched in her office chair, her lunch untouched and the panic inside her growing by the second.
How on earth was she going to stop the train wreck about to happen? Beau was here. In South Ridge. Near her family.
The phone rang and she jumped at the sound. Amy, the woman she’d hired to work the garden center, was busy outside watering the stock. “Marley’s Treehouse.”
A pause came from the other end. “You’re still upset. Would you like me to call back later?”
She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the surge of awareness that shot through her at the pitch of Beau’s voice. Had it always held that gravelly tone? “Never would be better. I’m busy.”
“I won’t take long,” he murmured, sounding drowsy and sexy.
An image popped into her head, one of Beau astride his Harley, a bad-boy grin on his face as he asked her to take a ride. Climbing on the back of that bike had been the biggest mistake of her life.
“I was going to wait to talk to you again until the next time I saw you in person.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought this way might be easier.”
“You thought wrong. I refuse to let you upset me—”
“I don’t want to upset you, I just want to talk to you. I need answers.”
“That’s tough. You’re not going to get them from me. Leave me alone.”
The outer door opened with a jingle of the attached bell.
“I’ve got to go, I’ve got a customer.”
“They can wait. Just tell me—”
“No. I don’t want to talk to you, in person or on the phone. We’ve been over for a long time so leave it that way and don’t contact me again.”
“Look, I’m sorry I hurt you. I wish I could remember what I did, but if you help me—”
“Help you? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She bit her lip and lowered her voice, hoping whoever had walked in hadn’t heard. She was so sick of being nice. “When I needed your help, you left me high and dry. Go sit and spin, Beau—but leave me alone.” Marley hit the off button and slammed the phone down on the desk, inhaling deeply to try
to collect herself.
Going out into her display area and being a professional right now would take some doing. Some days—like today—took more effort than others. Some days—definitely today—just sucked.
Releasing her breath in a rush, she shook her head at herself. Get it together. You can’t let him get to you or it’ll only make things worse.
Worse? Was that possible? Life as she knew it was about to implode and if she didn’t—
Footsteps headed toward the office and interrupted her silent rant. Marley raised her head, willing whoever it was away. Two seconds. She just needed two more seconds. “Just a minute! I—I’ll be right there!” she called, hoping to buy herself some time. Deep breath. Deep. Breath.
“Don’t bother,” a voice drawled from her doorway. “Especially since it sounds—and looks—like you and I are overdue for some girl talk.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“ETHEL?”
“My days of playing Lucy and Ethel are long over.” Angel stepped inside, her glamorous red pantsuit and elegant high heels out of place on the rough concrete floor and crates of planter mix. “And if you hadn’t had red hair, I’d have been Lucy.”
Marley grinned. “Ethel was the bomb and absolutely phenomenal in her own right.”
“She was the sidekick,” her friend complained pointedly, a teasing twinkle in her eyes.
“But sidekicks are very important and—where have you been?” Marley hopped up from her chair and vaulted bags of perlite to get to Angelique Durand, her best friend since fifth grade when Angel had kept her from being the first to fall asleep at a slumber party thereby risking total humiliation via whipped cream and a frozen bra. “And,” she drawled, laughing and hugging Angel close, “if anyone was a sidekick it was me. How are you?”
“Just peachy.”
Marley held her at arm’s length, studying Angel with a critical eye. “Yeah, right, but we’ll get into that later. When did you get into town?”