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  “Yep. She works for the government now, doing biological research. She makes big bucks.”

  Jeff whistled. “Who would have thought she would turn out like that?”

  If she felt a twinge of jealously, Hope tried not to let it show. She drained her margarita and carefully set it aside.

  Clay cast him a perplexed look. “You dated her a few times last year, before the robbery. Don’t you remember?”

  Jeff’s face went carefully blank. “Not really.” He sounded casual, as if his lapse in memory didn’t bother him. Hope knew it did, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise. She found herself wanting to comfort him, to gather him in her arms and hold him.

  When he slowly turned his head to meet her gaze, she colored, glad he couldn’t know her thoughts. “I’ll get you another drink,” he muttered, and left Another group of people enveloped her, and she found herself face to face with the one person she’d hoped to avoid—Heather Rowse. Heather was the former cheerleader who’d tried to steal Jeff away from her. And, one night out by the lake, she’d succeeded. “Hi.” Heather’s nasal voice sounded tentative. Hope forced herself to smile, forced herself to extend a hand politely. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to get away, to kick off her high heels and run, even if it meant public humiliation. Of course, she didn’t Instead, she kept the false smile plastered

  to her face, wondering why the woman had the nerve to seek her out A tall, thin man with a shock of blond hair appeared at Heather’s side, beaming. “Howdy,” he drawled, grinning to reveal crooked teeth.

  “This is my husband, Jay.” After performing the introductions, Heather frowned prettily. “Hope, I was thinking maybe we could have a little, well, chat. Just the two of us. I’ve always felt kind of bad about—” “That won’t be necessary.” Hope felt her smile slipping. “We’ve nothing to discuss, not now. Not after all these years.”

  “Nothing to discuss?” This came from Jay, his booming voice at odds with his skinny frame. “Why, from what my little lady tells me, y’all were cheerleaders together, all through high school. Even shared boyfriends a time or two.” His lewd wink infuriated Hope.

  “Jay!” Heather hissed. “Not now.”

  “Excuse me.” Magically, Jeff appeared, taking Hope’s elbow. He nodded at Jay and Heather, the polite nod of a casual acquaintance, and led Hope away.

  “Your margarita, ma’am.”

  The frosted glass was cool, with a thin coating of salt around the rim. Grateful, she took a sip. Glancing back at where Heather and Jay huddled together, speaking in whispers, she touched Jeff’s arm. “Do you remember her?”

  The second the words left her mouth she wished she could call them back. Hope closed her eyes and drank a long swallow of her drink.

  When she opened them again, Jeff’s steady regard told her nothing.

  Though she knew she shouldn’t say it, knew in fact that she would hate herself once she did, the words bubbled up in her throat and spilled out of their own accord. “Did you and Heather get together again after I left?” Horrified, Hope stared down at the floor. The toes of her new shoes peeped out from under the hem of her elegant dress. To her chagrin, she felt her eyes filling up with tears.

  Tears! After ten long years and all that had happened since then? She was more foolish than she’d realized.

  “Hope.” Jeff lifted her chin in his big hand, his touch impossibly tender. “Look at me, sweetheart.”

  The endearment cut straight through her heart, as no doubt he’d known it would. No other man had called her that since the last day she saw him. In that moment, Hope realized she was lost. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but no other man had ever made her feel the way Jeff had—did—and always would.

  She needed to leave Dalhart before he realized this, too.

  Once, she had let him make a fool of her, mocking her love for him by his deceit Once, but not twice. Never twice.

  “Excuse me,” she said as she blindly pulled away and headed in the direction of the restroom. Head held high, she refused to blink, knowing if she did the tears would spill from her eyes and down her cheeks.

  Once in the bathroom she stared at herself, at her flushed skin and overly bright eyes. Why had she ever agreed to come here, to do this, to put herself through all this again?

  For Jeff. No matter what he’d done to her in the past, no matter how many years separated them, he would always be her first love, her only love.

  Wetting a paper towel, Hope lightly dabbed at her eyes, willing herself calm. She straightened her shoulders, smoothed down her hair, and went back to the party.

  Jeff really didn’t know what had upset her, though the strange heaviness in his stomach when he’d found her talking to Heather gave him more than a reason to wonder. With narrowed eyes, he studied the other woman, wondering what it was about her that upset his balance, that made him want to take Hope’s arm and move away.

  Something ... something from the past. Though he struggled, it wouldn’t come to him.

  When Hope asked him whether he and Heather had gotten together again, he’d remembered the flash of malice in Heather’s eyes as she glanced his way. Only then had he known. He’d actually done it, betrayed Hope in a moment of teenage drunken foolishness and regretted it for ten years. One moment with Heather had cost him what he held most dear—Hope’s trust, Hope’s love.

  He wanted to cry. Instead he shook his head, trying to dislodge the flow of memories that appeared without warning. Stock still, he let them deluge him. In that instant, he knew he had his full memory back and everything else that came with it.

  It was bittersweet knowledge.

  Seeing the stark pain fresh on Hope’s lovely face, he’d tried to talk to her, to make her understand, but she’d pushed past him, on the verge of tears, and he had no choice but to let her go.

  But he knew in his heart, if what he had done still hurt her so badly, even ten years later, she still cared.

  This time he would not let her go so easily.

  A sigh from the woman beside him brought him back to the present. Hope played with her food, moving away the requisite rubbery chicken and bland rice with an apologetic smile. More than anything, Jeff yearned to take her in his arms and soothe away her pain, her fears. But there would be time for that. The rest of their lives, if he had his way.

  Now that he remembered, now that he knew, he saw with blinding clarity how meaningless his life had been. For the past ten years he’d merely existed, with an emptiness in his heart that never went away.

  Things were different now. Hope had returned. Now he felt whole. He realized that Hope was the other half of him; he needed her to feel truly alive.

  The room was noisy, rowdy, a gray cloud of cigarette smoke drifting near the ceiling. Several of his other football buddies, some balding, most paunchy, were heavily into the booze. They grew louder and more belligerent with every drink. After a few puzzled looks in his direction, most of them left him alone. None of them could quite figure out how to act around a man with no memory, Jeff figured.

  He shook his head. Fine with him. All he cared about now was Hope.

  As the waiters began clearing away the plates, Randy Wade, former class president, stepped up to the microphone. “Good evenin’, class of eighty-eight,” he boomed.

  The room erupted in cheers. Jeff noticed Hope sat up straight, her hands hidden in her lap. Her face seemed unusually pale.

  Again he fought back the urge to go to her, to put his arms around her and comfort her.

  “I’d like to call two people up here with me,” Randy’s jocular voice sounded too hearty, too forced. Again Jeff eyed Hope. With a sinking feeling he knew, even if she didn’t, what Randy was about to do.

  “Formerly our star quarterback and head cheerleader, they were favorites of our class.”

  Hope winced, a shadow darkening her cinnamon eyes. Jeff willed her to look at him, for if she did, he would take her hand and help her. But she kept her gaze on Randy, her
lips slightly parted.

  “Our Homecoming King and Queen and voted Class Sweethearts, I swear they don’t look a year older. Everyone, let’s welcome Jeff Riggs and Hope Glide- well.”

  Jeff stood, his eyes on Hope. Fragile, beautiful Hope, who lifted her face and managed a trembling smile that was the most courageous thing he’d ever seen. Hope, who hadn’t wanted to come here, who’d done this to help him, whose eyes even now shimmered with tears of remembered pain.

  Amid the clapping, the catcalls, and whistles, he touched her and tucked her arm firmly into his. He moved quickly to the front of the room, wishing he could somehow shield her from the collective curious stares, yet knowing she had to make her peace. It was long past time.

  Randy moved aside, swatting at Jeff’s shoulder in a playful move reminiscent of their football days. Randy, Jeff remembered, had gone on to play for Texas Tech. How he’d envied Randy’s life, back then. Now Randy was back in the Panhandle, working as a finance manager for a car dealership in Amarillo. He’d married a local girl, had three kids in rapid succession, and seemed content.

  Sometimes Jeff still envied him. Or he had, until the accident and his memory loss. Now, he no longer envied the other man his domestic bliss. The only woman he’d ever wanted had returned to stand by his side. Now, the future no longer stretched out before him, bleak and barren. His life had potential again; he saw a chance to have a family, love, all those things he’d secretly hungered for. After all, for whatever reason, Hope had come home. Somehow, he planned to make her stay.

  Stepping up to the microphone, he kept her close. She trembled slightly, then he felt her stiffen. One quick glance assured him that no one else could tell how she felt. She held her head high, a bright smile on her face. Twin spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. He ached seeing her like this; the Hope he’d known ten years ago had been outspoken, spontaneous, and bubbly. This serious, withdrawn woman she’d become told him a lot had happened to her in the ten years they’d been apart

  A pang of jealously roared through him. Had there been another man? Most likely, he thought glumly. Women as beautiful as Hope were never alone very long.

  Maybe some other man had broken her heart How much simpler to believe this, to shrug off some of the guilt.

  Hope’s elbow in his side made him realize the room had grown quiet They were waiting for him to speak.

  “Thank you.” Belatedly, Jeff cleared his throat “I’m glad to be here tonight”

  Some wise guy from the back of the room laughed and shouted, “Yeah, but how much do you remember about us?”

  The crowd went utterly silent Hope leaned against him, a gentle reminder that she was there for him, supporting him.

  And that, he found, was enough. More than enough.

  Though he hadn’t prepared a speech, he found the words came unbidden, and he spoke eloquently. He spoke of dreams, both lost and found, of life’s disappointments and its triumphs. He spoke of families and friends, both old and new. Lastly, he spoke of the most important thing of all, love.

  To his surprise, his throat closed up and he had to pause to collect himself. Expectant, the class of 1988 waited, some with tears in their eyes. He glanced at Hope, surprised to find she’d bowed her head, almost as if she were praying.

  He concluded with reminding them all to count their blessings. He said he looked forward to the next reunion, in ten years, to see what changes time had brought.

  When he stepped down from the podium, everyone stood, clapping. At a signal from Randy, the hired DJ punched a button and the soaring sounds of Mariah Carey filled the room.

  Without asking, Jeff slipped his arms around Hope and moved to the dance floor.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice rough. Gen- tly, he raised her chin and tenderly wiped away the tear that slid down her pale cheek. Sniffling, she swayed against him, smiling faintly.

  She felt warm and all woman, the sexy dress silky against his skin. The scent of her tantalized him, musk and female and some other, unidentifiable fragrance that, from this day on, would always remind him of her. Now, more than ever, Jeff wanted to tell her. He remembered everything, there were no longer any barriers between them. He should tell her.

  Closing his eyes and swaying to the music, Jeff was exactly where he wanted to be—with Hope in his arms. Suddenly, Jeff realized he was afraid. Part of him thought—hell, knew—once he told Hope he was back to normal, she would leave Dalhart.

  It had to be more than his stupid, careless fling with Heather ten years ago that drove her away.

  Something else had happened to cause Hope such pain. Something, he had a hunch, that involved him. He didn’t intend to let her know he’d regained his memory until he found out what.

  Closing her eyes, Hope let herself relax in Jeff’s strong arms. Never had he seemed more wonderful to her, desirable and sexy and vulnerable all at once. And never had he seemed more out of reach.

  For a moment there, a foolish, heartbreaking moment, standing by his side, she had allowed herself to pretend. They were Class Sweethearts, Homecoming King and Queen. Lovers. Promised to each other from that day forward, soon to be married. The future had stretched out, rosy and certain, or so she’d thought. They would go to college, marry, and get fantastic jobs, a great house near Dallas or Houston, and settle into a life of domestic tranquility.

  And they would have children. They both had wanted children. A boy and a girl—the perfect family. How naive she’d been. How foolish.

  How wrong.

  Fate had chosen to deal her—them—another hand entirely. Though it had nearly killed her, she’d somehow survived, though part of her heart would remain forever buried in the dark, soft earth along with her beloved little girl.

  And Jeff could be nothing more than a memory of her high school days. Soon she would leave here. This time, she wouldn’t return—ever.

  Returning to their seats, Hope avoided looking at Jeff. She sincerely prayed he would get his memory back, that he would move on and rebuild both his hardware store and his life.

  Then the DJ put on a song. It was their song, an old

  Randy Travis ballad. After she’d left town, whenever it came on the radio, she’d changed the station.

  Though she didn’t want to, Hope let her gaze travel to Jeff. He watched her, hunger and yearning plain on his handsome face. He dipped his head, once, then held out his hand and whispered, “Please?”

  It was the please that did her in. Trying to pretend the icy shell she maintained around her heart wasn’t melting, Hope rose and placed her hand in his. Her skin tingled from the touch.

  On the crowded dance floor, other couples made way for them. Exactly as he’d used to do at those long ago high school dances, Jeff led her to the middle. Flashing her a lopsided smile that tugged at her heartstrings, he pulled her gently into his arms.

  Around them, the music swelled and dipped. Most couples shuffled and swayed, a few did a modified, slower version of the Texas two-step. For Hope, everything paled to a shade of gray—everything that is, but the virile man in her arms. She could only see the man who looked at her as if he would like to kiss her savagely, consequences be damned.

  Flushed and breathless, she jerked her gaze away just as the song ended.

  Stepping away from him, she told herself that she felt relief. She turned, meaning to head back to their table, when Jeff stumbled, grabbing her shoulder for balance. Concerned, she helped him right himself, her heart pounding. Another song started, a faster one this time, and he flashed her a devilish grin.

  “Come on,” he mouthed, over the thump of the music. Without waiting for her to answer, he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re my lifeline, darlin’.” His voice was a sexy murmur, his breath hot upon her ear.

  Hope’s pulse stuttered, her stomach felt fluttery.

  Jeff was flirting with her, even calling her darlin'. Hearing the endearment started a slow heat burning in her, even if he had no possible way of knowing. She shot hi
m a glance from beneath her lashes. Did he?

  Though she knew she should move away, head back to the relative safety of the table, being in Jeff’s arms felt like heaven. What could be the harm in staying for one more song?

  No harm at all, she decided, giving in to the feeling with a sigh. If there would be her own personal form of hell to pay later, then so be it

  When the music ended this time, Hope stayed put, head on his shoulder, her eyes half closed, knowing she wore a dreamy smile on her face. Jeff kept his strong arms locked around her. She felt not the slightest inclination to move.

  Around them, most of the others were doing various forms of country and western dances. Hope could kick up her heels with the best of them, and would have, if any other man were holding her.

  But this was Jeff, and for the moment she was exactly where she wanted to be, secure and snug in his arms.

  Another song came on, an old Whitney Houston tune.

  “Remember how you used to love this song?” Jeff’s sexy voice murmured in her ear. “It seemed like you were always singing it, dancing around the lake whenever it came on the radio.”

  Hope froze. Slowly, she stepped back, not completely out of his arms, but far enough that she could search his face. “You ... you remember?”

  A flash of confusion, chased by fear, crossed his face. “Odd and ends,” he admitted, sounding reluctant, which surprised her. “Something came back to me when the DJ played this song.”

  “What about that Randy Travis song? What do you remember about it?”

  With a rough exclamation, he pulled her close and held her. Unbidden, her body swayed in time to the slow beat of the music. Heat flashed between them.

  Suddenly, achingly conscious of how well his hard body melded to hers, Hope tried to catch her breath. “Do you remember it at all?” she repeated, her voice sounding high and nervous, even to her. If he remembered this much, it wouldn’t be long until he remembered everything. She would have to get ready to get out of town on a moment’s notice. She didn’t plan on sticking around to answer the inevitable questions that were certain to come.