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  With the barest of movements, Jeff inclined his shaggy head.

  Hope reined in her temper. She had, after all, given Charlene her word.

  Muttering under her breath, Charlene went to the kitchen counter and yanked open a drawer. She extracted a cream-colored envelope and carried it back to the table as if it contained diamonds and gold. “Now,” she dropped gracefully into her chair, taking a moment to catch her breath, ‘ ‘Hope is staying at least one month. You two should spend as much time together as possible.”

  Watching Jeff’s mutinous expression, Hope found herself suppressing a grin. At least the man was reacting a little. Anything was better than that infuriating blandness.

  “In three weeks,” Charlene continued in the same steely voice, “Dalhart High is having its tenth class reunion—our class.” Jeff’s twin slid the envelope across the table towards Hope.

  Hope gasped. This was a total surprise. She hadn’t even remembered, but it was true. Ten years ago she had accepted her diploma and, as soon as she could, driven away, shaking the dust of Dalhart off her heels.

  “I’m going, and I’ve accepted in both your names,” Charlene announced, her tone brooking no argument “Hope,” she gave Hope a pleading smile, “please remember that this may help Jeff regain his memory. It will also be fun for you.”

  Hope doubted that. She dared a quick glance at Jeff, startled to find him staring at her with a look of smug amusement as if he knew. She clenched her teeth and nodded.

  “In addition to attending the class reunion, I feel it would be best if you could try to find things that you and Jeff used to enjoy doing. Anything familiar might jog his memory.”

  Now it was Jeff who had a muscle working in that absurdly strong jaw.

  Hope was simply stunned. “I don’t know if I—” “You can,” Charlene cut in dryly. “It’s only for a month, Hope. After that you’ll be back in Dallas with the rest of your summer to enjoy.”

  Though she didn’t say it, her implication was clear. While Hope could go home to enjoy the remainder of the summer, Jeff might still be trapped in the prison of his shattered memory.

  Hope knew she had no choice. She’d never truly had a choice, not since Charlene’s phone call telling her Jeff was in trouble. Jeff needed her. Despite what had happened in the past she couldn’t refuse to help him. Not Jeff. Once their lives had been so intertwined that neither could imagine a life without the other. Once—

  She came out of her reverie to realize both Charlene and Jeff were staring at her. Charlene had a puzzled little frown, Jeff had the same look of bland indifference. It was that look, infuriating and hurtful, that decided her.

  “You’re right, of course.” Hope managed a smooth smile. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help Jeff.” She inclined her head, turning up her smile a notch to include him.

  His eyes, she was pleased to note, went cold.

  “I don’t need charity,” he spoke to his sister, though he watched Hope. “I’m sure Miss—Hope— has better things to do with her summer.”

  If she did, she wouldn’t admit it. Not to him.

  “It’s only one month,” Hope and Charlene said at the same time. Exchanging smiles, of relief on Charlene’s part, of embarrassment on Hope’s, they both nodded.

  As quickly as it had come, the fleeting emotion vanished from Jeff’s eyes. “Whatever,” he shrugged. “I have time, lots of it. Let me know what you want to do, where you want to go.” He spoke with as much enthusiasm as an undertaker ushering mourners into a funeral.

  This irked Hope beyond belief. Without stopping to examine her motives, she jumped to her feet. “Can you be ready in an hour?”

  Again, he shrugged. “I’m ready now.”

  Charlene leaned forward, curiosity bright in her face. “Where are you going?”

  Hope said the first thing that came to mind, watching Jeff all the while. “I want to see the hardware store. I want to see the place where all this happened.”

  Chapter Two

  It was worse, much worse, than she had expected. Nothing but charred rubble, the old foundation, and small stacks of broken bricks remained. For thirty years, Andy’s Hardware had stood in this spot; Jeff’s grandfather had built the place, Jeff’s father had run it, and then Jeff had taken over.

  It had been a place of character, history, and memories. Now it was the place where Jeff had nearly died in a senseless crime. All this destruction and pain for a handful of bills from the cash register.

  Jeff’s old pickup coasted to a stop by the curve. He killed the engine and hooked an arm over the back of the seat. The sun, straight overhead, dappled his hair with fire.

  “Here we are.”

  Fumbling with the handle, Hope pushed open the heavy truck door. It protested with a loud creak. Not waiting to see if Jeff followed, she trudged through the rubble to the center of the foundation, kicking aside charred wooden beams. Dirt and rock crunched under her feet.

  She hadn’t believed it would be so bad. With a quiet sound of distress, she walked the perimeter, aching, remembering. She thought of Jeff. According to Charlene, this store had been his entire life.

  Turning, Hope saw that he hadn’t followed her into the destruction. He leaned against the side of his pickup, head down, studying something in his hands. Without another thought, she went to him.

  “The clean up starts tomorrow,” he said, head still downcast. “They wanted to clean it up a month ago, but Charlene wouldn’t let them. She thought that if I maybe saw it, I might remember.”

  “Do you?” The words slipped out before she could think to rephrase them. Once said, she saw no harm in continuing. After all, she was here to help him. “Do you remember anything about what happened here that night?”

  When he raised his head and met her eyes, she felt it like a blow to the stomach. “No.” His expression seemed stark, harsh. “I saw it on the tape from the security cameras. There were two of them.”

  Swallowing, Hope forced herself to go on. “Could you identify them?”

  “No. They wore masks. The police have no leads.” He spoke without rancor, almost as if he were speaking about someone else. “After they cleaned out the cash register, they hit me on the head with the butt of a gun. I don’t know why they decided to torch the place.”

  He didn’t tell her the rest, but she already knew it. They’d set a fire when he was unconscious on the floor, leaving him for dead. Somehow, he’d come to and managed to crawl outside before the building exploded.

  It was a miracle he had survived.

  “Let’s go.” Straightening, he opened the truck door for her. “There’s nothing that can help me here.”

  Hope agreed. Climbing up into the bench seat, she cast one last look over her shoulder. “Do you plan to rebuild?”

  Still expressionless, Jeff started the engine. Shifting into drive, he lifted one shoulder in a shrug and said, “I don’t know. I guess. They built a new A to Z Home Center near here.”

  Unwelcome competition—in a town where Andy’s Hardware had dominated for years.

  The engine idled softly, but Jeff did nothing. Hope studied his rugged profile, remembering how, years ago, she’d ridden in this very same truck, close to his side. Now, more than the intervening years seemed to separate them.

  Outside, high up in the cloudless azure sky, a buzzard circled. Somewhere, Hope thought, something had died.

  The silence in the cab suddenly seemed oppressive. “Let’s go,” she suggested brightly. Too brightly. Instead, Jeff shifted back into park. He half turned in the seat to face her. “Look, you seem like a very nice lady.” His hooded gaze traveled slowly over her face, lingering on her lips. “An attractive lady.”

  She felt a flush of pleasure, which she instantly stifled. “Thanks, I—”

  He held up a hand, his expression cold. “I don’t know why you’re here.” He paused for a second. “Look, I understand we used to mean something to each other when we were teenagers. But, whatever was betwee
n us was over with—a long time ago.” Though he was right, it still hurt to hear him say it. Blinking back foolish tears, Hope told herself it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. “How,” her voice faltered and she cleared her throat, to try again, “how do you know this?”

  He shot her a glance, full of anger and a deep, bitter pain. “I heard that you hadn’t been back to Dalhart since you graduated high school. Ten years is a long time.”

  Because he was right, Hope turned away and searched the sky for the sight of the lonely buzzard. She couldn’t find it again. For some reason, this bothered her.

  “So why, Hope Glidewell? Why are you here?”

  “I came back to help you,” she said in a low voice.

  “Why?”

  “Because ... because ..She didn’t know. Not really. Because when his sister had called the week before school let out for the summer, she’d been wondering how to fill the empty months she was off. Because she’d often wondered about him, and she’d never forgotten him. Because she, too, in her own way, had betrayed him. She told him none of those things.

  “Because I thought coming here might make a difference,” she finally said, quietly.

  Silence again, while he digested that. Hope chanced a look at him, glancing up from under her lashes.

  Jeff’s enigmatic expression gave nothing away. “Maybe you can,” he said, his voice as rough as hers had been.

  The quiet admission stunned her. She blinked again, trying to swallow past the strange lump in her throat. If he only knew, if he only remembered. But then, she thought wryly, if he did remember, he couldn’t bear to be in the same room with me—or me with him.

  “How?”

  Jeff continued to regard her with the same curious detachment that both intrigued and infuriated her. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  “Maybe Charlene is right Maybe we should do stuff that we did as teenagers.” Heat flared in her cheeks as she remembered exactly what they’d done as two lovesick adolescents—and how, and when, and where. Praying her thoughts wouldn’t show in her face, Hope leaned forward and pointed. “The high school,” she told him. “Let’s go there.”

  Without another word, he headed off towards the highway and the building where they’d spent most of their days.

  Funny how some things never change, but still look different, Hope thought upon seeing the beige brick building that housed Dalhart High. Different perspective, she imagined.

  “Well?”

  Startled, she swung around to find Jeff watching her. On impulse, she touched his arm. “Come on, let’s get out.”

  Together, they walked up the sidewalk to the double front doors. They were locked, of course.

  “You’re gonna have to tell me.” Jeff’s mouth curved in a mocking smile that rocked her back on her heels.

  It was a moment before she could think coherently enough to answer him. “Tell you what?”

  “Things we used to do. Where did we go? Who did we go with?”

  He wanted her to relive her memories—their memories—out loud. “I don’t—” He was right one hundred percent. If she didn’t share those times with him, there was no way her being here could help him.

  Reluctantly, as if her precious memories would be ruined by reliving them, Hope sighed. “We were in the same class here, you and I. We were inseparable, even as freshmen.”

  Nothing but simple curiosity shone in his face. “Did we meet here?”

  She nearly recoiled. “You really don’t remember anything. No, Jeff. We’ve been, that is, we were, friends since the third grade.”

  “Just friends.”

  “Until our sophomore year, yes.” She smiled, remembering the lanky boy, all legs and ears, who’d brought her a red rose on Valentine’s Day. “After that, we were a couple. Until we graduated.” Or a few weeks before, she amended silently.

  “What happened?” Sharp-eyed, Jeff rubbed his temple as if his head had begun to ache. “Did we just drift apart?”

  Farther than you know, she thought. She tried to think of an answer that would be truthful, but not too revealing. “We decided it would be better if we broke up.” Odd, how those words brought such fresh pain. “Then we went our separate ways. I went off to college at the University of Texas at Arlington, and you ...”

  A thought struck her. She’d always wondered where he’d gone after graduation, how he’d ended up back in Dalhart when he’d been as eager to leave as she. “Did you go to Texas A&M on that football scholarship?”

  His lips thinned. With a restless movement, he ran his hand over the metal plaque on the right of the school’s double doors. “I don’t know.” Bitterness colored his voice. “I really don’t know.”

  For the first time, she realized how total the loss must be. How awful to exist, day to day, surrounded by people and things that should be familiar, but weren’t. How horrible to know that all one’s memories, connections, and emotions existed, locked somewhere inside. At least, she hoped they were there, that the slate hadn’t been wiped clean eternally.

  Impulsively, she laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Sometimes I forget.”

  His eyes darkened and he covered her hand with his with an awkward movement.

  She stood stiffly, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Inside, she melted.

  They stood that way, outside the entrance to the place that had once dominated their young lives. It felt familiar, and right, and poignantly sad. How many times, Hope wondered, had they stood in this very same spot, waiting for school to begin, her small hand tucked in his large one.

  With a muffled oath, she yanked her hand away and moved to gaze out at the endless fields and the train tracks.

  He watched her, his expression merely curious. It hurt even more to know that he had no idea how painful this was, or why.

  “Tell me,” he ordered, his voice gentle and caring. It was the voice of a concerned stranger, to a woman in distress. She hadn’t known it would be this hard. After all this time, why was the wound still so raw?

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” she muttered. “I just didn’t expect..

  Jeff went still, his expression wary. “What happened between us, Hope? It must have been something pretty bad to put those shadows in your eyes.”

  She laughed, a sound that was almost a sob. “It was a long time ago. It shouldn’t bother me anymore.” And it wouldn’t, she was determined. “Years go past, life goes on. People move on.” Despite her effort to sound blase, she knew she sounded bitter.

  “But it does.” With a gentle finger, he raised her chin. It struck her as the ultimate irony that he should be the one comforting her, when it should be the other way around.

  Helpless to move away, she allowed his touch, the light caress of his thumb. She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to force away vivid memories of another time. “We were two totally different people.” An instant of anger flashed in his eyes, then vanished. “And now I don’t even know who I am.” Guiltily, she glanced away. “I’m sorry.”

  “You can go, you know.” He released her, shifting so that his body blocked the sun. They might have been chatting about the weather, for all the lack of emotion in his tone. “There’s probably nothing you can do for me anyway.”

  “I can help.” Fiercely, Hope clenched her fists. “Give it time, Jeff. I can do this. I want to help you.” This time he didn’t ask her why. After one final, wordless glance at the empty high school, he strode to his truck and opened the passenger door. “Come on.”

  Bemused, she couldn’t help comparing him—this handsome man, so big and powerful—with the lanky boy she once loved. Loved. It was the past tense. She needed to remember that. Taking a trembling breath, she reminded herself that it would be all right after all. She climbed into the truck and he got in beside her. The interior of the cab seemed to shrink.

  “What now?” he asked, his voice so bleak that she knew he didn’t hold out much hope for whatever help she might be able to
provide.

  Determined to prove him wrong, she drummed her fingers on the dashboard. Her long, shapely painted nails were all wrong for Dalhart, but she didn’t care. She would keep them that way until they broke off. When she returned home to Dallas, she would simply have them done over again.

  “I think we need to make a list.” Projecting self- confidence might help to instill some, or so she told herself.

  “A list?” he echoed, faintly mocking.

  “Yes.” Now that she’d thought of it, a list seemed to be a wonderful idea. “I’ll make a list of things we used to do and places we used to go. Charlene can help. Then we can plan daily activities around that.” Looking briefly over his shoulder, he steered the truck out onto the highway. “Whatever.”

  “You could show a little enthusiasm.”

  He gave her a dark look. “Well, I would,” he drawled, “if I knew what I was supposed to be enthusiastic about.”

  Hope closed her eyes. This was going to be a long, long month.

  The sun was straight overhead when they returned to the low-slung brick house. Walking through the doorway, Hope headed straight for the kitchen.

  “I’m going to make a salad for lunch.” She’d noticed some fresh romaine lettuce and tomatoes in the refrigerator earlier. “Do you want one?”

  Jeff was already heading towards his old room in the back of the house. “No, thank you,” he said politely. “I never eat lunch.”

  Then he was gone.

  “Invasion of the body snatchers,” Hope muttered to herself, determined to eat her salad and start working on the list.

  “What?” Charlene looked up from her book when Hope entered. “What did you say?”

  Hope felt herself flush. “I was talking about Jeff. Sometimes it seems like there’s another man inside Jeff’s body.”

  Charlene nodded sympathetically. “Did you make any progress this morning?” She leaned forward, her eyes bright and eager.

  “No.” Hope found a colander and began rinsing lettuce. “But I’m hoping I can change that.” She outlined her idea of making a list