Snowbound Targets (HQR Romantic Suspense) Page 3

  Which, of course, was what she impatiently wanted to happen. She decided to change the subject. “Do you get a lot of snow here?”

  The glint in his eye told her he knew what she was doing. “Yeah, we get some brutal blizzards here because of our location,” he said, clearly deciding to go along with her topic change. “That’s why I bought all this.”

  As he moved past her carrying his bags, he brushed up against her, making her catch her breath. Inhaling sharply, she breathed in his scent. Man and pine and outdoors. Damn. She swallowed hard, nearly overwhelmed with desire.

  Not like her at all. Or was it? She had no idea. Maybe she was the kind of woman who made love with carefree abandon. Her stomach turned, making her doubt that.

  She wore no wedding ring. Nor did her ring finger show the signs of having worn one. Eying Jason’s broad back, again she felt a punch of desire low in her body.

  What did this sudden attraction mean? Was he her type, or were the strange feelings she’d started to experience due to the fact that they were in a sort of enforced isolation together?

  Did it really matter? She had enough to worry about with her memory loss. Straightening her shoulders, she followed him into the kitchen, watching silently as he unpacked his purchases. Despite her stern internal talk to herself, she found herself aching to touch him.

  “Here you go.” Completely unaware of her thoughts, he tossed her a generic plastic bag of women’s panties. She caught them easily. “And socks,” he said, this time sliding that package across the counter. “And here, the rest of this is yours also. This bag here has the sweatshirts and stuff like that.”

  Still feeling overly warm, she took the bag and smiled.

  “Thank you again,” she told him, dropping the socks and underwear into the bag with the other clothing. “Please save the receipt. Once I have access to money, assuming I have some, I’ll repay you.”

  “No need.” Turning, he began unloading the next bag, putting things like cheese and lunch meat and eggs into the refrigerator. He left a box of quick-cooking rice and several cans of soup and various vegetables on the counter. “Those go in the cabinet right above, if you don’t mind putting them up.”

  Of course she didn’t mind. Working so close, back-to-back, it was inevitable that they’d bump into each other. Each time she did, she bit back the urge to apologize and hoped he had no idea how badly she wanted to touch him.

  Frustrated, she shook her head. How was it possible that she, a blank slate, could even feel this way about a man she barely knew?

  “Are you okay?” he asked, rousing her from her reverie.

  “I am.” Maybe if she said it firmly and often enough, she might actually believe it.

  “Good.” He went back to emptying the last bag of provisions.

  Once everything had been neatly stowed away, he smiled at her. She felt the impact of his smile all the way to her toes, which made her grit her teeth. “Don’t worry.” He reached to squeeze her shoulder, and then pulled back at the last moment. “We’ll get this all figured out. I did some checking in town, and there are no reports of a missing woman.”

  “At all?” Focusing on this rather than the urge to lean in and accept his touch, she let her dismay show.

  “Nothing. I stopped in and spoke with the sheriff. He checked.”

  Feeling defeated, she moved away from him. Distance would help. “I’m disappointed. I really was hoping for a quick resolution to all this. As in, we’d find a report, and once I saw my face and knew my name, I’d remember everything, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I guess not.”

  This made him laugh, a deep and masculine sound. “One thing I’ve learned over the years in my career as a journalist is to be patient. Don’t stress about it so much. Your situation is complicated—and intriguing. I’m thinking it won’t be a quick fix.”

  Complicated and intriguing. Interesting. “I’m grateful you don’t seem to mind. I don’t know what I’d do without your help.”

  “No problem,” he replied. “I remember reading something about amnesia once. I think you can’t try to force things—you just have to let the memory return naturally. Even if it’s in bits and pieces.”

  She nodded, though she once again had to struggle to hide her disappointment. She eyed him, trying to be dispassionate but failing miserably. “Still, you seem familiar to me somehow. Are you sure we didn’t know each other, before?”

  “I’m positive.” He chuckled. “Quite honestly, I’d never have forgotten meeting you.”

  This made her smile.

  “You probably saw me on the news, doing one of my reports from the Middle East. That’s why I seem familiar.”

  “Maybe.” Once again, she took to prowling around the cabin, more as a way to distract herself from the strength of her need to touch him. “This is very nice,” she mused, running her hand over the granite kitchen countertops, enjoying the cool smoothness. “The colors are beautiful. I’m guessing either it came like this or you have mad decorating skills. I like it.”

  “Thanks. I did some updates after I bought the place.”

  Movement outside caught her eye. A small herd of deer crossed the backyard. Immediately, she went to the window and pressed her nose against the glass, watching them, enthralled.

  “Deer or bear?” he asked.

  “Deer.” The thought of encountering a bear made her shiver. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Do you get a lot of bears here?”

  “We have all kinds of wildlife, but yes. As long as you’re careful, they won’t bother you.”

  She wanted to ask what constituted careful, but since she figured she wouldn’t be out roaming the woods or the roads alone, she’d be fine.

  Finally, the deer disappeared into the trees. Slowly, she turned around, to find Jason watching her.

  Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze. “I know you checked with the sheriff and in town. But what if I’m not local? Not only do I have this ever-present sense of dread, but I almost feel as if there’s something important I’m supposed to be doing.”

  “That’s a possibility. You say you’re worried. Any idea about what?”

  “No. I still can’t access enough memory to figure it out. It’s like when you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye, but then you turn and you weren’t quick enough to see it.” She sighed. “It’s honestly frustrating as hell.” Her eyes widened at her choice of words. Another clue, maybe.

  “I can only imagine. I’ll tell you what. I’ll scour the internet tonight, and you can look over my shoulder. We’ll see what we can find.”

  “Thank you.” She wanted to hug him. She didn’t.

  “You’re welcome. But for now, if my satellite is still working, let’s catch the news,” he suggested. “I’m kind of a news junkie.”

  “Before we search the internet?” She struggled to hide her disappointment.

  “Yes.” He reached for her, stopped, and cocked his head. “Is it okay if I touch you now? I know you were frightened before, but I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  Watching him, she slowly nodded.

  “Okay.” He put his hand under her chin, raising her face so that she looked at him. “But don’t worry. We’ll look after, OK? I don’t have a DVR here, so if I miss it, it’s gone. Because I’m a journalist, I like to try and keep on top of what’s going on in the world.”

  “That makes sense.” Though she didn’t want to jerk herself away from him, if he kept on touching her, she just knew she would kiss him. Odd, how she could go from one extreme to the other.

  Luckily, he dropped his hand. Aching, she told herself to be glad.

  “What kind of journalist are you, exactly?” Changing the subject yet again. “I know you said you’re on the news. What news? I’m assuming one of the national ones, right?”

  “You ass
ume correctly. I work as an overseas correspondent in the Middle East.”

  “I think you mentioned something about that.”

  “Yeah. I probably did.” He busied himself with the remote. “I report mostly from war zones.”

  War zones. She got a quick flash of something—danger and noise, blood and despair. It came and went too quickly for her to be able to analyze it.

  The TV came on, a commercial about some local plumber.

  “That sounds dangerous.”

  “It can be.” He grinned, appearing triumphant. “I’m relieved that the television came on instantly, with a clear picture. That’s not always the case. When it rains or snows, the satellite can’t get a signal. That’s when I read.”

  She looked around for books. He caught her looking and shook his head. “No room. I have an e-reader.”

  While she pondered that, the evening news began. They led off with a story about a coordinated suicide bombing attack in Kabul. Over seventy-five Afghans were dead, with many more wounded.

  Jason swore. “That’s exactly where I was reporting, a little over a week ago.” He swore, again. “I’m not sure whether to feel relieved or envious that I wasn’t right there in the thick of the action.”

  “Are you an adrenaline junkie?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly. She suddenly felt uncomfortable in her own skin. The sounds on the screen unnerved her, so much so that she wanted to ask him to turn the television off.

  Too enthralled in watching and listening to the report, Jason didn’t respond. Feeling as if she might throw up, Lucy jumped to her feet and fled. She wasn’t sure where she was going—the cabin was small after all—but she had to get away from the news story.

  * * *

  Jason felt the reporter did a good job, sticking to the facts and avoiding overly opinionated commentary. He thought he might have met the guy once, a few years back, but couldn’t be positive.

  Finally, after a good sixty-second segment, which was long for a single story, the focus shifted to the incoming snowstorm. It was barreling through Montana and Wyoming, slated to reached northern Colorado in a matter of hours. The weatherman predicted snow would fall heavily in the entire state, with higher elevations getting the most, as usual. The ski resorts would be overjoyed, especially since they hadn’t had much snow so far.

  He glanced back toward Lucy, intending to comment on the weather, but she wasn’t there. He found her in the bathroom with the door open and water running, though she stood motionless in front of the sink with a bowed head.

  “Lucy?”

  She didn’t respond.

  He took a step into the room and lightly touched her shoulder, about to ask her if she was all right.

  She cringed, flinching away from him before he could get a single word out. Back up against the wall, she put her arms up in a defensive posture. At first, her gaze seemed wild and unfocused.

  “Hey.” He kept his voice quiet and soothing. “Are you OK?”

  At first, she didn’t respond. But awareness slowly returned. She blinked and finally lowered her arms. “Jason?” She sounded bewildered, as if she had no idea how he’d gotten there.

  “You look really pale,” he said carefully. “Why don’t you sit down before you faint?”

  “OK.”

  To his relief, she allowed him to lead her down the hall to the kitchen. He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. She sat, though she moved robotically, like she’d mentally checked out.

  In the den, he could hear the television playing a commercial. Lucy wiped at her eyes, even though she wasn’t crying.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, giving in to the urge to gently move a strand of her silky hair away from her face. To his relief, she didn’t flinch away from his touch. “Do you feel sick?”

  “The news...” She trailed off, clearly unable to articulate. “I’m not sure why. The clip they showed...”

  “Of the bombing in Kabul?” He watched her closely, struck by the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her.

  “Yes.” She swallowed, hard. “It seemed...familiar. Too familiar.” She shuddered.

  “Familiar how? Do you think you’ve ever been there?”

  “I don’t know.” Her hands shook as she twined them together. “It’s possible, I guess.”

  Somehow, he doubted that, though he kept the thought to himself. He knew all the reporters who covered the Middle East, and Lucy wasn’t one of them. And there was no other reason for an American nonmilitary woman to be in a war zone. Unless she’d been with one of the medical-aid groups. That brought about an entirely new set of possibilities that he would have to consider later. Right now, he needed to focus on her.

  “Did you have some sort of memory flash?” He knew he shouldn’t push, but the strength of her reaction to a sixty-second news story made him feel as if pushing was warranted.

  “I don’t know,” she said again. And then she started to cry.

  Jason Sheffield could deal with being shot at, running from explosions and he always maintained his cool in the midst of chaos. He considered himself tough, well trained and smart. But a crying woman turned him to putty.

  Though he’d cautioned himself against touching her again, he knew she needed the healing power of touch more than anything else right now. Still, he’d be careful to make no sudden moves. Slowly, he knelt down beside her and took both her hands in his. “Hey, now. It can’t be that bad.”

  She shook her head, attempting a watery smile at him through her tears. “Can’t it?” she asked, sniffling. “I’m guessing you have no idea how terrifying it is to not have the slightest idea who you are, where you came from or what happened to you.”

  Grabbing a paper napkin from the holder on the table, she wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know why that news segment bothered me. I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

  “We’ll find out,” he assured her. “I’m a reporter. Getting answers is what I do. Let me start doing some digging. It might take a bit, but I’ll do what I can, I promise.”

  This appeared to reassure her. She lifted her chin, still blotting at her streaming eyes. “I’m wondering if maybe I should see a doctor. Do you think it’s possible there might be a medical reason why I can’t remember?”

  “It couldn’t hurt.” Squeezing her hand, he released her. “Would you feel comfortable enough to go into town with me?”

  She looked down, her silky dark hair falling over her face. “I don’t know.”

  “Once you have an appointment, we could go straight there and back.” He thought for a moment, imagining the gossip if he was spotted with a mystery woman in town. “I have a better idea. One of the guys I went to high school with is a family practice doctor in Colorado Springs. It’s a bit of a drive, but at least that way if you’re seen and recognized, no one will know you’re staying here in Cedar.”

  “Okay.” At least she’d stopped crying. She even looked a little bit hopeful.

  And beautiful, even with her swollen eyes and red nose.

  “Would you like something to eat?” He’d learned while working in the Middle East that, when not in immediate danger but even if still in the center of crisis, feeding people always calmed them down. “I make a mean spaghetti with meat sauce.”

  “I don’t eat meat,” she replied, her eyes going huge as she realized what she’d said. “I’m a vegetarian.” Voice full of wonder, she repeated the sentences.

  He watched her closely. “So that makes three memories, right?”

  “Yes. I’m positive about them too, even though they’re not related. I love snow. I don’t eat meat. And I wish I had my iPhone.”

  “I do too. Did you remember anything else?”

  Her smile faded, replaced by a frown. “I don’t think so. No.” Her stomach growled just then, making them both smile. “And I am hungry. I’d like some of
that spaghetti, if I can have mine without meat in the sauce.”

  “That I can do. I’ll make meatballs instead, for me. And I have some frozen spinach that I can microwave if you’d like.”

  “What can I do to help?” she asked.

  Pushing to his feet, he shook his head. “Nothing. Just keep me company while I cook. Do you like wine? I have a nice bottle of Merlot I can open.”

  “Wine.” She considered. “Why not?”

  After opening the bottle, he poured them both a glass. Carrying his over to the stove, he got busy preparing their meal.

  She sipped her wine and watched him, the hunger in her gaze bringing an answering spark to life inside him. He opened his mouth to speak, but then turned around and went back to cooking. He figured she most likely hoped for another flash of memory, nothing more.

  The small kitchen filled with the scent of spaghetti sauce as he brought everything to the table. He also brought them plates and silverware. He topped off their wineglasses while she filled her plate with pasta and spinach, avoiding the meatballs.

  She ate with a single-minded determination. He watched her, noting her dainty manners, at odds with her complete and utter focus on her food.

  Finally, she finished and pushed away her clean plate. “That was wonderful,” she said. “Thank you.”

  He’d also eaten his fill. “You’re welcome. Now I wish I’d bought something for dessert.”

  “Like tiramisu?” she asked, then gasped. “Another flash of memory. Tiramisu is my favorite dessert.”

  “See?” Leaning back in his chair, he took another drink of wine. “It’s coming back, bit by bit. I bet it won’t be long at all before you remember everything.”

  “I hope so.” She twined a strand of her shoulder-length hair around her finger. “I just wish I could remember why that news story bothered me so much. You seemed so familiar with it. Tell me, did you only cover Afghanistan?” she asked, her polite and slightly shaky tone telling him she was attempting to work through her fear.