by Judy Duarte
“Wow,” Clay said. “Smart kid.”
“And a good one,” Alana said. “I’ve loved him since the day he was born.”
“I hate to run off,” Ramon said, “but I don’t want to keep Micah waiting.”
“I don’t blame you.” Clay stretched his arm across the seat back of the empty chair beside him. “Thanks for picking up the tab. Next time, dinner’s on me.”
So he was fair and generous. Nice to know. But he’d have to get a job that paid more than just room and board. Or else his memory would need to return so he could access a bank account.
“It’s a deal.” Ramon turned toward the door.
“Hey, Mr. Cruz,” Shannon called out, stopping him. “Tell Callie that I love kids and will be happy to babysit for you guys anytime.”
“Will do.” Ramon winked, then pulled open the door and stepped onto the sidewalk.
Clay pushed his chair back, got to his feet, reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out the keys to the pickup.
Alana furrowed her brow. “Where are you going?”
He nodded toward the door. “Since it sounds like you’re dead set on saving that stray dog’s furry butt, I’d better go get her and put her into the pickup. Something tells me Gloria might make that call anyway.”
Alana’s heart warmed. “You don’t mind doing that for me?”
He tossed her a charming grin, one just like the many he’d given her the night they’d met. “I’ll be back in a flash—unless that little dog doesn’t want to be adopted.”
Alana studied Clay as he crossed the diner, taken by his sexy, cowboy swagger.
So who was this guy? Fancy lawyer or down-home ranch hand?
Was he one of the good guys—bright, successful and decent? Or just slick and charming?
The jury was still out, she supposed. The only thing certain was that he stirred a feeling inside of her that she’d never felt before. Not since the night they’d made love.
She’d blamed a combination of lust and one too many glasses of merlot for lowering her guard, for suggesting they make love. But she hadn’t had a drop of alcohol since, and yet tonight, she was still sorely tempted to suggest they wrap up this evening by having a glass of wine and...
No. She wouldn’t do that again. Not until they both knew exactly who Clay actually was.
But when she glanced out the window and saw him gently scoop the stray into his arms, whispering something to the bundle of fur as he carried it to the pickup and placed it inside the cab, warmth filled her heart with a hot-fudge-sundae sweetness. And for some dumb reason, his true identity no longer seemed to matter.
Chapter Seven
On the way back to the ranch, Alana held the floppy-eared black cocker mix in her lap. Every now and then, it squirmed in her arms, but only to give her hand or her cheek an appreciative lick.
“Aren’t you a little sweetheart? All you need is a bath and a full tummy.”
“Looks like you found a new buddy,” Clay said.
“So it seems.” She had no idea what she was going to do with three dogs, but there was no way she would have left it to fend for itself on the streets, especially when Gloria had threatened to call Animal Control.
She shot a glance across the seat at Clay, who was gazing at the road ahead.
He was a handsome man—more so than anyone had a right to be. But more important than that, he was one of the good guys. Kind, thoughtful...sweet. At least she hoped her assumption about him was right. She still wasn’t sure what he was doing in Montana—or what had happened to him. Car accident? A crime victim? They should probably report it to the sheriff, but they couldn’t very well do so when they had zero details and only a hunch.
She shot a glance across the seat at Clay, who was proving to be a friend.
“Thank you,” she said.
He turned, and his head tilted slightly. “For what?”
“Driving me to the hospital this afternoon. Waiting for me—” she looked down at the scraggly mutt “—and for helping me rescue this sweet little girl.”
He blessed her with a dimpled grin. “You clearly have a heart for strays, whether they have four legs or two. The way I see it, that little mutt and I are both lucky to have crossed your path.”
“You’re not a stray,” she said. “You have a home. A life. You just don’t know where. Yet.”
“That may be true, but I sure feel pretty damned lost and homeless right now.”
She didn’t doubt that. And until he remembered who he was and where he lived, all he had was her.
“You’ll get your memory back in time,” she said, hoping that by making that claim out loud it would come to pass. “But until then, you’re welcome to stay with me as long as you want.”
“I appreciate that.”
And she appreciated him. For his kindness—not just to her but to Katie, Mark and Jesse, even though they seemed to spend more time off the ranch than on it. She also appreciated his help with the repairs. And above all else, she was especially thankful for the baby he’d given her.
Clay nodded toward the dog sitting in her lap. “What are you going to call her?”
Alana hadn’t given it much thought. “Blackie comes to mind, but that’s too... Well, it’s not very unique. Maybe Licorice. What do you think?”
“Sounds good to me.”
They continued on in silence. A couple of times, she opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it.
Rather than make idle chatter, she reached for the dial on the dash and turned on the radio, which was preset to a country-western station. An Alan Jackson love song was playing softly, lulling her into a pensive yet romantic mood. She leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes and allowed her memories to take her back to the night she met Clay in Colorado.
She’d been sitting alone and sipping a glass of wine at a small table in the upscale hotel bar. She hadn’t been looking for company. Instead, she was contemplating what she’d learned at the symposium and evaluating the cost she’d paid to attend against the benefits. Then a handsome guy wearing a designer suit had approached wearing a friendly grin.
“Mind if I join you?”
She’d looked up at him, surprised by the interruption—yet swept away by it, too. After a heart-spinning beat, she returned his smile and pointed to the chair across from hers.
“Sure. Have a seat.”
The encounter had been magical from the start, and she’d found herself opening up to him in unexpected ways. After an hour or so, it had seemed only natural for her to reach across the table and place her hand on his.
“I know we’ll never see each other again, but I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Clay. And I’m feeling very much alone right now.”
He’d seemed surprised at her implication, yet pleased by it, too.
Would he ever remember that night, too? Not just their surreal first meet, but their magic they’d shared in bed?
She cut another glance across the seat, where Clay sat, his hands on the wheel, eyes on the road ahead. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts, too. But he wasn’t smiling.
She suspected he was pondering the frustrating situation he found himself in, thanks to the accident he’d had—or whatever violent incident in which he’d been involved. She nearly broached the subject of that amazing night in Colorado, but she let it go.
Until he had a better grasp on who he was or what had happened to him, there wasn’t much to say, other than conjecture and a lot of what-ifs.
Of course, she had her own reasons for keeping quiet on the drive home, too. Her thoughts and memories were too special, too heart stirring. And, if truth be told, they were too heated to forget.
As the pickup pulled into the yard, Rascal and Chewie trotted out of the barn with tails wagging, barking out to welcome them home.
Alana o
pened the passenger door and, with Licorice in her arms, greeted the dogs. “Hey, guys. Chill. I brought you a new friend.”
Licorice didn’t seem too sure about that claim, as she nuzzled into Alana’s chest, apprehensive of the unfamiliar surroundings and the two dogs who appeared more eager to meet her than she was to meet them.
“They’re not going to hurt her,” Clay said. “Just set her down and let them get to know each other.”
He was probably right. Alana bent and placed Licorice on the ground, and before long, the three dogs were sniffing each other and running around like newly acquainted fur buddies.
“See? What’d I tell you?” Clay placed a gentle hand on Alana’s back in a sweet, affable gesture, but it sent an unexpected tingle of warmth straight through her. “They’ve become friends already.”
Just like her and Clay. The word had a nice ring to it. But as the warmth of his touch heated, the idea that they’d grown to be friends morphed into something steamier—the fact that they could become lovers again.
She turned to face him, and his splayed fingers trailed away from her back. Their gazes met and locked. Something strong and powerful passed between them, although she’d be darned if she knew what it was. A Colorado memory for sure. A vital connection of some kind. An unbreakable bond?
Before she could possibly give it a name, Clay reached for her face with his right hand and cupped her jaw. His calloused thumb caressed her cheek, singeing her skin and turning her brains to mush.
Before she could decide how to respond to the arousing turmoil he caused her, he placed his left index finger underneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. Her lips parted, and he brushed his mouth across hers.
Unable to help herself, she slipped into his embrace as if she belonged there, as if they’d never been apart, and leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his broad chest. She savored his heady scent—leather, a manly soap and a hint of musk.
He urged her mouth open, and she allowed his tongue to sweep inside and mate with hers until her knees weakened. The sweet, arousing assault intensified until she feared she’d melt into a puddle on the ground if she didn’t hold on tight.
As their hands stroked and caressed each other’s bodies, a blast of desire surged to her core, creating an empty ache only he could fill.
She’d told herself she wasn’t going to make love with him again. Not until they both knew his true identity and could make a decision based on facts rather than lust. But right now, her hormones had taken her common sense hostage, and she wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
She might have kissed him until sunrise tomorrow, but he was the first to end it as he slowly drew his lips from hers.
“Damn, Alana.” He let out a little whistle and shook his head. “My memory may have taken a long hike to nowhere, but you’d think I’d remember a kiss like that.”
“You don’t?” she asked, her voice coming out all soft and wispy.
“I certainly won’t forget this one. And I’d give anything to relive that night we met.”
So would she.
“I’d ask you to go with me to my bedroom,” he added, “but...”
Her heartbeat stammered. “But what?”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, then blew out a sigh. “I can see why we made love that night in Colorado. I no doubt found you captivating.” He reached up and fingered a strand of her wavy dark hair. “And I’m certainly taken by you now. But something doesn’t feel right about falling into a relationship when I don’t know who I am.”
She could understand that. It went without saying that he might be married or seriously dating someone. Maybe not on the night they met, because he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d cheat. But a lot could happen in four months.
As if reading her mind, he said, “I can’t remember if there’s someone else in my life, but I don’t think we should complicate things by making love again until I know for sure.”
She stepped back, frozen, as if he’d thrown a bucket of ice water on her desire.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I want to take you to bed, more than anything right now, except...”
She knew what he meant, and while she was disappointed, it was an honorable decision. So shouldn’t she chalk that up as just one more attribute to put on his good-guy list? That is, unless he’d been married when they’d met and he’d taken advantage of her in Colorado.
“Are you okay with waiting?” he asked.
Maybe.
“I hope you understand,” he added.
“Yes, of course.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry, Clay. I’m sure your memory will come back. It’s just a matter of when. And at that time, we can decide if we want our friendship to develop into something more.” That is, unless you need to run home to someone else.
“Then, that’s the plan.” He cupped her cheek, then brushed a brotherly kiss on her brow. Only trouble was, she wasn’t having sisterly feelings for him. And friendship didn’t cut it, either. Because she’d begun to think that Clay just might be everything she’d ever wished for in a man.
Then again, she could be wrong about that. And she had a baby to think about, to protect. She also had to protect herself.
How much more disappointment could her battered heart take?
* * *
After feeding the dogs and making sure they were settled in the barn, Alana retreated to her room. Alone. But her mind hadn’t let her sleep. Instead, it kept replaying memories of that night in Colorado, as well as that kiss they’d shared in the yard, creating a never-ending loop. And to make matters worse, the latest blasted kiss had been even better than those she remembered.
After tossing and turning and pounding her fist into her pillow a hundred times trying her best to get comfortable, she’d finally dozed off around two, although she still hadn’t gotten any real rest. Just knowing that the gorgeous hunk was only a few steps down the hall, stretched out on the guest bed, all tall and buff and sexy, had her hormones running amok.
No wonder she’d lost her head over him in Colorado. And if he hadn’t come to his senses first, she might have done it again last night. He’d barely placed his lips on hers when memories of their lovemaking in his hotel room had exploded in her mind, and she’d been sorely tempted to take him by the hand, lead him into the house and straight to her bedroom.
I can’t remember if there’s someone else in my life, he’d said, but I don’t think we should complicate things by making love again until I know for sure.
The truth of that had been staggering, but she’d had to agree. Their chemistry might be off the charts, but that didn’t mean anything until they both learned who he really was. Heck, she didn’t even know his last name! And try as she might, she couldn’t still the little voice at the back of her mind that kept asking, Is there another woman in his life?
As all the insecurities that had plagued her over her first twenty years popped up, she batted them down in a game of whack-a-mole, determined to come out a permanent winner.
Finally, around nine o’clock, she got out of bed and took a shower. Now, as she stood in front of the full-length bedroom mirror and tried to zip up her jeans to no avail, she grimaced and gave up.
“That’s it,” she muttered. So much for leaving the top button undone and hiding her growing girth with a baggy shirt or blouse. The gap in her waistband was going to be too difficult to cover before she knew it. And that meant she couldn’t hide it from Clay much longer. She’d have to tell him before he figured it out on his own. At the rate her belly was expanding, she’d better do it soon—like in the next day or so. All she had to do was find the right words to say, gather the courage to say them and then face the consequences.
In the meantime... She blew out a ragged sigh. She’d put off the inevitable for as long as she could. As much as she hated to
tap into her limited savings account, she’d have to bite the financial bullet and buy a few more suitable outfits.
But that didn’t mean she’d have to venture off to a big city to find a fancy mall or department store. A couple of months ago, while she’d been at the bank in downtown Fairborn, she’d spotted a shop that sold secondhand clothing on the corner of Aspen and Main. The sign over the door read Wear It Again, Sam, which seemed like a clever name for a store selling gently used clothes, but the display in the front window suggested it also offered vintage outfits, which had intrigued her.
So what if she ended up looking like a flower child from the 1960s? Or Cyndi Lauper in the ’80s? People might think she had an artsy, eccentric side. That was certainly better than looking as if she was strapped for cash.
What would Clay think of her new style? Not that it really mattered, she supposed. If he was as rich as he’d seemed to be the night they met, then their relationship wouldn’t stand the chance of a floating ice cube in a mug of steaming English breakfast tea.
And speaking of breakfast, she’d better eat. Every now and then, she still got a little nauseous if she didn’t keep something in her stomach. So she removed her pants, hung them back in the closet and slipped on a pair of stretchy black leggings. Then, after putting on a roomy red flannel shirt that once belonged to her grandfather, she padded down the hall and crossed the small living room. She paused for a moment and studied the worn but cozy sofa, where she and Grandpa had sat many evenings, getting to know each other while enjoying the warm fire on the hearth.
Tears stung the backs of her eyes. How she wished that the real Jack McGee was still here, that she could still tap into his trove of memories, his love, his guidance. Maybe he’d suggest the perfect way for her to level with Clay and explain why she’d kept her secret to herself.
She took a deep, fortifying breath, then slowly let it out and headed for the kitchen, the aroma of a hearty breakfast growing stronger with each step she took.
