by Sharon Sala
She had just driven Chance to his last doctor’s appointment and the checkup had been good. Unless he had new or recurring complications, he was released.
“Well, bossy, since I don’t remember what the hell my old routine was, I don’t suppose I’ll be resuming it, will I?”
Chance’s sarcastic drawl was not lost on Jenny. She’d almost overstepped her bounds again. And she knew that he was becoming frustrated by the fact that he’d had no other signs that would indicate his memory was returning since the time he’d inadvertently called her Jennifer Ann.
“Good!” she said sharply. “Those Saturday night women can go find someone else.”
A dark, red flush crept up his neck and face. “For God’s sake, Jennifer! Did I have any secrets from you?”
She grinned. “Not enough to brag about.”
Chance bolted. Jenny watched him stomp into the bunkhouse and slam the door shut behind him. Good! she thought. She wanted him to wonder about their relationship. She wanted him nervous about what she knew and what he couldn’t remember. It could be the only chance she’d have to get under his skin and find out why he wouldn’t have committed to her.
Jenny drove back to the house and parked. She bumped into her father as he came out of the den.
“Where are you going?” she asked, watching him shift a garment bag and an overnight carryall to a more comfortable position. “Another trip, I suppose.”
Marcus frowned. The tone of her voice pricked his conscience. He’d never wondered or worried before about what Jenny did when he was gone. This awareness of his daughter was bringing new concerns into his life.
“I’ve got to fly to Houston, honey,” he said. “Want to come? All you need to do is grab a couple of changes of clothes. If you forget anything, you can always go shopping.”
Jenny gaped. She was nearly twenty-four years old and never…absolutely never before…had Marcus ever invited her to go with him. “With you?”
He smiled. The sarcastic tone in his voice was not lost on Jenny. “Hell yes, girl. With me. Do you want to go?”
She sighed. He’d just asked her something that once she’d have given a year of her life to hear. Now was a different story.
“I don’t want to be away from Chance.”
Marcus frowned. “He wouldn’t let you near him when he was well. Don’t take advantage of the fact that he doesn’t remember that, missy,” he said.
A deep, abiding pain began to curl in the pit of her stomach. “You didn’t have to remind me, Marcus,” she said sharply. “I don’t forget anything. I’m not allowed to.”
“I didn’t mean it the way…”
“Drop it,” Jenny said. “Have a safe trip.”
He knew he’d hurt her. He could see her blinking back tears. But it had been years since he’d seen his daughter cry. He suspected it would be a lot longer before she allowed him that familiarity. A parent had to earn the right to love. Of all the things he’d earned and accumulated in his lifetime, the right to love his only child was not one of them.
He frowned and then sighed. Apologies were not in his vocabulary. “I’ll be back late tomorrow,” he said. “If you need me for anything, check the papers on my desk. There’s a phone number and the name of my hotel where I can be reached in emergency.”
Jenny nodded.
“Jenny—”
“Have a safe trip, Marcus,” she said. She wasn’t in the mood for any more of his advice.
And then he was gone.
Less than fifteen minutes later, Juana came into Jenny’s room with a piece of paper in her hand.
“Jenny! Where’s Marcus?” she asked.
“He’s gone, but not forgotten,” Jenny said, ignoring the look of rebuke she knew Juana would be wearing. “Does he have a message?”
Juana nodded. “I think it will be important to him,” she answered.
“Give it to me,” she said. “I’ll phone his hotel. When he arrives, the message will be waiting.”
Juana nodded and handed Jenny the message. “Are you going to eat dinner here tonight?”
Jenny shrugged. The thought of a long, lonesome evening loomed. And then an idea surfaced. “Yes! In fact, we’re all going to eat here. Let’s have a cookout on the patio. Thaw some steaks. I’ll tell Henry and the boys.”
Juana teased her. “Don’t forget to tell Chance. It would be a shame if he—”
“Shut up, smarty,” Jenny said, softening her words with a smile. “You know entirely too much about me for my own peace of mind.”
“I know I love you, niña,” Juana said. “And I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I’m not going to be hurt. Chance wouldn’t hurt me.”
“This Chance is not our old Chance, and you know it,” Juana reminded her, and silenced Jenny with a look.
Jenny headed for her father’s study. She shuffled through the papers on his desk and finally located the brochure with the hotel address and number that he’d circled. She dialed the number, read the message twice to the desk clerk, and then hung up with a feeling of accomplishment. Marcus’s plans would not go awry and neither would hers. She had a special plan for tonight after the meal. She was going to resurrect some old home movies. The men always loved to see themselves in action, and she knew that Chance was in many of the shots. Maybe this would help jog his memory. It couldn’t hurt.
Chance watched Jenny flit from one group of men to the other, playing hostess one minute, and reverting to “one of the boys” the next. She kept slipping glances in his direction when she thought he wasn’t looking, but, true to her claim, she’d more or less left him alone. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or disappointed. His fingers curled around the cold bottle of beer in his hand and knew that holding that beer was not what he wanted to do. Holding Jenny seemed much more necessary…and important.
“What’s for dessert?” Henry asked, as Jenny scraped the last of the potato salad onto his plate.
“Movies,” she answered, and grinned at the men’s cheers of delight.
“Show last year’s roundup,” one called.
“No, show the Labor Day barbecue where Shorty and Pete got into a fight over Hettie Williams,” another one said.
“How about the time…”
The catcalls and rude jokes flew around the yard as the men hurried to move their chairs onto the flagstone patio where Juana had erected a portable screen. Henry quickly took over the duty of projectionist, thereby assuring himself that he could run whatever film he chose, and took bets on whether Shorty or Pete would be the first to lose their temper when the movie was shown. It was still a source of contention with them that Hettie Williams had ignored them both and gone home with a cowboy from a neighboring ranch. They blamed each other for her abandonment.
Chance turned away and walked into the shadows. It was almost dark, a perfect time for outdoor viewing of the promised movies, and a perfect time to slip away. The need to run was strong, as was the need to remember. The moment he’d heard her announcement, he’d known what had prompted her decision to show the movies.
A feeling of dismay mingled with one of excitement. If he watched, maybe something would trigger a memory that would bring him back to normal. And, if he did watch and nothing happened, it only made his condition more hopeless…more final.
“Are you mad at me?” Jenny asked.
He turned at the sound of her voice.
Her hand slid tentatively up his shoulder.
“No, Jenny. Why would I be mad? It’s obvious the men are looking forward to the treat.”
“Because I think you know why I did it,” she said. “And I swear, if this feels like pressure, you have every right to tell me so.”
Chance was quiet. Jenny held her breath.
“I want to see,” he finally answered. “But I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything,” Jenny said.
“I think I want to see these without being a part of the crowd. Let me watch from back here, in the shadows. I don’t w
ant to run interference between what I’m seeing, and what you might feel obligated to remind me of. Can you do that much for me, Jenny?”
“I’ll do anything for you. You’ve always known that.”
She hid her disappointment. She’d envisioned sitting beside him while his past came to life before his eyes, dreamed of seeing remembrance come flooding back. Obviously, he didn’t expect that to happen, and thought it was naive of her that she had.
“Roll ’em, Henry,” she called as she walked away from Chance. “And the first one to start a fight has to clean up the party mess.”
Chance grinned as the men muttered under their breaths. Jenny knew them well. They’d rather feed pigs than do “woman’s work.” And a cowboy does not willingly set foot around a pig.
Images danced through the night on the beam of light from the projector and jumped onto the screen, bringing a portion of the past to life. It didn’t take long for the laughter to follow, as Henry’s weathered face and hitched gait filled the screen.
He was leading a horse toward Jenny, who sat perched on the top rail of the corral. The smile on her face kicked Chance in the gut. And when she vaulted off the fence and threw her arms first around Henry, and then around the horse’s neck, he swallowed harshly. It was a Jenny he’d never seen. This one wasn’t scolding, or wearing a continual frown of worry. She was unconscious of her beauty, unconcerned with her clothing, and looked to be in her teens.
Firecrackers went off beneath a bystander’s feet, telling Chance that it must have been a Fourth of July celebration that was being filmed. A man walked into the picture, and Jenny’s face lit up like a roman candle. Absolute and total devotion was obvious. When the man turned around and made a face at the camera, Chance caught his breath. It’s me! He had no memory at all of the occasion. Jenny was handing him a bridle that he slipped over the horse’s head. She was smiling and laughing and clapping her hands as the crowd around her began singing.
It took Chance a minute to decipher the song, since this movie had no sound. Happy Birthday! They were singing Happy Birthday to Jenny! His breathing quickened and he stiffened as he watched Jenny throw her arms around his neck and plant a swift kiss on his cheek before allowing him to help her mount the horse. Because he was looking for it…because subconsciously he’d always known it was there…he didn’t miss the intense look of love that Jenny gave him before she turned the horse’s head and rode off amid cheers and birthday greetings from the crowd.
It was too much! Chance knew that the rest of the night would simply be a rerun of similar scenes and similar people. He didn’t have to remember it to know that Jenny Tyler loved him. He’d felt it through the darkness in the hospital, when he had no memory at all…when there was nothing in his life but misery and pain.
What he didn’t know, and what he couldn’t face, was the depth of his own feelings for the boss’s daughter, and memory of what, if anything, had ever happened between them. He turned and walked away, hidden by night shadows.
Jenny saw him go and resisted an urge to cry. It would do no good. And it would be too obvious if she bolted after him. Damn this all to hell, she thought. Why can’t you remember me, Chance McCall? Injury or not, I’d have to be dead not to remember you.
It seemed like a lifetime, but it was less than an hour later before Jenny could find an excuse to slip away from the party and leave the men to their enjoyment of the old films.
She didn’t need a flashlight to find her way to the foreman’s bunkhouse. The moon was three-quarters full, but she could have found her way there in her sleep. Her step echoed loudly as she walked across the planked porch. She bit her lip and cursed under her breath, wishing that she’d had the foresight to be more quiet.
It wouldn’t have mattered. Chance had been watching the moonlight and shadows on the drive for nearly an hour. He’d known that she would come. He opened the door before she could knock. They stared, each holding their breath, waiting for the other to make the first move. And when it happened, neither knew or cared. She was in his arms.
“I knew you’d come,” he whispered, as he wrapped his arms around her. He trailed kisses against her face and down the side of her neck. “I always seem to know when you’re around. I don’t know my own goddamn name, but I can always feel your presence.”
“Chance!” It was all she could say. His words broke her heart and at the same time gave her hope. Maybe it didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember the past. It was obvious that he cared for her now.
He pulled her into the bunkhouse and kicked the door shut with his boot heel as he walked them both to his bed. The springs creaked quietly, once, as they stretched out on the old, blue patchwork quilt. Then all was silent. The only sounds in the darkness were of breaths caught and stopped, only to be released as swiftly in passion.
Jenny’s world was tilting. There was nothing left but this big man’s body and the touch of his mouth. The whispers in her ear and the feel of him growing beneath her hands as she pulled him closer. The heat of flesh upon flesh as clothing disappeared and the knowledge that something she’d prayed for was about to happen.
Chance moved his mouth across her face, taking and marking with his lips the virgin territory of Jenny Tyler. She melted beneath him, pliant and willing as he unbuttoned, unsnapped, and tasted her, this wild, wonderful woman who’d pulled him from hell. Lush curves spilled from the wisp of bra he unsnapped, filling his hands. He caressed and revered the woman beneath him. Memory had no place in the feelings she evoked. Passion was everything, here and now.
He felt himself swelling against his zipper until he thought he would burst if she moved another inch beneath him, and still he could not bring himself to make the final journey. Something kept holding him back from taking what she was obviously willing to give.
Her lips opened beneath his mouth, and the moan that slipped down his throat sent shudders all the way to his soul. It was at the same time a moan of need, and a moan of submission. He knew that she would not stop him. And it was that knowledge that gave him the impetus to stop himself. That, and the memory of how long this had been between them. She remembered. He did not. It wasn’t right.
Jenny felt his withdrawal. The heat on her bare body cooled almost instantly as he lifted himself up and rolled away. Bitter tears sprang into her eyes as she caught her breath, swallowing harsh accusations as he once again pulled away from making love to her. Only she would remember that this wasn’t the first time it had happened. Her heart felt about to break into tiny pieces. He may not remember that he wouldn’t make love to me before, but obviously his heart does.
“Jenny…I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It would be cheating you if…”
“Oh hell, honey,” she said sharply, “don’t let it bother you.” She started to roll away.
“No,” he muttered. He slid his arm beneath her bare shoulders and yanked her against his chest. He heard her pain. It intensified his own regret.
“It’ll bother me a hell of a lot longer than it will you,” he answered. “And I didn’t stop for my health, that’s for damn sure.”
Jenny sighed. Fighting would get them nowhere. She shouldn’t have come, and she knew it. Even her own father had warned her about trading on his memory loss for her own gain. It had backfired, just as he’d warned. She had only herself to blame.
“I don’t know why you stopped,” she said, the weariness in her voice dragging out her words, “but I shouldn’t have come. It’s my fault, too.”
Chance sighed and pulled her against him, pillowing her head against his chest.
“Lie with me, Jennifer Ann. I have this overwhelming urge to sleep, and I don’t want to do it alone.”
Tears slipped quietly down her face as she rolled over and wrapped her arms around his chest. Everything about her ached, from her head to her heart. But leaving Chance at this moment would have been suicide.
Nearly an hour passed, and Jenny thought he was asleep. The steady beat of his heart beneath he
r ear, and the even rise and fall of his chest, made her almost positive. But then the sound of his voice, and the content of his question scared her to death.
“Were we lovers, Jenny?” His voice was a caress against her skin, his hand moving gently but possessively up and down her spine as he settled her more securely in place.
For long moments, she was silent. Finally, she could answer. And when she did, it was as near to the truth as she could come and not lose the man in her arms forever.
“You’re the only man who’s ever made love to me. You’re the first and only man who taught me what passion felt like.”
Her words were quiet, but the depth of emotion was there. He heard it. He could feel it humming beneath her skin. The knowledge gave him roots. If they’d been there once, when he got well, they’d be there again.
“Good. Just remember that for future reference.”
Oh, Chance, Jenny thought. Without you, I have no future.
“I think I’d better go,” she said. “You should rest, and I better check and see if Marcus got the message I left for him at the hotel.”
The mention of her father changed his mood drastically. Instant guilt swept over him at the knowledge that he’d just nearly made love to his boss’s daughter. He had no idea what that would mean to the man. My God! What I wouldn’t do for a memory!
Jenny knew the moment she’d mentioned her father’s name that Chance would withdraw. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. Even if he was brain dead, Chance McCall wouldn’t step over the boundaries of his character and conscience. She’d give a lot to know what had marked this man.
“Chance?”
“What?” he asked, as she started out the door.
“If you let what happened tonight change what’s between us tomorrow, I’ll never forgive you.”
“It won’t, girl. I’ll mark it up as a weak moment. But I need to say this…and don’t misunderstand me. I don’t think it should happen again. Not now.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Her laugh caught on a quiet sob as she disappeared into the night. Chance rubbed his hand across his face and sank back down onto the bed. And what in the hell did she mean by that?
