Weren’t they?
She slid onto one bench, laid her purse aside and folded her hands together. She felt prim and stuffy, out of place in the dim lights, loud music and smoky atmosphere of the bar. Of course, her work clothes didn’t help any. At least with his jeans, boots and T-shirt, Martin fit right in. All he needed was a cowboy hat over that nice blond hair.
“Do you like country music?”
“I can take it or leave it.” Truthfully, she never listened to it—not always an easy feat to accomplish living in Dallas.
“What do you like?”
“A little rock, a little classical. The blues.”
“B. B. King, John Lee Hooker, Buddy Guy? ‘Stormy Monday’?”
“I love that song.” He grinned, and she found herself smiling back. “Maybe you’re from the South.”
“Because I like the blues?”
“Because when I came out of the office, you said ‘hey’ instead of ‘hi.’ Isn’t that a Southern thing?”
He shrugged. “I don’t have a Southern accent.”
“As far as I can tell, you don’t have any accent at all. Maybe you just lived there.”
Another shrug. “You have an accent. You sound Texan—lazy and sultry and—”
The waitress, dressed in a short little flirty denim skirt, a snug red cowboy shirt and red cowboy boots, interrupted with “What’ll you have?”
More of what he was saying, Juliet thought, both dreamy over his comment and disappointed that it’d been cut short. Sultry. No one had ever called her anything even remotely close.
She ordered pop, and so did Martin, and she followed his lead in ordering dinner: burger with cheese and spicy fries. When the waitress brought their drinks a moment later, Juliet scanned the room. Martin seemed to be the only man in the place without a long-necked beer clutched in one hand. Not that he needed beer to prove his masculinity. He could walk to the bar and order a glass of warm milk, and no one would have the nerve to say a word about it. “Do you drink?”
“Occasionally, but I have to be careful not to overdo. It’s too big a risk for me.”
“Do you think that, or do you know it?”
“I know it.” He didn’t offer an explanation of how he knew, just a grim, almost bleak look and the slow, unconscious stroking of his fingers over the scar on his left arm. Souvenir of a drunken barroom brawl? Maybe he’d been an alcoholic in his previous life, or someone else important in that life had had a drinking problem.
“What did you do this afternoon?” she asked, seeking any mundane topic of conversation that could chase away the sorrow in his eyes.
“I’m doing a little work at one of the churches—some stripping, painting, minor remodeling.”
“I thought you weren’t a carpenter.”
“I’m not, but I’m cheap, and the church doesn’t have much money. I just follow the pastor’s directions, and he prays for the best.”
“Sometimes that’s all it takes.”
The music went quiet as, across the room, a young man bent over a guitar and tuned the instrument. There were others on the bandstand with him, kids who looked too young to drink where they played. After a few minutes fiddling with the instruments, the band was ready. Without ado, the young man stepped up to the microphone and eased into the first song.
“The bands around here are usually kids from the college,” Martin said. “Some of them are pretty good.”
Grand Springs College was a small school that co-owned the library with the city. They provided Juliet with Internet access both on and off the job and had tempted her with the possibility of earning a graduate degree someday. At least it would be something to fill her evenings.
Even if she preferred filling them this way.
“Do you like to dance?”
There were only a few couples on the dance floor, couples much better acquainted with each other than she and Martin. They must be, to get so close, to move so intimately. Her cheeks turning pink, she looked back at him. “Actually, I don’t know how.”
“What do you mean you don’t know how? Didn’t you go to your high school dances?”
“I was on the decorating committee for both the homecoming dance and the prom, but no, I didn’t go.”
“Why not?”
The pink in her face turned red. “No one asked me, and frankly, if anyone had, I would have turned him down.”
“Were you too shy to date?”
She nodded, though “too shy to get anyone’s attention” was more like it.
“I think I probably liked shy girls.”
Although she was convinced he was wrong—he’d probably been the captain of the football team, and he’d probably dated the pretty, perky, every-boy’s-dream head cheerleader—she humored him. “Why do you think that?”
“Because there’s something damned appealing about the women they become.”
Her flush turned to heat—lazy, indolent, seeping into every pore, warming her blood, threatening to steam. If she could swallow, she would. If she could pick up her pop for a cooling drink without making the glass sizzle, she would. If she could come up with something smart or provocative or witty to offer in response… Smart she knew-provocative and witty she didn’t—and smart said don’t make assumptions. Don’t fall for a line. Keep it business.
She was seeking something perfectly businesslike to say when he spoke again. “I can teach you to dance.”
Her gaze shot to the couples on the floor, each holding the other so close that there wasn’t room for a breath between them. She’d never been that close to a man in her life unless they were both naked and doing something wild. To get that close—even fully dressed and in public—to Martin required more courage and grace than she’d ever possessed. “I couldn’t.”
“Of course you could.” He rose from the table, took her hand and pulled her to the edge of the dance floor. “Put your arms around my neck and come closer…closer…. Relax…just let me move and you follow. It’s as easy as sex—”
God was in heaven, and he took pity on her. The song ended, and the band moved without pause into the next, a rousing tune that required more dexterity than her feet were capable of. Gratefully, she pulled free of Martin and returned to the booth. His expression as he sat down opposite was part regret, part teasing. “You do indulge in sex from time to time, don’t you?”
Wide-eyed, she stared at him. Not in a long time, too long, and never with a man like him.
“Oh, well, next time,” he said as the waitress set plates in front of them.
Next time. She’d waited all her life for this time. With her luck, next time would never come.
The food was good, the music by turns loud or low and mournful. She ate, watched everyone but Martin and tried to think of something to say. When the silence was finally broken, though, it was by Martin. “What would you rather be doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look like you’re a million miles away. Doing what? And with whom?”
He sounded defensive, which made her answer with more honesty than she normally would have offered. “Looking for something to talk about. With you. I never really developed a talent for small talk. I learned to speak when I had something to say and not to chatter the rest of the time.”
“So let’s talk computers. You can tell me all about them.”
“Except that you don’t want to learn all about them. Your interests are more physical. Active. Outdoors.”
He grinned. “I don’t know about the outdoors part, but I do like physical and active.” His sexy grin spelled out for her exactly what he was referring to, then he controlled it. “That’s the thing about amnesia. You never know what your interests are or how they stack up against what they used to be. I like spicy food. Did I always, or is this something new? I have a weakness for blue-eyed blondes. Has that always been true, or before the accident did I prefer green-eyed redheads? Did I like country music and wear suits and work nine to five, or would I
have chosen smashing a steel guitar over listening to one?”
“You may never know.”
He shook his head adamantly. “No. I can’t live with that.”
“You may have no choice, Martin.”
“No. I at least have to know if I’m—” Breaking off, he shook his head again.
If he was married? If he was a criminal? If he was someone he could bear to be? She regretted that she had no answers for him.
“Are you ready?”
“Let me stop by the ladies’ room.” She had to cross the dance floor and circle the opposite end of the bar to reach the narrow hall that led to the bathrooms. On her return trip, she didn’t make it to the end of the hall before a cowboy with the requisite beer blocked her path.
“Whoa there, darlin’. The evenin’ is young. No one’s in a hurry.”
“Excuse me.” She stepped to one side, but he blocked her again.
“I haven’t seen you in here before. Jimmy Ray knows everybody in the Saloon. I ought to, considering I spend my every evening here.”
“You’re right, Jimmy Ray, you haven’t seen me here before. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” When she tried to slip past, he caught her wrist in his free hand.
“What’s your rush, little girl? You come and have a drink with Jimmy Ray and maybe a two-step or two. I can show you a real good time.”
She bet he could, if she weren’t too smart and he weren’t too drunk. He was young and cute, and, like most women, she had a fondness for cute cowboys. Drunk, pushy and manhandling ones, though, weren’t her style.
She tried to twist free, but he held her tighter, his fingers biting into her skin. “I’m not interested in a good time. I’m going home now, so let go or—”
“Or what, sugar? What’re you gonna do?” He pulled until she was against his chest and barely able to breathe. “I’ll tell you what you’re gonna do, darlin’, you’re gonna have a dance and a beer or two with me, and then you’re gonna—”
“Let her go.”
Relief swept through Juliet at the sight of Martin standing behind the cowboy. In the cramped hallway, he looked taller, broader-shouldered and tougher than he ever had before, and his voice was cold enough to freeze fire.
“Go away, man. Find your own woman. This one’s already taken.”
She wriggled, but the cowboy’s arm was around her waist now, and all she accomplished was rubbing suggestively against him. “Let me go, Jimmy Ray,” she pleaded. “Don’t cause any trouble.”
Martin clamped his fingers around the cowboy’s arm and bent it up behind his back, freeing Juliet in the process. As she scrambled away, he shoved Jimmy Ray face first into the wall, then leaned close. “You’re right. She is taken. She’s mine. Now, apologize to the lady.”
“Listen, man, I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was with you—”
“To her, not me.”
“It’s okay, Martin. Let’s just go—”
“Tell her you’re sorry and it’ll never happen again.”
He squirmed, but when Martin twisted his arm higher, a spasm of pain crossed his face and he became still. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean no harm.”
“And it’ll never happen again.”
“It won’t, I swear it.”
“It’s all right. Please, Martin, let him go.”
After a moment, Martin shoved him away. Jimmy Ray stumbled, hit the opposite wall, then staggered off into the men’s room, complaining as he went about the pain in his shoulder. After another moment, Martin faced her. His eyes were grim enough, his expression savage enough, to frighten her far more than the drunken cowboy ever could. She swallowed hard, then touched his hand. “Thank you.”
Slowly, the worst of the threat seeped away, and he gestured toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
Darkness had fallen, but the street was brightly lit. Martin wished for shadows as they made their silent way back to the police department and Juliet’s car. This wasn’t the first time since the accident that he’d gotten into a situation that could have easily turned violent, but this was the first time that he’d wanted it to. He’d wanted to smash his fist into the cowboy’s face, to break a few bones and loosen a few teeth so that the next time the bastard wanted to harass some woman, he’d think twice.
But Martin could well imagine Juliet’s reaction if he’d taken it any further than he had. Hell, he didn’t have to imagine. He’d seen the fear in her eyes for a split second before she’d swallowed over that lump in her throat and thanked him. Fear. Of him.
They were only a few yards from her car when he finally spoke. “I would never hurt you.” But the promise didn’t come out as absolute and unwavering as he’d intended, because the awful truth was, he didn’t know whether he would. He knew he could have killed that cowboy. He knew, suspected—feared—that he’d killed in the past. When he remembered that past, when he again became the man he’d once been, who knew what he would be capable of?
Not hurting Juliet. God help him, he couldn’t be capable of that.
She fished her keys from her bag before looking at him. “If I thought you would, I wouldn’t be here with you.” She stated it simply, flatly, not open to argument. “Can I give you a ride?”
“I would appreciate it.” He settled in the passenger seat, the shoulder and lap belt fastened. He’d been wearing the seat belt that night, in the storm. Unfastening his seat belt was his first memory after the fact that his head hurt like a son of a bitch and the realization that he’d smashed up the car.
“Do you need to stop anywhere?”
“I would like to make a detour, if you don’t mind. It won’t take a minute.” At her nod, he directed her to Aspen Street and Grace Tabernacle. She pulled to a stop in front of the building, and he leaned forward to see past her. The building was still and dark, except for one yellow light burning inside.
“Is this the church where you’re working?”
“Yeah. I’ve been here before. I knew how the rooms looked, how the floor plan was laid out, before I saw it. I remembered…”
“Maybe when you were here before, you attended services here.”
“Maybe. I don’t feel like the church type.”
He felt the wryness of her look. “What type do you feel like? The sinner?”
He’d certainly indulged in sinful thoughts, especially since she’d come to town.
“Maybe you lived here for a time when you were a boy, and your family attended this church, but you moved away while you were still young. That would explain how you know things about the town and why no one knows you.”
He thought his connection to Grand Springs might be more than that—worse than that—but he accepted her suggestion with a shrug.
“We could talk to the minister or some of the church members. Maybe they could narrow what you remember to a specific time period.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know. See if the church still has records on members back then. Locate some old city directories and find out who left town during that period. See if the schools still have records on students from that time.”
“Talk about your needle in a haystack. That sort of search would take forever.”
“Time is the one thing you have plenty of.”
That was true. And even if the search was fruitless, at least he would have a few names to add to his list of people he wasn’t.
“Maybe I’ve never been here,” he remarked as she pulled away. “Maybe I’m remembering things that someone else told me.”
“I suppose it’s possible.”
And it meant that he would never find out who he was unless that someone happened to return home and recognized him.
When she would have turned toward his apartment instead of her house, he stopped her. “I’ll walk home from your place.”
“I don’t mind. It’s just a few blocks—”
“Not too far to walk.” He would rather see her safely home, would rather increase the odds
of being asked in for a while.
With a nod, she turned and, a moment later, parked in her driveway. The house was dark, not even a porch light shining, and looked less welcoming, less homey, than last night.
She didn’t ask until she was on the porch and he stood at the bottom of the steps. “Want to come in?”
“Sure.” More than she could imagine. More than he could admit.
She opened the door and switched on the porch, hall and living room lights. While she did so, he stopped just inside, listening, smelling potpourri and the scent of her cologne, faint, tantalizing, like bits of a forgotten dream. He knew her clothes smelled of the same fragrance—he’d smelled it in those few seconds he’d held her stiffly in his arms on the dance floor—and wondered if her skin did, too. It would be so easy to find out, to strip off the navy pants that didn’t flatter her and the businesslike blouse that did, to lower his head until his mouth brushed against her, to stroke the places that might reveal the scent—the tender skin on the inside of her wrists, the long line of her throat, the soft, pale skin between her breasts.
Ah, hell, why didn’t he just go find one of those two-thousand-foot drops they’d talked about last night and throw himself over? It couldn’t be any worse torment for him, and it would certainly be less dangerous for her.
She sat down on the sofa. He went only as far as the armchair. She again wore the look that meant she was trying to find something to talk about—small talk. He wasn’t interested in small talk. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her. He wanted to confide the last little detail of his dreams to her. He wanted to vent his frustration over yet another day of not knowing who or what he was. He wanted—
“I appreciate your intervention with Jimmy Ray at the Saloon.”
She had called the cowboy by name earlier, but it hadn’t registered. From the instant he’d looked up and seen the man grab her, he’d been too furious to notice anything else. They could have been the only three people in the world for all he’d known. Now he wondered. “You know him?”
She shook her head.
“But you know his name.”
“He introduced himself, along with an invitation for a beer and a two-step.” She smiled faintly. “He was just drunk and probably harmless—”
You Must Remember This Page 6
