by Sharon Sala
The room around her beckoned by the very fact that nothing looked familiar. She kicked off her shoes and headed for the closet to change into something more comfortable than the dress she was wearing. A few minutes later, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, she began by going through the drawers in her dresser and praying for a miracle.
Billy Mallory was confused. He’d been so certain they were going to die that he’d expected to wake up in heaven...or hell, whichever the case might be. He hadn’t been prepared for the pain, or the around-the-clock circus of needles, monitors and nurses, prodding, poking and talking about him as if he weren’t even there. Just because he chose to keep his mouth shut didn’t mean his brain was dead. The way he looked at it, he and Gordon were already in more trouble than they could say grace over. There was no use adding to the pot by spilling his guts in a druginduced stupor. Choosing sleep over worry, he closed his eyes, willing the flow of painkillers in his system to take him away to that place where sound doesn’t go.
“Hey. Billy boy, it’s me, Gordy.”
Billy opened his eyes. When he tried to speak, his tongue felt too thick for his mouth.
Gordon reached for a nearby cup and spooned up a chip of ice. “Here you go, buddy. Let’s have ourselves a little ice.”
Billy took the ice, grateful that someone understood his problem without his having to ask. The cold felt good on his tongue, and right now, the moisture it generated tasted better than his favorite cold beer.
“Umm,” he mumbled, indicating his appreciation.
Gordon grinned and patted his brother on the leg. “You just rest. I’ll talk. You listen.”
Billy blinked an okay, anxious to know what had been going on while he’d been unconscious. But that was before he heard what Gordon had to say.
Gordon leaned close, whispering in Billy’s ear. “Holly Benton is alive. Her father has taken her back to Vegas, and tomorrow morning, we’re flying there, as well.”
Billy’s eyes bugged as a nearby monitor suddenly beeped.
“No, no, you’re reading this all wrong,” Gordon said. “You don’t know the best part. She has amnesia. Not only does she not remember what happened to her, she also doesn’t remember her old man, or even her own name. We’re in the clear. And—” he almost giggled “—here’s the best part. Benton invited us to recuperate at the estate because I told him Holly and I had been eloping.”
Billy groaned and managed to mumble, “What about the crash? What are they saying?”
Gordon glanced over his shoulder, making certain they were still alone, and then continued. “As far as everyone is concerned, we don’t know what happened other than the plane suddenly lost pressure. You were supposedly up front talking to the captain and that’s why you were in the copilot’s seat. And I conveniently blacked out, so I don’t have to answer any awkward questions.”
Gordon chuckled, more to himself than to Billy. “It’s about as perfect as it gets.” Then his smile slipped. “Except for that spoiled brat of a female. I’d lay odds she’s still got that money and is playing it cagey, probably planning to keep it all for herself.”
Billy grabbed at Gordon’s arm. “No...not Vegas. Get away. We need to get away.”
Gordon frowned. “Don’t be foolish. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve got my hands on that money. And don’t give me any grief about this, because this mess is all your fault. Just be glad you’re my brother. Otherwise, I’d be inclined to break your fool neck.”
Holly was down on her knees and digging through a closet when someone knocked on her door.
“Come in,” she called.
Davis entered with a smile on his face. It didn’t stay there long.
“My stars, girl! What on earth are you doing?”
She rocked back on her heels and gave him a long, studied look.
“Looking for Holly Benton.”
Startled, Davis was at a momentary loss for words. Finally, he found the gumption to speak. “I’m sorry, but I don’t—”
She pulled a stack of letters from a box and then sat down without looking up.
“This is my room, right?”
“Yes.”
“So...everything in here would be mine, right?”
“I suppose so. I haven’t been any farther than the door in years.”
She glanced up. “Why not?”
The question startled him, and the longer he thought about it, the more he realized he didn’t have a good answer.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I just haven’t.”
“Weren’t we friends?”
Davis dropped down beside her, then reached out and brushed the side of her face with the back of his hand.
“Oh yes, Holly-berry, we’re friends. And you are loved. Even if you don’t remember that, please don’t doubt it.”
An odd sort of comfort settled within her. She nodded, then managed a smile.
“Just asking.”
Ignoring the fact that he was still wearing a very expensive suit, Davis sat down beside her, curious as to what she was reading.
“What do you have there?” he asked, pointing at the letters in her hand.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Looks like they are from someone named Shirley.”
Davis laughed. “Your college roommate, Shirley Ponselle. You two were inseparable during those years.”
Holly smiled. “Are we still friends?”
“I suppose, but it’s been years since you two communicated other than by letters. She’s an archaeologist and on a dig somewhere in South America.”
“Wow, an archaeologist. I’m impressed!” And then she thought. “What do I do?”
“What do you mean?” Davis asked.
“I mean, I graduated, didn’t I?”
“Yes, with honors,” he said proudly.
“What was my degree? What do I do for a living?”
Davis looked a bit uncomfortable, but he managed to answer. “You have a degree in literature.”
Holly’s mouth dropped. “Really! Do I teach?”
He shook his head. “No, dear, you don’t actually work in an official capacity. But you stay very busy, acting as hostess on my behalf and standing in for me at various functions when I’m unable to attend.”
She frowned. “I have a degree in literature and I don’t do anything but go to parties and spend money?”
Put like that, it sounded worse than it was, but Davis was unable to lie. “You make it sound worse than—”
She snorted beneath her breath. “A dilettante is a dilettante, no matter how you word it. No wonder you thought I was going to elope with that toad.”
Now it was Davis’s turn to look startled. “Gordon Mallory is no toad. He’s a well-established businessman.”
She stuffed the letters back in the box without reading them and got to her feet. From where she was standing, her father suddenly looked like a little old man and not the commanding figure he practiced to project.
“Whatever. I still say you’re way off the mark with this eloping.”
“Why?” Davis argued. “Just tell me why. You don’t remember me. You don’t remember living here. Why do you think you would remember Gordon?”
Holly offered him her hand, grunting as he pulled himself up. Then she picked a piece of fuzz off the hem of his jacket.
“It’s hard to explain,” she said. “Although it’s true I don’t exactly remember you, there are times when you say and do things that I know I’ve heard before.”
Davis looked pleased. He hadn’t realized she’d experienced any sort of progress.
“But that’s wonderful,” he said. “If one thing comes to you, then others will follow.”
“That’s what Roman said.” Then her mood turned pensive, and she looked away.
Davis saw the look in her eyes. He knew how reluctant she’d been to leave the man. His first instinct had been to take her and run back to Vegas, but now that he’d had time to think, it would seem that the Justi
ce man hadn’t done her harm. In fact, it was entirely due to Roman Justice that he had his Holly back. And then he remembered why he’d come.
“He called today.”
“Who called?” she asked.
“Roman Justice.”
Disappointment filled her voice. “Oh, no! Why didn’t somebody tell me? I was here.”
“Because I left orders for you not to be disturbed.”
Anger overwhelmed her, and it took everything in her not to shout.
“Without asking me first?”
“I’m sorry,” Davis said. “I didn’t think about him calling. I just thought about the people who might call that you wouldn’t remember. I was trying to protect you. Not deceive you.”
“Don’t do that again,” she said. “I want to talk to him. I have to talk to him. He’s very important to me. Do you understand?”
Davis sighed. “I wish you could hear yourself. You are all but raving about a man you hardly know.”
“I know enough,” she said shortly.
“He said he would call again tomorrow night.”
Holly relaxed, but only a little. The idea that she was being controlled in any way didn’t sit well.
Davis knew when to push and when to step back, and right now, retreating would be wise.
“I suppose we’d better change for dinner,” he said, and started out of the room. “We have about a half an hour.”
She looked down at her bare feet and the shorts and shirt she was wearing. Roman wouldn’t care what she wore to eat in. Then she smiled to herself. In fact, he liked her best when she wore nothing at all. And he would call tomorrow. It was enough for now.
“Okay,” she said, and then a thought came out of nowhere. “Oh, Mr. Benton...”
He interrupted her. “Please. If you can’t call me Dad, like you used to, at least call me Davis.”
At that moment, Holly truly felt sorry for what he must be going through.
“I’m sorry...Dad.”
The smile on Davis’s face was startling in intensity. “Thank you,” he said softly.
“You’re welcome.”
“What was it you wanted to tell me?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “About Roman. I want you to leave him alone.”
“But I had no intentions of—”
“You know how you are,” Holly said. “Every time a stranger comes on the horizon, you call that stupid service of yours and have them investigated and you—”
Both of them stopped, their faces mirroring the surprise they were feeling.
“Oh, my,” Davis said softly. “Oh, my.”
Holly sighed. “That’s the way it happens. Just when I think I can’t find my way out of a paper bag, along comes this neat pair of scissors and snips away a little bit more of that stuff clogging up my brain.”
“Okay,” Davis said.
She looked up. “Okay what?”
“Okay. No investigation. If you vouch for the man, then that’s good enough for me.”
For the first time since she’d walked through the front door of this house, it felt right to be here.
“Thank you...Dad.”
Davis retraced his steps long enough to hug her, and then left before she could object.
Even after he was gone, she still wore the smile on her face, and knew, somehow, it was going to be all right.
It was just after 3:00 a.m. when a siren broke the silence of the neighborhood in which Roman lived. Although the sound was common, it invaded his sleep and became part of his dream.
Holly was standing naked in the middle of a snowy field and crying tears that kept turning to ice. As soon as a tear would solidify, it would slide off of her face and onto the ground at her feet.
Roman called out her name, but she didn’t seem to hear. And then it began to snow and he started to run, fearing that she would freeze to death before he could reach her. But it wasn’t snowflakes that came out of the sky. It was hundred-dollar bills. They fell to earth, scattering with the wind wailing down the draw.
“Holly! Come to me! Hurry, hurry!”
Instead, she held up her arms, as if warding off the money falling down around her head, and before he could reach her, she disappeared before his eyes.
When he reached the spot where she’d been standing, all he could hear was the echo of her voice crying, “Money, money everywhere and not a cent to spend.”
He woke up with a jerk to find himself drenched in sweat and wrapped in a tangle of bedclothes.
“My God,” he muttered, and rolled out of bed.
Sweat was running down the middle of his back, and his heart was hammering as if he’d been running for miles. He thought back to the dream and groaned. He had been running, trying to get to Holly.
“This is crazy,” he said, and headed for the bathroom.
Moments later, he was standing beneath the shower head and washing away the sweat, as well as what was left of the dream. By the time he came out, the only thing left from the episode was a lingering reluctance to go back to bed. Instead, he headed for the kitchen for something cold to drink, welcoming the feel of the cool air against his bare body as he moved from room to room.
He opened the refrigerator and got a cold can of pop, rubbing it against his forehead for a few seconds before popping the top. The metal was smooth and chill against his skin, cooling the fever of the dream.
Roman.
Although the sound was only an echo in his mind, he instinctively shuddered, as if a ghost had just passed by. He was hearing her voice because he’d been dreaming of her. That’s all. She wasn’t in danger. There couldn’t be anything wrong because she was with her father. But the feeling wouldn’t go away.
Don’t let them take me.
He spun, this time actually searching the shadows for form and substance. Goose bumps broke out on his forearms, but he turned away, disgusted with himself and what he viewed as a weakness.
He popped the top of the can, listening to the carbonated hiss as the seal broke, then draining it in one continuous gulp before tossing the can in the trash. The sound of metal against metal broke the silence with an abruptness that made him blink.
Make love to me, Roman. I don’t want to forget.
His heart was aching as he turned away. Forget? Only if he died. Right or wrong, when they’d made love, he’d staked a claim on a woman he wasn’t willing to lose. What scared him to death was loving her now before she remembered her past. Then he sighed. But he’d known that from the start. It was a risk he’d been willing to take then. The least he could do was trust in her now and wait and see. And...he’d call her again tomorrow.
He glanced at the clock. It was already tomorrow. Too early to call anyone, even Royal, and too late to go back to sleep.
His belly growled, and he thought of the supper he hadn’t wanted last night. There wasn’t any food in the house, but somewhere out there was an all-night restaurant that had a steak with his name on it.
He reached for his pants.
Chapter 11
It was just after 10:00 a.m. when Roman got to the ranch. The worst was behind him, and knowing that he would be talking to Holly this evening had him in a better mood.
He parked and reached for the sack on the seat beside him just as the front door opened. Madeline Michelle Justice teetered out on the porch, wearing a bright green T-shirt that hung down to her ankles, with a pair of red high-heeled shoes peeking out from beneath the hem. There was a moth-eaten feather boa around her neck and trailing the ground behind her, as well as a lady’s straw hat that had completely blocked all vision from her left eye.
He got out of the car with a grin on his face.
“Hello, madam, I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Mr. Justice, and who might you be?”
Maddie giggled, then slid into the make-believe with all the skill a four-year-old can muster.
“I am Miss Piggy and I’m waiting for my Kermie to take me to town.”
&nbs
p; Before he could answer, Royal appeared in the doorway, grabbing at his daughter’s arm just before she toppled off the side of the porch.
“Watch it, piglet, that first step’s a doozie,” he said, and aimed her back to the house.
“Piggy, Daddy! Not piglet...piggy. Miss Piggy,” Maddie said, and clip-clopped her way inside.
Roman laughed out loud as Royal rolled his eyes.
“I never did learn what made women tick, and God gives me a daughter,” he muttered, waving Roman inside. “Come on in. Coffee’s on the stove. I have one more call to make, and then I want to hear all about your trip.”
Roman shut the door behind him as Royal disappeared into the den. Still in her Muppet phase, Maddie moved down the hall toward her room, leaving a trail of feathers behind her.
As Roman stood, listening to the ordinary business of Royal’s life, he was struck by the emptiness of his own. Unlike the orderliness of his own home, Royal’s house looked lived-in. There was a pair of old boots by the door, and Maddie’s pajamas and her precious blankie were slung over the arm of a chair. He picked up the blanket and then lifted it to his face, inhaling the faint but lingering little-girl smell. It was a mixture of talcum powder and soap, with something sweet thrown in. There was a sticky place down on one corner. If he was of a mind to guess, he’d say it was syrup, probably left over from her breakfast.
A longing for something like this of his own hit him hard, leaving him empty and aching and thinking of Holly. He set the sack on a nearby table and headed for the kitchen. He was going after coffee, but what he needed was his head examined. He’d fallen in love with a rich man’s daughter who couldn’t remember her own name. Added to that, he was in possession of enough unclaimed money to start a small war, and that summed up the mess he was in.
He was standing at the window with a coffee cup in his hand when Royal came in the room.
“Sorry about that,” Royal said. “I’ve been trying to connect with that man for a week.”
