“Perhaps. We’re not entirely sure. He couldn’t have just fallen from the sky.”
“Or maybe he did,” Eddie said with a conspiratorial wink. “If anyone can figure it out, it’s our resident mystery writer. Hey, maybe you can use this in one of your books.”
Willow chuckled and turned away from the counter. “You never know,” she said as she made her way over to Jack. He was looking at a display of sweatshirts for tourists that said San Juan Islands with a sailboat on the front. There weren’t a lot of choices for clothes here, just a few things people might need at the beach or as a souvenir, so he would probably go home with one of those today.
She eyed his broad shoulders and tapered waist. “What size do you think you’ll need?”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Willow pulled a sweatshirt from the wall and held it up to him without letting it get defiled by the state of his current clothes. “This looks about right. It’s a men’s large.” She threw the sweatshirt, a T-shirt with a similar imprint, a two-pack of boxer shorts, a pair of jogging shorts and some black sweatpants over her arm. “None of this is very fashionable, but it will have to do for now.”
“I’ll just be glad to get out of this suit. The wool is starting to get itchy.”
“Did you see anything else you wanted? I noticed you looking at the candy earlier.”
Jack smiled and shook his head. “I don’t need any candy.” He bit at his bottom lip for a minute and then laughed. “It’s just...and it will sound crazy...but I feel like I’ve never been in a store like this in my life.”
“You mean a little shop like this?”
“No, I mean, like a grocery store. I’ve walked up and down the aisles looking at dish soap and bags of chips. And while the products themselves seem familiar enough, the surroundings are just completely alien.”
“I doubt many people could make it to your age without going into a grocery store. It’s probably just the bump on your head. Those memories are locked away with your name and how you got here.”
Jack looked at her and nodded, although he seemed unconvinced. “It’s bizarre.” He reached out for a bottle of soda from the nearby refrigerated case. “I know exactly what this tastes like. I feel like I’ve had it a hundred times. All these brands are familiar when I see them. I can recall the taste of a Snickers. I know that I prefer them to a Milky Way if given the choice. But other things I should know are just out of my grasp.”
“That sounds like it would be very frustrating. Hopefully once the swelling goes down, your memory will return.”
“Hopefully.”
“You’ll also need toiletries,” she said and grabbed a nearby shopping basket to carry their purchases. He followed her to the aisle of the shop with soap and other items. “You need it all, so pick out whatever you like.”
She watched him look over his choices, selecting a toothbrush and a comb fairly easily. After that, he chose soap, toothpaste and deodorant. “This isn’t the right scent, but it will work. How is it I know that I wear Arctic Chill scented deodorant, not Mountain Breeze?”
She shook her head. “Memory is a funny thing. It’s why I’ve never used amnesia in any of my books. It has always seemed an odd thing to me. How can you forget everything, but still remember English? Or how to count? The difference between a cat and a dog? How to walk or even feed yourself? How can you injure yourself in such a way that you can’t recall the basic facts of your life and the essence of who you are, but the rest of your knowledge remains? It always seemed like a convenient plot device. Too convenient.”
“I assure you this is anything but convenient.” Jack grabbed a small bottle of two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. “This should be enough. I’ll be happy to get the sand and stink off of me.” As he reached to put the bottle in the basket, he winced and clutched his side.
“I think we’re done here. Go sit in the truck and I’ll be out in a few minutes. Soon we can get some medicine into you and you can finally clean up and get some rest.”
Jack seemed hesitant to leave her with all the things he needed.
“Unless you’d rather pay?” she said with a smile. She knew he didn’t have a wallet, ID or any money on him.
“Funny girl,” he said. “Keep the receipts. Once I get my memory back, I intend to repay you for this fine sweatshirt and all your other kindness.”
Willow put the keys in his hand. “We’ll run you a tab. Now go get in the truck.”
* * *
“You want me to what?”
Jack wished he had a camera to capture the look on Willow’s face. For a woman who kept a wolf hybrid as a pet and could handle a shotgun, she seemed downright terrified by what he’d just asked her.
“I wouldn’t ask you this under normal circumstances, of course, but I need help.”
Willow stood frozen like a deer in the headlights. But as the truth of his words became evident, he saw her relax a bit. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Normally when I ask a woman to help me take off my clothes, I buy her dinner first. Or I’d like to think that I would. But I’m afraid I’ve misplaced my wallet.”
Jack stood with his dress shirt and pants unbuttoned, but at that point, he’d run into a snag. He simply couldn’t move the way he needed in order to remove his clothing. The pain pills and muscle relaxants were working their way through his system, along with the tomato soup and grilled cheese she’d fed him for dinner, but he needed to get out of these clothes and take a bath. He couldn’t wait for the meds to kick in. So he’d asked for her help. He got the feeling he was used to a warmer response from women than he got from Willow.
“Just stand as still as you can,” she said as she came around behind him. “I’ll do the moving. You be a mannequin.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He could feel her warm breath on the back of his neck as she leaned in to peel the shirt from his shoulders. He bit back a wince of pain as she worked the ruined silk shirt down his arms, then breathed a shallow sigh of relief as she tossed it to the floor.
“The pants should be easier,” he said.
“Maybe for you,” she muttered and gently tugged the trousers down his narrow hips.
He held as still as he could, grasping his ribs protectively. But through the rustle of the fabric, he thought he heard a soft intake of breath. It wasn’t him. He was holding his breath to keep from groaning or drawing in the scent of Willow while she was so close. So it had to be her. He looked over his shoulder and noticed her quick assessment of his rear end before casting her gaze to the floor.
He lifted one leg, then the other, to step out of the pants, leaving him in nothing but a pair of fire-engine red Calvin Klein boxer briefs. He looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and had to agree with her assessment of his physique. He did have a nice ass. That was good to know. In fact, he had a nice everything. He was in no condition to preen and flex in front of the mirror, but he really wanted to.
Jack had a hard body. He was tan, lean and muscular with broad shoulders and strong arms. His thighs were solid and his calves were hard as rocks. He looked like he took care of himself. Maybe rock climbed or something. The view was only marred by ugly purple-black bruises and bright red abrasions that spread across his skin. He supposed it was weird to admire himself in the mirror, but as far as he was concerned, he’d never seen himself before. Anything could’ve been hiding beneath that suit.
The thought led him to look at his face at last, and there, he winced again. Not that he was uglier than he expected—far from it—but he was in rough shape. The ache in his head wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked, thankfully. But it certainly seemed like the kind of injury that could wipe the Etch A Sketch of his brain clean. He didn’t know what he’d hit his forehead on—maybe a ship railing before or while falling overboard—but he’d gone down hard.
“I
think I’m probably pretty hot when I haven’t lost a fight with a two-by-four.”
Willow sat back on her heels and watched him as he admired his own reflection in the mirror. “Careful, Narcissus, or you’ll drown looking at yourself.”
She was a sassy one, his savior. He liked that about her. She seemed like the kind who could match his mouth when the situation called for it. “Hey, I didn’t know what I looked like until now. We’ve been too busy worrying about other stuff like broken bones and medicine.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, climbing to her feet. “I should’ve told you straight away that you were hot. You needed to know that.”
He could tell by her flat tone that she was mocking him. He was okay with that, too. “It certainly contributes to my overall morale. So does knowing I’m one pair of underwear away from soaking in a hot bath.”
Jack eyed the huge copper soaking tub that was in the corner of her bathroom. It looked divine. And considering that every inch of his body from the hairs on his head to his toenails ached, it was just what he needed. But when he didn’t make a move to take off his boxer briefs, he saw Willow stand up abruptly out of the corner of his eye.
“You don’t think you can...?” She hesitated. When he looked at her, her cheeks were nearly as red as his underpants.
He wasn’t quite sure what to think of his rescuer. She was old enough to have seen a man naked, practical enough to understand why it had to be done, but she seemed very uncomfortable by the prospect. “I can’t really bend over, but I’ll try. You seem miserable enough as it is.”
She audibly sighed in relief. “I’ll run the bath. I have some lavender Epsom salts I’ll add to it that will help with the aches and pains.”
With her back turned and the sound of rushing water filling the room, Jack was able to wiggle out of his shorts and kick them over with the rest of his clothes. They might be salvageable, unlike the suit. He walked over to the fluffy white towel she’d placed on the counter and wrapped it around his waist. He didn’t want her to turn around and get an eyeful of what he had to offer—which was also a pleasant addition to his overall package and completely unscathed by the accident.
His interest was piqued by a lovely scent that filled the warm air of the bathroom. “Did you say that was lavender?”
“Yes,” she said without turning around.
“It’s very nice.”
“I like it.” Willow shut off the water and tested it with her hand. “It should be ready. Enjoy your bath.” She turned, making a beeline for the door.
“Wait. I can’t get in there by myself. And Doc said I shouldn’t be left alone.”
She stopped short with her hand on the doorknob. He didn’t hear her curse aloud, but he was pretty certain she’d said some choice words in her head.
“I’m sorry. Really, I am. I take no pleasure in torturing you like this.”
“It’s not—” she started to argue and stopped short. “It’s fine.”
“I’m not asking for a sponge bath or anything. If you can just help me get in and out—do it with your eyes closed if you want—that’s all I need. I’ll shower after this, I promise. But Doc said a bath tonight would be good.”
“I know. I heard him. I just wasn’t thinking about what that meant.” Willow walked reluctantly over to the bathtub and held out her hands. “Come on, let’s get you in here.”
She braced him as he lifted one leg, then the other, into the tub. “Don’t look, Ethel,” he quipped, tugging the towel off and putting it aside.
“There’s not going to be a way to do this without it hurting, so I say do it quickly.”
She was right. Jack took a deep breath and lowered himself into the tub. A bolt of pain shot through his chest, wrestling a groan from his lips and bringing the shimmer of tears to his eyes. He kept his eyelids tightly shut as he reached the bottom of the tub. Stretching his legs out, he sat back and sighed.
“Here.” Willow offered a rolled-up towel to put behind his neck.
He accepted the towel and let himself relax into the water. Getting in hadn’t been fun, but the scalding hot water felt amazing. Jack closed his eyes and laid his head back. “Thank you,” he said.
“It wasn’t so bad,” she said.
“Not just for this. Thank you for everything. Food, clothes, shelter, medicine... You’ve been beyond kind to me, and I’m a stranger. You could’ve just called the cops or the coast guard and got rid of me.” A loud rumble of thunder outside made the bathroom windows rattle as he spoke.
“Anyone would’ve done this under the circumstances,” Willow said as she walked to the other side of the bathroom and pulled out her vanity chair to sit at a safe distance. “You have nowhere to go and if this storm is as bad as they say it might be, the coast guard has other things to worry about. I have the room and the time to do it, so I’m happy to.”
“You said you were a writer earlier. What do you write? Would I have heard of you?”
Willow’s nose wrinkled delicately as she shook her head. “I doubt it, even if you didn’t have amnesia. I’m a cozy mystery writer. I’ve published about thirty books since the start of my career. I’ve done pretty well for myself, but I’m no household name by any stretch.”
“What is a cozy mystery?” he asked. As much as he wanted to just close his eyes and drift away on a cloud of Percocet, he knew he needed to stay focused and conscious until he was out of the tub. She didn’t need him drowning in her bathroom. So he would ask her questions to stay awake. Besides, it was easy enough to show an interest in Willow. She seemed like the kind of woman who had a variety of layers. He had the urge to peel a few of them back and see what was underneath. If he felt better, he’d start with the cardigan she’d pulled on.
“It’s a subgenre of mystery with an amateur detective that solves crimes. Even though there are murders, they’re not too gory and we leave out any details that could be a turnoff for our readers. Think of Murder, She Wrote, from back in the eighties. Those were classic cozy murder mysteries.”
The name of the show was familiar to him. He could remember watching it with someone as a kid, but he didn’t know who. It was incredibly frustrating having this head injury. “I always wondered if that old lady wasn’t behind the murders somehow. No matter where she went, someone died.”
Willow smiled. “You start to wonder after a few dozen people die, right?”
“So you live out on this little island, just you and your dog, and write books about killing people.”
She thought about it for a minute and eventually shrugged. “Basically.”
He chuckled for a moment, stopping short when the movement hurt his ribs again. “I’m not sure of much, Willow Bates, but I’m pretty sure you’re not like other women I’ve known.”
The light in her brown eyes faded. “No,” she said, looking down at the tile floor of her bathroom. “I’m not. I never have been.”
Jack’s brow furrowed in concern at her response. “I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. It’s a good thing.”
“Is it?” she asked. “Being different hasn’t benefited me much over the years. It’s actually been pretty lonely.”
There was a sadness in Willow’s expression as she spoke, and it bothered him. He had plenty of his own troubles at the moment, maybe even more than he knew with his memory failing. But somehow he felt like the best way to repay her kindness was to make her smile. It seemed like an awkward expression on her face when she tried—more like she was baring her teeth to a possible predator. The blank neutrality of her sadness appeared far more comfortable for her, judging by the well-worn frown lines between her eyebrows.
She deserved to smile and really mean it. It lit up her whole face in a way that made her even more striking in appearance. She already had a penetrating gaze, high, prominent cheekbones and full, pouty lips. Her short pixie haircut just accentuated her
features and heart-shaped face. A genuine smile would take her from an angst-filled runway model to a radiant cosmetics model in a glossy magazine.
“It is absolutely a good thing to be different,” Jack insisted. “Fitting in is boring. There’s nothing special about doing and acting like everyone else. I don’t think I’d be very interested in a woman that was just a cardboard cutout of what magazines and television shows said she should be.”
That brought a real smile, albeit a small one, to her face. “My mother used to say that after she made me, she broke the mold. I would joke that it was because she couldn’t handle more than one daughter like me.”
“No, not at all,” Jack responded with the sincerest expression on his face he could muster. “I’m certain she meant that you’re a one-of-a-kind person. And to the right collector, that makes you priceless.”
Three
“There,” Willow said with a heavy sigh of relief as she tugged down his new shirt. At last, she wasn’t alone in the house with the sexiest naked man she’d ever laid eyes on. It was bad enough that he was hard bodied and not particularly shy. But when he started complimenting her, talking about her like she was some rare gift or something, she didn’t know what to think. A man had never said anything like that to her. Of course, Jack also had significant head trauma and narcotics in his system. That was more likely to be the cause of his flattery.
It had taken some more careful maneuvering, but Jack was finally bathed and dressed, and now she could suppress whatever wicked thoughts had crossed her mind during his bath and move on with her evening.
Jack looked down at the brand-new San Juan Islands T-shirt and jogging shorts he was attired in and smiled as widely as if he’d just put on a new designer suit. “They fit.”
“They’re a little big,” she noted. He had broad shoulders, but a thinner, runner’s physique, which meant he probably spent a lot of time and money getting his clothes perfectly tailored to fit correctly. “But good enough for you to sleep in. Let’s go get you settled into the guest room. I hope it will suit you.”
Promises from a Playboy--A secret billionaire with amnesia romance Page 3
