The Stranger and Tessa Jones

by Christine Rimmer

  He heard himself correct her. “Asher. My name is Ash…”

  She lowered her head and her eyes opened, dazed with fulfillment, but wondering, too. “Ash?”

  And then he was following her over the edge. He grabbed her hips and held her down hard on him as the universe turned inside-out and his body pulsed, electric.

  He knew everything, for that blinding moment. He knew it all. Saw it all: who he had been, the folly of his old life, the cataclysm that had brought him here, to this one special woman’s tender, loving arms.

  He shut his eyes as ecstasy claimed him. The pulse of his finish took him over, filling the world. Emptying him out.

  Leaving him limp, fully satisfied.

  And unknowing, once more.

  Chapter Eight

  “Asher?” she asked a little later, when they lay together, naked, in the fading light of late afternoon.

  He turned his head lazily her way. “What?”

  “You said your name was Asher. Ash, you said. ‘My name is Ash.’”

  “I did?”

  Now she was frowning, her smooth brows drawn together. “You don’t remember?”

  He shut his eyes, tried to recall. “There was…something, I guess. A flash, no more.”

  “And?” Her hopeful tone hurt almost as much as the big, dark empty place where his memory should have been. He knew she wanted the best for him, wanted him whole. And he only wanted to give her all she desired.

  But this, who he really was? If he’d known, for a moment, he knew no more. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s gone.”

  “Ash…” She tried the name again, as if learning its taste on her tongue. “I like it. It’s a little sad. A little…lonely. And so very sexy. Just like you.”

  “Lonely and sad, huh? Gee, thanks.”

  “And sexy,” she reminded him. “Don’t forget that.”

  He rose up on an elbow so he could look down into her green eyes. “You’re so beautiful.” He caught a curl of her hair and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “So warm. So alive…”

  “Ash,” she said again, wearing that tender, hopeful look. “Shall I call you that, then?”

  He dropped to his back again and stared at the ceiling. “No.”

  “But if it’s your—”

  “Bill,” he cut in flatly. “Just Bill. For now.”

  Then she was the one levering up, bending over him. “Are you angry?”

  “Angry?” He studied her face. He could never get enough of looking at her. “At you? Never.”

  “Good.” She touched his chin, trailed a finger down over his throat to his chest. She laid her palm flat, over his heart. “Good,” she repeated, with a soft sigh.

  He touched her hair, stroking, then guided her head down to rest on his chest. She relaxed against him. He knew he’d been curt. He tried again. “It’s only that, until I know for sure what my name was before, I’d rather just go with one I chose for myself.” It was more than that, though he didn’t know how to tell her. It was…his powerlessness in the face of the blankness within. The glimmers of light, of sensing the man he’d been before, of memory…they either faded to darkness or left him with yet more questions to which he had no answers.

  She lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Okay. Bill.” They shared a smile. And then she shrugged. “But it is something, you know? You did remember something there, for a minute or two. That’s good. And you remembered in your dreams, too. Right?”

  “Seems like it.”

  “So maybe your memory is trying to come back.”

  “Too bad it’s not succeeding all that well.”

  “Give it time.”

  He traced the line of her hair where it curved along her cheek. “Like I’ve got a choice.”

  “It’ll come back to you. I know it will.”

  He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her sweet lips down so they brushed his. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  She lay halfway across his body and must have felt him hardening. She grinned. A very naughty grin. “I’ll bet I know what.”

  He took her mouth then, hard, plunging his tongue in, rolling as he did it, so she was beneath him. She felt really good there. He lifted his lips from hers, but only far enough to tell her, “My turn to be on top.”

  She stroked his hip and shifted temptingly under his weight. “Do you hear me arguing?”

  “Kiss me.”

  She offered her mouth to him. He took it, slowly, this time, with care. With tenderness.

  In no time, he was reaching for the box on the nightstand again.

  Tessa could have lain in bed beside him forever. But after they made love that second time, she couldn’t help but notice that the light outside was starting to fade.

  And Mona Lou and Gigi were sitting in the doorway again, looking hopeful that soon they’d be getting fed.

  He lay on his stomach, his head on his powerful arms. She kissed his shoulder, murmured against his warm flesh, “Don’t panic. Make no sudden moves. But there are starving animals nearby.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  She stole a moment to admire him. Dear Lord, he was perfect. She’d never seen a butt like that up close and personal before.

  He lifted his head and peered at her sideways. “What are you looking at?”

  “Do you know you have a truly amazing butt?”

  He buried his head in his arms again. “Glad you like it.”

  She slapped him lightly on all that amazingness. “We have to get up.”

  “Why?” He rolled over then. Yet more amazingness to admire.

  “Mona and Gigi want dinner. And there’s the no-electricity problem. We need to get out the lanterns and candles for when it gets dark—which will be soon. And to get the generator going so the fridge won’t defrost.”

  “Ugh,” he said. “Just when I was thinking of making love to you again.”

  She bent and kissed him, a quick one. “Hold that thought.”

  He caught her arm. “I will. Believe me.”

  She looked in those eyes that were the most astonishingly beautiful cobalt blue and she did believe him. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. And that was a whole lot.

  Ash, she thought. She knew that had to be his name. From now on, silently, she would call him that. Asher. Ash. Oh, yes.

  But if he wanted to be called Bill to his face, fine. It must be terrible for him, not knowing who he really was. She was all for anything that made it easier on him. Including calling him by the name he’d given himself.

  “Bill,” she said. “Come on. Let’s get up. We’ve got work to do.”

  So they fell out of bed and pulled on their clothes. He fed the dog and cat as she got out the lanterns and the candles and put them on the table, ready to go.

  His arms came around her from behind and he kissed the side of her neck. “The animals are fed. Now what?”

  She turned in his embrace and rested her hands on his shoulders. “We hook up the generator.”

  “You make it sound ominous.”

  “It’s just a pain, that’s all.” She moved in closer, linking her arms around his neck. “Kiss me first?”

  “No need to ask.” He lowered his mouth and she lifted hers. Their lips met—and at that exact moment, the lights came on.

  They pulled back at the same time, laughing as the refrigerator started up, a low, mechanical hum.

  “Would you look at that?” he said. “All it took was a kiss.”

  She beamed at him. “I should check the phone, too. You never know.” She hurried over there and grabbed it off the wall, hope rising. But when she put it to her ear, there was nothing but silence. She shook her head.

  “No go, huh?”

  “Not yet.” She hung up.

  “Don’t worry.” He looked at her so hopefully. “We’re safe and warm. And I’m doing fine. I may not know who I am yet, but I do feel a whole hell of a lot better than I did twenty-four hours ago.”

  H
e did seem better, she thought. Much better, really. Could a man about to fall into a deadly coma from a subdural hematoma make passionate, thrilling love all afternoon? It hardly seemed likely. But then again, she was no expert on such things.

  “What?” he asked. “I don’t seem better to you?”

  She realized she’d been silent too long. He needed a reassuring reply. “You do.”

  “Then why do you look worried?”

  “I’m not.” It was a lie, but a small one. She was still concerned—just not as much as before. “And the snow could stop any time now. We’ll be out of here and getting you to a doctor before you know it.”

  “Right,” he said, but his gaze slid away.

  “It would be nice, in a way,” she said softly, “to stay here forever, just the two of us…”

  He still didn’t meet her eyes. He seemed to be watching the snow falling beyond the window by the table. “Yeah.”

  “It’s turned out to be…kind of magical, you know?”

  He made a low noise of agreement. And continued to stare at the storm outside.

  She sighed. “Bill. Are you okay? Did I say something…to upset you?”

  And that did it. He turned his head to her at last and stared at her through haunted eyes. “A lot about my situation bothers me. But not you. You just…make me happy. You give me hope.”

  She went to him with a cry and he gathered her close.

  He whispered, “It’s strange…”

  “What?” She hugged him tight. “Tell me.”

  He stroked her hair. “I’m happy, here, with you. And that seems…strange to me.”

  She lifted her head from the crook of his shoulder so that she could see his face. “Being happy seems strange?”

  “Yeah. It does. I don’t think I was happy…before. Maybe I had been happy, when I was a kid. But later, as a grown man, I think I’d made some bad choices, you know?” At her nod, he went on. “And that man, whoever I was before, I resent him a little. I don’t want to be him again. I don’t want to lose this, to lose us.”

  “You won’t,” she promised, knowing as she said those words that it was a vow she had no right to make. When his old self, the one named Ash, awakened, everything could change. They could so easily end up apart, with him returning to his old life, and Tessa going on as before.

  Then again, what if his memory never returned?

  She shut her eyes tight. There were too many questions and no real answers. Better to focus on what was, on the two of them, together, right now. She had chosen to be with him, and she would. Fully. For as long as this magical time lasted.

  “Just hold me,” she whispered.

  And he did, so tenderly, for the longest time.

  Eventually, they put the lanterns and candles away and then took Mona downstairs for a short trip outside. When they came backup, Tessa prepared a simple meal. They ate.

  And then they watched the news in the great room, sitting on the sofa with their arms wrapped around each other, Mona on one side, Gigi on the other. The weather report said the storm would continue on into tomorrow, with chances of clearing possible by the afternoon.

  Again, there was no news of a man going missing in the mountains.

  He pushed the mute button when the commercial came on. “See? Nothing. No missing persons fitting my description—no missing persons at all. Maybe I’m imagining the man I once was. Maybe I don’t exist. Maybe I never did.”

  She lifted her head from his shoulder. His eyes were hooded, hard to read. She ached for him. But she made herself speak firmly. “Take my word. You exist.”

  He grunted. “You sound so sure.”

  “There are any number of explanations for why no one has reported you missing yet.”

  “Like?”

  “Maybe they…don’t know you’re gone. Or maybe you went missing from somewhere else—you know, you were kidnapped, maybe. And they took you up into the mountains.”

  “They?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “It’s just a thought, just a…possibility”

  “And then I escaped, right? I was in such a hurry to get away, I left my memory behind.”

  “I’m serious. Truly.”

  “You may not believe it, but so am I.”

  She cast about for a way—any way—to reassure him. “When we get out of here, once you’ve been to the clinic, we’ll talk to my Uncle Jack. He’s the county sheriff. He’ll have the resources to find out more. He can get your description out on an All Points Bulletin, or whatever they call it.”

  “Great. I guess.”

  She searched his face and didn’t know what to say. “You’re scared,” she told him softly. “It’s natural.”

  “I’m…a blank. A damn blank. And yeah. It scares me.” He pulled away from her and stood. “Fine. As soon as we get out of here, I’ll go to the clinic. I’ll talk to your Uncle Jack. Anything else?”

  She stared up at him, seeking the right words, knowing there was nothing she could say to make it all better. “You’re angry with me. I’m so sorry. I’m just trying to figure out what we can do, to make sure you’re okay. To find out who you really are.”

  He glared at her for a moment. And then the heat and anger seemed to drain away. His broad shoulders slumped. “Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice was low, ragged with pain. He tossed the remote on the coffee table and left her.

  She watched him walk away. A minute later, she heard the bedroom door close.

  Mona Lou whined and edged closer, as if the tension between the humans had upset her. Tessa clucked her tongue to soothe her and stroked her back. The dog flopped down, half in her lap. Tessa started to push her off, to go to him.

  But no. They were in pretty close quarters here while they waited out the storm. A little time alone was a good thing now and then. A little space to himself, to get past whatever frightening emotions all her so-helpful suggestions had aroused.

  She watched the rest of the news, tuning in and out of it, hoping the man in the other room was all right.

  A half an hour after he vanished into the bedroom, she switched off the TV. By then, she was getting pretty worried. Had he passed out again? Should she go in there and make sure he was okay?

  Something held her back from that. All day, he’d seemed fine. Well, except for the wound on his head and all the bruises on his body. And the memory he didn’t have.

  Sheesh. When she added up his injuries and the whole amnesia thing, it started to seem irresponsible of her to let him go in the bedroom and stay there, with the door closed. Still, she couldn’t go barging in on him constantly, every time he wanted a few minutes to himself. That would get old really fast.

  To avoid looking in on him for a little longer, she took Mona down for some outside time.

  When she started back up again, the door at the top of the stairs was open and he was waiting in the doorway. She paused on the third step, Mona behind her.

  He said, “I’m a jerk.”

  Mona waddled past her, going on up. He stepped aside so the dog could get by.

  He asked, “So are you not speaking to me?”

  She stared up at him, thinking what a gorgeous man he was, wishing she had the answers for him, doubting the wisdom of this thing between them, this powerful attraction.

  This amazing, out-of-nowhere love affair.

  “Tessa. Please.”

  She lowered her head and stared blindly at her shoes, wondering where they were going, how it would all turn out. Finally, she looked up at him again. “No, you’re not a jerk. And yes, I am speaking to you.”

  “I got a little…freaked over the whole thing.”

  “Perfectly understandable.”

  “Yeah. But then I took it out on you. That wasn’t understandable. Or even acceptable. And I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

  She sent him a slow smile. “I’ll think about it.”

  His eyes grew darker. Softer. “Come up here.”

  “Oh, I get it. Now you w
ant to kiss and make up, do you?”

  “That’s right. I want to show you just how sorry I am.”

  Her body warmed at the low, tempting sound of his voice. She took one step up—and hesitated.

  He put his hand down. “Don’t stop now.”

  She ascended the rest of the way. Into his waiting arms.

  Deep in the night, he woke.

  Tessa slept deeply beside him, her breathing even and shallow. The cat was at his feet, the dog at hers.

  He lay very still, staring up into the darkness, taking stock. His head was hurting again—not the ice-pick stabbing kind of hurt, but the dull, throbbing ache.

  He’d been dreaming, fractured dreams that changed as quickly as they took form. And this time, he remembered snatches of what he’d dreamed.

  In one dream, he sat at a wide desk in a corner office. A young woman entered. She had chestnut hair and blue eyes that sparkled with mischief and life.

  “Zoe,” he said. “You can’t just barge in here. Melody should have stopped you.”

  “She tried. I gave her a big smile and a wave and walked right on by. Come on. I’m taking you to lunch.”

  “I’m working.”

  Zoe wrinkled up her nose at him. “You’re my big brother, Ash, and I love you. But you work too much…”

  The office vanished.

  He sat by a campfire, at night. He wore a western hat, tipped low on his forehead. He looked down his legs, clad in faded denim, at dusty rawhide boots. The fire was warm on his face, shooting up sparks into the star-thick sky. In the distance, he heard the cry of a coyote.

  There were others with him. Men. Six men. Dressed as he was, in faded jeans, western shirts and dusty boots, each around his age or younger. He glanced from face to face. Each was familiar, each looked a little like the face he saw when he looked in the mirror.

  “Just like old times,” one of the men said. “We should do this more often.”

  Another laughed. “Not real likely. And when you think about it, that’s damn sad.”

  Another, stretched out across the campfire, asked him, “Pass me a beer, will you, Ash?”

  And then he was in a ballroom—red and gold, giant crystal chandeliers shimmering overhead. He looked down and he was wearing a tux, his shoes shiny black on a white marble floor. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, a woman—he knew that because he smelled her expensive, musky perfume. And then she spoke, her voice low and intimate, in his ear.