Where There's Smoke...

by Barbara Mccauley

  When—or if—her memory would return remained to be seen.

  A young man brought a huge bouquet of brightly colored flowers into the room, the second bouquet she’d received this morning. Her mother accepted them, then looked at the card.

  “They’re from Claudia,” Sandra said and glanced at her watch. “She was in a meeting in Washington, D.C., but caught the first plane out this morning when we called. She’s worried sick about you, and Daniel is, too, of course. He’s driving down from Manchester now. It took me forever to reach him, but then, you know how he is.”

  No, she didn’t know how he was. She didn’t know him at all, or anyone else. She’d been told she had a sister named Claudia and a brother named Daniel— Derrick’s twin—but she didn’t know them. And the thought of all these people coming to see her, asking her questions, trying to make her remember, made her head start to pound again.

  Emily closed her eyes and thought of Shane. He was her only connection, the only familiar person in what felt like a foreign land. He’d stayed with her last night until she’d fallen asleep. She knew it was silly of her, but she’d wished he’d been there when she’d woken this morning.

  The thought that she probably wouldn’t see him again made her chest ache.

  “I’ve said something wrong,” Sandra said. “I’m so sorry. I—I’m a little tired and seeing you lying here like this, knowing that you almost—” Sandra’s voice faltered, then she sucked in a breath and blinked back the threatening tears. “I just love you so much.”

  “Thank you.” Though she couldn’t return the sentiment, Emily reached for her mother’s hand. “It’s nice to know I have a family, people who care about me. Why don’t you and…Dad go home and rest. Come back this afternoon.”

  “I can’t leave you like this, all alone, not knowing—”

  “Sandra.” Paul Barone moved beside his wife and put a hand on her shoulder. “Emily needs to rest, too. She can’t do that with us hovering. We’ll come back later.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” But there was still reluctance in Sandra’s tired eyes. “We do need to shower and change. Lord knows, these heels are killing my feet.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Emily forced a smile. “Really.”

  With a sigh, Sandra leaned forward and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “If you need anything, just call the house. We can be back here in twenty minutes. I’ll leave instructions with Annie to wake me if I’m sleeping. Don’t worry about—”

  “Sandra, enough.” Paul took his wife’s arm, then bent and gave Emily a peck on her forehead. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Sleep. You’ll need your strength when the rest of the troop gets here.”

  Alone, Emily released the breath she’d been holding. The crescendo of pain in her temple had risen from a slow, irregular pulse to a steady, crashing throb. She wasn’t tired, but it hurt to think. Simply anticipating all those people coming to see her, people she couldn’t remember, made her anxious.

  She needed to move, she decided, to get out of this bed. If she felt more in control, she was certain she could deal with her impending visitors and all the questions they would ask.

  Slowly, she slid her legs out from under the sheets and over the side of the bed. She sat, felt her blood pound in her head, then slowly subside. Satisfied with her progress, she edged her bare feet to the cool tile, waited a moment and stood.

  The floor felt steady under her, solid. Not so bad, she thought, even though her legs did feel a bit shaky and her head a little fuzzy. She was certain she could manage a few steps, stretch a few muscles, then slip back under the covers.

  She made it to the end of the bed and her success made her a little too smug. She turned—or at least she thought she was turning.

  Instead, her knees buckled.

  She was a split second away from meeting the floor when a strong pair of arms scooped her up.

  “Whoa.” Shane lifted her, held her firmly against his chest. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “I—I just wanted to stretch my legs.”

  And what great legs they were, Shane thought, letting his gaze sweep down the long length of slender curves to her soft-pink-painted toes. The white cotton hospital gown that covered her from neck to mid-thigh was as far from sexy as it got, but that didn’t seem to matter. His blood stirred at the sight of her, and his pulse quickened.

  It was the second time he’d held her in his arms. The first time had been professional; he’d had a job to do and he’d been completely focused on getting her safely out of the building. This time he felt anything but professional and his focus was not on his job, but on Emily herself.

  “Is this a habit of yours, Mr. Cummings?” she asked. “Rescuing maidens in distress?”

  “I was just passing by.” She weighed next to nothing, he thought. Quickly he realized that was what she was wearing, as well. Her skin was soft and silky. Warm. He really should put her down, he told himself. He really should.

  “Just passing by my room?” she asked.

  “The hospital. The doc thought I should have my lungs looked at today.”

  Which was true. Dr. Tuscano had told him to have someone look at his lungs. But he could have gone to any number of clinics or over to Carney Hospital, which was much closer to the marina. Instead, he’d come back to Brookline.

  “How are they?”

  Damn, but she was pretty, he thought. Not like a supermodel. Just pretty. Delicate and soft. “How are what?”

  “Your lungs.”

  “Oh. Right. Fine.”

  “Shane.” Her thick lashes dropped and a blush rose on her pale cheeks. “I’m all right now. You can put me down.”

  Reluctantly, he laid her back in bed, then stepped away. “So, how are you doing?”

  “Not so bad now.” On a sigh, she drew the covers up over her legs. “Though when I first woke up I was wondering if you’d thrown me out of that window last night rather than carried me. Is that for me?”

  Shane glanced at the single red rosebud lying on the foot of her bed. When he’d walked into the room and seen her falling, he’d tossed it there. Now that he saw the two enormous bouquets she already had in her room, he felt more than foolish he’d brought it to her.

  “There’s a stand downstairs that sells them,” he said with a shrug, and handed the flower to her. “The profits go to the children’s ward. For toys and games.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Lifting the flower to her nose, she breathed in. “Thank you.”

  The deep red of the rose against her smooth, creamy skin made his throat go dry. Dammit, anyway. What the hell was he doing here? It wasn’t as if this could go anywhere. He knew who the Barones were. Hell, anyone who lived in Boston had heard of them. What he made in six months was pocket money to Emily’s family.

  “I haven’t even properly thanked you for saving my life.” She smiled at him, then extended her hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Like the rest of her, Emily’s hands were fine-boned and graceful. Her fingers were long and slender, nails neat and short. Her skin soft and cool.

  The jolt of lust that shot through him had Shane quickly releasing her hand. “I should let you rest.”

  “No, please stay.” Looking suddenly embarrassed, she lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so needy. It’s just that I…that you’re the only person who’s familiar to me. It’s a little overwhelming.”

  “You still can’t remember anything?”

  She shook her head. “Just what my parents told me. The doctor was hoping they might be able to help me by telling me about myself, that I worked as a secretary at Baronessa Gelati for my brother Derrick, that my mother and I had gone to lunch and shopping for my father’s birthday only a few days ago. That I live in an apartment in Brookline not too far from the plant. I like pasta and chocolate éclairs, and my nickname is Em.”

  Closing her eyes, she laid her head back against her pillow. “It just made my head hurt.”
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  “So stop thinking.” He turned the chair beside her bed, then straddled it. “Just let your mind go somewhere else you’d rather be.”

  “Like where?”

  “How ’bout a quiet cove somewhere? No, keep your eyes closed,” he told her when she started to open them. “Or maybe an island in the Caribbean.”

  “An island would be nice.” A smile touched the corners of her mouth as she shut her eyes again. “What does it look like?”

  “Lots of tall palm trees. You can hear the fronds rustle in the balmy breeze and the waves lap on the shore. The water is so clear you can see a school of small yellow fish darting back and forth right off the shoreline. The sky is deep, deep blue.”

  “There’s a puffy white cloud overhead.” Emily furrowed her brow in thought. “It’s in the shape of a butterfly.”

  He watched her shoulders relax, the slow rise and fall of her breaths, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “The sand is soft and warm against your back. There’s no one around for miles and miles.”

  “You’re there.” Her voice was a little breathless. “You’re swimming.”

  The thought of being alone on an island with Emily made his blood heat up. “The water feels great,” he murmured. “Maybe you should come in and join me.”

  “I don’t know if I can swim. I—I can’t remember.”

  “I’ll teach you if you—”

  “Emily?”

  Ripped from her island fantasy, Emily opened her eyes and watched as a young woman pushed open the door. When she hurried forward, Shane quickly stood and moved out of the way.

  “Emily, thank God you’re all right.” The woman reached for Emily’s hand. “I’ve been so worried since Mama called. Daniel’s here, too, but I made him drop me off downstairs before he parked his car. Oh, sweetheart, you’re so pale.”

  Her eyes were the same deep blue as the silk suit jacket and skirt she wore, Emily noted. Tall and slender, probably in her late twenties. She’d pulled back her mass of blond hair in a clip on top of her head, but several thick strands escaped in a riot of loose curls around her strikingly beautiful face.

  A man entered the room then, around six foot, with brown hair and the same blue eyes as the woman’s. She knew this man was her other brother’s twin, but they were obviously too different in appearance to be identical. Though his clothes were casual—black slacks and a white polo shirt—he had an air of old money about him.

  “Hey, Em.” His tone was easy, but there was concern in his steady gaze. “How’s the head?”

  It was starting to throb again. “It’s all right.”

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked carefully.

  “You’re my brother. Daniel.” Emily studied the handsome man’s face, recognized the similarities between him and her father, then looked at the woman who was sitting on the side of her bed. With her hair and eyes, she looked more like their mother. “And you’re Claudia. My sister.”

  Smiling brightly, Claudia gave Emily a gentle hug, then shot her brother a look. “I told you she’d know who we are.”

  “Of course she knows who we are. Mom told her we were coming. The question is—” Daniel lifted a brow “—does she remember us?”

  “Well, of course she does, silly. How can she not remember her own brother and—” Claudia went still, then narrowed her eyes. “Omigod, you don’t remember who we are, do you?”

  Desperately Emily wanted to be back on that beach with Shane. Away from all the questions and the stares. “I—I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s just temporary.”

  “Of course it’s temporary.” Claudia squeezed Emily’s hand. “We’re just so relieved you’re all right, that the firemen were able to get you out in time.”

  “Shane found me.” Emily glanced over to where he’d been standing only a few moments ago.

  He wasn’t there.

  “Who?” Claudia looked over her shoulder.

  “Shane. The fireman who carried me out of the building.”

  “Where is he?” Daniel asked. “I’d like to thank him for saving my baby sister.”

  Clutching the red rose he’d given her, Emily stared at the open doorway. “He’s gone.”

  Three

  A glass of mint iced tea in her hand and a paperback book in her lap, Emily lay on the chaise longue beside her parents’ swimming pool. The May day was warm, the air scented with roses and a vine of blooming jasmine that spilled over a wrought-iron trellis leading to her mother’s newly planted vegetable garden. Pots filled with white phlox and purple petunias surrounded the brick patio, while water bubbled from the mouth of a leaping bronze dolphin, then trickled down into a three-tiered fountain.

  Emily had been told that the fountain had been last year’s birthday gift from her to her mother, that two weeks ago she’d helped plant bulbs in the garden, that only three days before her accident she’d stopped by after leaving work to drop off some pictures she’d taken at Easter.

  They’d shown her photo album after photo album, videotapes of parties and family barbecues, pictures of her own apartment in Brookline. They’d made her favorite foods and played the music from Carmen, the last opera she’d attended with her parents.

  She remembered none of it.

  She’d been released from the hospital five days ago. After two days of tests and monitoring, Dr. Tuscano had concluded there was nothing physically wrong with her patient. The cut on her temple was healing well, her headaches were gone and all vital signs were normal. This morning she’d noticed that even the bruises scattered on her body were beginning to fade to pale yellow and soft blue.

  How odd it had been to look in the mirror that first time and see a stranger staring back. Even though she’d prepared herself, she’d still been startled and a little frightened. She’d touched her chin-length dark brown hair, her cheeks, her lips, needed to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, that all of this wasn’t a dream.

  Or a nightmare.

  But Shane had been real. That much she knew. He hadn’t returned to the hospital after that last visit, or called her, either. She’d wanted so badly to see him again. Just one more time. Her family had meant well by fussing over her, but she was still confused by what had happened, still unsure of herself and what she was going to do. When Shane had been there, she’d felt calmer, more in control.

  Let your mind go somewhere else, he’d told her.

  She went there now. Back to her Caribbean island. The birdsong from her mother’s maple tree and the trickling water from the fountain made it easier to visualize her tropical paradise. She could feel the warm sand on her back. Hear the waves lap at the shore, see the yellow hibiscus sway in the breeze. The sun had begun to dip low on the horizon, turning the ocean into a sea of dancing stars. Shane rose up from the silvery water, his muscled shoulders and arms rippling as he dragged his hands back through his hair. He had the body of an athlete, a swimmer, lean and solid, defined.

  Very well defined, she thought as he walked toward her. The tan cutoffs he wore were plastered to his hips and thighs, leaving little to her imagination. She smiled. Or should she say a lot to the imagination.

  He stood over her, held out his arm to her. She placed her hand in his and rose up to meet him, then lifted her face as he lowered his. His mouth was gentle and tasted of salt and fresh air. When his tongue slipped between her lips, she opened to him, leaned into the warmth of his body and the heat of his kiss. His arms, wet and strong and so powerful, enclosed her, pulled her firmly against him—

  “Emily.” Sandra Barone’s cheerful voice rang out. “I’ve brought you some soup and a sandwich.”

  Jolted out of her fantasy, Emily spilled the iced tea she held in her hand. Her heart pounded as much from being startled as from her daydreaming about Shane.

  “Oh, dear.” Sandra set down the tray on a small glass patio table and quickly handed her daughter a linen napkin. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I thought you heard me coming.”

  “It’s all right.” E
mily set her glass on the brick decking, then dabbed at the spilled tea on the chaise cushion. “I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”

  “Well, I certainly hope so.” Her mother slid the table closer to the chaise. “I hear you walking the hallways and downstairs at night, plus you’ve barely eaten enough to keep a kitten alive. I made you egg salad today and minestrone. You used to love my minestrone.”

  Despite the fact she wasn’t hungry, Emily tasted a spoonful of the soup and forced a smile. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

  “Emily.” Sandra sat down on the chaise beside her daughter. “You were never one to hide your feelings very well. You may not remember me right now, but I’m still your mother. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

  “It’s been a week.” Emily stared at the spoon in her hand, then looked into her mother’s soft blue eyes. “I haven’t remembered one thing. Not you, not Dad. Not this house. Nothing.”

  “It’s going to get better, sweetheart,” Sandra said. “Easier. Some things just take time.”

  “And what if it doesn’t get better?” Emily asked quietly. “What if I don’t ever remember?”

  Sandra reached up to smooth her daughter’s hair, then tucked a loose strand behind her ear. A mother’s gesture, Emily thought. Caring and tender. And still, Emily thought miserably, she felt nothing for this woman beyond appreciation.

  “Why don’t we just take one day at a time right now?” her mother suggested. “I know we’ve all been smothering you these past few days. Maybe it’s time we all give you some breathing room, let you work this out yourself. If your head isn’t speaking to you, why don’t you just listen to your heart?”

  “Thank you.” Emily smiled at her mother, not a forced one this time. “I would appreciate that.”