by Gina Wilkins
“You weren’t on duty then. I get the feeling you are now.”
Dan grimaced. “I’m afraid so. I guess you heard about the candy store.”
Sam lifted an eyebrow. This was a topic he hadn’t expected. “Yeah, sure. Everyone was talking about it this morning. Why?”
“I got an anonymous tip that you were seen loitering on Main Street at about two this morning. That’s about the time we figure the candy store was hit.”
Scowling, Sam shook his head. “Your informant was mistaken. I was in bed at two. I didn’t leave the guest house until Marjorie drove me to work this morning.”
“I don’t suppose you have anyone who can verify that.”
“I was in bed alone,” Sam said flatly. “C’mon, Dan, what’s this all about? You know I didn’t knock over the candy store.”
Dan pushed a hand through his brown hair, leaving it standing in disheveled spikes. “Hell, Sam, I didn’t say I believed it. But when I get a call like that, I have to follow up on it.”
“The caller specified me by name?”
“Actually, he called you ‘that stranger who’s been mooching off the Schaffer women.’”
This time it was Sam’s turn to wince. A curse escaped him before he could bite it back.
Dan’s shrug was faintly apologetic. “You asked.”
“Who would—” For some reason, Sam thought of the eccentric-acting stranger he’d spotted twice during the Independence Day celebration. And then he thought of the way that celebration had ended. “Oh, hell.”
Dan seemed to follow his line of thinking. “Yeah. It was probably Delbert Farley—or one of his pals. But whoever it was called from a pay phone and refused to give a name.”
“So, do you think Farley broke into the candy store and blamed me for it?”
“I dropped by their place this morning. He and Rita both swear they never left their trailer last night. A neighbor confirmed that he saw Delbert’s truck in the driveway when he got home from a seven-to-three shift at the plant. If it was Delbert who called me, he might well have just heard about the break-in and decided to cause trouble for you in return for you causing trouble for him at the stadium.”
“So what are you going to do now? Arrest me?”
“Not on the basis of one anonymous phone call. Give me a little credit, will you, Sam?”
And now Sam was feeling guilty again. Dan was showing him a trust that Sam wasn’t giving in return. Dan had been nothing but honest with Sam, while Sam had lied to Dan from the start. “Uh, Dan—”
A shrill ring interrupted him. Dan answered his wireless phone, said a few words, then pushed his empty tea glass away. “I’ve got to go. I just thought I should give you a heads-up that you’ve made yourself an enemy around here.”
Funny. Sam thought of himself as a decent enough guy, despite his lack of memory about his past. Yet someone had beaten him to a pulp three weeks ago, and now someone else was trying to have him arrested. Heck of a track record.
“I’ll see you around, Sam,” Dan said over his shoulder as he moved toward the door.
“Yeah. See you, Dan.” Thoughtfully, Sam watched the chief leave.
He’d been on the verge of telling Dan everything, he realized. Which he needed to do—but maybe he should tell Serena first.
Sam told Marjorie to go home without him. He had some things to do in town, he told her. He would walk home.
His first stop after leaving the diner was the library. Nodding to the friendly librarian, he didn’t pause to chat, but headed straight for the computers. He spent the next couple of hours searching the Internet, looking for any information about a missing person who even roughly matched his description. Keeping Serena’s guesses in mind, he concentrated on Texas and then expanded his search, but he still came up blank. If anyone was looking for him, he found no evidence of it.
The research he did on amnesia proved little more helpful than his search for his identity. He learned nothing new, only the same facts he’d read before. True amnesia was very rare, little understood and inconsistently treated. The prognosis seemed to be different with each case, some patients recovering almost miraculously, some partially—and some never regaining their memories.
In every article, the victims were considered medical oddities. Intriguing case studies.
Weird, he elaborated glumly. The word wasn’t used in any of the articles, but it might as well have been, as far as he was concerned. Once word got out about his condition, he would be “that weird guy who doesn’t know his name”—in addition to “that stranger who’s been mooching off the Schaffer women,” as the anonymous caller had identified him to Dan.
He wasn’t ready to go back to the guest house when he left the library. He spent the rest of the afternoon walking the streets of downtown, his hands in his pockets, his eyes shaded by the cap Dan had given him for their fishing trip. As he walked, he futilely probed his mind for memories. He was aware of people passing, even absently returned a few greetings, but he knew he would never be able to list those he’d passed. He couldn’t concentrate on anything but the mess he’d gotten himself into with his stubbornness and his pride.
Serena was never going to trust him again, he decided glumly. And why should she? All he had done was lie to her.
Maybe he should just leave town. He could find a job somewhere else while he recovered his memory, send money to the hospital when he could. At least that way he wouldn’t risk hurting anyone here with further deceptions. And he wouldn’t risk being thrown in jail because someone here had it in for him, he added with grim humor as his gaze skimmed the candy store at the end of the street. Yellow police tape decorated the front of the store, and the broken window had been hastily covered with plywood.
Had to be the work of punk kids, he thought with a disgusted shake of his head. Who else would break into a candy store for what little cash had been left overnight? Surely even Farley hadn’t been stupid enough to pull this stunt just to spite Sam.
Still lost in thought, he turned to head in the other direction, telling himself he might as well face the music eventually. He had to tell Serena the truth before anything further happened between them. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but if he was going to stay here, it had to be done. It was either that or sneak out during the night—and she deserved better than that. So did Marjorie.
He glanced around. There weren’t many people on the sidewalks this late in the afternoon, but there was one he wasn’t at all pleased to see. Wearing a blue work shirt that indicated he’d just gotten off work at the muffler shop, Delbert Farley stood on the other side of Main Street, glaring. Sam remembered the anonymous call to Dan, and his temper flared. If Farley had pulled that stupid stunt, he should know it hadn’t worked—and that he’d better not try it again.
He had just stepped into the street to cross to the other side when the sudden roar of a car’s engine pulled his attention away from Farley. The street had been deserted of traffic when he’d stepped onto it—or so he’d thought—but now a large, dark SUV was bearing down on him. Fast.
Sam jumped over the yellow line in the center of the street, out of the vehicle’s lane. The SUV swerved, keeping him directly in its path.
Though he wasn’t sure he could reach it in time, Sam made a desperate dive for the sidewalk.
Chapter Eleven
Serena knew about the anonymous call to Dan. Word traveled fast in Edstown, particularly in the small legal community. Someone told someone who told someone who told Serena—and she got the distinct impression that whoever had made the accusatory call had wanted the news to get out. Someone wanted to cast suspicion on Sam—and she had a pretty good idea who it could be.
He wasn’t there when she got home Thursday evening, and neither was her mother. A note on the refrigerator door let her know that her mother had gone to a movie with a couple of her friends. There was no mention of Sam’s whereabouts.
Maybe Sam was with Dan, Serena speculated as she let Walte
r into the backyard for some fresh air and exercise. Though she’d heard Dan wasn’t taking the anonymous tip very seriously, she supposed he had to follow up on it. Maybe he’d taken Sam in for questioning. Or maybe they’d gone fishing again.
The phone rang and she snatched it up, closing the kitchen door with the hope that Sam’s fence repairs would keep Walter from wandering this time. “Hello?”
“Oh, Serena. Hi. You sound as if you’re expecting a call.” Kara’s tone was a bit stiff—probably because she knew Serena still didn’t approve of Kara’s decision to leave Edstown with her boyfriend.
“No,” Serena said, equally awkward. “I wasn’t really expecting a call. I just happened to be standing by the phone. I’m sure you called to talk to Mother, but she isn’t home right now.”
“Oh. Well—how are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. And you?”
“Just fine. Thanks for asking.”
This was ridiculous. As close as they had once been, they were speaking like mere passing acquaintances. Remembering Sam’s criticisms, Serena was determined to prove she wasn’t being petty or selfish just because she thought Kara had made an imprudent decision. “How’s Pierce?”
“He’s great.” Kara’s voice was suddenly more animated. “He’s getting a lot of attention with his singing. One of the club regulars knows a guy who’s a good friend of a very reputable music agent. The club customer is going to bring in his friend to hear Pierce sing and maybe the friend will convince the agent to consider Pierce as a client.”
Couldn’t Kara hear how improbable that all sounded? Pierce’s odds of being discovered by the friend of a friend of an agent were probably less than his chances of being kidnapped by Martians—but she was determined to be pleasant. “That’s wonderful. I’m sure I’ll be hearing him on the radio any day now.”
“You think no such thing,” Kara replied a bit peevishly. “But you’ll see. Pierce will make it. It only takes one lucky break.”
“Then I hope that break comes soon. For both your sakes.”
“Thanks—but in the meantime, we’re very happy together. And now,” she added before Serena had to come up with yet another optimistic platitude, “tell me more about this guy living in the guest house. I can tell Mom’s fond of him, but she hasn’t told me much about him.”
“That’s because we don’t know very much about him,” Serena answered, her muscles tensing again. “He rarely talks about himself.”
“I have to admit I was surprised to hear that you’d allowed her to let a homeless drifter move into the guest house. That sounds like such an illogical decision on your part.”
It was a deliberate goad, but Serena refused to fall for it. She was more offended by Kara’s description of Sam than she was by the implied criticism of her customary caution. “Sam’s a nice guy. A hard worker who’s trying to pay off the debts he has incurred here through no fault of his own. He’s courteous and quiet and considerate, going out of his way to help out around the place. All the customers at the diner like him—even Dan likes him, and you know how cautious he is about people.”
“Goodness.” There was a faint hint of amusement in Kara’s voice now. “It sounds as if you rather like him yourself.”
“I like him well enough.” Serena found it difficult to maintain an offhand tone when her mind was suddenly filled with memories of kisses that still curled her toes.
“Mom said he’s young and good-looking. True?”
“He just turned thirty-one.”
“And good-looking?”
He was gorgeous, of course, but Serena had no intention of saying so at the moment. Not when it was obvious that Kara was just looking for a reason to pick on her. “He’s attractive, I suppose.”
“Mom said he looks like a male model or something—blond hair, blue eyes, killer smile. Was she exaggerating?”
“Why don’t you come see for yourself?” Serena challenged. “Mother would love a visit from you—and, by the way, there are a few things at the paper that need your attention.”
A heavy sigh came through the phone line. “I promised Mom I’ll come home for a visit as soon as I can. As for the paper, I’m sorry, but I’m no longer responsible. I quit. I regret that you ended up in a position you didn’t want, but I told you I thought you should sell the paper. There are several media groups interested in buying small-town newspapers for the local advertising revenue.”
“You know how Mother feels about that.”
“I know she doesn’t want to sell, but she’ll get over it. She wouldn’t want you to be miserable, even to keep the paper in the family.”
“What she wants is for you to come home and stop wasting your education and experience schlepping drinks in some bar.”
“No. That’s what you want me to do,” Kara countered flatly. “Mother just wants me to be happy. And I am.”
“I just hope that doesn’t suddenly change.”
“It won’t. Pierce and I were meant to be together. I’m just sorry you don’t have anyone who makes you as happy as we are.”
Serena decided it would be better to bite her tongue than to try to come up with a response to that.
After a moment, Kara sighed again. “Never mind. Perhaps you’ll never understand how it feels to love someone so much you’re willing to sacrifice everything. I guess you just aren’t programmed that way.”
Serena rather resented being made to sound like a computer. She was quite capable of falling in love—she had simply planned to do so at her own pace, and much more sensibly than Kara had done. Infatuation was one thing—but sacrifice everything for a man? That wasn’t something she had ever intended to do.
Of course, she hadn’t ever expected to fall head over heels for a mysterious drifter, either—but it was getting harder with each passing hour to convince herself she hadn’t done just that. How could she continue to criticize Kara when she was getting entirely too involved with a man who could very easily turn her world topsy-turvy?
“Tell Mom I called and that I’ll talk to her later, okay? And, Serena—I really am sorry about the trouble I’ve caused you. But that’s my only regret about the choices I’ve made. The real regrets would have come if I’d chosen not to take a chance on love.”
“Just…take care of yourself, Kara.”
Serena had hardly hung up the phone when someone tapped on the kitchen door. Sam, she thought, her pulse suddenly accelerating.
She gasped when she opened the door and saw him. “What happened to you now?”
Sam had expected Serena to react dramatically to his freshly battered appearance. There was a raw scrape on his chin and a new bruise on his jaw. His right knee, abraded and bloody, was visible through a rip in his jeans. He’d considered cleaning up before letting her see him, but he’d been concerned that someone else would call her before he could tell her about the latest incident that had happened to him. He wanted to be the one to break it to her before she got the gossip-enhanced version. “I had a little accident, but I’m fine, okay?”
“You don’t look fine.” She took his arm and pulled him inside. “What happened? Did you fall?”
“Let’s just say I had a close encounter with the sidewalk on Main Street. Is your mother here?”
“No, she’s out with friends for the evening. Did you walk all the way here? Like this?” She almost pushed him into a chair at the table.
Stretching his throbbing right leg in front of him, he shook his head. “Red Tucker was coming out of the insurance office next to the candy store when the, er, accident happened. He gave me a lift here.”
“He should have taken you straight to the hospital. I’ll get my car keys and we’ll—”
“No.” He stopped her by catching her wrist. “No hospitals.”
“But Dr. Frank should—”
“No doctors, either. I’ve only got a few bruises, Serena. Nothing life-threatening, I assure you.”
She didn’t look satisfied, but she stopped tugging at
her wrist. Apparently, his tone had convinced her that he wasn’t going to change his mind. “At least let me clean the wounds and apply some ointment.”
He nodded. “Actually, I was going to ask to borrow some first aid supplies.”
“I’ll get the first aid kid. Sit tight.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He suppressed a wince as he shifted his right leg to a slightly more comfortable position.
She wasn’t gone long. When she returned, she carried a first aid kit in one hand and a pair of navy gym shorts in the other. “Take off your jeans.”
He couldn’t help grinning in response to her brusque tone. Before he could utter the response that immediately sprang to his mind, she leveled a finger at him. “Don’t even think about saying that.”
He immediately adopted an innocent expression. “What?”
“Whatever you were going to say.” She tossed the shorts on the table. “These were my father’s. You can wear them while I work on your knee.”
He stood, balancing carefully on his good leg, toed off his shoes and reached for the snap of his torn jeans. Serena turned around, busying herself making a pitcher of iced tea. “You don’t need any help, do you?” she asked without turning to look at him.
“If I say yes, will you help?” he asked, peeling shredded denim carefully away from his injured knee.
“Only if you make me believe you really need it.”
He chuckled. A moment later, he was decently covered in his scuffed T-shirt, borrowed gym shorts and white tube socks. He lowered himself into the chair again, studying his knee. Not so bad, he decided. Compared to the way he’d looked before, this was just a scratch.
Judging from Serena’s scowl, she didn’t agree with his assessment. “You must have really hit the pavement hard,” she fretted, kneeling beside his chair with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. “I’ll have to clean this before I can put anything on it.”
He sipped the iced tea she’d handed him, then said, “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of this myself, you know.”
