by Gina Wilkins
“I just want to make sure it doesn’t get infected.” She carefully poured the hydrogen peroxide over the oozing wound, watching as it bubbled away impurities. When she was satisfied that his knee was clean enough, she carefully spread a thin layer of medicated cream over the scrape, her fingers no heavier than butterfly wings against his skin. Her head was bent industriously over the task, and it was all Sam could do to prevent himself from running his fingers through her glossy hair.
There should be nothing in the least erotic about the way she touched him—she was obviously making an effort to keep her actions efficient and impersonal—but her touch aroused him anyway.
Bad timing, dude, he reminded himself, knowing he still had to tell her what had happened. He wasn’t looking forward to it—he had a feeling she wasn’t going to take it well—but she would hear it from him or someone else. He half expected the phone to ring any minute with someone wanting to gossip about the near tragedy on Main Street.
She covered his knee with a gauze pad and secured it with strips of adhesive. “I guess that will have to do,” she said, studying the bandage with a frown. “It’s going to be sore tomorrow.”
“That’s okay. I’m getting used to it.”
She laid her fingers against his cheek, turning his head to give her a better view of his chin. “This one’s not so bad,” she murmured, reaching for her supplies again. “Probably won’t even need a bandage.”
“Good. I’m not wearing a bandage on my chin.”
Her eyes lifted for a moment to meet his. “Opinionated, today, aren’t you?” She sounded a bit more relaxed now that she’d determined for herself that he wasn’t seriously hurt, which was good, considering what he still had to tell her.
Her face was very close to his as she tended to his chin. Moving forward only a couple of inches would bring their mouths together. His hands rested safely on his thighs, but he had only to lift them to have Serena in his arms. His fingers twitched with an urge to do just that; he closed them into loose fists to keep them where they were.
Satisfied that his chin was clean and treated, she studied the bruise on his cheek. “Honestly, Sam, you’re starting to resemble a patchwork quilt. You’ve got bruises in a half dozen different colors.”
He gave a rueful shrug. “I seem to be accident prone lately.” Had he always been, or was this new for him?
“How in the world did you fall this hard?” she asked as she slid the washcloth over his cheek. “Was there a broken place in the sidewalk?”
Regretfully, he drew his gaze away from the intriguingly gaping scoop neck of her T-shirt. “You aren’t going to like this.”
The washcloth stilled against his face. She frowned into his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Some moron in an SUV almost ran me down in the middle of Main Street. I had to dive out of the way—and I hit the sidewalk harder than I’d intended.”
“Someone almost hit you?” Her eyes had gone very wide, her cheeks draining of color. “How? Did the driver run a red light or something? He didn’t see you? You didn’t see him?”
“I don’t know. I’d have sworn there was no vehicle approaching when I started across the street, and then suddenly there was a big, dark SUV bearing right down on me.”
“How close was it?”
He grimaced, almost feeling the whoosh of hot air against his skin again. “Too damned close.”
Her hand fell to his shoulder, resting there in an almost protective gesture. “Who was driving? I hope you let the idiot have it for his carelessness.”
“He, uh, didn’t stop.”
That brought the color back into her face in a wave of temper. “He didn’t stop? You mean, he nearly hit you and then just drove on?”
“Yeah, that pretty much describes it.”
“Is there any chance he didn’t see you?”
Remembering his very narrow escape, Sam shook his head. “He saw me.”
“What kind of jerk would pull a stunt like that? You said Red Tucker saw the entire incident?”
“Yes. Apparently, he stepped out of the insurance company at approximately the same time I noticed the vehicle myself.”
“Red’s the best mechanic in the area. He knows what everyone drives, whether he works on their cars or not. Did he recognize the SUV?”
“He said he’d never seen it before. That seemed to disturb him.”
“Did you contact Dan? He should know there’s a reckless fool endangering lives around here.”
“I haven’t talked to him. I’m sure he’ll hear about it, though,” he added in resignation.
“Good.”
“Serena—there’s one other thing you need to know,” he said reluctantly.
She tilted her head, as if she was preparing herself for another unpleasant shock. “What now?”
“It’s about Red Tucker and what he’s probably telling everyone. He, uh, has this wild idea that the driver deliberately tried to hit me.”
“He what?”
Sam suppressed a wince when her hand tightened so forcefully on his shoulder that her short nails dug through his shirt. It felt as though he might have a couple more bruises in the morning—a bit more decoration for the patchwork, he thought wryly, remembering the imagery she’d used.
Shaking his head, he tried to speak reassuringly. “It’s a crazy idea, of course. I tried to convince Red that he had to be mistaken, but he wouldn’t listen. He said the SUV was parked until I stepped into the road, at which time the driver gunned the motor and headed straight for me. When I tried to move out of the way, the SUV seemed to follow.”
“Oh, my God.” Her face had gone white again.
On impulse, he reached up to catch her forearms and pull her onto his lap. Caught off guard, she didn’t have time to resist, but she made an effort to avoid landing on his injured knee. “Serena, listen to me. Red’s obviously a guy with a colorful imagination and a flair for the dramatic. He interpreted what he saw in a way that makes for a good story, that’s all.”
“Red’s dramatic, but he doesn’t just make details up out of thin air,” she argued. “If he said the driver headed straight for you, then you should take him seriously. You could have been killed.”
He could feel her shaking and knew she was imagining the grim scenarios that had played through his mind during the brief drive here. To distract her, he finally allowed himself to run his fingers through her soft hair. Or at least he told himself it was to distract her and not because he’d been wanting to do this since she’d knelt beside his chair. “I’m starting to sort of like it when you worry about me,” he murmured. “Even if you do get kind of naggy.”
“Naggy?” Her scowl deepened. “I am not naggy. I just—”
Whatever excuse she might have offered, it was lost when his mouth covered hers.
Serena dove into the kiss, thinking of how easily Sam could have been killed that afternoon. It was bad enough remembering how badly he’d been hurt before, but the thought of losing him that way now, after they’d shared kisses that affected her as none had before…well, she simply couldn’t bear to even think of that.
She knew he was planning to leave soon, knew his stay was only temporary, knew there could be no future for them—and she’d told herself she was braced for that. Her reaction to the near hit he’d just described let her know she wasn’t as well prepared as she’d thought. And that terrified her.
His mouth was so warm on hers, so increasingly familiar. His arms were solid and secure around her, making her feel safe and protected—something she’d never sought from any man. She laid her hand against his chest, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath the thin fabric of his T-shirt. Despite the bad experiences he’d had during the past weeks, this was a man who was fully capable of taking care of himself. He’d allowed her to fuss over him, but he’d have been fine on his own. Maybe he even preferred it that way.
She slowly pulled her mouth from his and searched his face with troubled eyes. Why was she finding it so h
ard to resist his kisses, even though she kept reminding herself of all the reasons she should resist?
“Don’t look so troubled, Serena,” he said, stroking her cheek. “I’m sure it was only a bizarre accident.”
“Actually, that’s not what’s troubling me at the moment,” she murmured, all too aware of their position, his thighs beneath hers.
Catching her drift, he glanced downward. “Oh. Well, that was only a kiss.”
“Something that seems to be happening quite a bit between us lately.”
“I know.” He ran his thumb across her lower lip. “You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”
She gave him a stern look. “I’m not in the habit of indulging in casual affairs, Sam.”
“I never supposed you were.”
“I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea because of a few impulsive kisses.”
His thumb trailed across her lip again, lingering at the slight indention in the center. “I’ve definitely gotten ideas from those kisses, but not that one.”
She leveled another stern look at him. “I’m being serious.”
His crooked smile was transformed into a full-blown grin that nearly took her breath away. “Sorry, Serena, but I really can’t be intimidated by your tough-lawyer voice when you’re sitting in my lap with your arms around my neck. And again, note that I’m not complaining.”
She felt her cheeks warm. When it came to this man, she really did seem to be losing her mind. She scrambled off his lap. Sam made no effort to detain her—or to hide his regret.
Pushing her hands through her disheveled hair, she drew a deep breath and tried to remember how that had gotten started this time. Oh, yes. She’d been reacting to the distress of hearing about his near hit. “I think you should call Dan.”
“Why?”
“Why? Someone tried to run you down! Even if it was an accident, the driver left the scene without even checking to make sure you were all right. Dan should know about this.”
“I’m sure he’ll contact me before long,” Sam replied, sounding suddenly tired. “Word gets around pretty fast in this town. Someone will tell Dan.”
She studied him disapprovingly. “You don’t seem to be taking this very seriously.”
He sighed and pushed himself out of the chair, resting his weight somewhat cautiously on his right leg. “What do you want from me, Serena? I wasn’t hit, and I didn’t see the vehicle well enough to identify it. There’s really nothing more I can do.”
“So you’re just going to forget about it?”
“Yes, that’s what I’d like to do.”
“And if someone really was trying to hurt you? Maybe the same person who tried to implicate you in the candy store robbery?”
He made a face. “You heard about that, did you?”
“I heard. You’re lucky Dan didn’t throw you in jail.”
“He said he doesn’t make arrests based on anonymous phone calls.”
“Then you’re lucky he’s so reasonable. Someone wanted to cause problems for you, Sam. For all we know, someone tried to cause you physical harm only hours later. I’m not at all comfortable just shrugging those incidents off as coincidental.”
“I’ll talk to Dan.”
She had the feeling he was trying to appease her, but at least Dan would know what had happened. Or almost happened. She shivered.
Sam lay a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll talk to Dan,” he said again, and he sounded more sincere this time.
A new possibility occurred to her. “Is there any chance that the driver of that SUV could be one of the men who beat you up and left you in the ditch? Maybe they’re trying to get rid of you now to keep you from identifying them or something.”
The muscle that flexed in his jaw made her wonder if the possibility had already occurred to him. But all he said was, “Highly unlikely.”
Serena scowled at him. “You’re getting close-mouthed again. That means I’m asking questions you don’t want to answer. What, exactly, are you keeping from me, Sam Wallace?”
Chapter Twelve
It was the moment Sam had been dreading since he’d opened his eyes in a hospital room and stared at a blank wall where his past should have been. Over and over, he’d rehearsed this scene in his mind. It had always turned out badly, with him feeling like an idiot and everyone else treating him like a freak. Everyone except Serena. In his imagination, she had always been too angry about his lies to even speak to him.
She was watching him with suspiciously narrowed eyes, waiting for him to level with her. He cleared his throat, stalling, trying to come up with the right words to tell her that she’d been kissing a guy who didn’t even know his own name. For some reason, the words didn’t immediately pop into his mind.
He whipped his head around when something scratched on the kitchen door behind him. “What the—”
“It’s Walter.” Serena studied him with a lifted eyebrow. “You were expecting another SUV?”
Chagrined by his overreaction, he turned toward the door. “I’ll let him in.”
She crossed her arms and watched as he moved to the back door. He didn’t immediately close the door after Walter dashed in, but stood gazing out into the darkness, tempted to step into it. Perhaps he would be more comfortable out there. No identity, no past, no future—just another solitary form among the shadows.
Serena interrupted his melancholy imagery. “You were going to tell me something?”
He couldn’t do it. There was no way he could explain what was wrong with him or why he had hadn’t told the truth from the start. How could he justify a decision that even he recognized as completely irrational?
He had just acknowledged another uncomfortable fact about himself. Apparently, there were times when he could be a craven coward. Now, for example. “Actually, I’m a little tired,” he said without looking around. “It’s been…an eventful day.”
“Then you can sit while you talk. I’ll even make you something to eat. We can’t keep putting this off, Sam.”
He still had a couple of days before his self-imposed three-week deadline was up, he reminded himself. It was entirely possible that he would, somehow, manage to assemble the fragments of memory he’d recovered during the past few days into a coherent whole. It would be much easier to discuss his amnesia with Serena after he’d recovered from it, when there would be something more to tell her.
“We’ll talk soon,” he assured her, inching toward the doorway.
She caught his arm. “Damn it, Sam! I deserve better than this.”
It was the one argument he couldn’t refute. She was absolutely right. She deserved better than what she’d gotten from him.
He closed the door.
Serena’s hand remained on his arm. “Whatever it is, whatever you’re running from—maybe I can help. We can talk to Dan. If someone from your past is trying to hurt you—”
Sam quieted her by covering her hand with his free one. “You’re always offering to help me,” he murmured, studying the concern in her eyes. “I’ve never met anyone like you—at least, I don’t think I have.”
Typically embarrassed by the compliment, she shook her head and spoke gruffly. “Never mind that.”
“No, I’m serious. Without you and Marjorie, I’d have been in a lot of trouble three weeks ago. Nowhere to go, no one to turn to, no money—not even a clean shirt to my name. There aren’t many people who’d take a guy like that home and practically make him a part of the family.”
Her cheeks were bright pink. “I told you, that was my mother’s idea.”
“Perhaps. But you were the one who sat by my side at the hospital. And you were the one who showed up with bags of clothes when I was discharged.”
To avoid his eyes, she looked at their linked hands on his forearm. “Yes, well, you were going to tell me something?”
“I’m trying to tell you how much I respect you,” he persisted, ignoring her discomfort and his own. This was something he needed to say and
she needed to hear before she very likely stopped speaking to him altogether. “I want you to know how much I admire your generosity and your kindness, your efficiency and your sense of responsibility to your family and your friends. You’ve taken on obligations you never wanted, to keep your mother from being disappointed and to make it easier for your sister to pursue her dreams—even though you make no secret that you disapprove of her choices. You’ve suffered over the fate of an employee you know you have to fire, and you’ve somehow kept your law practice going—quite successfully, from what I’ve heard. You’ve generously taken in a goofy mutt and a battered stranger—and neither of us has properly demonstrated our gratitude.”
She sighed. “Are you trying to embarrass me?”
“I’m trying to thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And by the way, I think you’ve shown your gratitude quite adequately—with, um, all the things you’ve done to help out around here,” she added quickly. “I’ve had no reason to regret bringing you home.”
Because he couldn’t resist, he lifted his hand to the back of her head and tugged her toward him. “Just one more,” he murmured against her lips. And then he kissed her, savoring her warmth and softness, telling himself this would probably be the last time.
At least he hadn’t taken further advantage of her. As many times as he had made love to her in his mind, he’d managed to behave himself when he was with her, for the most part. She could forgive a few kisses—he hoped—but anything more, under the circumstances, would be unconscionable.
She nearly shattered his precarious willpower when she slipped her arms around his neck and parted her lips. There was no way he could resist the impulse to deepen the kiss, to slide his hands down her sides, shape her slender curves beneath his palms. One last time.
Sam didn’t want the kiss to end. He’d been completely honest with Serena—he considered her a very special woman. The kind of woman a man would want to keep in his life, he thought as he slowly lifted his head. If he had a life. A home. A name.
If he’d met her a few weeks earlier, before the beating that had robbed him of his memory, would it have been different between them? Would he have been free to pursue her? Would he have had the sense to do so?
