Rich, Rugged...Ruthless

by Jennifer Mikels

  Rachel’s blue eyes flew to Sam with a plea for help. Sam believed Max needed answers to any questions he asked. It was the only means for him to work his way back.

  Conflicting emotions crossed his sister’s face. Clearly she was caught between her innate honesty and a desire to shield him from something. “We were told that too much, too quickly wouldn’t be good for you, Max.”

  “Neither is this emptiness in my mind.” Max understood her attempt to protect him but didn’t like it. “Merv said I knew her in college.”

  “Yes. You cared about her,” Rachel confirmed.

  “Merv said ‘loved,’” Max countered to gauge her reaction.

  “I don’t know if— Yes,” she admitted. “I think you did for a short time.”

  Why not any longer? Tired of the questions in his mind, he relied on Rachel to answer the most important one. “Where is she now?”

  “I’m not sure.” Rachel dropped into a chair near him. “She was in San Diego.”

  “Go on,” he insisted. “I need to know what you know, Rachel. What happened with her?”

  Concern etched into her face. “You two had gone out to eat.” She heaved a breath. “There was an accident. It was snowing, and the car skidded.”

  Max tensed. A car accident. He thought this might be about some woman he’d jilted or who’d dumped him. “Was she hurt?”

  Rachel spoke softly. “Max, she recovered.”

  Breathing seemed more difficult for him suddenly. He sensed it hadn’t been a fender-bender. Don’t jump to conclusions. Ask questions. “Recovered from what? How badly was she hurt?”

  Her silence spoke volumes. Whatever she wasn’t saying was bad.

  “Rachel?”

  “She was paralyzed.”

  His stomach clenched. Was. She’d said “was,” he reminded himself. “Is she still?”

  In a reassuring gesture, she stretched toward him, touched his hand. “No, she isn’t. Doctors didn’t think she’d walk, but she did, Max.”

  He pulled his hand free of hers. “A miracle?”

  Silent, watching and listening, Sam rode on his emotions. He sounded so cynical suddenly that her heart ached for him.

  He stood, said nothing, moved away from them to the edge of the patio.

  Rachel hurried the words. “Max, she went through months of rehabilitation, but she got better.”

  “Who ended it?” He looked paler when he faced them. “Did she not want to see me ever again? Or did I—”

  “Stop,” Rachel insisted as if sensing the blame he was placing on himself. “You did everything you could. After the accident, you were with her every day at the hospital. You didn’t shirk responsibility, Max. You weren’t that kind of man.”

  “So who ended the relationship?”

  “She—she did. She fell in love with a doctor.”

  And broke his heart? Sam wondered. Or had he been ready for the relationship to end? She studied Rachel, trying to understand what hadn’t been said, why Rachel had sounded so desperate to make Max listen to her.

  But he wasn’t listening. He’d already swung away.

  “Max,” Rachel called after him.

  Worry for him skittered through Sam, too, as he started down the grassy incline behind the house. What was it that his sister hadn’t said?

  “I really thought he didn’t need to know all that.”

  Years of being more invisible than a book on a shelf while she was working for people gave Sam some insight. She’d witnessed the look in a person’s eyes when with good intentions they held back information. Had he suffered some injury that had a bearing on his health now? That seemed unlikely. As his private nurse, Sam would have been informed about it. Still she asked, “He was okay? Not hurt?”

  “Yes, thank God.” With some effort, Rachel pushed to her feet. “Sam, thank you.”

  Sam stood, too. “For what?”

  “For caring so much about my brother. You love him, don’t you?”

  “Rachel, I’m his—”

  Rachel raised a silencing hand. “Don’t try to pretend with me.” Rachel laid a hand on her shoulder. “He needs you, Samantha.”

  And I need him. Anything else Rachel wanted to say remained unsaid as Max reappeared at the top of the hill. Not wanting to upset him more, before he came near, Sam steered conversation toward their baby-sitting job, told Rachel they’d sit with Alyssa. “So what time will you be bringing her?” she asked.

  “We’ll drop off Alyssa around six-thirty.” Rachel waited for her brother to come near. “Are you all right?”

  Sam believed he would lie rather than cause his sister more worry.

  “I’m fine.” Affectionately he cupped a hand over her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “Understand that Michelle is happy now,” Rachel pointed out.

  His face grew stony, his eyes shuttered. “We’ll see you,” he said instead of responding.

  Concerned for him, too, Sam refused to let him lock her out and go off somewhere alone. “Are you really fine?” she asked after Rachel had gone.

  He faced her squarely. “I can’t even remember the face of the woman I sent to the hospital.”

  Sam heard a trace of blame in his voice. “Your sister said it was an accident. Remember that, Max.”

  An uneasiness washed over him. Max couldn’t pinpoint what caused it. He assumed it was a reaction to a vague memory of the accident, of a woman’s pain.

  But he was relieved to know that he hadn’t dumped the woman after learning she was paralyzed. He’d hate to think that when faced with a difficult situation he’d taken off. It seemed he had some redeemable qualities. He stared at Sam, and hoped she thought so, too.

  Eleven

  Over the next two days neither of them mentioned Michelle again. Sam assumed Max considered the woman a part of his past. Whatever feelings he harbored about her and that tragic night remained masked behind his amnesia.

  Sam yawned, trying to play catch-up after an exhausting day yesterday. She and Max had spent a fun time at a local fair, walking around exhibits, and later had joined a crowd on the bleachers and watched a rodeo. In the evening, they’d shared a romantic dinner out, and beneath candlelight and soft music, they’d enjoyed some spicy pasta.

  Actually looking forward to a more relaxing evening, she was glad they’d be staying home to babysit tonight. The only thing she and Max had to do was drive to town for his doctors’ appointments.

  When they reached the town’s main street, Sam offered a suggestion. “We could go to the bank, to your office, when you’re done at the doctor’s. Being in familiar places has been known to help.”

  “That hasn’t worked so far,” he reminded her.

  There were no words to make this easier on him. No one knew when or if he would ever remember everything. Perhaps he’d simply have to come to terms with his loss of memory. But at least his body was healing.

  By his muttered curse after they’d traveled down the town’s main street, Sam assumed nothing had triggered memories for him.

  Max said as much when they were ambling across the street from the parking lot of Whitehorn Memorial to the doctor’s office. “Not a damn thing means anything. Like before when I was here, I can’t recall if I ever stepped into any store.”

  Sam traced his stare to an outdoors outfitters business. “Why do you wonder? Did someone tell you that you like camping and stuff?”

  “And stuff,” he answered. “Fishing, mostly. Talbot said that I’d planned to go on a fishing trip with him and his brother-in-law.” He heaved a deep breath. “I’m so tired of all the guesswork.” He touched the back of her neck, halted her with him. He looked for words to tell her how important she’d become to him. “You deserve more. More laughter, more good moments.”

  Sam heard a weariness in his voice. “I’m not complaining,” she assured him.

  Lightly he kissed the bridge of her nose. “You’ve been cheated, you know.”

 
Sam didn’t think so. She’d found far more than she’d ever expected. “In what way?”

  A smile, faintly strained, curled the edges of his lips upwards. “I’ve never sent you flowers.”

  A mood shift, Sam noted. Previously he’d shown a tendency to shift conversation, using humorous words or a tease to pull away from a dark mood. “I like any kind.” She felt the stares of a few passersby, didn’t care. Looking as if there was no one else in the world, they stood like lovers on the sidewalk in the middle of town. “I always wanted a flower garden.”

  His gaze held hers. “Why didn’t you have one?”

  “I live in an apartment, Max.” Footsteps behind her made her step back from him. Sam nodded a hello to the town’s librarian. “I never lived in a house.”

  Attuned to each other, at the same moment, they resumed walking. Max’s hand closed over hers. “And I never brought you breakfast in bed.”

  Sam decided that he was acting strange, but went along with him. “You’re going to do that?” she asked on a laugh.

  “You deserve it.”

  A lightness had entered his voice. Sam hoped it wasn’t forced. “I have a lot to look forward to, don’t I?”

  At the door to the doctor’s office, he discreetly skimmed the round softness of her hip before reaching for the doorknob. “Whatever you want.”

  She smiled up at him, wishing that were true.

  Because the doctor might have special orders, Sam accompanied Max into the office for the appointment. They entered to find one man in the waiting room.

  “We’ll set up appointments for your daughters’ immunizations on that day then, Mitch,” the nurse was saying.

  Sam had heard that the woman had been around forever and knew everyone. While Max took a seat and grabbed a magazine, Sam fell in line behind the lean, strong-looking man. With his sandy-brown hair and tanned skin, he looked like a working man, one who made his living outdoors. Sam only knew the widower by name—Mitch Fielding—and his reputation for being an A-1 carpenter and handyman.

  Finished making back-to-back appointments, he turned around and delivered a polite, quick grin at Sam, one with the power to kickstart a few feminine hearts. She returned his smile and stepped forward to talk to the nurse.

  After he was out of hearing range, she seemed compelled to say, “He has beautiful six-year-old twin girls.”

  “I’ve seen them,” Sam responded. “They’re really cute.”

  Still smiling, the woman looked down and made a quick notation in the appointment book.

  Rachel turned away to see Max setting down the magazine. He stood as the nurse opened the door that led to the doctor’s office.

  “The doctor will see you now, Mr. Montgomery.”

  “You look well, Max,” he said as a greeting. In a scrutinizing manner, he peered over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses at him. “Unbelievably rested.”

  “TLC,” Max quipped.

  The doctor’s pale blue eyes twinkled. “I see. TLC is often the best medicine.”

  With both of them staring at her suddenly, Sam’s face warmed. To her credit, she managed to stifle the blush.

  “Seriously, Max, you look quite well.”

  Sam guessed the word not said. Different. A relaxed, pleasant-looking Max Montgomery had been a rare sight around town. Twice during their walk, acquaintances of Sam’s had said hello and Max had responded with a greeting. One man had nearly jerked his head off his neck with his double take. Max had changed, and people were noticing.

  “Go slow,” the doctor said before they left his office.

  “Go slow.” Max mumbled with disgust on the way out of the building. “What the hell does he think I’ve been doing?” Disdainfully he eyed the cast and the blue sling that he still wore.

  Sam smiled sweetly. “Grumble, grumble.”

  He sent her a killing look. “Having fun at my expense?”

  Sometimes his disagreeableness bordered on comical. “Immensely.”

  In answer he caught her at the waist and tugged her against him. Sam released a low husky laugh against his lips. “So abused.”

  With time to spare before a second doctor’s appointment, they headed for the bank.

  “You are in trouble, you know,” she teased Max. “I couldn’t believe you’d said that to the doctor about TLC.”

  When his eyes locked with hers, she saw the mischief in them. “It’s the truth. And you do deserve the credit. You’re an excellent nurse. Whenever I needed you, you were there. You knew when to help and when not to, so I would stay independent. That kind of insight comes from experience and from an ability to read people.”

  “Stop. This praise will go to my head. Much more, and you’ll make me blush.”

  “Again,” Max teased her about her reaction in the doctor’s office.

  “I didn’t.”

  His grin widened. “Did.”

  Sam saw no point in arguing when he was right. “By the way, thank you. But you have a favorably slanted view because—”

  Max crowded her for a second, bringing them so close their hips brushed. “Because you make me senseless?”

  Pleasure rushing her, she lovingly touched his cheek as he reached around her to open one of the bank’s glass doors. “I hope so.”

  The troops came to attention the instant the first teller inside the bank spotted him.

  A security guard, a man old enough to be Max’s grandfather, scurried over. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Montgomery.”

  Max stilled. Memories. He needed memories. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.”

  Puzzlement pinched a line between the man’s gray brows. “Sir, I’m sure you never knew it.”

  Because he’d never asked, Max assumed. “What is it?”

  “Dennison, sir. Fred Dennison.”

  “It’s good to be back, Mr. Dennison.”

  The man nodded, kept nodding even when Max had started to walk away. In passing, several employees said obligatory hellos. Max didn’t miss their surprised looks when he returned the greeting. Had he really been that unfriendly? Rachel had told him that he was known around town as Scrooge, a man with a bad disposition and an ungenerous heart. Charles Dickens. A Christmas Carol. Funny he had no problem recalling the book. It was who Max Montgomery was that he couldn’t remember.

  “Your office is this way,” Sam said low, to keep their conversation private.

  With her beside him, engineering him past the tellers and down a hallway, he found his office. Every step he took intensified the emotion building within him. What if he never connected to anything from his past? Hell. A panic attack threatened. What if everything was foreign to him? He hated the fear rising within him, wanted to whip around and leave.

  The moment he opened the door to the outer office, a friendly face smiled at him. Sitting behind a computer, a telephone cradled between her jaw and shoulder, Edna wagged fingers at them.

  Max took a few moments to scan her office while she finished her business call. It was a white room with deep blue accents. Reprints of Monet’s work adorned the walls. Had he or some interior decorator chosen them?

  “Good morning, Mr. Montgomery.”

  Max thought Edna sounded pleased to see him.

  “As you requested yesterday morning during our phone conversation, I’ve rescheduled that meeting with the board of directors.”

  “Thank you, Edna.” He glanced in Sam’s direction. Patiently she stood near, saying nothing. She wouldn’t push. He hadn’t been lying about her insight. She knew when to prod, to nudge, and when to give him space to find his own way. Like now. He stared at his office door, just stared. This is stupid, he told himself. Go in.

  For the second time in minutes he opened another door, hoping to unlock the one in his mind. The room was somber, respectable-looking, with plush gray carpeting, a muted blue settee and matching chair, and a long, highly polished, cherry desk. A painting, an abstract with its splashes of yellow and orange and blue, was the one touch
of bright color.

  To see how it felt, Max settled on the forest-green wing chair behind the desk. For a moment he stared out the floor-to-ceiling window with its view of the town’s business section. No memory sprang forth. He couldn’t recall ever sitting here, ever staring out this window before.

  He touched the phone on his desk, the blotter pad, a pen in the desk’s center drawer. He opened others, touched papers. Unlike a psychic, he received no images. Disgusted, and with panic teetering close by, he shoved the chair back from the desk and pushed himself to a stand. Coming to the office had been a waste of time.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam. She hovered in the doorway as if to give him time with his own thoughts. Why couldn’t he remember? What would it take to make him remember people he’d known, places he’d been? Would he ever?

  Sam wished she’d never suggested a stop at the bank. Clearly Max’s spirits had drooped. While he grudgingly went to see “his shrink,” to pass time, Sam headed for the Hip Hop Café.

  She opened the door and scanned faces, looking for a familiar one. Except for two men sitting separately at the counter, and three women at a table, who as members of the hospital auxiliary were discussing an upcoming fund-raiser, the restaurant was empty.

  Because Janie socialized when she had free time, after she delivered Sam’s iced tea, Sam thought she would return. Looking up from pouring sugar in her drink, she saw Janie at the counter talking to a pretty, fresh-faced young woman.

  Slender with shoulder-length, sun-streaked, light-brown hair, the woman fixed a stare on the three children standing outside the café.

  One of the youngsters, a girl around ten, had a firm grip on a hand of each boy. Sam guessed they were around two and five. Clearly the children were waiting for this woman who hardly looked old enough to be a mother.

  “Heather, I can’t believe my eyes,” Janie was saying. “You’re back.”

  Tiredness traveled from Heather’s weak smile to soft brown eyes. “I don’t know if you heard that my father passed away.”

  “No, I didn’t.” Janie was quick to add, “I’m sorry.”