by James, Sandy
That’s odd.
Glancing around the part of the room he could see, Ross wondered for moment if he’d ended up in a ski lodge. The place looked enormous and rustic with open wood beams and high ceilings. To his right, he could see a stone fireplace that seemed to dominate the area. A fire still burned, but its embers needed stoking. A large staircase led to a second floor, but the rest of the room was blocked from his view by the sofa.
His hands and feet tingled, but at least they were still attached. His nose itched, and he was relieved that when he scratched it, his fingers worked just fine. He had a passing thought that it was a pleasant surprise to find a sofa long enough he could lie down and not have his feet hang over the end. Ross figured he needed to get up and restore some circulation. He also desperately needed to find a bathroom. But at least the bone-jarring cold was gone.
He gave a small shake to the lush, tempting form sleeping peacefully curled up against him. “Wake up. Come on, Kitten. Time to get up.”
She lifted her head, but her eyes barely opened and she didn’t really seem to focus on anything. She closed them again. “Mmm. Yeah, time to get up,” she murmured. Wiggling her nose for a second, she put her head back on his shoulder and seemed to drift back to sleep.
Ross chuckled. Whoever she was, she obviously wasn’t a morning person. Of course, he had assumed it was morning. The only thing he could be sure of was that the sun was shining.
The vibration of his chest as he laughed must have finally pierced her hazy veil of sleep. She sat up so quickly, she bumped her head against his chin. Her cheeks flamed, and he tried not to smile at her embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have... Are you feeling better?” She stood up to face the couch.
“Who are you?”
“You don’t remember?”
Ross shook his head and sat up, throwing his long legs off the sofa. The smooth, wooden floor felt cold against his bare feet. “No, I don’t. What’s your name?”
“How are you feeling?” She suddenly crouched down in front of him and reached out to grab his hands. Lacing her fingers through his, she pressed their palms tightly together. Her fingernails dug into the backs of his hands, but he didn’t resist her touch out of morbid curiosity as to what she was doing. As she held onto him, she stared up into his eyes; he lowered his head a little so he could return the favor.
Her eyes are blue.
She furrowed her brow as if in deep concentration. Seconds passed before she suddenly pushed his hands away, stood up, and uttered a very unladylike expletive.
“What were you doing?” he asked.
Her lips had drawn thin, and he could see the irritation in her expression. “What’s your name?”
“Do you always answer a question with another question?”
“Do you?” Being flippant must have relieved some of her tension. She looked less aggravated, and he liked how her eyes softened as she watched him. “Sorry. Force of habit. Goes with my job.”
“You have a bathroom I can use?” he asked, deciding the conversation wasn’t horribly productive and he had a pressing need for relief.
She pointed at a door visible off of the great room. “Right over there.”
Ross got up and it suddenly dawned on him that he stood there wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and boxers. Just what in the hell was going on here? He grabbed the afghan she’d folded and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cloak. “Did you slip me a roofie or something?” He couldn’t remember having anything to drink with her. Hell, he couldn’t remember anything but cold.
“A roofie? You really think I’d give you a roofie?”
As he headed to the bathroom, he realized it had been a ridiculous question. “No. Never mind.” Besides, Ross was sure someone as pretty as his mystery woman wouldn’t need drugs to get plenty of attention. But he sure didn’t like the confusion plaguing him, and he wanted answers.
After attending to his immediate needs, he returned to find the blonde kneeling in front of the fireplace, throwing more logs onto the fire. Her pink shirt hugged her voluptuous curves so well he couldn’t help but stare. Her hair was a bit ruffled as locks escaped her ponytail to curl in wisps around her ears and the nape of her neck. Watching her, he felt his stomach somersault. She looks so domestic. Like a woman who felt relaxed, comfortable, and entirely at home in this house. He half expected a couple of kids to run in at any moment with a schnauzer barking at their heels.
Ross walked to the window to check the weather. The snow still fell thick and fast. A side door just outside the window was almost entirely buried in a drift. The wind whipped the snow into small funnels, whirling and twirling in the distance. With the exception of a red barn, there wasn’t another building anywhere in sight. The blinding glare of the sun on the snow finally forced him to look away.
“Is there a phone I could use?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Landline died day before yesterday.”
“My cell’s in the car. Can I borrow yours?”
“Sorry. No cell tower anywhere near here. Looks like you’re incommunicado until we get plowed out. Might be a day or two.” She threw another log on the fire.
I’m trapped here.
She stood up and brushed the dust from the wood off her hands. She still hadn’t given him any solid information about where he was or why she was here. His annoyance soared. “Where in the hell am I?”
She narrowed her eyes as if she didn’t like his tone. Maybe he had sounded a bit gruff.
“The Circle M,” she finally replied.
“The what?”
“The Circle M.”
He felt like he was questioning a hostile witness. This conversation could quickly turn pointless if he didn’t find a way to reach her. Ross sighed in exasperation, mentally counted to ten, and decided to take another approach. “Okay. Let’s try this. I’ll go first. I remember getting lost trying to find someone. Now it’s your turn. What’s your name?”
“Laurie. Your turn. What’s yours?”
“Ross. Your turn again. Where am I?”
She smiled at his little game. “Just outside River Bend. You do know which state you’re in, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Montana. Where men are men and sheep are scared.”
She laughed. “Tourist.” She turned to walk into the kitchen just visible off of the great room.
“Is that an insult?” Ross followed her. “Look, I remember getting lost, and I remember freezing my ass off. But I don’t remember much about you. Would it be too much to ask to have you fill in the gaps? My memory feels like a slice of Swiss cheese.”
“Sorry about that,” she said as he walked into the room. He took a seat at the kitchen table and just watched her. She was standing in front of the ancient gas stove and pouring something into a small pan. Glancing over her shoulder at him, she smiled. “I saw your car buried out in the snow and brought you back inside. You were kinda sleepwalking through the whole thing. You seemed pretty hypothermic but not frostbitten. Your fingers and toes didn’t turn too white, so I figured I just needed to get you warmed up.”
Opening a cabinet, she pulled out two boxes of cereal and two bowls. She opened one box, spilled some cereal into a bowl, and began to eat it with her fingers. She carried the bowl back with her and set it down next to the stove. “Help yourself. If you want milk, I’ve got some evaporated stuff. The power has been out for a couple of days, so no fresh milk.”
Ross closed the box she’d left standing open then poured himself some cereal from the second box before closing it tight as well. Snacking lightly on his Cheerios, he continued his line of questioning. “Lorie, is it? You expect—”
“Not Lorie. Laurie,” she called over her shoulder as she continued to attend to the pan and munch her Froot Loops.
“That’s what I said.”
She whirled around to face him for a moment. “No. You said Lorie. It’s Laurie. Like singing. You know, la la la. Laurie.” She smiled sweetly before turning b
ack to the stove.
Ross put his hand to the bridge of his nose in irritation. “All right. La la la Laurie.” This woman was beyond frustrating. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
“No. Laurie.”
He scowled at her back, ready to hurl a cutting remark until he saw her shoulders rising and falling with her silent laughter. It made it hard to get too angry. “You expect me to believe you hauled me from the car all by yourself?”
She shrugged and pitched her now empty plastic bowl into the sink. “You stumbled. I dragged. We got you here.” Laurie grabbed two mismatched mugs off the wooden rack sitting next to the sink and poured the contents of the pan into them. Tendrils of steam rose from the cups.
“Then why don’t I remember it?” he growled in frustration. This is ridiculous! Why can’t I remember anything?
“Here,” she said as she handed him a mug of hot chocolate. Ross put it down on the table and shoved the rest of the mostly uneaten cereal away from him.
Reaching down to grab a pair of folded socks from the laundry basket sitting on the floor by the table, Laurie tossed them to Ross. He caught them midair. She smiled and nodded. “Listen, memories aren’t always the most trustworthy things. They aren’t just facts, you know. Emotions go into our memories too. You were kind of in shock, so you weren’t processing the information in a...um...meaningful way.”
He sure didn’t like her talking to him like he was in grade school, but he listened, figuring he might learn something about her if he let her ramble.
“I’d guess that your short-term memory never got properly encoded into your long-term memory. Kind of like when someone drinks too much. You know, some of it might come back later when you aren’t as stressed...”
He rolled his eyes in exasperation as he pulled on the socks. “Great,” Ross interrupted. “You’re one of those, aren’t you?”
She narrowed her eyes. He’d pissed her off. She was pretty when she was angry. Of course, she was pretty when she wasn’t angry too. “One of what?”
“Those psychobabble people. What are you, a psych professor?” Before Laurie could answer Ross waved his hand in dismissal. “Nah. Too young to be a professor.”
Fisting her hands against her hips, she frowned at him. He tried not to smile at her vexation, but it was tough. From the heat in her glare, he wondered if steam would pour out of her ears. He’d hit a nerve.
“You’re a little too normal to be an all-out shrink. Let me guess.” He snapped his fingers. “You’re a therapist.”
“How did you—”
Ross waved his hand again. “You speak fluent psychobabble. I hate therapists. You all think you can save the world with a hug.” He grunted a small laugh and drew the afghan closer around his shoulders. Her blue eyes grew darker, stormy, downright gorgeous. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I just haven’t had too many good experiences with psychologists. Most the time, I’m cross examining them and—”
“Ah ha!” Laurie interrupted as she wagged her index finger at him. “You’re one of those.”
Ross tried not to get irate, but this woman had a knack for pushing his buttons. “One of what?”
“An ambulance chaser. I should’ve known.” Laurie took her mug and walked with a triumphant air back into the great room.
Ross grabbed his mug and followed her. The socks made him feel like he was ice skating across the smooth wooden floor. He had to balance the cup carefully to keep the hot liquid from sloshing over the sides. Kind of tough to do while simultaneously keeping the afghan from falling off his shoulders. He finally made it back to the couch, and he sat down next to Laurie who sipped her hot chocolate and stared intently at the fire.
“I’m not an ambulance chaser. I’m an attorney, thank you very much,” he grumbled.
“And I don’t speak psychobabble, thank you very much,” she replied in a syrupy voice as the corner of her lip twitched, betraying her amusement.
She had disarmed his irritation with one humorous retort. He just had to smile at her; she smiled back. If she wasn’t such an exasperating woman, he could learn to love that grin. “Fair enough,” he responded before drinking some of his hot chocolate. My kingdom for a Starbucks! “No coffee? I’m going to be unbearable without coffee.”
Laurie sipped from her mug and then whispered into it. “And you’re not unbearable now?”
She sounded so much like his secretary, he had to chuckle.
They sat in an awkward silence for a few moments. “Who’s Katie?” Laurie asked as she continued to stare into the fireplace.
Ross almost dropped his cup. “How...how do you know about Katie?”
“I don’t. You called me ‘Katie’ right before you fell asleep.”
There wasn’t much he could really tell Laurie, even less he wanted to tell her, hoping to forgo the humiliation that would accompany the tale. “Katie is a former client.”
Laurie didn’t look at him. “I see,” she said before taking another sip from her mug.
“It’s a long story.”
“And you don’t want to share it.”
Ross shook his head. “Can’t share it.” For some peculiar reason, he suddenly didn’t care about the embarrassment. He felt as if he owed her some kind explanation, but there was only so much he could tell her. “Let’s just say I fell for a woman who turned out to be in love with another man. A guy who inherited a lot of money. You know the type. Had everything handed to them. Spoiled to the core. Virtually worthless.” Ross noticed her spine straightened ever so slightly and her chin rose a bit defiantly. He figured he’d have to pursue that curious avenue at a later time. “She was engaged to me, but she ended up marrying an heir who gave up his money for her. Hard act to follow.”
Laurie nodded. “That sounds like Seth Remington’s story. Didn’t he give up his inheritance—the Remington Computer fortune—for a woman?” A look of dawning crossed her face. “Is she your Katie?”
He grunted a noncommittal answer and sipped his hot chocolate, hoping the inquisition had come to an end.
“She is your Katie. And you still love her.”
Damn, she’s insightful. Must be the therapist in her. That and the fact I have a big mouth.
She put her cup on the coffee table and finally turned to look at him. Those gorgeous blue eyes seemed...upset? That didn’t make any sense.
“You love her,” Laurie said, “but she didn’t return your affection. Is that why you’re so jealous of Seth Remington, of people who inherit money? Because she fell for him and not you?”
“I’m not... Well, maybe I am, but...” Ross stammered before deciding her perception was entirely unnerving. He finally chose to give her a direct answer. “Yeah. She fell for him, not me.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Ross rolled his eyes. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Laurie.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You can’t help yourself. You therapists are all alike— picking at people. Always asking the same questions. ‘How do you feel about this,’ and ‘how do you feel about that?’”
Laurie’s bit her bottom lip to keep from scolding Ross. People would never understand her profession—how meaningful it was to help others. This guy probably thought she was nothing more than an armchair Sigmund Freud. Of course, why should a man she just met understand? Her own parents didn’t.
Despite the family wealth to which Laurie had unfettered access, she still chose to pursue her Ph.D. in clinical psychology. Her parents had cajoled and pleaded, even in one instance demanded, that she work for the Miller Foundation, overseeing the money being doled out to different charities. But that wasn’t the life Laurie wanted. While she was well aware that the Miller Foundation helped so many great causes, she wanted, no needed, to reach people on a more personal level.
She thought her father might have a stroke when she told him about her job at the clinic. The Joliet Free Clinic was a place anyone could go to see a psychologist. Laurie
and her partner all but donated their time—both as psychologists and in pursuit of grants from the government and private organizations to keep the place up and running. She didn’t need the money, but her patients surely needed her. Most were indigent or down on their luck, and the clinic provided them with an invaluable service.
Her parents extracted a promise from her the day she started graduate school. On her thirtieth birthday, she would move into the Chairman of the Board position at the Foundation. Psychology would then have to take a smaller secondary role in her life—if there was any time actually left for her to practice. Less than a year. All the time she had left.
Laurie would honor the promise, but she felt a twinge of guilt whenever she thought about leaving the clinic. Most of her patients didn’t have anywhere else to go. She knew it was entirely immature, but she’d been dodging calls from some lawyer who meant to affect her transition as Chairman. So like her father to come at her with someone he thought would intimidate her.
Ross put his cup on the table and interrupted her thoughts. “Where are my clothes? I take it you stripped me. Enjoy the show?”
She quickly grew indignant and felt herself blush. “You were wet. I didn’t want you to get sick.” He gave her an enormous smile in response to her outburst, and that forced the bluster right out of her. What a perfect set of teeth. “I imagine that expensive suit’s ruined. There might be some clothes up in the spare bedroom that will fit you. Maybe. You might be a bit too tall, but...” She shrugged. “Not like you have much choice.”
“How come you slept down here on the sofa with me? Because I’m so... irresistible?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
She could feel her cheeks flush some more. “Um...if you say so.” He laughed in a deep, rich baritone. Her heart fluttered. Then her stomach flipped. “Furnace is out. The fireplace is the only heat. And I figured it might help to use my body heat to warm you up.” She could feel the blush growing hot, spreading over her entire face. Even her ears felt aflame.
His smile was full of mischief. “Oh, so that’s what you were doing when you kissed me. Warming my lips. I guess I should’ve known. Frostbitten lips are so common.”
