Not Without You

by Taylor, Janelle

  Still, he couldn’t help feel like the interloper at his own party. Mary, apart from cleaning his rooms and complaining a bit that his prescribed diet was playing havoc with her culinary skills, paid him scant attention. And if he should ever ask about Kelsey, heaven help him! The woman would scowl and glare as if he’d asked about her own personal sex life. His frustration had a tendency to surface at those times, and more than once he’d barked and growled at Mary like a chained pit bull. Her response was to avoid him even more, and the trickle-down effect was that Kelsey responded in the exact same way.

  “Damn it all,” he muttered aloud, to which Mr. Dog, who’d ignored both him and Joanna during the rehab session, suddenly thumped his tail against the plaid pillow of his wicker dog bed.

  Jarred’s eyelids, weighted down, closed and he fell asleep as quick as a thought. When his eyes snapped open again, dusk had fallen, infusing the room with dim gray light. Stretching, he caught his breath as pain shot up his leg. He groaned and stayed perfectly still until the moment passed. Pulling himself carefully to his feet, he reached for the nearest crutch and hobbled slowly toward the windows, gazing at the darkening skies and windfeathered water of Lake Washington. There was no drizzling rain tonight, but a cold Alaskan front had dropped the temperature so that this December was hovering at the record-breaking mark for an all-time low.

  Itchy and frustrated beyond bearing, Jarred sought some inner peace. He was hot. It might be frigid outside, but the temperature inside the house felt as if it had been cranked to the max. In a fit of pique he ripped off his shirt and leaned bare chested against the rubber padded top of the crutch. A scar curved over his left shoulder like a crescent moon. Surgery had pulled ligaments back together and redirected bones that had been snapped, but nothing was quite working the way he wanted it to… yet.

  But then there were things to be thankful for, too. His right arm and hand, miraculously, had basically been untouched. All organs, though jarred and generally maltreated by the crash, seemed to be working perfectly, and his head injuries had turned out to be less serious than anyone would have believed. He was unbandaged, and though his scalp had been zipper stitched in a few places, the hair had filled in so he looked almost normal.

  Except for his right leg, everything was better than he could have hoped for. Glancing down, he examined his still mending limb. His exercise shorts stopped about three inches above the knee and stitching radiated downward and around in an ugly reddish embrace. This was where the real damage had occurred and the bones were healing with painful slowness. The swelling hadn’t quite gone away either, and the leg felt fat and unwieldy.

  You are so goddamn lucky, he reminded himself with a hard swallow.

  His ankle was a source of concern. He wasn’t going to be playing any tennis in the near future. He wasn’t even going to be walking around without support. The word pulverized seemed stuck in his head, though he knew no one had used it to describe his injuries, at least in his presence.

  Chance Rowden wasn’t so lucky.

  Closing his eyes, Jarred struggled to remember anything—anything at all—about the time directly preceding the plane crash. He’d tried so many times. Hour upon hour of reflection without a glimmer of remembrance. But all he really had to show for those intense spates of reflection were dim memories of voices wishing he wouldn’t recover, the sense of drowning underwater, and a recollection of drug paraphernalia scattered across a scarred and squalid countertop in a shack that seemed to have no bearing on anything at all.

  Mentally flailing his wretched memory for its capriciousness, Jarred thumped his way toward the inner doorway that led to the sitting room. It didn’t help that Detective Newcastle kept hoping he’d drag something from the blank depths of his recall, but to date, his memory was still a black enigma, impenetrable and unrelenting. Jarred’s inability to help seemed to create its own set of problems since Newcastle tersely explained that nothing had developed further other than the absolute certainty that the accident had been no accident. The detective seemed to feel that Jarred had let him down. As if Jarred were purposely holding back that one tile that would arrange all the pieces into a readable mosaic.

  Oh, sure.

  As if that weren’t enough to tax his body and brain, events were happening at work as well. His absence and lack of direction at the helm had created its own turmoil within the company. He’d heard from Will and Sarah and Gwen and even some members of lower management whom he honestly couldn’t remember at all. Kelsey’s transition had not, apparently, been a smooth one. No one liked her being privy to the inner workings of the company, and she’d been deliberately left out of meeting after meeting. They’d put her in charge of interior design of their latest project, bumping a woman who’d worked for the company for ten years. And though Will had bumped that woman into a higher position, she’d quit in a fit of pique. Jarred could scarcely blame her, but he was bugged that Kelsey allowed herself to be shuttled to whatever position they decided to put her in. He wanted her in the thick of it, and though he knew that she was meeting continual resistance, he didn’t have to like or accept it!

  Mr. Dog suddenly lifted his head, barked in delight, and scrambled for the door, nearly knocking Jarred over in the process. Muttering furiously, Jarred clung to the jamb of the archway between his bedroom and sitting room. For inexplicable reasons, Felix chose that moment to enter through the hallway door, which Joanna had left ajar. Since the cat nearly always avoided Jarred’s suite, out of respect for Mr. Dog’s territory, this sudden reversal of behavior caused a minor sensation. Mr. Dog zipped toward the door and Felix arched his furry yellow back and spit fire. The golden retriever, who’d grown bored with this measly intruder, snuffled Felix’s side as he cruised by, sending the cat into paroxysms of yowling fury.

  Jarred muttered, “Oh, relax,” as Felix streaked past him to hide beneath the bed, alternately growling low in his throat and cranking up to a wail of utter indignation that sounded like a feline siren.

  The soft closing of the kitchen door to the garage reached Jarred’s ears. Beneath the racket of the dog and cat, he’d missed the hum of the garage door being electronically lifted. Kelsey was home. Mr. Dog’s reaction had been in answer to her arrival.

  Moving like the cripple he currently was, Jarred inched his way to the stairs and the long descent in front of him. He gazed downstairs, wondering if he dared attempt to corral his wife. Gritting his teeth and grabbing the rail, he half hopped, half slid down to the first landing.

  “Hello, there,” Kelsey greeted the golden retriever fondly as she entered the room. Mr. Dog politely waited inside the kitchen, tail frantically sweeping the wooden floor. Since his first overanxious greeting, the dog had learned a bit of restraint. He was excited to greet Kelsey, but not nearly so enthusiasticaly. Jarred’s return had calmed him down considerably, but he was still nice enough to mark her arrival, waiting for her inside the door like a butler.

  Felix, on the other hand, having adjusted poorly to the change, hid in Kelsey’s closet for most hours of the day. Sometimes, Kelsey wished she could join him.

  Not that Jarred had been a problem—far from it. He’d been confined to his rooms and that was just as well because she hated working at Bryant Industries and pretty much felt the same way about all of his employees! They treated her like a spy, a thief, and a poor relation, and they wanted nothing to do with her at all. The only one who’d shown a modicum of empathy and interest was Jarred’s personal secretary, Gwen, and that was why Kelsey had gratefully agreed to meet her for a drink and dinner later tonight. Sure, she should have stayed in the city to make that meeting, but Kelsey felt anxious about Jarred these days. He was making great progress, according to his physical therapist, but it was a long road. She felt compelled to check up on him. Then, feeling as if she were overburdening him, she would slip away quickly after reporting on the doings at Bryant Industries.

  And his personality had tanked during the process! He was, in a word, a grouch
. Half the time, Kelsey had to smother a smile at his grumbling. She felt like a little mother hen, and she knew, if Jarred suspected her maternal leanings, he would have a fit. He’d been too supremely male for too long to appreciate the reversal of roles.

  But that’s not the only reason, is it, Kelsey? You’re afraid Sarah will be with him….

  Grabbing an apple from the basket, she polished it on her blouse, not liking her own thoughts one iota. She’d caught Sarah lurking around the house a time or two— once with Will, once without. It had bugged her to no end, and though she knew Sarah’s presence undoubtedly had to do with business, she could just imagine the blond amazon stroking Jarred’s injured limbs along with his pride. The image was enough to make her crazy.

  But it was partly her own fault. She’d absolutely refused to become a signer at Bryant, thinking Jarred really had lost his mind. So since Jarred hadn’t abdicated that respon- sibility to anyone else, Will and Sarah trooped over to the house and went over documents with Jarred himself. Which was fine with Kelsey. She could be his eyes and ears, but she sure as hell didn’t want to make any decisions when she knew she was only being given half the information. It wouldn’t be beneath Sarah to set her up and watch her fall.

  There was no Sarah here tonight, however, unless she’d arrived by taxi. She’d apparently gone home after work after all. Kelsey had been suspicious when Sarah left a bit early, and as soon as she dared, she’d torn out after her nemesis, driving like a maniac through the burgeoning traffic. But she’d been greeted by an innocent-faced dog and nobody else. Not even Mary, as evidenced by the note left on the kitchen island. So her race home had all been for naught.

  “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered to herself, biting into the apple.

  Footsteps on the stairs. Instantly she froze and glanced at the ceiling. Maybe Sarah was here. Upstairs. With Jarred.

  Striding to the foyer, she looked up to see her husband clinging to the rail on the upper landing. “Jarred!” she cried, in alarm. “What are you doing? My God! Don’t move. Don’t…move….”

  His lips were white, his jaw set. She walked to the bottom of the stairs and looked up. “Jarred?” she asked carefully.

  “I’m… coming… down ”

  The words were a pant. She instantly had visions of soft bones buckling under the strain. Tossing down the apple she hurried upward and wrapped her arms around his chest to support him without a second thought.

  The touch of his bare skin shocked her. It shocked him, too, apparently, because he flinched, and for a moment she was afraid they were both going to tumble downward.

  “Jarred,” she whispered softly, her voice breathless with fear and dismay.

  For an answer he turned his lips into her hair, by design or mistake she wasn’t sure, and said simply, “Shh.”

  One hand was around his back; the other was placed on his chest. His heart beat heavily beneath her palm. His skin was hot and smooth apart from the V of crisp chest hair that invited her fingers to curl into it. She remained ultrastill, scarcely daring to breathe. She wanted to drag him back to safety. She wanted to wrap herself around him like a cloak. She wanted to keep on touching him.

  “Can you take a step back?” she whispered.

  “No.”

  “If you keep going downstairs, you’ll have to stay there. I can’t carry you upstairs.”

  “I hate this.”

  “Take a step back, Jarred. I’ll help you.”

  It was all she could do. His arm was over her shoulders, his weight nearly crushing her as he shifted against her for support. They took one step backward, then another. Then they bumped across the upper gallery landing and managed the five stairs to the upper floor. She kept hold of him through the outer door of his sitting room, and he indicated with a grunt that he wanted to sit on the sofa in front of the windows.

  “Maybe you should go back to the bedroom while you have the chance?” Kelsey suggested.

  “I can get there,” he bit out. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he aimed for the gray-and-white-striped couch flanked by two black leather chairs. Collapsing onto the couch and out of her arms, he sat white faced and silent for several moments.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Don’t leave.”

  “I’m not. I’m just…looking for a place to sit,” she lied, seating herself on a black leather ottoman.

  He lay slumped to one side, favoring the bad leg and straining the opposite arm, his injured one. Though he fought it, his breath came in hard pants, which he tried to disguise. Kelsey clasped her hands between her knees and asked, “What exactly were you trying to do?”

  “Go downstairs.”

  His terse response forced her to smile in spite of herself. He looked so vulnerable and attractive and annoyed at himself. The semicircular scar around his shoulder was smooth and already fading, noticeable for the moment, but soon it would blend in and be a memory. The scars on his leg told another story, but Kelsey wasn’t put off by them at all. Jarred, however, appeared to be having second thoughts about this appearance, for he frowned down at the offending leg and his right hand dropped protectively to his knee.

  “Could I get you something to—”

  “No.”

  “—drink?”

  “No.” A pause. “Thank you.”

  “You sure you don’t want help to your room? I don’t want to leave you here and find out tomorrow that you couldn’t get to bed.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “What was so all fired important about going downstairs?”

  His jaw tightened. “I just…wanted to.”

  Silence pooled in the space between them. Kelsey felt useless and incredibly healthy and strong, and she knew he sensed the disparity between them and hated it. She tried to figure out how to tell him she was on her way out, wondering why it mattered so much, wishing she’d stayed in the city instead of driving all the way home just to—what? Confront Sarah Ackerman?

  She couldn’t know that Jarred was suffering all kinds of indignities and defeat when it came to his wife. Her unconscious beauty knocked him over. How could he not have noticed all those years before the accident? How could he have nursed such a hurt and anger that the very things that had attracted him to her in the first place were forgotten, lost, and overlooked? Now he felt their power as never before. Her amber eyes and delicately winged brows, her brown hair, shot with red, her soft lips and the tiny lines of amusement that deepened around her mouth when she smiled—every aspect of her face entranced him. And he felt ugly and awkward before her fresh beauty.

  “Is something else wrong?” she suddenly asked, her gaze sweeping over him.

  Her concern irked him. “You mean, beyond the obvious.”

  “Did you reinjure yourself?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Yes! I’m not an invalid, Kelsey!”

  “I know.”

  He closed his eyes, his mouth grim. “Do you?”

  “I know very well what you are,” she said, smoothing her palms down the thighs of her taupe slacks. Climbing to her feet, she said, “I have an appointment in town tonight.”

  His eyes flew open, narrowing on her face. “Appointment?”

  “With Gwen, actually. I think she feels sorry for me,” Kelsey admitted with that enticing quirk of her lips. “Everyone else at the company just wishes I would evaporate.”

  Jarred shook his head. “Don’t let them do that to you.”

  “Let them,” she repeated with a snort. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. I know you want me to help ferret out what’s going on, but so far I’ve been less than effective. They don’t want me around. Maybe it’s to cover up their nefarious doings, maybe not. I think they’re worried you’ve lost your mind and I’ve taken advantage of you.”

  “I have lost my mind,” he pointed out.

  “Not that much,” Kelsey disagreed. “Maybe if they knew how clear your thinking really is—I mean, it must
scare them to death to depend on your signature, thinking you’re an amnesiac.”

  “They know I can reason just fine. I just don’t want to rehash some of the past with any of them,” he admitted, frowning. “It’s easier to keep them in the dark, and besides, somebody tried to kill me.”

  His bald words silenced Kelsey for a moment. “You still can’t remember anything about Chance?”

  “No.”

  Kelsey had thanked Jarred for calling the Rowdens and offering his condolences, but he’d dismissed her gratitude. He’d needed to talk to them, and he’d told her he planned to visit them when he was mobile again. He’d admitted that he felt somehow bonded with them, and he hoped— as did Marlena and Robert—that somehow, someday his memory would flood back and offer an explanation, and therefore closure, for everyone.

  “I remember our marriage,” Jarred said into the silence.

  Kelsey tried not to overreact. There were so many aspects of their marriage that she herself would like to forget. “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry for being such a bastard. It won’t happen again.” He paused, then asked, “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes,” she said. Shooting him a sideways look, she said, “I’m probably the biggest fool on earth, but yes, I believe you.”

  Relieved, Jarred grinned. “You probably are. Thank God.”

  Kelsey shot him a quick smile. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait!”

  He struggled to sit up, silently cursing his inability to make even the slightest move without turning it into an amazing feat of physical strength. Kelsey rushed to his side and reached around Jarred’s chest just as his bad leg jarred and he let out an inadvertent grunt of pain.

  “Are you okay? Jarred? Tell me, are you all right?”

  No. His face was buried into the cushions of the couch. He felt tangled and wrenched and angry, and somewhere, in the midst of all that feeling, he also felt new stirrings of desire. It was the seductive smell of her hair and heat of her body. Her breath and the tone of her voice. The curve of her cheek. The downy softness of skin, bare millimeters from his view. The pressure of soft breasts against his chest.