by Linda Conrad
“Don’t you worry, ma’am. You’re coming home with me. You’ll be perfectly safe and comfortable there. I’ve got a spare bedroom and it’s all made up.” Had he really just said that? He stood up and stretched his legs.
“Your spare room should be okay, Jericho,” Doc said. “But there’s something I must tell you both first.
“I haven’t said anything to Rosie about this yet,” the doctor continued. “Because I don’t know if it might spark a memory and cause her some pain. But both of you need to know that there should be someone who cares about her and should’ve missed her by now.”
Rosie sat forward in her chair. “What do you mean?”
“While I was examining you, I discovered you’re around two months’ pregnant.” The doc said it carefully, gently, but there was no way to make that news go down easy.
“No.” She put a hand to her belly. “Can’t be. How could I forget something like that?”
The doc went over to put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s possible that you didn’t realize you were pregnant before you lost your memory. Two months isn’t very far along. If you don’t start getting your memories or haven’t found a family by the time you’re feeling a little stronger, come on in and see me for prenatal instructions.
“And in the meantime, watch your diet. No caffeine. No alcohol, and definitely no smoking. My examination tells me you’ve never carried a baby to full term before, but I’m sure you won’t have any trouble. There are just some things you’ll need to know.”
“Yeah,” Rosie said. “Like who I am and who the baby’s father is.” She shot Jericho a rolled-eye smile.
It was such an intimate gesture. As though the two of them already shared some gigantic secret from the rest of the world. In that split second, her smile miraculously swept away one of the invisible shackles to his normal restraint.
He could almost hear the snap of an old, half-forgotten anguish relinquishing its hold on him.
With a competent smile, he offered her a helping hand at the elbow. “Let’s go. All of this will look better in the morning.”
She stood and he did something he hadn’t done in so long he could barely remember the last time. As they walked out of the doctor’s office, he pulled her closer and they walked arm in arm together toward the truck.
Chapter 3
T he moment Rosie stepped into Jericho’s huge log-cabin home it seemed clear she’d made a mistake. Oh, the place was beautiful, with its handcrafted furnishings, sleek open spaces and heavy-beamed ceilings.
After taking a few steps past the wide front door, she spied a state-of-the-art kitchen, including dark granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances, that appeared prominently just beyond the stone fireplace.
Decorated in tans, browns and natural woods, the place certainly looked comfortable. And since Jericho was sheriff, it should be safe.
But where were the feminine touches? The walls held few decorations, save for a large fish mounted on a brass plaque and a couple of birds, or maybe they were ducks, stuffed and stuck on wooden planks. A bronze statue standing on a hand-hewed coffee table was the only other decoration she saw. Even the kitchen seemed stark and empty. This was definitely a man’s home. A single man.
“Uh,” she began. “Aren’t you married? Where’s your wife?” Why hadn’t she thought to ask that before she agreed to stay here?
“I’m not married.” He walked to the grand, airy kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “You want something to eat or drink? There isn’t much. I was, ah, supposed to be on my honeymoon tonight.”
She relaxed a bit. At least he had a girlfriend. “What happened? What stopped the honeymoon?”
He turned from the open fridge. “There was a shooting right outside the church. The wedding was called off.”
“Ouch.” She winced and slid onto one of the barstools at the counter. “I screwed it up, didn’t I? I’m so sorry.”
Leaving the refrigerator door standing open, Jericho crossed the kitchen and leaned over the counter in her direction. He laid a hand on her shoulder and the electric jolt his warmth caused against her skin both shocked and surprised her.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said. “Seems the bride-to-be was about to call the whole thing off. Temporarily, anyway. I’d bet she might even be grateful that you gave her the perfect excuse.” He took his hand away and stared at it, as if he too had felt the sizzle.
With his hand gone from her shoulder, Rosie decided she could almost breathe again. “You don’t sound very upset. Are you heartbroken?”
Turning his back, Jericho cleared his throat and went to the open fridge. “Naw. It was going to be one of those whata-you-call-’ems? Marriages of convenience. Macy Ward has been my best friend since we were kids. I volunteered to marry her and take over being the father to her out-of-control teenage son.”
He glanced around the kitchen and then back into the nearly empty refrigerator as though he had never seen them before. “But I’m not sure where I figured we would make a home together. This place isn’t set up for a wife and kid. I built it with my own hands, me and my dad, and I certainly don’t want to move out of it and go to town.
“I guess I hadn’t really thought the whole thing through well enough.”
Maybe it was because of her jumbled state of mind, but she was having trouble processing everything he’d said. “You mean you two don’t love each other but you were going to get married anyway? I didn’t know things like that really happened.” She shook her head. “Just so you could be a father to her son? Wow.”
What was that she’d been spouting? How would she know anything at all, let alone about marriage? Was she married? She didn’t feel like she was. Damn. The harder she thought, the hazier everything became. She must be more disoriented than she’d thought.
“Yeah, I guess that’s about right.” Jericho shrugged a shoulder. “You want tomato soup? I’ve got a can or two I can heat up and soda crackers to go with it.”
Was this guy for real? “Sure. Soup will be fine.” Maybe the whole thing was some terrible dream she’d been having. Any moment now she would wake up and find herself back to being…
Nope. The best she could do was to remember she’d been running for her life and had fallen at the feet of one deadly gorgeous, single Texas sheriff.
And tonight she would have to adjust herself to a whole new persona. Mother-to-be. Without so much as a smattering of memory of her own mother.
Not to mention, without having the first clue as to who the baby’s father might be.
Hmm. All that might be more than she could handle for one night. Maybe she’d be better off doing what the doctor said and just go with the flow. At least for tonight.
So far she’d learned this Sheriff Jericho guy might be too good to be true. Marrying the best friend he didn’t love in order to give her son a father? Good for him. And by the same token, that ought to mean she wouldn’t have to worry about him forcing her to do anything against her will. Mister Knight in Shining Armor must be the ultimate good guy. Who woulda thunk a man like that really existed?
Rosie tried to let her mind go blank as she watched Jericho fumble around in the kitchen. But she couldn’t get the idea of him being unattached out of her head.
As she looked down at her left hand, it made her chuckle to think that she would know about married women wearing wedding rings on the third finger of their left hands but she didn’t know whether or not she was married herself. Her fingers bore no rings at all. But that didn’t tell the whole story. What if she’d taken off her rings? What if they’d been stolen?
Sighing in frustration, she went back to studying the man.
Then wished she hadn’t.
Wide, muscular shoulders flexed as he reached for dishes in the cabinets. His dark blond hair and sexy hazel eyes made him as handsome as any movie star. Her glance moved down along his torso as it narrowed to lean hips. She forced herself to turn away from the sight of his fanta
stically tight butt. But she didn’t completely lose sight of his long arms and even longer legs. The whole picture was developing into a hero, all lean and formidable. Like the sheriff in a white hat from an old-time movie.
The good guy. The sexy good guy.
He set a bowl of steaming soup in front of her and sat across the counter with his own. “This must be tough on you.”
Heartfelt concern shone from those deep hazel eyes as he gazed intently in her direction. The more she watched them, the darker the irises became. Soon they were steel gray, and suddenly sensual. Hot.
She quickly took a sip of the soup and nearly burned her tongue. “Uh, yeah. It’s hard not knowing where I came from or who I am. I wish I knew what those men were after.”
Jericho lifted the spoon to his mouth and blew as he studied the beautiful woman across the counter. He was having trouble keeping his mind from wandering. Wandering off to things he would love to do to her, for her, with her.
Her stunning eyes had lost that wild, crazed look, so he’d been studying the rest. The body seemed made for sex. At five-foot-ten or so, she wasn’t quite his height. But she also wasn’t a dainty little thing, one who might break if he didn’t watch his step. Somewhat on the thin side, she looked like a model. But unlike the models he’d seen on magazines, her lean body just made those fantastic breasts seem all the more voluptuous. And those legs. Don’t get him started on those long, shapely legs. Even encased in designer jeans, he could tell how they would look naked—wrapped around his waist and in the heat of passion.
The mere sight of a good-looking woman had never done things like this to his libido in the past. He couldn’t imagine why she was so different. But the why didn’t seem to matter all that much. She just was, and he had to find a way to stop thinking about her like that.
She was pregnant. No doubt she belonged to someone—somewhere.
“Is the soup okay?” he asked, trying to push aside the unwanted thoughts. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I settle you down for the night?”
Ah hell. Just the word night made him long for things he had no business even considering.
“Soup’s fine.” She took another sip and a bite of the crackers. “But I feel so…I don’t know. Like I’m not grounded. Like I’m flying around in midair. It’s probably because I can’t recall my past and my family. And this baby thing…That really threw me.
“Maybe it would help if you told me something about your family,” she went on to suggest. “Would you mind? I think just hearing that someone else can remember and knows who they are will give me hope that someday I’ll get my memories back. Does that seem too nosy?”
He was good at questioning victims and criminals. And he’d forced himself to become a decent politician in order to get elected. But talking about his life to a complete stranger was totally out of his realm. He had a strong instinct to keep his mouth shut, but she looked so vulnerable, so needy.
“There’s not much to tell.” But he guessed he could give her a few basic facts. “I was born and raised right here in Esperanza. My dad is Buck Yates, and he was born right here in town, too. Dad spent years in the service and now he owns the farm-supply store in town. Of course around here, that means he sells mostly guns and tack, some deer blinds and a lot of game feeders.”
Jericho let himself give her one of his polite, running-for-office smiles as he continued. “My older brother, Fisher, is a captain in the U.S. Army, just home on leave from his third tour of duty in the Middle East.” He shrugged and ducked his head, not knowing where to go from here. “That’s about it for the family. Want to hear about my friends?”
“You didn’t mention your mother. Has she passed away?”
If only she had simply died. “Our mother took off when Fisher and I were kids.”
“Took off?”
“Disappeared. Haven’t heard a word from her in nearly thirty years. She might be dead by now for all I know.” Good riddance if she was.
He stood, picked up his empty soup bowl and eyed Rosie’s almost empty one. “You want another bowl of soup? Or anything else?”
Without answering, Rosie glanced up at him and he spotted dark, purplish circles under her eyes. The lady was whooped. His protective instincts kicked right back in again.
“Let’s get you into bed for now. We’ll have a fresh start in the morning. Okay with you?”
“I am tired. Thanks.” She slid off the barstool and he watched her hanging tightly on to the counter as if her legs were about to give out on her.
He dumped the dishes into the sink and went to her side. “Here, take my arm. I won’t let you fall.”
For a moment, it seemed that she would refuse. Jericho saw her try to straighten up and steady herself. But within a split second, she started to slide.
There was no choice. He bent to pick her up in his arms. A lot lighter than he’d imagined, her body hugged his chest as she threw her arms around his neck and hung on.
“I feel ridiculous. I can’t even remember my own name and now I can’t walk under my own steam. It’s a good thing you’re here, Sheriff.”
Yeah, maybe. Or maybe this was going to turn into his worst nightmare.
Jericho carried her down the hall and into the spare room. Setting her down in the corner chair, he pulled back the covers from the double bed.
“This should be comfortable enough.” He had to turn away from the sight of clean, fresh sheets just waiting for bodies to mess them up.
“It looks great,” she told him. “But I wish I had a pair of clean pajamas. These clothes are getting gamy.”
He stood there for a second, picturing her naked again. Finally, making a tremendous effort, he started thinking with his head instead of another part of his anatomy.
“How about I lend you one of my T-shirts? I’ve got one or two older ones that’ve turned soft from washing and I don’t wear them anymore. Would that do?”
She nodded and gave him a weak smile.
When he brought a shirt back into the room and handed it to her, his sex-obsessed brain produced another thought. This one worried him.
“Are you going to need help getting undressed?”
“No, I’m feeling stronger, thanks. I think the food helped.”
“Great. The bathroom is right across the hall. There are towels in the closet and an extra new toothbrush. Use whatever you need.”
“Thanks again, Jericho. I’ll be fine. See you in the morning.”
Glad to know she would be okay for the night, Jericho eased out of her room and headed for his own. He probably wouldn’t fare as well with his own night. The thought of Rosie lying in bed in the room right next to his would keep him tossing and turning.
Sighing, he shrugged off his by-now-filthy dress shirt and tried telling himself it would all be okay. He had a plan. He would just start thinking of her like he would a roommate.
Well, that plan didn’t work out so well. Jericho dragged himself into the shower the next morning and turned the faucets on full cold. Roommate, my foot. When had a roommate ever kept him lying awake for half the night with daydreams of long, silky legs and ripe, sensitive breasts?
Irritated at himself, he swore to do better today. And it would serve him right if he was too tired and miserable all day long to concentrate.
After his shower, he stood before the mirror, preparing to shave. A couple of things were going to have to change today, he silently demanded of his image. He needed to get a line on Rosie’s relatives. Somewhere people must be missing her. The sooner he found them and returned her to her previous life, the better off he would be. Let someone else protect her.
The second thing that needed to change was the way she dressed. She didn’t have a change of clothes, and she needed to cover herself up real soon.
But the thought of how she dressed reminded him of something else. Another chore he must do, first thing. Maybe he could combine the two. Yeah, that should work.
Rosie opened her eye
s when a dash of sunlight hit her eyelids and irritated her enough to wake up. She glanced over at the bright sunshine peeping through the wood-slatted miniblinds and wondered what time it was.
Rolling over, it hit her. A gigantic black void. The gaping abyss in her brain suddenly threatened to swallow her whole.
Gasping for air, as though someone had been choking her, and flailing her arms against a sea of nothingness and nausea, Rosie let her mind grab hold of the only thing it could. The one thing she saw clearly. The memory of Jericho Yates.
Immediately her heart rate slowed and warmth replaced the stone-cold numbness she’d felt when she awoke to find nothing familiar. Jericho had made one hell of an anchor last night. He’d tethered her to the earth with quiet concern and a sensual smile.
Fighting to remain in the moment and trying not to think either backward or forward, she sat at the edge of the bed and took stock. First was the physical. Her head wasn’t pounding as it had been last night. The stitches in her side were barely noticeable. She rotated her ankle and found only an echo of the pain she’d experienced.
Okay, so she felt a little achy and sore, but she would live. Well, unless the bad guys came back.
Her second concern—and the real question—remained the same as before: How was she going to get her memories back? The doctor said not to push it. The moment she’d tried to find some thread of memory, panic had set in.
Taking another deep breath, she came to the conclusion that she had no choice. To keep from going stark raving mad, she had better just go along minute by minute. Living hour by hour and feeling her way.
Standing in the kitchen drinking coffee, Jericho heard Rosie opening the spare room door and going into the bathroom. The sudden jolt of anticipation at seeing her again competed with the practiced calm he had almost perfected during the hours since his shower.
But just then someone knocked on the front door. Jericho figured Rosie’s goons wouldn’t have the guts to confront him in broad daylight, and they definitely wouldn’t be knocking when they came to call. So this must be the person he was expecting.
