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Chapter 4
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Edith Burke's living room made Windy feel at home, in an old-fashioned kind of way. The dated furnishings could be called Early-American-Grandmother style: polished maple tables, a cuckoo clock that chimed every hour, an avocado-and-gold sofa, crocheted doilies. Even the outside of the wooden structure shouted Grandma, with its small, manicured lawn and hummingbird feeders. Edith wasn't a grandmother, though. The elderly widow didn't have children of her own.
Windy seated herself in an overstuffed chair and crossed her legs. She watched Edith place a silver tea set on the coffee table and arrange china cups and saucers. The retired teacher often wore an apron and orthopedic shoes, her silver hair professionally coifed. Windy smiled, imagining Edith at the beauty parlor, her thinning hair wrapped in pink curlers.
"Something smells good," Windy said. Edith's home always had a fresh-baked scent, an aroma that made a house feel like a home.
"I fried some round pieces of bread dough, then sprinkled powdered sugar over them." Edith smoothed her apron. "They're one of Sky's favorite treats. He says they remind him of Indian fry-bread." She held up a slightly bent finger. "I'll bring you a platter, and what you don't eat you can take home."
Windy, anxious to get their conversation underway, poured the tea while Edith scurried into the kitchen.
"Here you go." The older lady handed her a plate of the warm pastries. "I suppose they're the European version of fry-bread. I have no idea what to call them. My Italian grandmother used to make them when I was a child."
Windy didn't know what Indian fry-bread was, but the circles of fried dough on the platter looked like thick, puffy clouds. She envisioned Sky devouring each one and kicking the powdered sugar from his fingers.
She placed a napkin on her lap and nibbled the unusual pastry. "This is wonderful. Perfect with tea." And probably packed with calories.
Edith cocked her head in a birdlike pose. "A little treat now and again won't hurt you."
Windy grinned. "You always could read my mind."
"True." The widow added lemon to her tea, sat on the sofa and sipped carefully. "And what a bright mind it is."
"Thanks." Lately her mind had been tuned to one channel. One tall, blue-eyed channel, which made small talk useless at this point. "Tell me about Sky's accident, Edith. Everything you can remember."
"Oh, my." The other woman placed a liver-spotted hand against her bosom. "Where do I start?" She gazed up at the ceiling as though collecting her thoughts. "It all happened so fast. One minute I was pushing the traffic-light button, waiting to cross the street, the next I heard the squeal of tires."
Windy knew the accident had happened near the Equestrian Center, which accounted for Sky's presence there. He must have been working in the area.
Edith continued in a quiet voice. "I would have been hit if it hadn't been for Sky. He ran up shouting, then pushed me out of the way. That car missed me by inches. Sky wasn't so lucky."
"How badly was he hurt?"
"He was in a coma for weeks. The doctors weren't sure if he would pull through. Of course, he did. That boy is a fighter."
"Yes, he is." In more ways than one, Windy thought, picturing Sky's recent black eye. "So when he came out of the coma, he had amnesia?"
Edith nodded. "He suffered a trauma, but no brain damage. Which means it's possible his memory may return someday."
"Just how much does he remember?"
"Not much. When he first came to, he knew his first name was Skyler and that he worked for a man named Charlie."
"Wasn't Charlie able to help? Sky must have talked about himself before the accident."
"Unfortunately Charlie didn't have much to offer. At that time Sky had only worked for him for a few weeks. And since cowboys tend to drift quite a bit, Charlie didn't ask Sky a lot of personal questions. They talked horses mostly."
"What about the police? I mean, here's this man who doesn't know who he is or where he came from. Couldn't they trace Sky's background from his driver's license or Social Security card? Or run a credit check on him for a previous address? Find his family somehow?"
"This is where it gets complicated." She smoothed the starched blue apron in a gesture that seemed like habit, then frowned a little at her next words. "The police said the identification Sky had on him was false."
False? Windy's heart slammed against her ribs. "You mean he had a fake ID? Why?"
"According to the police, there could have been a number of reasons."
"Like what?"
"Criminal activity for one—"
Windy's jaw dropped as her pulse picked up speed. "Oh, my God. You mean—"
"Calm down, dear." Although the older woman still frowned, she interrupted in a steady voice, a voice that didn't react to panic. "Sky's not a hoodlum. The police fingerprinted him and didn't come up with anything."
The tension in Windy's stomach refused to relax, turning the sweet herbal tea sour. She had a man living in her house who had purposely concealed his identity. "Why would someone use a fake ID if they didn't have something to hide?"
"You have to remember this was sixteen years ago, which means Sky may have been a minor. Plenty of minors sneak into bars with those fake IDs," Edith responded, her eyes dark beneath pale gray brows. "And there's also the possibility he may have been a runaway. That, too, would explain the false ID."
A runaway. The thought made Windy sad. The streets were mean to minors, and she doubted Sky would have fared any better than today's troubled youth. "What did the police think?"
"They believed that he'd used the ID for both purposes. That he was a runaway who needed a dummy ID and decided to make himself twenty-one in the process."
"Does that mean Skyler Reed isn't even his real name?"
"It's hard to say." Emotion overtook the other woman, causing her steady, teacher's voice to quaver. "Can you imagine how I felt? Here was this brave young man who had risked his life to save mine. And except for Charlie, whom he had only known for two weeks, he was all alone."
How awful, Windy thought, that no one was searching for him, missing him. "What was Sky like then?"
"He had a rebellious sort of charm. You know, street smart. I could see where he had fooled people with that ID." Edith managed a fond smile. "Oh, of course, there was that vulnerable side of him, too. The boy on the verge of manhood."
"How old do you think he was?"
"The police figured him to be about seventeen."
Windy tried to picture Sky as a street-smart youth in torn jeans and worn-soled boots, passing himself off as a man. She imagined him just as tall, yet leaner, less muscular. His hair would have been long then, too, and his eyes gorgeous but guarded. "Did he seem afraid?"
Edith nodded. "Confused and afraid and trying hard not to show it. He's come a long way." She sighed. "But he still has a hard time accepting affection, even though I think he's starving for it."
Windy couldn't quell the maternal fluttering that Edith's statement caused. Sky was a grown man, yet she felt compelled to mother him, hold him close and erase the pain from his past, the possible ugliness. Teenagers don't run away from happy homes. Then again, people often flee from their own deeds. He could have done something that shamed his family, a moral indiscretion.
"Do you think he remembers things that make him uncomfortable? Things he'd prefer not to talk about?" she asked.
"Maybe." Edith refilled her cup and added her usual squeeze of lemon. "I'm aware that he doesn't tell me everything. He's a young man and I'm an old woman—confidentiality isn't in our favor." She tasted the tea. "I adore him, but I'm not naive. I know he's still a bit of a hellion."
"A hellion with a heroic nature," Windy said. "He's wild and reckless, but trustworthy. Of course, you already knew that, or you wouldn't have suggested him for my roommate." Her stomach settling, she reached for her tea. "I can't help but like him."
The older woman leaned forward and patted her ha
nd. "I knew you would."
A warmth spread through Windy. Edith had always treated her like family. "Has Sky ever mentioned hawks to you? He noticed one this morning outside of the kitchen window and seemed unnerved by it."
"Really?" She brought a finger to her mouth and tapped it against her thin, aging lips. "Sky believes in animal totems. I know that ravens represent magic, but I'm not sure what power the hawk possesses. You'd have to ask him."
"I will." Windy intended to pick her new roommate's brain as thoroughly as he would allow. "I have some shopping to do, but I'll talk to Sky when I get back."
* * *
Sky reclined in a leather chair, watching television. When Windy opened the front door, he turned to face her, already missing the solitude. He still wasn't used to having a roommate, especially a shapely blonde.
"What did you do, buy out the whole place?" The woman carried at least four large department-store bags.
"Maybe I did go a little overboard. There's more stuff in the car."
"I'll go," he offered, grabbing the keys from her hand.
Windy protested, making an unsuccessful attempt to retrieve her keys. "I can bring in my own packages. You're injured, you need to sit still."
Sit still? Hell, he'd been sitting still all day. Ignoring Windy's exasperated sigh, Sky dashed out to her Honda—a well-maintained, practical model, he mused. He drove a '59 Chevy pickup he'd restored himself. The turquoise Apache gave him pleasure, even if it still had drum brakes and lacked power steering.
Within minutes he crashed back through the door, dumping bags and boxes onto the sofa.
Windy, he noticed, had slipped into the chair he'd deserted, studying him as though taking inventory of his character. What did she hope to find? Integrity? A sense of honor? Responsibility? If she looked deep enough, she'd be disappointed. He didn't have anything to offer a woman like her.
Sky shifted his stance and focused on her packages. He moved closer to the sofa to inspect one of the boxes. "Did you buy a pair of boots?" he asked, recognizing the manufacturer's name printed on the box.
Windy blinked, and he figured she hadn't found the character traits in him she'd been searching for. He knew she never would.
"You can open it if you'd like to see them," she said.
"All right." He flipped up the box top, then lifted one shiny black boot. "Hey, these are nice. Flashy."
"Thanks."
She smiled appreciatively, and his stomach fluttered. Did she buy them to impress him? Certain they were her first pair of Western boots, he wondered if she was considering his offer to teach her to ride.
"They're lizard," she said. "I'd thought about snakeskin, but—" she glanced at Tequila's cage "—I didn't want to offend anyone."
Sky placed the boot back in the box. Her soft, teasing smile made him want to flirt. Goose bumps had crept up her arm, and he couldn't help but wonder if he or the snake had caused them.
He knew he possessed the power to visibly maul her, so he did it, no matter how wrong. He thought of it as "mind sex," the safest encounter a celibate man could have.
Sky braced his back against the wall and dove into his fantasy—raking his gaze over her slender body. Although Windy wore a fresh, almost wholesome dress, she looked provocative against the black leather. Wild in an innocent way. A full mouth. Tumbling locks.
Windy didn't miss his lewd appraisal. She brought the recliner forward as though suddenly conscious of her bare legs. "I saw Edith earlier," she said in an apparent attempt to redirect his attention.
Sky continued to disrobe her with his eyes, imagining every feminine swell and lethal curve. A strand of her hair had adhered itself to her glossy lips. He envisioned himself licking it away.
She pushed the unruly hair back into place. "Edith told me about the accident and what happened to you."
Damn it. So much for mind sex. He felt as if a bucket of water had dropped from the ceiling, dousing him with ice-cold reality. "You talked to Edith about me?"
She nodded. "You told me to. Remember?"
His own words haunted him like a disloyal ghost. I'd really prefer you talk to Edith about this. "So you know I have amnesia?"
She nodded again, but took the conversation in another direction. "I asked her about hawks, too. She told me that you believe in animal totems. What does that mean?"
Damn. Pretty Windy had slipped on her psychologist's coat like a nosy little chameleon. He sensed she'd be drilling him for the rest of the day. "It's a heritage thing. Native Americans believe in wacky stuff."
She scooted to the edge of the chair. "You don't think it's wacky or you wouldn't believe in it."
He gave her credit for gentle persistence. "Animals carry medicine, healing powers. They teach us how to live in harmony with Mother Earth. A person's totem protects them and gives them special gifts."
She appeared intrigued, her caramel eyes alight with curiosity. "How can people tell what animal is their totem?"
"Some people have more than one." He decided not to go into too much detail. He'd always felt a connection to God's creatures, but had studied animal medicine in books. "They appear in visions or dreams. And sometimes they're just nearby, guiding and teaching you. You can feel it."
"What's your totem?"
In some tribes, asking someone about their spirit animal was inappropriate, but he didn't adhere to every tradition he'd read about. Besides, he had only recently remembered what nation he belonged to. He motioned to Tequila's terrarium. "Snake medicine."
Windy's jaw dropped and he realized she'd expected a different answer. "What gifts do snakes have?"
Tequila raised her head and Sky smiled. In a sense he communicated with Tequila on a telepathic level, accepting her gifts through his soul. "Snakes represent growth and change, the shedding of skin."
Suddenly Sky frowned, thinking about his black eye and bruised, aching body. How many times had he brawled in some honky-tonk bar? Hell, he hadn't changed a bit, shed his skin at all. "I guess I still have a lot to learn in that regard."
Rather than initiate that fight with Hank, he should have gotten Lucy's number and given it to Edith. The old lady would have been glad to help. Edith dedicated plenty of time to women's shelters. Maybe he'd cruise up to that dusty California town on his next day off and snoop around. Somebody might give him some information about Lucy. And while he was at it, he'd call the local police station about the vandalism and see if they had any leads. He'd feel a lot better if they caught those vandals. It would be hard to leave in three months if that wasn't settled.
Windy interrupted Sky's thoughts with a disturbing question. "Are hawks one of your totem animals, too?"
Oh, hell. He wished he'd never shattered that glass in front of her. "I don't know. I've just been seein' them lately." Having nightmares about them, too. He considered his nocturnal visions nightmares rather than dreams because the hawk always appeared with his son, and the boy was always crying.
Still perched on the end of the leather recliner, she posed another question. "What do hawks represent? What's their medicine?"
Feeling stiff, Sky moved from the floor to the couch. If she intended to keep this conversation going, then he needed to find himself a comfortable position. He sat next to her packages and stretched his legs. "Hawks are messengers."
Her eyes widened, and he could see the psychology wheels turning in her head. "Is that why that hawk upset you this morning? Did you think it was trying to send you a message?"
Yeah, a message that he was a jerk who had abandoned his kid. Irritated, he elbowed one of the packages, rustling the bag. "Hell, I don't know. I learned most of this medicine stuff from books. I'm not an authority."
"We don't have to talk about it right now," she said, clearly aware of his agitation, "but I have the feeling you know a lot more than any book could ever tell you."
Oh, right. That we - don't - have - to - talk - about - it - right - now ploy was a tactic shrinks had used on him before. Did she thi
nk a guy with amnesia hadn't been grilled by psychiatrists and psychologists alike? Hell, they'd teamed up on him when he'd come out of that coma. Them and the cops. A possible runaway with a fake ID and no memory had intrigued them all, and now Windy had caught the fever sixteen years later.
"So when are you gonna unload all this kitchen junk you bought?" he asked, anxious to get rid of her so he could watch TV.
Five minutes later they ended up in the kitchen together. Like a fool he'd offered to help rather than avoid her sweet vanilla scent and annoying questions. She'd lugged her purchases down the hall and he'd watched her backside sway, thinking she had a cute little rear. But after she'd tossed that Lady Godiva mane over her shoulder, he'd given in and panted right after her.
"I appreciate your help," she said, "but I don't want you to push yourself. Those bruises need time to heal."
Sky drew his eyebrows together, wondering if his black eye looked as awful to her as it did to him. "I'm fine. Let's just get this done."
By the time they started unpacking bags and boxes, Sky fumed. What was it about this woman that had him behaving like a tortured kid with a crush? Was it her tender concern? Her unadorned beauty? A little of both, he suspected, thoroughly disgusted with himself.
Windy stood at the counter and attempted to open a small appliance box with a paring knife. Her unpracticed hand moved clumsily across the sealed flaps.
Sky reached for the box, then removed a pocket knife from his jeans. One quick slice opened it. Silent and sullen, he proceeded to open the rest of the boxes. She'd bought casserole dishes, serving platters, red-and-white dishes that matched the kitchen decor. There were other things, too, practical and impractical items like a blender and a food processor. He'd never understood what purpose a food processor served.
Windy chatted easily. "Edith made fried dough. She wanted me to bring some home for you, but I didn't think they would keep well in my car while I was at the mall. It was so hot today. I'll get them later."
"I can go to Edith's house myself. She lives only a couple blocks away." A sugary snack sounded good right about now. He'd upped his sweet intake since he'd quit smoking. Come to think of it, a cigarette sounded even better. He reached for the crumpled pack he kept in his pocket.
SKYLER HAWK: LONE BRAVE Page 5
