She smiled. It had seemed odd to see a grown man conversing with a tattered little bear. "I don't have amnesia, either. If talking out loud helps you to remember—"
"It does," Sky admitted quickly, then picked up the stuffed toy and held it out to Windy. "I think his name's Jesse."
Pleased that he had invited her into an emotional part of his past, she placed her tea on the nightstand and took the bear. "What makes you think that's his name?"
"Every time I look at him the name Jesse pops into my mind. I think I used to talk to him when I was a kid. You know, when I lived in foster care." He squared his shoulders. "I guess I was just trying to remember what I used to say to him. Pretty dumb, huh?"
"No. Not at all." She traced the frayed seam on Jesse's lopsided head, resisting the urge to hug the inanimate creature to her breast. In her mind's eye, she could see Sky as a child, beautiful, alone and afraid, whispering secrets to his teddy bear. "Objects from our past can make us feel closer to our memories, to people we've known, places we've been. And in your case I think that's extremely important."
He shrugged, and Windy wondered if he recalled anything about his biological family. He might not be an orphan in the sense that his parents had actually died. He may have been abandoned, an emotional devastation that would make a child feel orphaned. Windy released a heavyhearted breath. Although her father had died, she knew kids whose dads had disappeared, neglecting their emotional and financial obligations to their children. Abuse came in many forms and, sadly enough, mothers as well as fathers were capable of it.
Windy sat on the edge of Sky's bed and searched for a question that wouldn't sound as though she were prying too deeply. His eyes had glazed, as though exposing his vulnerability had been a mistake. "Does Edith know about your foster care memories?"
"No. I told you because of Lucy. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have mentioned it. I mean, what does it matter?"
Apparently it mattered enough for him to pull Jesse out of the closet, or wherever he stored the tattered teddy bear. "Your past is important, Sky."
"I know. But until I remember who I really am, I can't look for anyone, or…" He moved to the side of the bed, planted his feet on the floor. "Talkin' about this is a waste of time."
Windy couldn't let it go that easily, not after what he'd said. "Who would you look for? Do you think your parents might still be alive?" She searched his gaze as he came toward her. "Not all kids in foster care are orphaned."
He grabbed Jesse out of her arms. "Damn it. Am I a case study to you or a person? Half the time I feel like you're picking my brain for research or something."
She watched him jam the poor little bear into the bottom dresser drawer. A part of her felt maternal toward his childhood toy. And toward him, she thought—for the lonely boy he once was, the guarded man he'd become. "That's not what I'm doing. If I ask you a lot of questions, it's because I care. I know something is troubling you from your past. I want to help."
"Then ease up, okay? Quit trying to be my psychologist. I've been down that road before." He paced the hardwood floor on silent feet, his muscles taut yet lean. For a big man, he moved with a loose, fluid gait. "And of course something's bothering me. I have amnesia. I don't know where I was born, or even what my last name is. Stuff like that would bug most people."
"You're right. I'm sorry." What he needed was a friend, not a Ph.D. She patted a corner of the bed. "Sit with me a minute."
He parked himself beside her, crossed his arms stubbornly. "Why? What do you want?"
"Nothing much." She smiled, hoping to pull one out of him. "I like your cologne. I just wanted you close so I could smell you."
He gave her more than a smile. His eyes sparkled like freshly mined diamonds, rough yet beautiful. "Are you flirting with me, Pretty Windy?"
Was she? No. Not deliberately. "Why would you assume that?"
He tapped the end of her nose. "'Cause I ain't wearing any cologne."
"You're not?" Windy inhaled, certain she detected traces of leather and musk. "Then it must be your room."
A room that reflected the cowboy who slept there. The black Stetson he favored sat atop the dresser, along with a set of pointy spurs and a tooled leather belt. The open closet depicted various shades of denim, small boxes crammed with unknown items and a familiar pair of dusty black boots. Although the room wasn't messy, it wasn't tidy, either. The clothes he'd worn earlier were piled in the only free corner.
She looked back at him and shivered. He had allowed his finger to slide from her nose, to her lips, then beneath her chin in one gentle motion. The urge to kiss his finger stunned her. Discussing their attraction was supposed to make moments like this easier. Less sexual.
"Do you realize how many times you've been in my bedroom?" he asked.
Too many, she wanted to say. "Three."
He nodded. "First time you were wearing a towel, the second a pink nightgown." Smiling, he fingered her pajama top. "And now this."
Her mind went suddenly blank, and she glanced down at her chest to refresh her memory. Good grief. Cat-and-mouse pajamas with no bra and erect nipples. "I like the classic cartoons."
"Me, too." A dimple teased the crooked side of his grin. "But if I were that cat, I'd forget that pesky mouse and go for the girl."
Dare she glance down again? No. She didn't need to. Her cotton pj's felt like fire against her bare skin, igniting each pebbled nipple. Windy swallowed, trying to moisten her dry mouth. "Now who's flirting, Sky?"
"Me," he answered softly. "The guy who has mind sex every time he looks at you."
Mind sex. She assumed he meant it just as it sounded—a celibate man's forbidden fantasies. She swallowed again, but her dry mouth refused to cooperate. Every ounce of saliva had vanished. Now she wanted his wet tongue inside her parched mouth.
Nervousness washed over her. Being aroused in cartoon-inspired pj's felt odd. Since she wanted to cover her breasts with her hair, she considered releasing the plaits in the single braid she wore, then reconsidered. The camouflage technique would probably call even more attention to her distended nipples.
She glanced at the clock. "It's late. I should go."
"No," he said quickly, his voice sounding anxious. "Stay with me. Just for a while. Neither one of us has to work tomorrow."
"I shouldn't be in your room like this."
He cocked his head. "Like what?"
Aroused. Dressed for bed and wanting to kiss you again.
"I think it would be better if we spent some time together tomorrow instead." She couldn't ignore his half-naked body, the masculine scent of his room, the sensual fluttering in her tummy. Tonight she needed to get away from the confusion of wanting him. "Good night, Sky. I'll see you in the morning."
* * *
Sky frowned as he watched her move toward the door. "You're leaving because of what I said, aren't you? That crack about the mind sex."
She stopped, turned. "It did make me uncomfortable. It's not the sort of thing we should be talking about. Especially in your bedroom at this hour."
"I'm sorry." He tugged his hand through his hair, wishing she would stay. "It was just my way of flirting. We both know nothing's going to happen. Hell, we've already slept in the same bed together." And kissed, his mind warned.
She crossed her arms, pressed them to her breasts. "We can't do that again."
"Yeah, I know." After tousling his own hair, he studied Windy's, intrigued by the loose strands that had escaped her braid. He wanted to undo that thick braid, press his face against her neck, inhale her skin. Tell her the worst of his foster care memories.
"Okay, well…" She stood in the same self-conscious manner, folded arms hiding her erect nipples. "I guess I better go."
Sky lifted his gaze and cursed the weakness running through his veins, the need to spill the emotions twisting his gut. "I can't sleep, Windy. That's why I was talking to that damn teddy bear. And that's why I want you to stay." He gripped the bed. "I don't want to be alone
right now."
Her features softened. "Oh, Sky. What's wrong?"
"Lucy, I guess. Not her exactly, but what she reminds me of."
She inched forward. "Your past?"
"Yeah." Of what being unwanted and unloved had done to him. Only, unlike Lucy, he hadn't become a victim. He had victimized others instead. "I hate remembering only bits and pieces. It confuses me."
She sat beside him once again. "I'd be glad to try and help you put the pieces together."
"It's not that easy. There just isn't enough information." Liar. You remember your son. But not the child's mother. Damn it. Why couldn't he remember the boy's mother? "What the cops said about me is true. I did run away."
Why, he wondered, were his memories drifting back now? Was it because of Windy? Had she tapped into his emotions somehow? Made him think and feel, remember who and what he was?
He took a deep breath. "I know why I ran away, too."
Windy leaned forward, her soft brown eyes intent. "You do?"
"I wasn't getting along in foster care so they threatened to put me in one of those correctional institutions." A horrible feeling tightened his gut—a fear of being trapped behind concrete walls. "I took off before they could lock me up."
She touched his hand and her compassion spread through him like an undeserving balm. "Do you realize how much you've been remembering? It won't be long, Sky, before it all comes back."
Still focused on his teenage years, he looked into her eyes, wanting her to know what kind of person he had been. And God forbid, maybe deep down still was. "I even remember why they wanted to lock me up. They called me incorrigible. Said I got into too many fights, skipped too much school, drank too much beer, messed around with too many girls."
She kept her hand on his. "Foster children are often shuffled around a lot. It isn't an easy existence. You wouldn't be the first one who had rebelled."
"Don't make excuses for me," he said, as an image of his son came to mind: a black-haired boy with gray eyes so clear they could pass for silver. He figured being locked up wasn't a good enough reason to split, not when it meant leaving that beautiful child behind. He could still hear his apology to the boy. I'm sorry. I know I said I'd always take care of you, but I can't. I ain't old enough. I don't know how.
Not old enough. What a crock. If he was old enough to father a child, then he was sure as hell old enough to take responsibility. No excuses. If he hadn't been such a delinquent, they wouldn't have threatened to lock him up.
Windy reached up and smoothed his hair in what seemed like a maternal gesture. It made him want to snuggle against her breasts and take comfort in the feminine softness.
"When you remember something, does it happen in images or feelings?" she asked.
"Both." He watched her draw her hand back, place it on her lap. "Some things are just feelings, other things are images, like seeing myself in a dream. None of it's clear, though." He glanced at her hand again, at the slim, delicate fingers. "Like with the foster care stuff, I don't remember where I lived, but I know why I ran away. It's weird that I can remember what people said to me, but can't recall their names or faces."
"It will take time for your mind to fill in all the gaps."
"Yeah. That's what amnesia is. A gap in someone's memory."
Windy nodded and drew her legs up, tucking them beneath her. She looked cute on the corner of his bed, wearing her cartoon pajamas. The top seemed almost too big, but the shorts were just right. They rode well above her knees, exposing nicely shaped thighs. She had a small body with small curves. Her breasts weren't small, though. She had roundness there, a swell of cleavage even the baggy shirt couldn't hide. He figured men admired her class, the ladylike qualities she possessed. Not to mention the tame, girl-next-door face framed by all that wild hair. The sweet face made him smile, but the Lady Godiva mane made him hungry. Even braided or knotted into a bun, it tempted him with its sexy rebellion.
"Suddenly we're at a loss for words," she said.
"Yeah." They had been looking at each other, consumed by the intimacy of the moment, by the closeness they had just shared. Sky had never told another living soul the things he'd admitted to her. Of course, he hadn't told her all of it. Someday, though, he probably would. And when he did, she wouldn't want to hold his hand or comfort him ever again. She'd be glad to see him go.
Sky changed his thought pattern, not wanting her to see the pain creeping into his heart. "Did I tell you Melissa is coming over next Friday?"
"Charlie's daughter?"
"Yeah."
She smiled. "Tell me about her."
"Okay." He glanced at the clock, grateful for Windy's temporary company. By the end of the summer, he'd be alone again. Alone and drifting, as usual. There was no place in his life for a woman like Windy. No place at all.
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
"Hi." The young girl walked into the house, then stopped to introduce herself in a friendly voice. "I'm Melissa. Sky said I didn't have to knock. He's right outside."
"I'm Windy, Sky's roommate. He told me you were visiting this evening."
"He's checking the oil in his truck," Melissa offered, rolling her brown eyes heavenward. "That old thing drinks the stuff."
Windy laughed slightly. Melissa called the vehicle old, whereas Sky referred to his '59 Apache as vintage. "Men love to tinker with old cars and trucks."
"I know." When Melissa smiled, her fine, chiseled features showed promise of a lovely young lady emerging. Sky had described the petite brunette as twelve going on thirty.
"Would you like a soda?" Windy asked, inviting the young girl into the kitchen.
"Sure. Okay." Melissa placed her backpack on the table. "Sky's going to get pizza tonight. Are you going to eat with us?"
"Absolutely." She wouldn't miss the opportunity to spend an evening with a delightful young girl and a captivating man. Besides, the curious side of her wanted to observe Sky with Melissa. She couldn't help but watch everything he did. Psychologically, he fascinated her. He could brood one minute and laugh the next. Although he had talked about his past, she still sensed discomfort. Too often he stared into space, lost in troubled thoughts. He still needed emotional support, of that much she was sure.
As if on cue, a pair of black boots clipped across the tiled floor.
"Finally," Melissa said, drawing Windy's attention to the man entering the kitchen.
Immediately the sight of him stole her senses, the long-legged swagger making her feel like a lovesick schoolgirl. His eyes sought hers. A quick wink. A sudden smile. So fleeting was the flirtation, Windy wasn't certain if it had actually happened.
"So I see you met Missy." He smiled again, this time with his eyes.
"Yes," was all she could manage to say.
"Windy's having dinner with us," the twelve-year-old said, regarding Sky and Windy with an astute gaze.
Sky's azure eyes roamed over Windy's sundress, down her bare legs and back up. "Are you, now?"
"Yes, Skyler, I am," she responded. "I happen to adore pizza." And you, she added mentally, meeting his amused gaze. They were flirting, making silly conversation just for the sake of seeing each other smile. They'd been flirting all week, she realized, telling themselves it was harmless. They were friends—a man who had chosen celibacy and a woman still protecting her virginity. A summer fling wasn't possible.
"Go get the pizza, Sky," Melissa said, practically pushing him out the door. "I'm hungry."
"Do you girls wanna ride along?" he asked.
"Nope." She glanced back at Windy. "We'll both stay here."
As he shrugged and turned to leave, Windy suggested adding a salad to their meal, and Melissa readily agreed. Within minutes the girls were alone in the gingham kitchen getting acquainted while Sky zoomed out of the driveway.
Melissa cut into one of Windy's homegrown tomatoes. She kept potted vegetables on the patio and herbs on the windowsill. Nothing, though, could compare to t
he avocados the ancient tree produced. Several awaited their turn to be sliced.
"Windy, do you like to cook?"
"Love it, do you?"
"Yeah, I help my mom all the time." Melissa scooped the juicy tomato wedges into a bowl. "Do you want to get married someday?"
An answer formed quickly, naturally. "Absolutely. I've been planning my wedding for years." Traditional elegance, she thought: a silk gown with Irish lace and a sea of pearls, roses and tall white candles, a professional photographer, bridesmaids, ushers in tuxedos. "All I need is the groom."
"What about Sky?"
Windy set the lettuce aside, concerned about where Melissa intended to take this girl-talk conversation. She answered the safest way she knew how. "What about him?"
"He likes you."
"Of course he does. We're friends." But even as she said it, her heart nearly beat its way out of her chest. She knew what the phrase He likes you meant in junior-high terms. And Melissa, in all her maturity, was still a twelve-year-old who spoke that adolescent language.
The persistent young girl pushed a little further. "My mom thinks he wants to be more than your friend. She says you're the first girl he's ever talked about."
Oh, no. Matchmaking for her and Sky. "I'm the first girl he's ever lived with." Anxious to turn the tables, she tilted her head and grinned at Melissa. "Speaking of boys, is there one at school you like?"
"Nicky Cardinal." The name came out in one long, dramatic sigh. "He's Italian."
Windy smiled. "Does Nicky know you like him?"
Melissa studied an avocado, then grinned. "Uh-huh. My girlfriend told him. And he's been really nice to me ever since."
"Do you ride your bike by his house on weekends?"
The young girl giggled. "No. I walk. And I wear my cutest outfits. He's older than me."
Maternal protection kicked in. "How much older?"
"A year. He's in eighth grade."
They continued to talk while they prepared the salad, slicing and dicing, then adding grated cheddar cheese and croutons on top. Windy learned about Nicky Cardinal's wavy brown hair and skateboarding skills, along with his recent chipped tooth and interest in archeology. Twenty minutes later, when they had exhausted that male topic, Melissa went right back to their original subject—the tall, blue-eyed one.
SKYLER HAWK: LONE BRAVE Page 9
