Peppermint Creek Inn (6 page)

“My hands?”

“There were full of slivers. I’ve managed to get them all out.”

He remembered reaching out, trying to grab at something, trying to keep from falling after someone had bashed him over the head.

“I remember being in a building. An old building. Abandoned.”

She nodded her head thoughtfully. “There are a few abandoned buildings strewn around. We can talk about that later. First how about some more tea?”

“Please.”

He watched her pour another cup, intense curiosity about this gorgeous woman finally taking hold. “How’d you get the cuffs off?”

“My husband used to be a police officer. He taught a lot of workshops. One of them was about handcuffs and how easy it was to get out of them with a makeshift key.”

She reached for something on the table and to his surprise she held up a ballpoint pen.

“He put a small slit right here—” she pointed to the end of the pen “—and pried a piece of the metal away which gave him a small bit. Used alternately with a paper clip and lots of patience, it works wonders.”

“Ingenious contraption,” he replied with awe.

“Does the job,” she laughed as she dropped the pen back onto the night table.

“You said he used to be a cop?”

He didn’t miss her slight hesitation before answering. “He quit the force and we came out here to follow our dreams.”

“And did your dreams come true?”

The flash of raw pain in her chocolate brown eyes just about made him sick. He’d struck a nerve and immediately recognized the “no trespassing” sign go up in her eyes. Quickly he changed the subject.

“That tea over there,” he glanced slightly to the other mug containing the vile liquid and said with a chuckle, “What did you do, make it taste bad to pay me back for the way I introduced myself?”

The painful look on her face disintegrated into a cold frown that could have been made of brittle glass.

“Good guess,” she replied icily.

She lifted his head again, not as gently as last time and pressed the mug firmly to his lips.

“Drink,” she ordered.

He didn’t sip. Instead, his mouth dropped open in surprise at her sudden chilly attitude.

“Hey. I meant it as a joke.”

“I didn’t.”

Suddenly things began falling into place left, right and center about the Peppermint Creek Inn and her mistress.

Broken window. A dead rat. Burned-out remains of a recent fire.

“Aw, c’mon don’t tell me you think I had something to do with wrecking your window? It was already broken when I got here. And I caught a glimpse of that rat on the counter. I swear I had nothing to do with it.”

She didn’t answer. Confusion brewed in her dark eyes.

“It looks like you’ve had some trouble around here. How long has it been happening?”

“Since you showed up a few days ago. Drink!” she ordered.

But he couldn’t drink. He blinked in surprise at her, not quite grasping what she’d said.

“Did you say a few days? How many days?”

She must have seen a flash of warning in his eyes because she quickly withdrew the steaming mug from him and placed it on the tray before answering.

“Two days. You’re heading into the third night.”

“Oh, man, I have to go!” he tried to pull himself up but a sharp, searing pain drilled a hole straight through his back into his belly making him gasp aloud.

“You feel that?” Her brows knotted with concern. “That’s a bullet hole. You won’t be going anywhere for a while. So just sit back and relax will you? I don’t want a repeat performance of the last few days.”

Her large brown eyes suddenly took on a mischievous gleam and her features softened. She pointed to a nearby open doorway. “And if you have to go, the bathroom is over there. I’m getting a little tired of empting the bedpan for you.”

Her apparent stab at humor did nothing to remove the anxiety shooting through his system. She wasn’t safe with him around.

“You don’t understand. I have to leave. Now!”

Gritting his teeth against the searing pain slicing through his back and the battering ram inside his head, he made a second attempt at pushing aside the blankets.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she cried and in one quick fluid motion her warm velvet hand dusted like sizzling steel against his chest sending one hell of a jolt shooting through his system. He stopped short, thoroughly enjoying the erotic feel of her restraining fingers loosely entangled in the curly hairs of his bare chest.

Gently but firmly she pushed him back against the pillows and hesitantly withdrew her hand. He didn’t miss the windblown roses suddenly sweep across her cheeks before she turned her face away. With slim trembling fingers, she tried to smooth out a non-existing wrinkle on the comforter.

Was he imagining her shaky fingers? The wonderful blush? Did she also feel the attraction between the two of them?

It took him a moment to find his voice. When he did, he tried hard to keep it steady.

“Look. It’s important that I keep moving.”

Her head snapped up in sudden anger. “On the other hand if you bled to death, you wouldn’t be moving at all, would you?”

“We all have to die someday,” he quirked.

“Well, that counts you out, then. Only the good die young.”

He felt the faintest smile crack his dry lips.

“So, are you just being shy or don’t you have a name?” she asked softly.

“I—” His name was suddenly right there, on the tip of his tongue. And then it retreated with lightning speed, straight into the deep black abyss where his memories should have been stored.

He looked up and was surprised to see genuine worry lurking in those warm liquid fudge depths. Worry for him? Somehow, the thought seemed oddly endearing.

But all the wishful thinking in the world wouldn’t change the facts. The facts were anyone who helped him would end up dead. He had no idea who he was, why he’d come here, and why he was being chased by the cops or why they wanted him dead. He just knew they did, especially after remembering the cop shooting him in the back.

“I’m going to be brutally honest with you, Mrs. Clarke.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“It’s better if you don’t know who I am. Better yet, for your own safety, pretend you never saw me.”

Sara lifted her brows, an amused twinkle in her eye. “You mean, like you’re a figment of my imagination?”

“Exactly.”

The twinkle in her eye quickly disappeared and she frowned. “I’m sorry, but to be brutally honest as you so kindly put it, I don’t lie.”

“Not even for your own safety?”

“Nope.”

He sighed in frustration. “Great. Just great.”

“Why are you being so serious?”

“Because I don’t know who—” He cut himself off, suddenly realizing he’d almost given himself away.

“You don’t know who you are, do you? That’s what you were going to say?”

How the hell did she know?

“It wasn’t hard to guess. The way you acted the night we met. Demanding me to tell you your name. It was an odd request. While you were delirious, you kept asking me to help you find out who you are. Can you remember anything at all?”

“Everything’s fuzzy. Bits and pieces. Images. Nothing I can put my finger on.”

She frowned. “I’ve heard that memory loss is quite common after head injury and after a major trauma. In most cases people remember within a few days.”

His stomach clenched into a tight knot. “Most cases?”

“Others take a little longer.”

“How much longer?”

“I’m not a doctor.” She hesitated before adding, “But what I’ve read it could be months. Maybe years. It’s rare though.”

Shit!

“I don’t think I have that long. Someone’s after me. And they want something. I can give it to them or not. Either way, I’m a dead man.”

She visibly shivered beside him. “Do you have any idea who wants to kill you? And what do they want?”

He decided to tell her the truth. “I don’t know what they want, but I know the cops want me dead.”

—

Sara studied the stranger intently. His profile was defiant. He appeared to fully expect her to tell him the bump on his head had knocked more than a few screws loose, and there was no way in the world she would believe him. Funny thing was, she did believe him, because when she put everything together, it made sense.

He’d arrived beaten, a bullet in his back and handcuffs dangling on his wrist. While delirious, he’d said things. Things, which led her to believe the police didn’t have a very high opinion of him.

Sara sighed deeply.

Her splitting headache still cried for her attention and she wished she could just climb into bed and throw the covers over her head. But that wouldn’t solve anything.

“What else do you know?”

His forehead crinkled in disbelief. “You believe me?”

“Don’t look so shocked. Tell me what you remember.”

The briefest hint of a relieved smile passed over his lips.

“Listen. I don’t want to burden you with my troubles. You’re already in danger just by helping me out.”

“You’re going to have to trust someone. Right now all you’ve got is me.”

He didn’t say anything. Yet she noticed he still seemed tense. She needed to do something to cheer him up. Do something to get him to trust her.

“You know what,” she said with a bit more enthusiasm than she felt. “You need a new handle.”

“A handle?”

“A name. What’s your favorite?”

He shrugged solemnly. “Don’t know. You choose.”

A name instantly popped into her mind. Yet she hesitated to use it. After all she’d already given it to someone else. Someone just as helpless and totally dependent on her as this stranger. And she’d failed him. Horribly.

Sara swallowed hard and pushed aside the disturbing thoughts. Pressed them into the corner of her soul, like one presses a precious flower for future remembrance between the covers of a weighty book. She buried them deep beneath the fragile pages that carried her fears, hurt and dashed hopes from the past two and a half years.

Blinking back the sudden sprig of hot tears, she took a deep breath, faced the stranger and tried to present a proper smile, but her lips just wouldn’t cooperate. She noticed the odd expression creasing his rugged face.

“Is something wrong?” His gentle tone of voice almost unraveled her.

For a moment, she stared into his bright emerald green eyes and was overcome with the strangest urge of telling him her deepest fears and sharing her secrets. She’d never had such a strong urge to tell anyone this before. Now, without any reason she wanted to tell this man everything. To blurt out what had happened to her husband. To tell him about the shadow who’d been haunting her life.

Sara caught herself.

Was she nuts? What was the matter with her anyway? She should have her head examined. She didn’t even know this guy.

Yet she wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. Much better.

She wouldn’t mind wrapping her hands around that thick cock of his. Maybe taking his delicious-looking organ into her mouth and swirling her tongue all around that mushroom-shaped cockhead.

Nip her teeth along the silky skin covering the rigid shaft.

Watch him squirm and buck as she took him deep into her throat.

“Mrs. Clarke?”

She blinked rapidly and quickly looked away so he couldn’t see the reddish tinge of heat that must be crawling along her cheeks.

“Thomas. How’s that?” She blurted out the name.

He said nothing and she cast a quick peek to see his reaction. She knew by the smile on his face that he liked the name.

“Thomas.” The name rolled off his tongue with ease. “Tom. Mmm. Sounds good. It has a certain ring about it. Don’t you think?” He cocked a curious eyebrow. “Why’d you pick it? An old boyfriend perhaps?”

The question almost toppled Sara. For a split second, she again wanted to spill her guts as she’d never done to anyone before. But the instant passed and she recovered quickly.

Impulsively she reached out to gently tug on his scruffy beard. His hair felt rough beneath her fingertips. Coarse. Sexy.

She noticed the soft gasp escape his lips and with lightning speed, Sara withdrew her hand.

“Because you remind me of a stray tomcat. Whiskers and all,” she replied shakily.

He smiled a damned irresistible sexy smile that made her toes curl. Then he sunk his head a little deeper into the pillows.

“More like something the tomcat dragged in,” he mumbled and his eyelids began to droop sleepily.

“You said it, I didn’t,” she laughed as she tucked in the sides of the blankets to keep him warm.

She wanted to ask him more questions, but they’d have to wait until he felt stronger.

“Mrs. Clarke?” he said sleepily and blinked to keep his eyes open.

“Yes?”

“Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Thank you for not dying on me. I would have been a very unhappy camper after all the work I put into you.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“You saved my life. And because you asked for my help.”

“I’ll have to figure out some way to repay you.”

“You can repay me by getting some beauty rest, Tom.”

She didn’t miss the grimace etch along the wonderful lines around his mouth.

“I look that bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

He sighed and he slid even deeper into the pillows.

“You’ll get no arguments from me. At least for now.”

His eyelids finally fluttered closed and from the steady rise and fall of his gorgeous, naked chest, she knew he slept.

Sara frowned.

Amnesia. The man has amnesia.

What she wouldn’t do to forget her past, to forget that one stormy night. To forget all the pain she carried inside her heart.

At one point, she’d almost succeeded in losing her pain forever by taking the easy way out. But she was better now.

At least she thought she’d been better until that tree had come hurtling down toward her.

Would she be dead if Tom hadn’t been here to grab her? Would she have simply stood there and accepted death?

She didn’t know. What she did know was when the tree was coming toward her, for a split second, she wanted to forget her pain.