Returning Home (5 page)

She shook her head, still laughing. Suddenly, her chuckles became sobs, the tears became a torrent, and she found herself crying.

Glancing from Hope to die road, back to Hope, Jeff looked horrified.

Miserable, Hope held on to her seat belt, turned her face towards the window, away from him, and let the tears come.

Dimly, she heard the sound of Jeff unbuckling his seat belt.

Then his arms were around her as he pulled her close. She buried her face against his shirt and sobbed. Somehow, Jeff holding her made it worse. It reminded her of all that they’d lost, so long ago.

And Jeff didn’t even know it He didn’t even remember.

She didn’t know if she was crying for herself or for him. She didn’t even care.

He patted her back, holding himself stiffly, awk
wardly.

She
hiccupped
and scooted closer.

He made a sound, a muffled curse.

Hope looked up and wiped her eyes.

Jeff looked down, his green eyes tormented. With

a groan, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

She melted against him, suddenly weak. He moved his mouth over hers, exploring, tasting. She re
sponded in kind.

He tasted like coffee and mint. Hope sighed, remembering the feel of the boy, loving the feel of the man. His arms tightened around her like cords of steel. A slow, languid heat coursed through her blood, and she moaned softly.

In a flash, the kiss changed.

From exploratory to possessive, his kiss became demanding. Wordless, he asked; wordless, she gave. It had been years since she had felt like this. Ten years, to be exact Giving herself wholeheartedly into the moment she wound her hands around his neck, dragging them through his hair, across his impossibly broad shoulders. Time ceased. The past present and future all melded into one.

She wanted to be closer—inside his skin. He too, seemed to want the same, for his hands caressed her passionately, demanding a response—and then he pulled away.

Jeff simply stared at her, a look of puzzled fascina
tion in his magnificent eyes.

He gently lifted her off his lap and set her in the seat beside him and smoothed her ruffled hair.

It hurt, damn it. Yes, it hurt.

She should know better, she of all people should know where this kind of thing could lead. Their time together had been in the past and would stay in the past—forever and always. Jeff had
no memory,
for God’s sake.

And if he did, she told herself
silently
, closing her eyes and trying to bury the ache, he would want her gone. He certainly wouldn’t let her kiss him.

She’d wanted him almost since the moment she’d seen him again, and she’d given in to temptation.

“I’m sorry.” Low-Voiced, keeping her anger under control, Hope extended a shaking hand. “So sorry.” Eyes blazing, he ignored her outstretched arm. Stunned, Hope lowered her hand and looked at him warily. She hadn’t expected him to be angry.

Without a word, he put the truck into drive and stomped the pedal. The truck skidded on the dirt road, kicking up a cloud of rocks and dirt and dust “Jeff—”

He held up a hand. “Don’t apologize. It’s as much my fault as yours.”

Stung, she gaped at him. “Fault?”

He gave her a terse nod. “I don’t know who you are.” His low voice was full of self-condemnation. “You can’t help it if you’re a desirable woman. You’re beautiful, Hope. I want you. But I shouldn’t have done that, especially since you came here to help
* >

me.

He shot her a wry look, his anger still simmering. But this time she somehow knew the anger was directed at himself. “I can promise you it won’t hap
pen again.”

He thought her beautiful And desirable.
Part of her wanted to rejoice, part of her wanted to run.

“Jeff,” she said tentatively. Taking a chance she laid a hand on his arm. Immediately, she felt the corded muscles tense. “Stop it I’m the one who should have known better. I’m here to help you, not seduce you.” If she felt a moment’s instant regret, she squashed it.

Again he nodded, his hands clenched on the steer
ing wheel. “We’re almost there.”

Hope glanced out the window, seeing nothing but the land, the endless horizon, scrub trees, and tu
m
bleweed. She gave his arm one final squeeze, forcing her lips to part in what she hoped was a soothing smile. “Friends?”

If he hesitated a moment too long, she pretended not to notice it. “Okay,” he said. Yanking the steering wheel to the right, he made a sharp turn onto an almost hidden track. Only a rusted gate and some barbed wire fence hidden in the undergrowth marked its passage.

“Here?” She peered through the window, search
ing for some outbuildings, a bam, or a house.

Jeff saw her looking and chuckled. “It’s still another mile down this road.”

To her left she spotted a herd of grazing longhorns. She pointed. “Yours?”

“Yup.” Pride rang in his voice. “I have a few horses, too.”

Suppressing a smile, Hope nodded.

Around another curve she saw it. A white, two story farmhouse, freshly painted. It looked like something out of a movie, something out of her dreams.

Jeff pulled up alongside it and killed the engine. He turned in his seat, his face an impersonal mask once more. “Here we are.”

Hope stared at the house. She wondered if Jeff realized, subconsciously or not, that he’d bought a house that almost exactly resembled the house they’d once planned to build together. They’d even sent for blueprints through the mail and spent hours
poring
over them.

Looking at this house broke her heart Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Determined not to cry, Hope climbed down from the truck. “It’s lovely,” her voice trembled.

If he noticed, he gave no sign. “Come on.” Taking her
hand in a casual grip, he led her to the wide front porch. His touch was more than she could bear right now, and she pulled her hand free.

“Hey,” he said, with a note of mild protest, “I thought we were friends.”

She couldn’t look at him. “We are,” she muttered, her voice thick with tears. “I just ... can’t handle this right now.” She moved to the edge of the porch and stared blindly at the endless horizon, trying to compose herself.

“Hope?” Confusion, consternation, and concern warred with each other in his tone. “What is it? What the hell is wrong?”

If he touched her, Hope knew she would shatter. She cursed herself for agreeing to come here, cursed herself for thinking that she was over her first love, and cursed herself for hurting. If Jeff—the Jeff that remembered what had happened—knew, he would probably have a good laugh. Then, when he found out what she had done, he would send her away.

“Don’t.”
Neatly
, she sidestepped him, but not before catching a look of hurt on his handsome face.

Perhaps later she would care that he was hurt, but right now her own emotions were all she could handle.

Gulping great gasps of air, Hope struggled for con
trol. She’d already dealt with this horrible sense of loss, of betrayal, and bereavement. She had dealt with it, struggled, and won. She would not, could not, fight the same
battle
again.

“Hope?” Tentative, his husky voice moved her more than she wanted to admit.

Resolutely, she kept her back to him. “Yes?”

“I’m going inside.” He sounded disgusted. It was the exasperated voice of a male dealing with an irra
tional and moody female.

“Fine.” For her part, she knew she sounded like a sulky child. She didn’t care. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Behind her, she heard the creak of a screen door, then the sound of the door closing. At last, she was alone on the porch of the house that was remarkably like the one she’d always dreamed of, the one that still haunted her dreams now and then.

How was she going to manage this? She covered her face with shaking hands and tried to clear her brain. It was too much. She needed to go back to the house in town, pack her suitcase, and tell Charlene it had all been a terrible mistake.

But Hope Glidewell had never run from a chal
lenge. She had only run once, ten years ago, and she had regretted it ever since. She couldn’t leave Jeff now. He was a man with no past—and no future.

At last, somewhat calmer, Hope steeled herself enough to open the door and go inside.

Walking into the small parlor, she stared. It was stark and sparsely furnished. An old pine rocker, a rag rug, and a lamp were the only pieces of furniture.

She wandered down the narrow hall, her boot heels clicking on the unvarnished wood floors. Mentally, she noted where she would have placed a curio cabi
net, a mirror, or perhaps a vase. The hall was as barren as the parlor.

It could have been a beautiful house, a warm house, made for a family and love. It was a house that begged for children’s footsteps, children’s laughter.

Instead it was nearly empty and comfortless. Sad
ness threatened to overwhelm her again. Straight
ening her shoulders, she refused to let it.

She found Jeff in the kitchen, hunched intently over a stack of mail. He looked up when she came in, his expression wary.

“Hi,” she said, deliberately making her tone light “Do you mind if I take a look at the rest of the house?”

Brows raised, he glanced around him and shrugged.
“Sure. Go ahead.”

Hope decided to start with the kitchen. It was a large room with a double oven, separate cook top, and an island counter. Over the sink was a picture window that faced west. Jeff had not bothered to hang curtains or blinds to block out the strong afternoon sun. Unadorned, the window seemed to symbolize the utter lack of personality in the entire house.

To the right of the kitchen was a small den. A brick fireplace with a large wooden mantel dominated the room. Here he had placed a tattered sofa and what looked like a new recliner. There were no pictures and, she noted with dismay, no drapes or blinds.

“How long have you lived here?” she asked
quietly
, turning to look at him, wanting to see his face.

“I don’t know.” He studied the room, as though he were trying to see it with her eyes. “Charlene says I built it around a year ago.” He flashed a rueful grin. “I guess I wasn’t much on decorating, huh?” “To say the least” Hope found herself grinning back. “Maybe you were busy.”

“Yeah.” His grin widened, causing a strange warmth to spread within her. “Running a hardware store strikes me as real time consuming.”

For some reason she felt obliged to defend him. “Well, it must have been. You had to order supplies, hire people, keep up with trends.” She glanced out the window, spying a few more
cattle
. “And you had your stock to take care of.”

“Yeah.” He looked skeptical, which made her want to laugh. “But the place needs a woman’s touch, I think.”

His words cut through her, sharp as a knife. With an effort, she kept on smiling. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right woman.”

“Maybe not.” He went back to opening the mail, gesturing absently toward the stairs near the den. “Go on
upstairs, take a look around. There are three bedrooms up there.”

Unaccountably, her heart started pounding. Glad that he meant to stay downstairs, she climbed the steps, telling herself not to be a fool.

She found his bedroom immediately. This, at least, he’d furnished. A huge
four-poster
bed in rich cherry- wood dominated the room. There was a matching nightstand, dresser, and
elegantly
carved mirror.

It looked like a model room in a furniture store, complete with designer bedspread and drapes. Idly, she wondered if he had specified that they be in
cluded when he made the purchase.

But here, under the grey and black comforter, was where Jeff spent his nights.

Heat flooded her at the thought of him, naked, sprawled out in all his glory. She couldn’t help it, she saw herself, wrapped in his arms, moving with him. Making love.

“Stop it,” she muttered out loud. She was talking to herself. What would be next, hearing voices?

Moving briskly, she went on to the other rooms. There were two empty bedrooms, the carpet as new looking as the day it had been installed. It was per
plexing, and sad.

She found a full bathroom in between the two bedrooms, and debated returning to Jeff’s room to check out his bathroom. No, she didn’t think she could face seeing that bed again.

Mentally calling herself a coward, she trudged back down the stairs.

The kitchen was empty. Glancing around, she spied

Jeff outside, two large dogs—Border collies—frol
icked at his heels.

Hope sagged against the counter. Border collies had been her favorite breed of dog. They’d said they would
have two, a male and a female, so that they could have puppies.