Until Spring (24 page)

He threw himself across the bed, thumbing through the paperback mystery he'd brought along to read. He couldn't get interested in it, though, because the real-life mystery of Jane Rhodes was so much more absorbing.

He tossed the book to one side and linked his hands behind his head, thinking.

What was Jane's connection to a blue van? And did she really remember spilling a Coke in one? Was it merely wishful thinking on her part? Or perhaps only part of a dream she'd had? He didn't know what to think.

He tried to figure out if he knew how amnesia victims went about regaining their memories. He'd once seen a segment on television's
60 Minutes
about a man who had been missing after an accident where he'd bumped his head, had disappeared from his former life and been absent from home for twenty years or so. After this period of building a new life for himself, he'd been inadvertently hit on the head by the boom on a sailboat, and when he'd regained consciousness he remembered who he was and where he was supposed to be. He'd gone home to discover that he'd been declared dead, and his wife had remarried and raised a couple of kids with her new husband.

He turned out the light, rolled over on his side, and tried unsuccessfully to go to sleep. His mind was too active. He kept thinking about Jane in a blue van, Jane in her blue jeans, Jane and her blue eyes. Finally he gave up and turned on the light again. There was no use trying to sleep when he felt so wide awake.

He dressed and went down to the lobby where there was a small display of reading matter. In his present frame of mind, he wanted something that wasn't too stimulating, so he bought a newspaper.

He was no sooner back inside his room than he heard a light knock on his door. To his surprise, Jane's voice called, "Duncan! Duncan?" It held a frantic note, and he flung the door open wide to find her standing there in an old flannel robe of his and looking pinched and white.

"Is something wrong?"

Much to his amazement, she hurtled into his room and all but fell into his arms. He steadied her with one hand, closing the door with the other.

"I thought you'd left. I came over to knock on the door and you didn't answer and I was afraid you had gone," she said all in one breath. Her eyes were dark with alarm.

"Left?" he exclaimed incredulously.

"Gone home. To the ranch." She clutched his arm tightly.

"I would never do that," he said in gentle surprise. He saw her pulse beating in a pale blue vein at her temple, and realized that she really was frightened.

"But you weren't here," she said in bewilderment, and he slid his arm around her shoulders to discover that she was trembling as though she was very cold.

"I went downstairs to buy a paper," he explained. He pointed to it on the table.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Jane said, her teeth chattering. She managed to calm herself slightly. "I know you wouldn't go off and leave me here alone, it's a completely irrational fear, but it's all I could think of when you were gone," she said, attempting a smile.

"Shh, it's all right," Duncan said as—against his better judgment—he pulled her close. He felt her heart beating beneath the thin robe, and the beat slowed as he stroked her hair. He could only imagine the terror in her heart; he had never been alone in the world as she had. That kind of experience was sure to leave its mark, and even though she had come so far since the night he had found her in the mine, she still had a long way to go before she felt totally secure.

Slowly his hand found its way under her long hair and settled on her neck. His touch seemed to have a calming effect on her. She heaved a great shuddering sigh and moved closer, resting her head upon his chest. And that was when
his
heart started to beat louder.

It was a moment of great tenderness between them, and Duncan cautioned himself not to ruin it. Presently Jane lifted her head and asked unsteadily, "Would you mind if I had a glass of water?"

He pulled himself away, though he hated to do it, and went to the sink where he ran water into a glass. She followed him, taking the cup from him after he'd filled it.

"Thanks," she said after taking several big gulps. She looked somewhat revived and put the cup back on the edge of the sink. When she turned around again, he saw that the front of her robe gapped slightly, and he averted his eyes.

"Why did you come over to see me?" he asked.

"I remembered something else. When I was in the van—when the Coke spilled—I was worried about some things in the back. Whatever they were, they belonged to me, and I have a vague memory of hoping that nothing happened to them."

"What kind of things?" Duncan said. He was interested, but she was very beautiful, very intense, and he kept thinking of how soft and warm she had felt when he comforted her in his arms.

"Oh—personal belongings. And something else." She wrinkled her forehead in concentration.

"I wish I could help," he said, feeling helpless in the face of her obvious anguish.

She pulled herself out of her thoughts and focused startled eyes on his face. "You wouldn't have had to get involved in any of this," she said. "You are helping. You
have
helped."

"Not as much as I'd like," he said.

"I can never repay you enough." Her voice was low and troubled.

"When you get a job—" he began, deliberately misunderstanding.

"I don't mean the money. I was talking about the moral support. Being there. It means a lot."

Duncan knew that Jane was sincere, but they seemed to be dragging out this conversation. He tried to think of some way to ease her exit. It wasn't what he wanted to do, but he thought she'd better leave before he said or did something stupid.

"I'd better go," she said with that uncanny faculty she had of reading his mind.

He started for the door, but then she raised anxious eyes to his and said in a low tone, "But I'd rather stay."

"Stay?" he inquired, feeling his spirits lift.

"Just—to not be alone," she replied. In her eyes he read the message,
Don't get the wrong idea.

His mind ran off on a couple of tangents. She wanted to stay—but didn't want it to go too far. She was lonely. She was afraid, for some irrational reason that was the result of her background, that he would somehow disappear. She was struggling with a memory that was foggy and unreliable.

In other words, she wanted to spend the night with him but wasn't looking for anything more than comfort.

Duncan wavered, one part of him wanting to put her out of temptation's way by gently telling her that she should go back to her own room. The other part of him was more human. He didn't relish being alone, either.

"Never mind," Jane said resolutely, correctly reading his uncertainty for what it was. She turned, but he reached out and caught her shoulder. She spun around, her quickness taking him by surprise.

"I overstepped my bounds," she said stiffly. "I'm sorry."

"No," he said, desperate that she understand.

"I'm going," she said, twisting so that he had to capture her in his arms to make her stay.

Her face was no more than five inches from his as he held her there, and he could have kissed her if he'd wanted to. Instead he chose to hold her eyes with his for a long moment, and the communication delivered almost as much impact as something more forceful.

"I want you to stay," he said. "I'm lonely, too."

"Please, I—"

"Nothing will happen that you don't want to happen," he said firmly. "You can sleep on the couch. It makes into a bed."

She only looked at him, and slowly he released her from the circle of his arms. She was breathing hard, as though she'd just run a couple of miles, but so was he. In order to regain control of his emotions, he walked over to the couch and opened it out. It was already made up with sheets and a blanket, so he took a pillow from the other bed and tossed it onto the thin mattress.

When Jane saw that he was serious about her sleeping there she hesitated for a moment, but then she walked around the end of the couch and crawled under the covers without taking off her robe.

Duncan got into bed—the big bed that seemed even bigger now that she was only a few feet away—and switched off the light.

"Good night," he said softly into the darkness.

She shifted slightly, and he heard the springs creak beneath her.

"Good night," she answered, and when, after half an hour or so of staring into the darkness he levered himself up on his elbows to see if she was awake, she didn't move. She was already asleep.

* * *

Jane woke up before Duncan the next morning and lay quietly, trying to determine exactly where she was. The draperies with the splashy print, the thin mattress, the king-size bed and the nightstand attached to the wall on the other side of the room... It took her a few moments to recall that she was in the Prairie Rose Motel in Tyree, Illinois.

And Duncan was asleep in the bed across the room.

She might have a faulty memory, but she certainly remembered the events leading up to her being there in this sleeper sofa in the same motel room with him. He must think she was crazy. First going all to pieces when she remembered the blue van and the Coke, and then rushing over here like a wild woman last night and practically accusing him of running off and leaving her. Her behavior embarrassed her.

She heard a noisy group of guests tramping down the hall and slid upward against the back cushion of the couch so that she could sneak a look at the sleeping Duncan.

He lay on his side, his hands pillowing his cheek. He didn't look much different now from the way he did when he was awake. More peaceful, maybe, but that wasn't saying much because Duncan was one of the most peaceable men she'd ever known. Not that she had known many men, but she doubted that most dealt with the other people in their lives the way Duncan did, accepting them as they were and going out of his way to help them, if that was what they needed. She liked that about him and felt incredibly lucky to have him in her life.

He stirred in his sleep, and she quickly slid out of bed. She didn't want him to open his eyes to find her inspecting his face so closely. She groped in the pocket of her robe for the key to her room, and it was still there. Carefully she unlatched the chain lock and slipped out, closing the door silently behind her.

A man stepped into the hall from the room next door. He was carrying a suitcase and seemed taken aback when he saw her standing there in her robe with her hair mussed. Then he smiled conspiratorially, and Jane flushed deeply as she realized what he must be thinking. With shaking hands she unlocked her own door and closed it securely behind her.

She had the satisfaction of knowing that what their neighbor was thinking wasn't true, then realized that it might have been true if Duncan were another kind of guy. He could have taken advantage of her in the state of mind she'd experienced last night. What if he
did
want more? Was she prepared to give it?

Shaken by her own thoughts, she went into the bathroom and ran the shower until the water was warm enough to get in. She adjusted the flow of the shower nozzle, her body slowly coming to life. As the soapsuds slid down her neck, into the crevice between her breasts and past the cleft between her legs, it was easy enough to think about the way she'd felt when she and Duncan danced. The attraction between them that night had definitely been physical.

She was rinsing off the last of the soap when the phone rang. Wrapping a towel around herself as she walked, she hurried to answer it.

"Jane," Duncan said. "I was worried when you weren't here when I woke up. Are you all right?"

"Oh," she said, "sure. I came back to my room to take a shower. I didn't want to wake you."

"Let's meet for breakfast. Say, in half an hour or so? We can try the coffee shop attached to the motel."

"Okay," she agreed, and they hung up.

He'd mentioned nothing about last night. She knew from experience that he probably wouldn't. He would go out of his way to avoid embarrassing her because that's the kind of nice guy he was.

She dried herself on the big towel and studied her assets in the mirror. She was small-boned and delicate, and her skin tone looked alabaster pale in the harsh overhead light. Legs: slender. Hips: could be narrower. Breasts: small but well proportioned to the rest of her. All in all, she wasn't bad. Duncan thought she was beautiful. Was she? She certainly couldn't compare with any of the women on the soap operas she'd watched. But she didn't think she was impossibly ugly either.
Beautiful.
A bountiful word and one that she was pleased to have applied to her by someone like Duncan Tate. She dressed quickly.

When she met Duncan in the motel coffee shop, it was business as usual.

"Since it's still too early to call Detective Schmidt, I want to ride out to Carlton Jones's field and see if it jolts my memory," Jane told Duncan as they finished eating breakfast. "I'd like to see it early in the morning, which is the same time of day that I was found there."

His eyes searched her face. "Are you sure you really want to go?" he asked.

"I
have
to," she told him, and he nodded slowly in silent acceptance.