Reclaiming His Past (5 page)

Chapter Five

“G
rant.”

Lids shut against the subdued light, a quilt cocooning his sore body, he struggled to recognize the melodious voice. His life was decidedly female-free.

“Your food is gonna get cold if you don't wake up.”

A woman had prepared him breakfast? Couldn't be.

When a slender hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged, his eyes shot open. A familiar redhead stood staring down at him, impatience lining her perpetual frown. Yesterday's events flooded his mind.

“Jessica.” His voice was rusty from sleep, yet his relief was audible.

A small part of him had worried he'd forget what few memories he'd retained.

He eyed the tray on the bedside table, the scents of peppery sausage, eggs and sweet molasses wafting toward him. The stack of fluffy flapjacks glistened with melted butter. Steam rose from the blue enamel mug.

“If you'll sit up, you can have your breakfast in bed. Ma and I have a full day of chores.” Flipping her ponytail behind her shoulder, she picked up the tray. “I don't have time to chaperone you.”

“That's a shame.” Grant pushed himself up so that he rested against the headboard. “I was hoping you'd stay and hold my hand. Perhaps read me a storybook. I think one about a prince and a vexing princess would suit me.”

Jessica set the tray on his lap with enough force to make the dishes rattle. The coffee came dangerously close to sloshing over the rim.

“I'll be back in fifteen minutes to retrieve it.”

In the seconds before she straightened, her face hovered about six inches from his, and he noticed that her eyes were puffy, the surrounding skin ravaged by grief. His late-night trek to her room fresh in his mind, he wondered how long she had lain there and suffered alone. How come he wished he was in the position to offer her comfort?

Before he could form a coherent sentence, she swept out of the room, her nut-brown dress swishing and boots clacking against the boards. The main door slammed. He heard movement coming from the kitchen area. Probably Alice cleaning up the breakfast mess.

Grant picked up a fork and scooped a mound of scrambled eggs. The delicious taste registered, and he felt certain he wasn't accustomed to being waited on. He didn't have proof. It was strictly a gut feeling.

Jessica returned as promised a quarter of an hour later, as fresh and vibrant as an autumn flower, her cheeks flushed from exertion.

Examining his almost-empty plate, she stopped short. “You need more time?”

“No. As delicious as it was, my appetite hasn't returned to normal.”

Nodding, she avoided eye contact and reached for the tray. “No worries. Our hogs will enjoy the leftovers.”

“Would you mind sending Will in?”

Cinnamon-hued brows rumpling, she balanced her burden against her hip. “He left before breakfast. He has responsibilities at home. What did you want with him?”

Grant attempted to frame his needs in a delicate manner. “I need to go outside, yet I was ordered not to put weight on my ankle, and Doc hasn't delivered my cane.”

In addition to the pressing urge to answer the call of nature, he was desperate for fresh air and a view other than these four walls.

An exaggerated sigh escaped her lips. Depositing the dirty dishes on the bedside table, she retrieved his boots and crouched beside the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you.”

Pushing the covers aside, he carefully swung his feet to the floor, his wound protesting. He cradled his middle.

She noticed, of course, but merely waved for him to lift his good foot.

“I can put my own boots on,” he muttered through his embarrassment.

“Not with that stab wound, you can't.”

Her fingers were gentle atop his sock as she guided his dusty boot on. He stared at the crown of her head. Restrained by a slightly askew ribbon, her hair was clean and shiny, like a luminous red flame.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The food.” He waved a hand to where she knelt on the rug. “This.”

“It's my goal to see you recovered and on your way as quickly as possible.”

On his way to where? “I may not be going far. How's the Gatlinburg jail for creature comforts?”

Holding his other boot between her hands, her dark green gaze flashed to his. “Shane said if he didn't come back last night, we'd know he didn't find anything. I should've mentioned it sooner.”

If his heart had been encased with rocks, this news released a couple of them. “So now I wait for reports from the surrounding towns.”

“I suppose so.” Lips thinning, she contemplated his swollen ankle and set the boot aside. “Let me see if we have something to wrap this foot.”

He waited in that corner room, trying to distract himself from his predicament and failing. Trying to remember
anything
beyond waking up in the forest and failing.

Jessica reappeared just as his anxiety reached its peak, threatening to make his chest implode.

“I was unsuccessful. I'm afraid you'll have to go out sans shoe.”

“It's fine.” Tugging down his pant legs, he pushed to his feet and began to hobble toward the door.

She stepped directly into his path, hands on her hips. “Trying to do it on your own will only hinder your healing.”

“Your concern is touching, Miss O'Malley.” He smirked, and his torn lip smarted.

Her ire sparked. “Will you accept my help or not, Mr. Parker?”

“I don't have a chance against your stubbornness, do I?”

Rolling her eyes, she moved close to his side and anchored her arm around his waist. Grant curved his arm about her shoulders, her softness and warmth a shock to his equanimity. Their progression proved awkward. Her head knocked into his chin several times. He was trying not to lean on her too much, which served to pull at his stitches. It was a relief to reach the yard.

The main cabin, barn and outbuildings inhabited a small clearing in what amounted to a massive mountainous forest. The tips of the mountains, arrayed in vibrant autumn attire, were visible above the treetops. To their left, a rutted dirt lane merged with a wider one in the distance. A sizable vegetable garden boasted fat orange pumpkins and yellow squash, broccoli and cabbages. Chickens strutted near their coop. A rural paradise.

Removing his arm, he said, “Can I ask you something?”

Jessica retreated a safe distance away. “You can ask. I may not answer.”

“Were you and Sheriff Timmons a couple?”

She gave a huff of disbelieving laughter. “What? No! He's at least a decade older than me. He's not the type of man I'd be interested in. What gave you that idea?”

“I got the impression you weren't comfortable having him around. I thought maybe you and he...”

Her jaw snapped shut, and the shadows returned. “That's not the case.”

“What's wrong with the sheriff, then?”

“We are not discussing my preferences.”

He didn't heed the warning in her expression. Scraping his fingers along the itchy stubble lining his cheek, he admitted, “I heard you crying last night.”

Consternation flushed her cheeks a bright apple red. Shame and raw anguish passed over her features.

“Your mother mentioned—”

Jessica gasped. Splotches of hot color crept up her neck. “She talked to you about me? What did she say?”

Wrong move. Wrong words. Should've kept his big mouth shut.

He held his palms up. “Nothing specific. She said you'd experienced some difficulties. That's all.”

Her thick auburn lashes swept down, shutting him out. “That was not her place.” Mortification laced her tone. “What could she have been thinking? You're a
stranger
.”

“True. And I have no past experiences to draw on that would help you whatsoever. I shouldn't have brought it up.”

“Stranger or not, amnesia or not, you can't help me. No one can. I got myself into a mess, all right? The ramifications are mine to deal with alone.”

“You sure it has to be that way?”

“I appreciate your concern, Grant. I do. But you're not gonna be here long enough to matter.”

* * *

Jessica watched him limp across the yard and disappear around the corner of the cabin. No wonder he'd flat out dismissed her offer of assistance. She'd been rude.

Humiliation had spurred the hasty words. That and outrage. Knowing her mother and Grant had discussed her spectacular mistakes made her burn with embarrassment. That she hadn't divulged specifics didn't matter. Grant hadn't earned their trust. He was a stranger in their home.

A handsome stranger whose presence made her evaluate her current circumstances and the sad fact that she was alone. Helping him outside in what had amounted to an awkward side embrace, she'd been overwhelmed by his latent strength, the power coiled in those honed muscles. His heat and earthy scent had taunted her, reminding her of what she might never have—someone special who meant more to her than everyone else on earth, someone worthy of her trust and admiration.

The longing for love and romance scared her. Under absolutely no circumstances could she be attracted to this man. He was the worst possible person to reawaken long-buried dreams. If she ever decided to reenter the world of courting and suitors, she would take the safe route. A pity the reverend was triple her age and happily married.

Several riders entered the lane behind her. Swinging around, she registered her cousins' approach with mixed feelings. Josh, Nathan and Caleb were more like brothers than cousins. Having grown up on neighboring farms, they'd shared meals and holidays, gotten into mischief together, stuck up for one another. And while she loved them dearly, she didn't appreciate it when they stuck their collective noses into her business.

Josh was the first to dismount and approach. The oldest brother, he wore his wheat-colored hair short. A trim mustache and goatee framed his mouth. The quiet, intelligent type, he looked to be on a slow simmer.

“We heard about your visitor,” he said, grip on his waistband tightening.

Nathan joined him, his silver eyes stormy beneath his hat's brim. “What were you thinking, Jess? Will came home this morning spinning wild tales. Are they true?”

Raven-haired Caleb stalked over, the angry scar around his eye more pinched than usual. He didn't have to say a word. All it took was one imperious glare for her to guess his thoughts.

Jessica squared off against the trio. “First of all, he isn't
my
visitor. So all this protective outrage is wasted on me.” She made a circling motion in the air. “Grant is Ma's project. Take your complaints up with her. Second, he's suffering from several wounds, not to mention memory loss, so leave him alone.”

Caleb's mouth twisted into a cynical slash. “You believe his story?”

“I haven't made my mind up yet.”

Grant's sincerity seemed awfully authentic, and she found herself leaning toward belief. But resistance lingered. Look at how Lee had convinced her he was a run-of-the-mill farmer, when right under her nose he'd been cooking up moonshine to distribute across the state and beyond.

Their expressions turned frosty. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Grant register their animosity and come to a halt. Caleb made to move past her. Slapping her hand again his chest, she inserted steel into her voice. “He's injured.”

“So?”

“So take it easy.”

“Relax, cuz. I'm just gonna talk to the man.”

Trailing behind them, praying for a peaceful outcome, she studied Grant's busted-up face. Wariness was notable in his stiff shoulders and stance, but the determined set of his jaw said he wasn't going to back down. The cabin wall behind him providing support, he didn't waver beneath Caleb and Josh's onslaught of questions. The righteous defiance in his clear gaze shifted her perception of him, eradicating many of her doubts. There wasn't a hint of discomfort in him. No telltale signs he was protecting a lie.

If she
were
to accept his account of events, it wouldn't be a case of her judgment opposing everyone else's, as in Lee's case. Her own mother and the respected town doctor trusted Grant.

Not speaking, Nathan listened, content to let his brothers do the interrogating.

The longer it went on, the more Grant's physical weakness began to show.

Pushing past Nathan, she walked between the brothers to stand beside Grant. He glanced at her in surprise.

“Who's interested in blackberry cobbler? And coffee? I'm sure Ma's wondering what's keeping us.”

Caleb and Josh exchanged matching looks of displeasure. Too bad. She wasn't about to stand by while they ambushed him.

Nathan lifted his hat and fluffed his dark hair. “I've just had breakfast, but I won't pass up your cobbler.”

“Then it's settled.” Linking arms with Caleb, she urged him in the direction of the porch steps. “So how are Rebecca and the kids?”

“In between feeding and changing the baby, Becca's teaching Noah how to paint faces on pumpkins and gourds.”

She smiled at the image his words spawned. Caleb's wife was a gifted painter. In fact, one of Becca's paintings hung on the wall across from Jessica's bed. Young Noah was a sweetheart, and he loved being a big brother to three-month-old Isaac.

He angled his face so that his mouth met her ear. “Tread carefully with this one, cuz. While I suspect he's telling the truth, there's no way of knowing his history and whether or not it's a violent one.”

Her smile vanished. Of course he was alluding to her past. Her discernment would forever forward be called into question. Teeth clenched, she merely nodded, quickly disengaging her arm once they entered the house.

He was right. Grant Parker was a puzzle. One no one might ever be able to solve.