Reclaiming His Past (8 page)

“It varies. Sometimes I'll have several in a single week, other times I'll go for long stretches without any.” Her chin lifted, determination smoldering in her gaze. “However, with the holidays right around the corner, I'm sure things will pick up.”

“I'm certain they will, dear.” Alice patted her hand. Pushing away from the table, she removed her dishes and went to the kitchen.

Grant wondered how the reduction in income had impacted the women's lives. Their farm appeared to be in proper working condition, as did their home, which was tidy and comfortable. Some of the furnishings were well-worn. And a couple of the dishes could stand to be replaced. Certainly feeding a grown man like him on a regular basis might strain their resources.

“You never answered my question.”

“Which one?” she said.

“Why don't you open your own shop?”

“It would be a huge undertaking. I've seen how much effort Josh and Kate put into their business. I have responsibilities here. I can't leave Ma to deal with everything.”

“You might consider hiring someone to help Alice during the busier seasons. I'm guessing Will would appreciate the extra money and wouldn't require a high wage.”

“There's another option.” She traced her cup's rim in methodical circles. “My sister and brother-in-law have offered to give me counter space in the mercantile. I could display my goods there.”

“Sounds like an ideal situation. What's holding you back?”

An air of grief veiled her features. “It's difficult to explain.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn't going to open up to him, and it bothered him. Someone or something had hurt this woman, and she wasn't about to reveal her inner scars to him. Didn't stop him from wanting to try to ease her distress, though.

A heavy rap on the front door intruded on the moment. There was no mistaking Jessica's relief. Dropping her napkin on the chair, she hurried to answer the summons. From his vantage point, he could see the doc's bulky form and cropped silver hair.

Hope sprouted in his chest. Maybe he'd found some useful news in his medical journals. Snatching up the cane, he went into the living room.

“How are you faring, Mr. Parker?”

“My headache's gone.”

“Good.” Transferring his bag to his right hand, he gestured toward the bedrooms. “Let's go evaluate your other ills.”

Jessica hung his black bowler on a peg by the door. “I'll get you some coffee, Doc. Would you like a slice of apple pie to go with it?”

Grant smiled. “I suggest you say yes.”

The severity of Doc's face eased, and a twinkle entered his eyes. “I'd like that, Jessica. Thank you.”

In the bedroom, Doc probed his swollen, discolored ankle. “You should have full range of motion in a week. Two at the most.” He proceeded to apply fresh bandages to his side. A distressed sound escaped before Grant could stop it. “You'll have soreness in this area for a while. The skin around the stitches is red, but I don't see any signs of infection.” Wrapping up his old bandage for disposal, he indicated Grant should button up his shirt. “You're a fortunate man, Mr. Parker.”

In some ways, perhaps. But he was far from restored to his former self. “None of my memories have returned. Is there anything I can do to speed the process?”

“I reread the articles on your condition.” He frowned. “Unfortunately, there's nothing you can do to regain your lost memories. It's a game of wait and see.”

Not what he'd been hoping to hear. Not even close. He fisted his hands. “I can't accept that.”

Sighing, he laid a hand on Grant's shoulder. “My advice is to take life one day at a time. Don't pressure yourself to remember. Don't make rash decisions. You're with a good family. They'll give you the time you need to heal and decide where to go from here.”

Grant sank onto the bed, weariness invading his soul. Doc Owens let himself out, closing the door behind him. Low conversation hummed through the walls. He supposed he was giving the women an update on his condition.

What am I supposed to do, God? I'm lost without my past. Aimless. A ship sailing on the wide-open sea with no compass, no origin and no destination.

Lying flat on his back on the lumpy mattress, he closed his eyes, his future as murky as his past.

Chapter Eight

“J
essica, you're not leaving early, are you?”

In the arched entry to the well-appointed parlor, she reluctantly turned to address Jane's best friend, Caroline Turner. The Turners' home was one of the largest in Gatlinburg. Many community meetings were held here because of that fact, along with Louise Turner's desire to be viewed as a proper and welcoming hostess.

Caroline didn't share her mother's aspiration to be the most beloved town member. They were frequently at odds. Add to that a complex relationship with her father, and the pretty blonde found it a challenge to be content.

Through the windows flanking the fireplace, orange blended with encroaching deep blue sky. “I have chores yet to do.”

Nothing that couldn't wait until the morning, of course, but she'd grown tired of the sly stares. Jessica had purposefully arrived five minutes after the meeting started. The annual harvest fair was only weeks away and, as she was in charge of coordinating the food booths, she'd had no choice but to attend. With the unending questions in the other women's eyes, she'd decided to skip the refreshments in favor of escape.

Your rush to get home doesn't happen to have anything to do with a certain endearing stranger, does it?

Rejecting that thought outright, she slipped her reticule over her wrist and wished the door was a few steps closer. Caroline looked intent on having her curiosity satisfied.

“Can't you stay long enough to have some carrot cake and lemonade? You slipped out of church yesterday before anyone could corner you. I'm sure I'm not the only one who's dying to hear about your guest.”

She half turned to indicate the young women seated on the plush blue sofa and overstuffed striped chairs. They were staring at her like a pack of hungry dogs waiting for bits of choice meat.

“Is it true he's a member of the notorious Jenkins gang?” Pauline Cross piped up, her eyes as big as saucers.

“I heard he nearly died in your arms, and you saved him just in time.” Laura Latham pressed her hand over her heart. “How romantic.”

Caroline's expression urged her to confess all. “As you can see, there are multiple rumors being bandied about town. Now's your chance to tell us the true account.”

Grant's arrival on her doorstep had naturally reawakened folks' speculation about her. Once again, her actions would be discussed at length and judged. Irritation fired through her. She'd never expected to be in this position again.

“There's not much to tell,” she hedged.

Wilda Haynes put her palms together in a pleading gesture. “You're the only one of us who's ever had anything exciting happen to them. Don't keep us guessing!”

Exciting?
That wasn't a word she'd use.
Irksome. Confounding.
Those better described how she viewed Grant's intrusion into her life.

Jessica related the basic facts, glossing over his injuries out of respect for his privacy. Their questions ranged from the outrageous to the intrusive. Finally, she'd had enough.

“I have to go.”

Caroline escorted her to the door. “I know you didn't enjoy that, but being secretive would've fueled the flames of their imaginations. The talk should start to die down now.”

Jessica didn't bother to hide her discontent. “Let's hope you're right, because I don't plan on repeating any of that.”

The strange drive to protect Grant had taken her unawares. If it turned out he possessed a notorious past, the damage to her already shaky reputation would be immeasurable.

Bidding her hostess goodbye, she descended the polished wood steps and wound her way down the path to the lane. The Turners lived on the opposite side of town and, eyeing the darkening sky, she wished she'd brought her horse.

Grant dominated her thoughts during the long walk home. After Doc's visit yesterday, he'd remained in his room the entire afternoon. He'd declined supper. At her mother's request, Jessica had gone in later and offered to play a game of chess or checkers with him. His mood hadn't been difficult to read. He'd been somber, the vibrancy in his blue eyes dulled. He'd thanked her for the offer and claimed exhaustion, but she hadn't bought the excuse.

Somewhere in the dense woods flanking the lane, an owl hooted. The rustle of birds and small animals moving about in the darkness didn't scare her. She'd grown up here and was used to the wildlife. But what about Grant? Not knowing the details of his life—from the mundane to the momentous—must be eating away at him. That he'd been able to tease and smile at all was a testament to his fortitude.

Passing the snake-and-rail fence that marked the edge of their property, she wrapped her thin shawl more snugly about her shoulders. The lack of the sun's heat lent a nip to the air that chilled her skin. The strumming of a guitar reached her. Startled, she lengthened her stride. Her ma didn't play. Neither did Will.

The porch came into view. Grant sat in one of the rocking chairs, his new friend Cinders curled up at his feet and a guitar in his hands. His head was bent to study the strings. A lantern had been placed on the roughly crafted table. Caught in its circle, his fair hair shone like the sun's rays. Stubble darkened his jaw. A twig snapped beneath her boot, and he looked up. There was a sadness about him that touched a corresponding chord deep inside her. He knew trouble intimately, the same as she. Her trouble was behind her, the scars deeply embedded. Grant's was present, affecting him right this minute, and she wondered how he'd come out of it. If he'd fare better than her. She hoped so.

“Hi.” The haunting tune faded.

She ascended the steps. “I didn't know you played.”

“Nor did I. Your ma noticed my interest and suggested I try it, so I did. She told me it belonged to your pa. I hope you don't mind my testing it out.”

“Not at all.”

“Alice is inside. Will had to run home for something. Should be back anytime.”

“Okay.”

She made to move past, determined not to care or involve herself in his business in any way, until he caught her hand. Heat from his skin instantly enveloped hers.

“Sit with me for a little while.”

Jessica almost got lost in his fathomless eyes. In his grasp, her hand felt small and protected. It was such a wonderful sensation, this contact with a virile, intriguing male. That was why she had to disengage.

Pulling free, she tried to think of a good excuse not to stay.

“Please.”

The humble plea reminded her of their first encounter. It did strange things to her resolve. Maybe because she wasn't used to hearing the men in her life say it.
Or maybe you can't handle the loneliness wreathing his features.

“Okay,” she said again, promising herself she wouldn't linger long. Taking the other rocker, she slipped off her reticule and laid it on her lap.

“How was your meeting?”

“Same as usual.”
You were the main topic.

“What's the usual?”

“Hmm, let's see.” With her boot, she set the rocker in motion. “The committee leader, Louise Turner, gives everyone time to fawn over her latest acquisition—tonight it was an anniversary gift—a new ruby brooch given to her by Mr. Turner. Once that's accomplished, she expounds on our upcoming event. That would be Gatlinburg's annual harvest fair.”

Humor bracketed his mouth. “What does one do at a harvest fair?”

“There are pie-eating contests. Music and dancing. Skillet tosses and sack races. And then there's the judging...who has the prettiest quilt, the tastiest pumpkin bread, the most flavorful blackberry preserves. It can be quite intense, let me tell you. These mountain women take their crafts seriously.”

A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I'm sure it's entertaining. Just as I'm sure they are all jealous of you.”

“Me? Why?”

“No one else's desserts could possibly compare to yours.”

He caught her wince and wagged his finger at her. “I'm right,” he crowed. “How many years in a row did you win the blue ribbon before they asked you—politely, I'm sure—to refrain from entering?”

She rested her head against the chair, not surprised that he'd guessed the truth. For someone with no knowledge of his own identity, Grant was exceedingly perceptive.

“Five. And Jane and I entered together.”

Whistling, he thrummed a couple of notes. “Five. Impressive.”

They fell silent. Was he thinking the same thing she was? That he might not be here come fair time?

“I didn't recognize the song you were playing before. What is it?”

“Something I made up.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I heard it as a child.”

“Can you play anything else?”

Wrapping his long fingers about the guitar's neck, he started and stopped a couple of times before selecting a melody that was both sad and moving. He then transitioned into a lively tune she recognized. Listening to him play, she found herself humming along and mentally joining her fiddle to his guitar. She used to play most every day. Chasing chords, exploring new sounds and practicing old favorites gave her satisfaction and contentment. She'd stopped after the fire.

She didn't realize until this moment how much she missed making music.

“That was beautiful, Grant.”

“Thanks.” Leaving the instrument in the chair, he drifted over to a porch post—still favoring his hurt ankle—to stare up at the night sky. “I have no idea who taught me.”

His voice was ragged. Dejected. Joining him, she let the opposite post support her weight. “The accident was just a few days ago. Be patient with yourself.”

“That's what Doc said.”

“He may not have a winning personality,” she said drily, “but he knows what he's doing.”

“I skimmed through my Bible today. I can quote Scripture. Not only from Psalms and Proverbs, but from the New Testament, as well.”

“You could've learned them as a child.”

“Or I could have attended seminary.”

“You're worried you aren't a good person, aren't you? That's why you're clinging to this theory.” Reaching out, she touched the back of his hand. “These are farmer's hands. Or a dock worker's.”

“That doesn't prove I'm not a preacher.”

“Doesn't prove you're not a gunslinger, either.”

“Why do you insist on believing the worst about me? What is it that you see in me, Jessica?” The anguish roaring to life in his beautiful eyes stole the breath from her lungs.

“I—I'm sorry. You're right.” Her face felt on fire. “I apologize.”

She fled.

“Wait. Jessica—”

Inside the cabin, she sagged against the door, regret washing over her. Her suspicious nature had hurt him. She'd known it was destructive, but she'd assumed she was the only one affected by its bitter poison.

Her mother looked up from the sewing project on her lap. “There you are. Isn't it something about Grant's playing ability? You and he should play together.”

Her fiddle lay in its case, unused for months. Making music had been beyond her capabilities.

Her legs were heavy as she forced them across the room. “When is he leaving?”

Alice's hands stilled, the needle and thread hovering midair. “What's wrong? Did he say something to upset you?”

“No, I—I just think that the longer he stays, the easier it will be for him to depend on our hospitality.” She forced the untruth through stiff lips.

“Oh, I don't see that as a possibility. Grant isn't one to take advantage.”

“How can you know that for certain? He's been here a handful of days.”

Lowering the material, she sighed. “What is this really about, Jessica?”

“Nothing. Never mind. I'll be in my room if you need me.”

Her countenance a reflection of concern, Alice slowly nodded. Her mother wasn't one to push, something Jessica greatly appreciated in moments like this.

* * *

In the kitchen the next morning, Grant found Will at the table devouring a large portion of biscuits and gravy and fried eggs. His mouth full, he lifted a hand in greeting.

Alice turned from the stove, her spatula suspended above the pan. “Good morning, Grant. How did you sleep?”

He couldn't tell her the truth, that thoughts of her daughter had kept him up half the night. “Fine. And you?”

“Like a baby.” Pouring him a cup of steaming hot coffee, she set it on the long counter between them and nodded to the table. “Have a seat. I'll have your breakfast ready in a jiffy.”

Grant did as she suggested. Taking the seat opposite Will, he wondered where Jessica was and if she planned to avoid him today. He hadn't meant to upset her. His frustration had boiled over, and he'd lashed out at her.
Great way to repay her hospitality, Parker.

“You have school today?” he said, wrapping his hands about the mug.

Will chugged half the contents of his glass, then used his sleeve to wipe the excess milk from his mouth. “Yep. Wish I could skip.”

Alice slid a plate in front of Grant. She shot Will a don't-you-dare glance. “Nathan and Sophie would have your hide. You know how important it is to finish your learning.”

“I guess.” The look on his face said he didn't agree.

The aroma of salty bacon hit Grant's nose, and his stomach rumbled in response. The biscuits were light and fluffy, the white gravy dotted with sausage bursting with savory goodness.

“If I don't start doing physical labor soon, I'm gonna need larger trousers,” he said.

She chuckled and returned to the stove. “Better hurry, Will. You don't want to be late.”

Grunting, Will finished off his drink and carried his dishes to the dry sink. “See you tonight.”

He was rushing out of the kitchen when Jessica appeared. “Oh, hey, Jess.”