Returning Home (7 page)

With a puzzled look, he glanced down at her hand and squeezed
lightly
. “We hurt each other back then, didn’t we?”

All she could do was nod. Two foolish tears made their slow and glistening way down her cheeks. Snif
fling, she attempted to pull her hand free to wipe them away.

He wouldn’t let her go. Instead, he took a tissue from a box on the table and wiped her face, his fingers sure and tender. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His voice was low, intense, and full of sorrow and a strange kind of aching pain that seemed to mirror what was in her heart.

She managed a watery smile. “I’ll get over it. I already did, once. It’s just that it’s taken me by sur
prise.”

Like the Jeff of old, he spoke the words that she didn’t say. “You think that you made a mistake in coming here, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.” At this moment, she didn’t. All she could think of was Jeff, so big and strong and handsome as sin, holding her hand, caressing her face. Suddenly, she wanted more than anything for him to take her in his arms and hold her close. She wanted him to kiss her until she forgot the pain, forgot the past, forgot everything but the
masculine scent and taste and texture of him.

His eyes darkened in a way that she remembered well. Her heartbeat increased in response.

Abrup
tl
y, he released her hand and pushed himself up from the chair. “Maybe I’d better skip dinner. Will you take a
rain check
on that drink?”

Irrationally disappointed, Hope swallowed. “Sure,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “some other time.”

As she watched him walk away, all she could think of was the haunted expression on his handsome face and how badly she’d wanted to kiss the pain away.

Jeff had never realized that his memory, something most people took for granted, could change from a rock solid foundation to rapidly sinking quicksand. The effort to regain his lost past had consumed him, ever since the day he regained consciousness in the hospital and realized he had great gaping holes in his mind.

He could remember learning to ride his first bike. He could remember bits and pieces of a cat
tl
e roundup he’d participated in a few years back. He could sort of remember his father’s stem, loving face.

The feel of a football in his hands was familiar to him; even now he could hardly wait until football season started in a few months. He knew he followed college ball, and that the Aggies were his favorite team. Whether or not he’d gone to college there he couldn’t remember.

His sister patiently answered his questions, when he knew enough to ask them.

But she wouldn’t answer questions about Hope. When he asked them, Charlene would only smile mysteriously and tell him to ask Hope herself. That, he didn’t want to do. Not yet Hope fascinated him. He must have loved her once, must have loved her deeply. Once Charlene had unearthed an old photo album from a closet, handing it to him without a word. Inside were photos from his high school years. He’d been amazed to find that
a good number of the photographs also contained pictures of Hope. A girlish, more relaxed Hope, who gazed up at the boy he’d been with obvious adoration shining in her pretty face. And he’d worn the same love-struck expression on his teenage face.

Jeff had poured over the photographs, studying them again and again, trying to remember, but noth
ing came. There was nothing but a bittersweet sort of ache that seemed eerily familiar. He’d taken a few of the photos with him, hoping one of them might jog his memory. He pulled out his wallet and extracted his favorite one, studying it

He knew Hope’s laugh. The old picture was of her holding a huge cane fishing pole, the sunlight in her eyes, her head tilted back in laughter. He imagined he could hear the sweet sound of it in his mind. Yes, he swore he could remember the joy that was Hope’s laughter.

He knew her kiss, too. Merely thinking about it made him hungry, hard, and out of control. This scared the hell out of him. He who seemed to have very
little
control over anything, couldn’t afford to let one iota of it slip away.

Hope might have the keys to helping him regain himself, his memories, and his personality. There had been a connection so deep, so profound, that even in his blank slate of a mind, he recognized her. Knew her. Wanted her.

He wanted her so badly that he ached with the effort of holding back. Yet hold back he must, until he knew who he was and what they had meant to each other. Then and only then, would he allow himself the luxury that was Hope. Even now, he sensed on some deeper level that Hope was, despite her petite frame and laughing doe eyes, infinitely dangerous to him.

She ate quickly, glad that Charlene had decided to eat in front of the TV. Three times while washing her make-
up off, she decided the best thing to do would be to go back home to Dallas. Three times she had only to think of Jeff’s eyes—his beautiful, blank eyes—and decided to stay.

At the bottom of her emotional upheaval was the ever present guilt. Yes, Jeff had hurt her, hurt her badly enough to make her leave. Wounded and ach
ing she’d fled, taking with her something profound that she’d selfishly hugged to herself, sharing with no one. She’d stolen something from Jeff that could never be replaced, no matter how hard she might pray and wish that it was not so.

Alisha.

She had taken her precious
little
girl
—their
pre
cious
little
girl, a child Jeff had never even known existed.

She would stay because she owed him a greater debt than she ever could repay.

Chapter Five

Exhausted, Hope tried to sleep. Closing her eyes, she tried to rest, but all she could think of was Alisha. Sweet, tiny, perfect Alisha, who had been
born
with Jeff’s beautiful green eyes.

Restless
, Hope plumped up her pillow and reached into her nightstand drawer for one of the books she’d brought with her. Instead, she came up with Jeff’s old yearbook. Slowly, she turned to the first page. He’d written his name there, above all the other signa
tures from his friends. The sight of his handwriting, slanted and bold, reminded her of the notes he used to pass her in study hall, and the ones he used to leave in her locker.

Suddenly, she lacked the strength to turn another page. Her throat aching, Hope closed the book.

Thinking about those days still hurt.

Lying back against her pillow, exhausted, she decided to give Jeff the yearbook. Wondering about his reaction, she drifted off to sleep.

In her sleep she dreamed. She dreamed of a time when Jeff had cared about her, loved her to the point of distraction. Being with him had always made her smile with joy. She relived it all, the endearments he loved to whisper into her hair and the way he held her tight up against his broad chest as if he never meant to let her go. Then, green eyes blazing, he would watch her, as hungry for the sight of her as he was for the touch of her, the taste of her, the feel of her.

Only once in her life had she ever felt the way he had made her feel, and only with one man—Jeff.

Now, with the blessed magic granted only in dreams, she experienced it again.

In the morning, Hope made her unsteady way into the kitchen. The dreams of the night before had shaken her. She needed to decide what to do. The scent of coffee beckoned to her. She found Charlene in the den, watching some game show on TV.

The closing music swelled as Hope came into the room.

Immediately, Charlene clicked the television off. “Mo
rn
in’,” she grinned. “Do you have a busy day planned?”

“No, I’m not sure what I’ll do today.”

“Jeff called.” Charlene’s gaze, so like her brother’s, was serious. “I mentioned the yearbook to him. He wants to give it a try. He’s invited Clay Forrester over, too.” Charlene blushed. “They’re still good friends.” “Really?” Hope tried for a smile and failed. “Did Clay and Diane ever—”

“Divorced.” Suddenly, Charlene got busy. She straightened up the placemats and began brushing imaginary crumbs into her hand. “This is Clay’s week
end to have his son.”

A son. Hope had to fight back a sudden surge of jealously. Diane and Clay had a child, just as she and Jeff
had once, though Jeff didn’t—and wouldn’t— know. Alisha would be nine now, if she had lived.

“Hope, what is it?” Concern darkened Charlene’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Hope felt the prick of tears in the back of her own eyes. Since she’d come here, she’d felt like a veritable fountain of tears. “Charlene, I don’t know if I can do this,” she gestured wildly. “It hurts too much.” Confusion clouded Charlene’s face. “Hurts? I don’t
...”
Sudden understanding showed in her expressive eyes. “You still care for my brother.” Hope didn’t bother to deny it “I have no business caring for him,” die said
bluntly
. “What happened between us was a long time ago. It’s over.”

“If you only knew—”

“No.” Beseeching, Hope laid a trembling hand on Charlene’s arm. “If only
you
knew. If Jeff had his memory back, he wouldn’t want me here.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I know I’m not” Hope searched for words to help Jeff’s sister, her friend, understand. “Once Jeff remembers—everything—he will hate me.”

“You’re wrong,” Charlene told her in a no- nonsense tone. “Jeff never stopped loving you.” Hope gasped. “You don’t know what you’re say
ing,” she said miserably. “Believe me,” she stared down at her hands, clenched in her lap, “he wouldn’t want me here if he remembered.”

“Hope—”

“No.” Holding up her hand, she stood. “I’ll do what I can, because I still care for both of you. But what was in the past can never be again, so please don’t get your hopes up.”

With a doubtful smile, Charlene inclined her head. “If that’s what you believe. I only want to help.”

“I know you do,” Hope said as she leaned over and
lightly
touched the other woman’s arm, “and I love you
for it.”

How she wished it could be different. If only she believed her presence in Dalhart would actually help Jeff, perhaps then she would have some measure of relief from the constant guilt that plagued her. With her debt discharged, maybe she could return home with a clear conscience and try to go on with her life.

Clay and his son drove up in a new, red Suburban
shortly
before seven. Jeff hadn’t returned, so Char
lene showed them into the den where Hope nervously waited.

“Hey, girl.” Clay
hustled
over, looking much the same as he had in their high school days. He bent over her for a hug, taking care not to hurt her. At six-foot-four, two hundred and sixty pounds, with arms the size of tree trunks, he’d always had to be careful of his own strength.

“You look the same,” Hope said and smiled up at him, winking at Charlene over his shoulder.

“Ha!” Charlene laughed. “Ask him to take off his cap.”

Clay’s face turned the color of a ripe tomato. With a sheepish grin, he lifted the bill of his Dallas Cowboys cap to show her his balding head. “My hair started receding a few years ago.”

“Hey,
I
think it’s attractive.” Grinning, Hope yanked his hat off and tossed it to Charlene. It was amazing how easily she fell back into the easy banter of their high school years. “Makes you look kind of dangerous, if you know what I mean.”

Behind him, shoulders shaking with laughter, Charlene covered her mouth with her hand. “Dan
gerous!” she snorted.

Shaking his head, Clay grabbed his hat and jammed it back on his head. “Where’s Jeff?”

“I don’t know.” Hope glanced out the window.

“He said he’d be here,” Charlene chimed in, stroll
ing over and standing next to Hope. “Where has that young
’un of yours gone off to?”

Clay grinned and hollered in a no-nonsense voice, “Derek, come in here.”

Immediately, Hope heard the sound of
little
feet pounding. A small boy with tousled hair the same golden blond as Clay’s came tearing around the corner.

He skidded to a stop by crashing into Charlene’s leg. Peeking at them around it, he pouted and said, “What, Daddy?”

Gen
tl
y, Charlene pried him off her leg and turned him around to face Hope. “I want you to meet some
body.”

Derek shot Hope a disgrun
tl
ed look, his eyes the same bright blue as his father’s. With a pang, Hope remembered once more that Alisha’s eyes had looked
exactly
like Jeff’s, emerald green and beautiful.

“Say hello to Hope,” Charlene ordered, taking hold of his chubby little hand and moving it into a wave.

The
little
boy flashed her a quick smile, never tak
ing his eyes off them. “Hi, Hope,” he repeated duti
fully. “When’s Jeff gonna be here? I want to play football.”