The Baby Gift

Hell. He’d forgotten how touchy-feely she was. This was never going to work. She was only adding fuel to the explosion sure to blast the roof off when her memory returned—and she was bound to blame him. He would take responsibility for the other times she’d gotten mad at him, because he’d brought that upon himself, but not this time. Not for following orders. Well, maybe Max had finished his research on amnesia and would decide it was okay to give her some of her missing puzzle pieces. J.T. needed to know why she was here. He wanted to know why she was pregnant but not married.

“The coffee’s decaf,” he said, angling his head toward the coffeemaker. “But there’s milk and orange juice, too.”

She helped herself to the juice. “Where’s Deputy?”

“He’s got a dog door, so he comes and goes.” He started the microwave, then leaned against the counter, his arms and ankles crossed. “I’m surprised he’s stayed outside this long, actually, given how deep the snow is and how little he likes cold weather. He usually finds himself a sunny spot in the living room to nap in.”

“Your home is beautiful. And the view! The view is simply spectacular.”

“It was a big change for a city boy. Hadn’t even seen snow until I moved here. I had to learn how to drive in it.”

She swirled her juice in the glass, eyeing it instead of him. “Is there enough social life here for you? I mean, I assume you’re not married or I would’ve met Mrs. Ryker by now.”

“I keep her locked in the attic.”

Her head lifted in a flash. She frowned, then she tossed a paper clip at him.

He caught it on the fly. “There’s no Mrs. Ryker. It wouldn’t be easy being married to me. I’m never really off duty, although I’m not always on the clock. I tend to stay in uniform, because looking the part is half the battle.”

“It suits you.”

Simple words accompanied by her slow, thorough inspection of his…uniform, he assumed. But the flicker of purely female interest he saw in her eyes whisked him back to the night they’d met.

After a few seconds she put a hand to her forehead.

“Headache again?” he asked.

She nodded. “That was sudden. I’d been doing so well, too.”

“Any other memories come to you?”

“Images that don’t make sense.”

“Like what?”

She settled on a stool at the counter, set her glass down with a precise movement, then rolled it between her hands. He reminded himself that she didn’t remember him, that even though she said she would trust him, they were only words, and certainly not reason enough for her to confide in him. Some amount of caution would be ingrained in her.

“It’s as if someone took a bunch of movie clips and put them onto one tape,” she said after a while. “Flashes of people, and all of them seemed…I don’t know, angry or something.”

“At you?”

“I’m not sure. There’s a man—he’s young and nice looking. He isn’t as tall as you, I don’t think, and he’s kind of stocky. Or maybe he’s just muscular. It’s hard to tell. His hair—” she sliced a hand front to back over her head “—is cut really short, like a soldier.”

Eric, J.T. thought.

“He’s wearing a suit and tie, and there’s a flower on his lapel, so maybe it’s my wedding. Maybe he’s my husband? Why wouldn’t I recognize him, though? Then there’s a woman, not my mother, but about her age, and she’s crying. Crying so hard and pointing at me. And then the scene switches to my father, calling me…”

Pain dulled her voice, stealing what J.T. had always been drawn to—her optimism. She’d seen the good in everything, everyone…except him. She’d never forgiven him for what she called “leading her on” that first night, then turning his back on her.

“My father is calling me a brood mare. He’s saying he thought I was smarter than that.”

The defeat in her posture knocked on J.T.’s teetering wall of detachment. “Do you think these images are real or dreams?”

“I saw them as I woke up, so I hope they’re dreams.”

The microwave beeped. He leaned across the counter and wrapped his hands around hers, still clamping the glass. “Let it go for now, Gina.”

She lifted her gaze. “But to run like I did, J.T.? I had to be protecting my baby. Nothing else makes sense. I think what hurts is that I don’t seem to have anyone I trusted enough to help. Don’t I have friends? Why wouldn’t I go to my parents? Or one of my brothers or sisters? I have three of each, you know. Three older sisters and three younger brothers.”

J.T. served her breakfast as she sat, her chin propped on her hand, a frown of concentration on her face.

“I grew up in Phoenix. Wouldn’t I drive in that direction instead of north?”

“Too obvious a place to hide…if that’s what you’re doing.”

“Lost and Found seems like a good place to hide.” She dipped her spoon into the cereal. “How did you end up here?”

“Purely by chance.” At least this much of the story he could tell her honestly. “After I left L.A. I decided to travel. A couple of months into the trip I stopped here and had lunch at Belle’s Diner. By the time lunch was over, a bunch of the townspeople had held a meeting right there in front of me, then offered me the job of police chief, fire chief, dog catcher and anything else they thought of along the way, as necessary. They’d been looking for six months.”

“And you said yes.”

“I gave it some thought. About ten seconds.” He smiled at the memory. “Aaron Taylor walked over to his hardware and auto parts store, and came back with a gold badge, Deputy, his food and water dishes, and a warning that the dog howled when left alone. He still does.”

“Why did you leave L.A.?”

The back door opened, bringing a blast of cold air, nature’s change of subject. Deputy charged into the adjoining utility room, followed by Max, who stomped his boots on a throw rug just inside the door.

“Sun’s breaking through. It’s blinding out there,” he announced. “Your dog treed Mrs. Foley’s cat again.”

J.T. grimaced. “So that’s where he’s been.” He walked past Max and grabbed his jacket from a peg by the door. “I’d better go rescue the cat before Mrs. Foley starts hollering. Think I’ll swing by my office for a few minutes, too, if you don’t mind.”

Max followed him out the door. “You want me to baby-sit?”

“Does she need it?”

“It’s probably not a good idea to leave her alone yet.” Max lowered his voice. “From what I’ve learned, we were right to let her try to work things out on her own first. After a few days we might jog her memory along a little.”

And so the charade continues, but at what cost? J.T. wondered.

The door opened behind them.

“Anything you have to say about me can be said to me,” she told them, her fists propped on her hips. “In fact, I insist.”

J.T. smiled at the sight. Did she really think she looked tough? Not with her hair swirling around her shoulders like that and her cheeks glowing pink. And especially not with those all-too-feminine curves. Tough? Nope. Soft and maternal. Irresistible.

Irresistible? He swallowed against the significance of the word.

“I’m serious,” she said.

“Good thing I’m the one with the gun.”

Her eyes narrowed. She started down the stairs. “Look, Chief—”

“Stay put. I’ll explain,” Max said, as the telephone rang inside the house.

“Mrs. Foley,” J.T. muttered.

“I’ll handle her, too.”

“Handle?” Gina repeated, dangerously low.

“A figure of speech,” Max said.

“It better be.” J.T. gritted his teeth. He looked at Gina, wondering if she’d heard.

She stared at him, into him. The phone stopped ringing, leaving a stinging silence. He could try to back-pedal and end up looking more ridiculous than he already did, or he could ignore it, hoping she didn’t read too much into his spontaneous remark.

What was that old saying? Better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt?

No doubt about it, he was a damned fool when it came to her. Always had been. Max didn’t help, either, by just standing there, grinning like an idiot.

The moment stretched like cheese on pizza, a long string of awkwardness, getting thinner and thinner.

“Take your time. I’ll be fine,” Gina said, kindly slicing through the tension.

Well, Mark, what would you say about that? he asked his brother silently. The damsel rescues the knight. Chivalry’s not dead. It’s just switched genders.

Three

Except for the crackle and hiss from the fireplace, it was quiet. Gina eased into wakefulness, trying to recapture bits and pieces of a new dream, something to do with pool tables and pizza. The man with the military haircut was there, laughing, sliding his arm around her waist. J.T. stood nearby, somber and watchful, wearing a dark-blue uniform. Every time she walked toward him, he disappeared. The other man kissed her—

Her eyes flew open. Disoriented and breathless, she looked around J.T.’s living room, where she’d taken her third nap of the day. The lights were off except for one small table lamp. A glance at the mantel clock told her it was a little past ten o’clock. She’d slept for two hours straight—a record.

And she was safe. Her heart stopped thundering; tension melted away.

“I thought I heard you moving around.”

J.T. came into view, a comforting sight.

“Then you must have incredible hearing,” she said, admiring his long, lean lines for a moment. Pregnancy hadn’t made her immune to him as a man. He’d been good company all day, besides. Not very talkative, but an attentive listener. “I haven’t moved, Chief. I can’t.”

He crouched beside her, concern in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Your sofa is way too cushy. I think I’m embedded for life. Or until I get my abdominal muscles back.”

He helped her to sit up, then sat beside her, his expression serious. The clock ticked. The fire popped. Remnants of the dream knotted her stomach. Still, she was intrigued by him. There had been moments since she’d dropped into his life that he seemed to wish he’d never been saddled with her. Other times he looked so deep into her that heat radiated head to toe at the invasion. She’d felt at ease with him almost from the beginning, but this was the first time he’d chosen to sit so close to her…

Oh. She understood now. His home and office computers were linked. He was about to give her news she wasn’t going to like.

“Some chicken soup?” he asked.

“In a little while.” She linked her fingers, squeezing until they hurt. Her imagination ran wild with possibilities. “What have you found out?”

His hesitation was tangible. “Nothing.”

“Is that the truth?”

“You asked me not to feed your name into the system, but so far no one has reported you as missing.”

“What do you think it means?”

Again a hesitation, this time a little more ominous. “Frankly, I’d feel more comfortable if someone was searching for you through legal channels.”

“Me, too.” Pushing herself up, she walked to the fireplace and held her hands out to the flames. The heat barely penetrated her cold skin—and colder thoughts. “There’s another possibility, though. Maybe no one cares that I’m gone. Which is worse, do you think?”

“Gina—”

“No. Please don’t baby me. I need to know what I’m facing.”

She heard him come up behind her. He didn’t touch her, yet his warmth transferred to her. He would protect her with his life, he’d said. She believed him, and with that belief came trust, 100 percent.

She stared at her wedding ring. Pain hammered her head, vibrated behind her eyes. Instead of ignoring the signal and backing away from it, she tried to focus on what it meant.

“What if there’s a reason that I don’t feel married? Maybe I’m not. I might be wearing a ring so that people won’t think the worst of me.” She shook her head. “No. That wouldn’t explain why Eric’s name is on the health insurance card.”

J.T. stood behind her, waiting for her to reach the next logical conclusion: that her husband wasn’t alive. As soon as she figured that out, memories might come faster than she could cope with, but at least they would know why she was here and where the father of her child was.

And why that phantom man wasn’t taking care of her.

“I can’t think about it anymore. I need positive thoughts right now, for my baby’s sake,” she said with a note of finality. “Chicken soup, you said?”

“Or anything else you feel like eating.” Anticipating her next move, he took a step back as she turned, her belly a whisper away from brushing his.

“Have I said thank you for all you’re doing, Chief?”

“Not in the past two hours.”

The phone rang. He grabbed the portable receiver he’d brought with him. “Chief Ryker.”

“How’s the patient?”

J.T. eyed her. She’d moved to look out the picture window and was staring at the cloudless night sky, her hands gliding in circles over her belly, as if massaging the baby. “You can ask her yourself, Max. She actually speaks English.”

Over her shoulder she smiled at him. He passed her the phone then headed for the kitchen to heat up the soup. He’d already figured out that she was more comfortable eating a small meal every few hours, so he’d adjusted his schedule to her needs. It hadn’t been difficult to cater to her, just a battle to get her to let him.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.