Читать книгу Just A Memory Away - Helen Myers R. - Страница 10

The instant she heard him shut the bathroom door, Frankie pursed her lips together for a silent whistle. What a close call! If he’d stood there another few seconds, no doubt she would have offered to bathe him herself. Boy, if the guy could do that to her when dazed and grubby, there was no telling what impact he would have when spruced up and functioning on all eight cylinders.

Bemused by the prospect, she headed back toward the kitchen, only to stop at the sudden touch of hot breath on her cheek. It was followed by the flick of a sandpaper tongue, then the weight of two reptilian feet. Finally, the iguana climbed off a stereo speaker to wrap himself completely around her shoulders.

Frankie scratched Bugsy under his flabby neck. “So what do you think?” she whispered, continuing on her way. “I know you’re intrigued. You never come out to check out company unless you are.”

At the counter she stooped to let the iguana onto the steadier base, then flipped on more lights. Dr. J. was already settled on his favorite bar stool in the hope of getting a late-night snack, and Honey croaked from her cage, although she still had plenty in her feeder to nibble on.

“Okay, you guys,” Frankie said, conscious of the less patient scratching and braying that hadn’t stopped just beyond the screen door. “Everyone will get something, as usual, but keep it down. Mercy… far be it from you guys to wait five extra minutes while I try to take care of a guest!”

Maury uttered a low-throated growl through the screen. He always needed to get in the last word.

“I heard that.” Frankie held up the steak bone she’d brought from work that one of the girls had saved for her. “See this? No jealousy or I’ll let Samson chew on this.”

That earned her a snort of disgust from Maury, who then slapped the aluminum door with a huge paw. Rasputin supplied his support with a bump of his head.

Frankie couldn’t help but smile. No wonder her guest had looked dubious about getting out of Petunia. Even for someone familiar with them and as fond as she was, they could be a challenge. She knew she wouldn’t be able to play with them tonight as much as she would like, either, because she needed to save a bit of energy for the man who remained too quiet in the bathroom.

Despite her intentions, it took her a good twenty minutes to feed the motley group. By the time she issued “lovies” to the last animal, and returned to the bathroom, the prospect of a shower looked pretty good to her, too. Hoping that the stranger had finished, she knocked lightly on the door.

“How’s it going in there?”

She listened, but heard no reply.

“Hello? Are you all right?”

The silence had her imagining the worst: what if he’d been injured more severely than she’d imagined? What if he’d lost his balance and was bleeding to death on her bathroom floor? What if…?

“Mister! I’m going to come in, okay?”

When he still failed to answer, Frankie momentarily lost her confidence. Only darn it all, she couldn’t afford to; there was no one to do this if she didn’t!

As she cautiously peered around the door, she found her guest seated on the commode lid. He looked much the same as when she’d left him.

Not one to stifle too many emotions, she sighed and touched his shoulder gently so as not to startle him. “Hey. Didn’t you hear me?”

He looked up at her, and her heart did a little jig as his eyes brightened, warmed. “Hello,” he murmured.

“Hi. You’re supposed to be taking a shower.”

He glanced at the stall as if only now realizing its purpose. “I guess I forgot.”

Forgot the only instruction she’d given him? Frankie’s spirits sank again. “Please, don’t say that. You don’t know how close I am to calling the police for help.”

“No. No…don’t.”

“But you’re hurt, and it’s obvious this didn’t happen by simply falling over a tree stump. I could probably be put in jail for the infraction of some civil law by not already having you at a hospital. Failure to render aid or something—I seem to remember they have that law here.”

He frowned. “But you did help me.”

“Proper. Proper aid is the key word in this case.” Frankie crouched before him to make him meet her studious gaze. “Look…you have to work with me. You have to take that shower. You’ll feel much better if you get cleaned up, I’m sure of it. If not, I’ll let you lie down for a while afterward. You really don’t want to lie down on my clean sheets when you’re caked with mud and who knows what else, right? Can you do that for me?”

He inclined his head. It wasn’t, however, a full-fledged nod.

Not sure that he fully comprehended, Frankie gestured toward the fiberglass cubicle. “Well… anytime you’re ready.”

Obviously it wasn’t now. Her guest simply continued sitting there staring straight ahead.

Beginning to feel as if she was fighting an unwinnable battle, she took hold of his hands, which hung loosely between his knees. “Let me try a different approach…. Are

you making sense of anything I’m saying?”

“Yes.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to go in there.”

Frankie eyed the shower stall. What did he mean? Sure, her trailer didn’t look like much from the outside, even through the kind filter of darkness. After the death of her grandmother, her grandfather had towed the thing from one part of the States to another and then some, not missing a single pothole or dusty canyon on his journey of selfdiscovery. And there was no use trying to ignore the obvious: she could almost open her own zoo. That had its own cost. But concussion or no concussion, surely he could tell she was a painstaking housekeeper?

“I don’t understand,” she told him with quiet urgency.

“It looks—I can’t see.”

“See what?”

“See. In there.”

It took her a few seconds, but she finally understood what he meant. He would feel claustrophobic in the stall. Whether this was a result of his injury, or something deeper, she had no way of knowing; but it didn’t appear as if she was going to be able to talk him out of it before the sun rose.

“Holy Moly…” She sat back on her heels. “I’m definitely in way over my head here. You have to let me take you somewhere.”

“No.”

“To a doctor? For your own good?”

“No!”

Before she could react, he took possession of her wrists in a blood-draining grasp. He had impressive strength for an injured guy; in fact, his touch was so intense she had to bite back a cry. Sure, she’d been clawed, bitten and bullied time and again by the strays and abused animals she’d taken into her home; but this was different. This was more personal, more dangerous than anything she’d experienced before.

“Listen to me.” Ever so slowly, she lowered her head so that her cheek stroked against the powerful fingers shutting off the blood supply to her hands. “You’re hurting me… and you’re frightening me.”

He immediately let her go. Looking shocked, he touched her hair. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.”

The anguish in his voice was real, his touch gentle. Frankie abandoned her momentary impulse to run; however, she did sit up and eye him with renewed concern. “What am I going to do with you? Don’t you understand that you have to get cleaned up and get that dirt out of your wounds?”

He frowned, looked at the shower stall and then at her again. “Can you help me?”

Whoa.

He couldn’t be serious? But no sooner did Frankie open her mouth to tell him that, than she realized she didn’t have a choice. This wasn’t an act. “Aw…no,” she moaned, “don’t do this to me.”

“Please. It’s not what you’re thinking. I’m just not sure I can-”

“Manage on your own in such a small space?” At his brief nod, she groaned inwardly. Granted, the male body was hardly an unknown commodity to her, but she hadn’t seen all that many. Did he realize what he was asking of her?

Of course he did, she realized a moment later when a dark flush crept into his face. Otherwise he wouldn’t look as miserable and trapped as she felt.

She sighed. “Am I a wuss or what?”

“Sorry?”

“Anyone can be a marshmallow,” she said, rising to slide open the shower door and turn on the water. “It takes a rare talent to be a wuss.”

From the cabinet behind her, she took the biggest towel she owned and set it on the edge of the sink for when they were done. Then she slipped out of her sneakers.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” she told the injured stranger as she tugged off her socks. “Any funny business and you’re dead meat, got it?”

“Not feeling very funny.”

“We’ll see.”

She didn’t turn away from him as she stripped off her jeans. Modesty wasn’t the issue; and despite her comment, she didn’t think he looked as if he was in any shape to really pull something. What’s more her T-shirt and panties left her more covered than when swimming with Holly at her friend’s apartment pool.

It was the stranger who presented the problem.

“Okay,” she said, adjusting the hot-and cold-water taps. “I guess I’m ready if you are.”

Frankie’s curiosity as to whether he was the modest type or not was answered seconds after she spoke. The stranger used her shoulder and the wall for support, and eased himself to his feet. The abandoned blanket simply fell away, and he stood before her as naked and unsteady as a one-year-old testing his legs for the first time.

And you thought keeping something on would make things less sexual? Jonesy, you are daffier than Honey.

She already considered the man a heartthrob, but that proved the father of all understatements. He was what the girls at the club would call a “stud.” Simply beautiful, as far as she was concerned. One inevitable cheater-glance downward, and she knew it would be a miracle if she got through this without making an absolute fool of herself.

She slipped an arm around his waist to offer additional balance. “Easy. Easy.” She coaxed him into the stall. “You’re doing great.”

“Feel lousy.”

“There’s a built-in seat in here. You can sit down in just a second.”

“Okay, just… don’t close the door.”

“I won’t.” Things were cramped enough as it was. She’d never thought about how small the shower was in all the time she’d owned the Silver Duck. But the stranger changed that the instant they were both inside the cubicle and she tried to help him onto the triangular bench. It was impossible. No matter how badly she wanted to avoid it, those long legs of his were tantamount to trying to maneuver around redwood trees in a gym locker. If she wanted to get him settled, not to mention cleaned up, she would have to suffer through a bit more body contact.

Tough work, Jonesy, but you are the only volunteer.

“Wait a minute.” Already wet, she was drenched by the time she maneuvered him to where he needed to be. “And we haven’t even been properly introduced,” she muttered, the third and hopefully last time his nose bumped against her breast.

Fortunately, he either didn’t hear her or else didn’t care to comment, and she quickly busied herself by adjusting the spray away from herself and back onto him. “Now, if you get dizzy or anything, hold on to me.”

For the moment, however, he seemed content to lean back against the fiberglass wall and close his eyes. In fact, he looked as if it would take dynamite to move him again.

That troubled her. “You can’t go to sleep on me.”

“Tired.”

“No, no, no. You have to help me to help you.”

“Try…”

She shook her wet hair out of her eyes and decided to work on his hair first. From the looks of the dirty water running down his face, she figured the sooner they got him cleaned up there, the better his chances of avoiding an infection in those cuts and scrapes.

Fortunately she used a fragrance-free shampoo and soap, so she didn’t have to worry about an allergic reaction; but she did worry about causing him additional pain. She asked him several times as she carefully worked the soap into a rich lather whether she was hurting him or not, until she finally believed he meant it when he said she had an “angel’s touch.”

“I sure hope so,” she said, getting more chatty to keep from focusing on how his thighs kept rubbing against hers. “I’d sure hate trying to explain to the police why I thought I could do a better job at patching you up than a hospital could.”

“No police. No hospital.”

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you before.”

Once she rinsed out the shampoo, however, she had to sacrifice gentleness for thoroughness. Although she half drowned him, she used a washcloth to clean the wound at his temple; but, under the circumstances, it was the only way to make sure she got out every bit of grit.

By the time she had him lean forward to focus on the lump at the back of his head, he’d lost what was left of his equilibrium. When she released him to rinse out her cloth, he almost fell off the seat, nearly taking her with him.

She earned a bruised elbow for that one and a near heart attack. Once she got him steady, she tried again…and again. Each time, she had to deal with the same results.

“I know you’re beat,” she gasped, wearying herself, “but we have to get done.”

“Feel… sick.”

“Now, is that any way to talk to the woman who’s considering having your baby?” She peered at him, hoping that little shocker might have the desired effect. It didn’t. “Okay, then let’s try this. Brace your forearms on your knees and your forehead here.” She patted her tummy to show him.

At first the solution worked perfectly. He stayed steady, and she made good progress as she attended to the nasty bump on the back of his head.

Then she grew aware of how much hotter his breath was

than the water—against her tummy… her thighs…. And

as if that wasn’t enough, when he tilted off-balance again, he recovered by grabbing her legs!

Frankie froze, the feel of his big, strong hands moving on the backs of her thighs just a teensy bit more than she’d bargained for. “Um… mister.”

Could he be toying with her, after all? When he shifted his hold higher and almost cupped her bottom, she was nearly convinced. Then, just as she aimed the washcloth to slap his hands away, he uttered a deep, miserable moan.

“Can’t do this much longer.”

That makes two of us. But she forgave him. “Hold on. We’re almost through.”

“Too much trouble.”

“No, you’re a good sport.” Better than me.

“You. And you have… hands.”

She smiled. “There’s something else we have in common.”

“Great. Meant great hands.”

The fragmented compliment was another throwaway. He was grateful, that’s all; and yet a sharp little thrill raced through her. She was beginning to enjoy this a bit too much.

She tried to be discreet as she put some distance between them and concentrated on washing his neck and shoulders, his chest and arms. It didn’t help. How was she supposed to ignore that although he was on the pale side, his body had the well-developed tone of an athlete?

“Do you run, maybe on an indoor track? Work out at a gym?”

He was slow to answer. “Wish I knew.”

There it was again—that hesitant, anxious tone, As she dealt with yet another wave of sympathy for him, she forced a cheery note into her own voice. “I hate exercise myself. It’s crazy, because I’m going all the time. But tell me that I have to do some formal physical training and I turn into an amoeba. Almost failed gym in school.”

The stranger merely sighed.

It didn’t matter. They were finished anyway. Or finished enough. “Why don’t we get you to your feet.”

She instructed him how to stand, like before, and once again she tried to steady him. He had been a handful earlier; however, it took all her strength this time. As a result, there was no avoiding absolute intimacy—her breasts being crushed against his muscular torso, her cheek against the heavy thud of his heart, and lower…

Omigosh!

No longer was the stranger in a daze. At least one part of him was wide awake! He sucked in a sharp breath, as if only now realizing the problem himself.

“Here.” Once she had him out of the stall, she leaned him against the damp tile wall and reached for the towel. She needed to think, and she would do that better if they put something between them.

He seemed as eager to get the thick length of material around his waist as she was. But he also tried to catch her eye. “Frankie—”

“Careful where you step. We’ve made quite a puddle leaving the door open like we did.”

“Frankie.”

Blast him, but the man was persistent. “What?”

“Why won’t you let me…? I apologize.”

Yes, she was a wuss. She had only to hear his anguish, see the concern in his poor battered face, and she instantly turned into mush inside. And all this time she’d thought only animals could do that to her.

“Apologize for what? Being human?” She looked up at him and accepted another truth about his condition. “You’re not going to be able to endure another move tonight, are you?”

“Just want to… rest.”

“I know. Stay put.”

She’d been right about the hunch of letting him he down on her bed. She knew what to do now.

In the bedroom she flipped on only the small reading lamp, out of concern for his eyes. Then she folded back the coverlet from her queen-size bed and tugged down the sheet. Without trying, her imagination pictured him there, naked between her fresh sheets.

Get over it, Jonesy.

“I know you’re not quite dry,” she said upon her return to the bathroom. “But you won’t hurt anything. The important thing is to get you off your feet. You look ready to drop.”

She helped him to her room and into her bed, where as soon as she made him comfortable, she realized his forehead was bleeding again. Rushing back to the bathroom, she got her first-aid kit. Luckily she kept it well stocked for her animals.

Once she had him patched up, all the while chatting away like a computer phone recording, she thought of something else to do. “Aspirin. Your head has to be throbbing by now.”

She was gone and back in a flash. After feeding him the pill, she set the cup of water on the table beside the bed in case he got thirsty later.

“Can you think of anything else you might need?”

“No. Yes. Frankie, I didn’t want—”

Here they went again. “Try to get some rest now,” she said, not wanting to let him finish. She knew what he was going to say, and it was better left alone. She began to rise. “Don’t hesitate to call if you start feeling worse. I usually stay up for a while after I get home. I don’t need much sleep.”

“Francesca, stop.”

Who had a choice? Despite his condition, he’d moved faster than Samson when the little oinklet spotted anything edible, and now he had firm hold of her wrist. Wary but resigned, Frankie sat down on the edge of the bed. “What?”

“God, you make me dizzy.”

If only he knew his effect on her.

“You have to let me speak,” he continued.

“You don’t need to be speaking, you need to be resting.”

“But you’re still not—Don’t be afraid of me.”

He was too sharp for his own good. “May I remind you that you’re the one with the busted head and the Vacant sign flashing on and off in your eyes?”

“Frankie…” He looked as if he wanted to argue with her, but the effort was clearly more than he had to give. “You’re a very sweet and… sexy lady.”

This was what she’d really been afraid of; that he would say something considerate and tender when she was already reacting way too strongly to him. What’s more, the man not only had amnesia, he was blind as a bat! She’d caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror. She looked about as appealing as Callie the time Maury had inadvertently pushed the cat off the dock and into the pond. She’d had no time to brush out her hair, and what little makeup she’d been wearing had either washed off or smeared.

“I’d better go,” she said, attempting to gently pry his fingers from around her wrist. She might as well have tried to reshape tungsten steel with a feather.

“I may not know who I am, but I don’t think—I know I would never hurt you.”

Frankie went still, and reluctantly met his troubled gaze. She knew that he told her the truth. At least, as he understood it. But he couldn’t know how that only served to add to her sense of wonder about him, about what was happening between them.

“I believe you,” she said, able to do nothing but accept the soft and achy feelings churning inside her. “Now will you please try to get some rest?”

He did ease his grip, but he didn’t release her completely.

A helpless laugh bubbled up her throat. “What’s wrong now?”

“You’re really going to leave me?”

“I’ll be in the next room.”

“Not yet.”

“You have to sleep.”

“I know. But… you make it bearable.”

‘It’?”

“Not knowing who… what I am.”

That had to be terrifying. She couldn’t imagine such a predicament herself, and she only had to look at him to see how it was tearing him up inside. That made chopped meat of the rest of her determination to put some distance between them.

“Keep telling yourself that this is only temporary,” she said, keeping her voice low and soothing. “Tomorrow you’ll probably open your eyes and, except for one humdinger of a headache, be as good as new. They do say the mind can do the most amazing things when it comes to healing and survival.”

“What if I’m not that lucky?”

“Wrong attitude. My gramps used to say, ‘Never let the negative gremlins get hold of you. Think of the possibilities and that’s half the battle.’ “ Frankie grinned at his dubious look. “It’s true. He had the best outlook on life, and I rarely saw him depressed or angry.”

“That explains you.”

“Oh, I’m a grouch in comparison.”

“Doubt it.” The stranger let his eyes drift shut. “You… lived with him?”

“Sometimes. As much as I could. My parents didn’t always approve. They didn’t understand the wanderlust that drove him, especially after my grandmother died. I had to settle for brief summer visits as a kid, until I got out of school and moved in with him. We had a wonderful time for a while. He passed away five years ago.”

“Parents?”

“They’re still back east in Pittsburgh, in the brownstone they bought shortly after they were married. My father is with a big insurance company. My mother is… Well, she buys things at garage and estate sales, polishes them up and sells them at a profit to her friends.”

“Your grandfather… whose?”

“Whose…oh! Whose parent? Mother’s. And she’s never stopped apologizing to my father and brothers.”

“How many brothers?”

Goodness, he was tenacious. What besides two knocks on the head did it take to put him out of action? “Four. Carson, Blake, Jason and Pierce. I’m the runt of the litter. An accident, actually. Mr. and Mrs. Jones had a little too much sparkling wine on their twelfth wedding anniversary, and nine months later, there I was. The bane of everyone’s existence.”

“Exaggeration.”

“Oh, it’s true. I played better bridge than Mom, better poker than Dad. You could never catch me to spank me, and I deserved more than a few. I got better grades in school, even while maintaining the largest paper route in our county, and just when my father had himself convinced that I was going to get through college and become something traditional like a teacher or nurse, I dropped out and began traveling with Gramps. My father wouldn’t speak to me for weeks.”

The story went over well. The stranger almost smiled. His breathing also was growing slower, deeper. Frankie began to inch off the bed.

He opened his eyes. “What do you do?”

“I’m an unapologetic underachiever now. I work at The Two-Step.” At his frown, she explained that it was a bar and grill on the other side of the interstate. “Far enough so that we don’t get any of its traffic, which makes it difficult for Benny, my boss, to keep a cook, so the ‘grill’ part isn’t always accurate.”

“Wonder what I do.”

Frankie didn’t like the tense note that had reentered his voice and endeavored to keep things light. “Well, you sure don’t mess with dirt-loving critters the way I do.” To prove it, she placed her hand next to his. Besides the obvious differences in size, hers displayed the short, sometimes-chipped nails and scratches that came from loving her pets too much.

The stranger stared at his hand. “He even took my ring.”

“What ring?” Frankie gasped.

“I don’t know. It just feels so… naked.”

A ring. The possibility that he had a wife, children waiting somewhere grew stronger. What were they going through tonight?

She would have liked pursuing the subject, but she could see it was having a debilitating effect on her patient. “That does it. Enough talking,” she told him, and rose. “Now you try to sleep.”

“You’ll stay close?”

At the rate he was tying knots in her emotions, he would be lucky if she let him go tomorrow. She always had time in her day and room in her heart to take in another lost or injured soul.

“Right on the couch, but sometimes not even that far, because I am going to have to wake you every once in a while to make sure you don’t slip into a coma.”

“Thanks.”

“One thing—if you need to get up at any time, call me. I don’t want you to, um, accidentally step on something. In this place it’s likely to bite in return.”

He looked a bit disturbed about that. “I’ll call.”

“Good night. Sleep well.”

“Frankie?”

She’d gotten as far as the door. Real progress. “Yes?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to say your name. To make sure there was one thing I remembered when I wake again.”

She couldn’t.answer because of the lump that lodged in her throat. But she thought of that unknown family again, and she knew an intense pang of envy. She hoped that whoever they were, if they existed, they knew how very lucky they were.