Читать книгу Found: His Perfect Wife - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 10

The kitchen was state-of-the-art, with highly polished, copper pots and pans hanging from ceiling hooks arranged in a rectangle that encompassed the fluorescent light fixture. A butcher-block island stood in the middle, unadorned and vacant, while a blue-tiled utility bar housed only newspapers from days past and a small television set that was dormant at the moment.

It was a kitchen waiting in vain to be pressed into service.

This had been Lily’s domain. For a time, Alison had felt intimidated and inadequate just walking into it until she’d made her peace with the fact that she enjoyed eating sandwiches and two-minute microwave specials.

Leading the way in, she opened both sides of the refrigerator, allowing Luc a full view of the interior. It was Jimmy’s turn to go shopping. Which would explain why there was so little within the “magic box,” as she used to call it when she was a little girl. Back then, her mother had presided here and she could remember warm, wonderful smells coupled with a feeling of well-being coming from this room. There’d been no pots hanging from the ceiling, no butcher-block island then, only a breakfast nook. And love.

Until everything had changed.

“Okay.” She glanced over her shoulder at Luc. “What’s your pleasure?”

The question caught him unprepared. He’d just allowed his mind to wander, to dwell on the woman who had taken him under her wing because, according to her, he’d come to her rescue. He wished he could remember at least that part. But he couldn’t.

Instead, what was teasing his mind now was the very real, very strong attraction he was experiencing standing so close to her. Pleasure was the word for it, all right.

“Excuse me?”

“Food.” She gestured toward the open freezer. Stacked inside were several colorful boxes, the names on the side hinting at culinary heaven in under five minutes. She tilted her head so that she could read the labels better. Her hair brushed along his bare arm, sending ripples of current through him. “We have frozen pot pie, frozen Mexican entrée, frozen—” Straightening, she looked at him with a self-depreciating smile. “Well, pretty much frozen everything.”

He was more interested in the other side of the refrigerator. Edging her to the side, he indicated the contents on the lower two shelves. “You’ve got some vegetables and a carton of eggs.”

There was no point in even mentioning that. “I don’t want to add ptomaine poisoning to your list of troubles.” She began to close that side of the refrigerator.

He placed his hand in the way, stopping her. “Why, are they spoiled?” Reaching inside, he picked up the larger of the two red peppers languishing beside the three sprigs of broccoli and pressed his fingers along the sides. “Feels pretty firm to me.”

She had no idea why she was identifying with an inanimate object. Why she could almost feel his fingertips pressing her skin. Maybe, she decided, because Luc wasn’t quite real. Without a memory, he could be anyone, like a fantasy come to life for a brief spate of time. Once his memory returned, he’d be gone.

And she would remain unthreatened.

“They’re not spoiled—” she agreed. “Yet. But they would be by the time I get through with whatever I tried to make.” A person had to know her limitations. This was one of hers. “We have a division of labor here as far as the kitchen goes,” she explained, taking the pepper from him and returning it to its place. “Whenever she stops by, Lily creates, Kevin cooks, Jimmy warms up and I destroy.” She made it a point to stay out of the kitchen, except to eat, whenever humanly possible.

He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what she was saying. “You can’t be as bad as all that.”

“I wouldn’t place any bets on that if I were you.” She glanced overhead at the pan hanging closest to her. “I stand a better chance winning a tennis match with a frying pan than I do making an edible meal with it.”

He hardly heard her answer. Something had just come to him. Too vague to be labeled a memory, it was almost like a feeling. “I’ve had too much frozen.”

Instantly alert, she grasped at the information, wanting to coax more out. “You remember eating frozen food?”

“No.” That wasn’t it. He strained, trying to catch hold of the silvery thread, to expand it into something larger. Something tangible he could handle. “I remember—ice, lots of it.” His eyes seemed to glow with the fragmented thought. “And snow.”

It was progress. Of a sort, she supposed. But such vague progress, it was hard not to sound discouraged. “That could be anywhere except for Southern California and Hawaii. What else do you remember?”

There was a blank. A huge blank. Hoping to stimulate something more, Luc stared into the open vegetable crisper again.

“I’m not sure.” And then he saw a stove in his mind’s eye. A large, six-burner, industrial gas stove. He could almost feel the heat. His eyes widened as he turned toward her. “Cooking, I remember—cooking.”

His smile was wide and boyishly engaging. Alison could almost feel it burrowing into her. Seeking a response. Her heart fluttered. But that was only in empathy. She was identifying with him at this breakthrough he was having. There couldn’t be any other reason for it.

Derek had taught her that she wasn’t meant for things like romance and love. If you can’t swim, don’t put your toe into the water.

She kept her toes where they belonged.

But she couldn’t help the wave of enthusiasm she felt for Luc. “See, it’s coming back to you already. You want to fool around in the kitchen?” He looked at her, bemused. Or maybe amused. She realized what that had to have sounded like. “With the ingredients I mean.” Moving quickly, wanting to cover the flustered feeling that had suddenly hit her from left field, she took out the peppers and lined them up on the counter. “Maybe something’ll come back to you.”

Something already had. A wave of bittersweetness. A sense of loss and resignation, sneaking up out of nowhere and drenching him. But loss of what? Resignation over what?

About what?

Or who?

All questions echoing in his brain, having no answers.

“You’re trying too hard again.” She smoothed back the furrow between his eyes even as he shifted them toward her questioningly. Realizing that maybe she was stepping over some invisible line that was best kept enforced, she dropped her hand to her side. “The last flash came to you without any effort on your part. The rest will, too. Maybe even by morning.” At least, it certainly looked promising enough. She peered at him. He no longer looked as if he was staving off agony. “How’s your headache, by the way?”

He’d forgotten about it until she’d mentioned it just now. “Almost gone.” The realization surprised him as much as it pleased him.

Another good sign. Jimmy had given him an injection to mute the pain, but that had been a while ago and she knew he hadn’t taken any of the pills that her brother had given him. There was every indication that their houseguest wouldn’t be staying long.

And that, of course, was for the good, she told herself.

“Then maybe puttering around in the kitchen might not be a bad idea.” She was already taking out the carton and placing it on the counter beside the peppers. If he needed anything more, he was going to have to tell her. “See what you can cook up—for you and for me.”

He said the first thing that suggested itself. “An omelet?”

He said it as if he thought it was the wrong time of day for it. She’d been raised on eggs at night and steak in the morning. Food was food.

“Hey, I’m hungry enough to eat waxed paper. An omelet sounds like heaven.” She paused, not knowing what he needed in addition to the two ingredients she’d put out. “I’d offer to help cook, but that’s a contradiction in terms as far as I’m concerned.” And then she grinned. “I can be your cheering section.”

His cheering section. She’d put into words just how he saw her. “I’d like that.”

She closed her eyes, savoring this bite as much as she had the first and the second. The man was nothing short of a miracle worker. He even cooked rings around Lily. This wasn’t an omelet, it was a minor miracle.

Lily was going to love him.

As if her older sister needed another man in her life. The thought was without malice. Dedicated, hardworking, Lily also knew how to play hard. And to enjoy herself.

Not for you, Alison. You were meant for other things, she told herself.

She held up her empty fork, raising a phantom glass in a toast.

“Where did you learn to cook like that?” And then her question hit her. If he could answer that, then he wouldn’t have been here in the first place. She offered him an apologetic look. “Sorry, I was just trying to sneak out another piece of information.”

It was an excuse, a way of covering for herself. But now that she said it, she realized that it wasn’t such a bad way to go. If she talked enough, prodded enough, maybe something else would come back to him. Maybe even everything.

“The subconscious is a strange thing.” She fell back on textbook knowledge. He was, after all, her first amnesia patient. And he was her responsibility, as well, because she meant to have him get better in her care. “It’s all in there, you know, every thought you’ve ever had, every memory you ever gathered.” Her eyes strayed to the small TV set on the counter near the sink. It was there at her insistence. “And every program you ever watched.”

He followed her line of vision and reflected. “I don’t think I’ve watched many programs.”

The concept, voluntarily adhered to, was almost impossible for her to believe. Unless there was a reason. Her eyes lit up. Worth a shot.

“Maybe your parents were disciplinarians. I had a friend whose parents would only let her watch one hour of television a week. Me, I was plugged into a television set the day I was born. Kevin says I’m a walking trivia book on cartoons and sitcoms.”

She stopped to take in another forkful. Every one had been a delight. “This is really great. You know, if this amnesia of yours continues for a while and you need a job, I know Lily would love to get her hands on you.”

Probably literally and otherwise, she added silently. Lily had radar as far as good-looking men went. Luc not only fell into the category, he looked as if he could probably rise to the head of the column.

“Right now, she can’t find a chef to meet her standards, so she’s doing all the cooking at Lily’s herself.” She finished her meal and felt a pang of regret. She was full, but she would have been willing to eat more. A lot more. “If you can make anything else besides omelets, you’d be an answer to a prayer for her.”

“I can cook anything.” He grinned at the cocky way that sounded. But there was no denying the wave of confidence that had come over him. He knew he could cook. It was nice to finally be sure of something, even something as trivial as this. “I can.”

Using her fork as a microphone, she pretended to be a news announcer and declared, “And we’ve established a beachhead.” Her eyes were eager. “Anything else coming back to you?”

“You already asked that.”

“I thought we’d do spot checks every hour, see if anything else drifts back to you.” She propped her head up on her fisted hand. “Like, do you remember saving anyone else?”

He wondered if she knew how genial her smile was. How warm. He shook his head in answer to her question. “I don’t even remember saving you.”

“You did. You were like the U.S. cavalry. Or a Canadian Mountie.” They were near the Canadian border. Maybe he was a Canadian, on vacation in the States. If that were the case, this would probably go down as one of the worst vacations on record, just a few lines below booking passage on the Titanic.

She could tell he wanted her to elaborate. “You hauled that guy out of the cab as if he was some rag doll instead of this stocky pig.” Alison smiled, recalling. “He looked really scared, even though he had a knife and you just had your bare hands.”

None of this was coming back to him. It was as if she was talking about something that had happened to someone else. “Did I hit him?”

She laughed. “Into next Sunday. If he hadn’t had a partner skulking in the shadows, he would have been cooling his heels in jail right now.” Her narrative over, her voice softened. “And you would still have your memory. I’m really very sorry about that.”

He didn’t want her feeling guilty. “It’s not your fault.”

But she didn’t see it that way. “I should have parked in the street.” One little misstep had caused all this. “It was just that I wanted to avoid getting snarled up in traffic.”

He dismissed it with a shrug, wanting her to do the same. Leaning over, he picked up her empty plate as well as his own and rose to his feet. “Logical.”

A smile curved her lips as she watched him. “You do dishes, too?”

He looked down at the plates and realized that he was bringing them over to the sink. He’d done it automatically, as if he’d been preprogrammed. “I guess I do.”

The man was single. If she hadn’t decided the matter earlier, this would have convinced her. “Well, memory loss or not, you’re not going to be on the market long.” Getting up, she pushed in her chair. “You cook, clean up after yourself and put yourself on the line to rescue damsels in distress. Most women go to bed every night praying to meet someone like you.”