Читать книгу A Very Maverick Christmas - Rachel Lee - Страница 8

Chapter Two

For the next few days, Julie felt as if the inside of her head had become a huge jumble. Her memory, if that’s what it was, of being an angel in a Christmas pageant when she was young, was really niggling her.

She pulled up that flash over and over, trying to wring every possible detail out of it that she could. Standing on stage, wings on her back, scanning a sea of faces trying to find her parents and not seeing them.

“Damn,” she cussed out loud. If that was a real memory, why couldn’t she see her parents?

But even if she had, could she rely on what she thought she remembered? She’d had some counseling since the amnesia, but it had mostly been pithy claims about how she just had to trust her memory, such as it was, and perhaps her past would return to her.

Trust it? She couldn’t even be sure it was a true memory. It might have been some kind of daydream, resulting from a desperate need to fill in the huge hole her past had become.

But maybe, just maybe, there was some link in her head with the holidays. She should make more of an effort to enjoy the season as it ramped up. Maybe it would jar some more memories loose for her. Maybe little shards would grow into big pieces.

But somehow, one little girl in an angel costume had managed to throw her entire being into some kind of blender. Conviction and doubt warred within her, alongside hope and despair.

Then there was Braden Traub. She told herself he’d just been being nice to her, but he might as well have warning flags all over him. For the first time since she lost her memory, she felt attracted to a man. Seriously attracted. Forgotten urges had wakened in an instant. Dangerous, because she had no memory. She was sure that the instant a guy found out she was amnesiac, he’d head for the hills. But apart from that, she was a babe in the woods. No memory to guide her about dealing with men. About dating.

Hell, she couldn’t even carry on much of a conversation unless it was about the last few months. So why take a risk?

She sighed and rubbed her aching head. Again and again she had been warned about trying to force her memory, but she kept trying anyway. Desperation gnawed at her.

Like looking at those family portraits at the Triple-T. She’d hoped one of them would jog her in some way, but none of them had. Instead, all they had done was make her feel even lonelier. She didn’t even have one photo tied to her past.

But then, she didn’t even know what had happened to her. The doctors theorized she might have been mugged or had an accident, but she’d been found wandering with nothing to show for her experience except a cracked skull and no memory. And her necklace. Her talisman.

And a desire for cold and snow that had led her to New England, where she’d met the man who had researched her necklace and told her the last owner had lived in Montana. Then she’d come across that blog and felt drawn here like a homing pigeon.

But what did any of that mean? Again, she was without context. In some ways that was the most frustrating thing of all: urges and impulses that drove her without having any idea why.

If she couldn’t explain herself to herself, how could she explain herself to anyone?

When she realized she was thoroughly cleaning the cabin again for the third time in as many days, she stopped and tried to give herself a wake-up call.

One of the two rooms she was working so hard on was a bathroom. Otherwise the cabin contained a larger room that held a small kitchen at one corner, an alcove beside the bathroom where she had a bed, and a beastly woodstove that terrified her because she’d never had to use one before, at least not that she could remember. As winter deepened, she prayed the power would stay on, because if it didn’t the heater wouldn’t work and she was going to get very cold. Maybe she should buy a kerosene space heater, although those were dangerous, too.

Sighing, she rubbed her temples. For three days she hadn’t gone out her front door, not since the party at the Triple-T. What was with her? The town was familiar enough now that she felt all right when she walked the streets and shopped. The woods around the cabin were like a personal cathedral for her, offering peace and serenity. So what was she doing being a hermit?

She stuffed her feet into her warm winter boots and pulled her parka off the peg. A bracing walk would do her good, clearing out cobwebs and probably settling her frantic ramblings. The winter snow was not yet deep, although she had been warned that it would get there soon enough. For now, though, she could walk in the woods or into town.

She locked up the cabin behind her, then hesitated on the stoop. The woods or town? She needed a few things from the grocery, and increasingly she had a desire to find some splash of color to add to the cabin. The inside of it was almost dismal; age had faded everything so much. A throw pillow or two, or maybe just a small throw she could wrap herself in when it became drafty. The bedding was her only addition, and sadly she’d chosen a wintry look that right now didn’t help at all.

Why did winter call to her anyway? What she needed as the days grew shorter, colder and darker, were some really bright colors.

God, she couldn’t even bring herself to put a mark on the place where she lived. She seemed to spend all her time feeling as if she might have to bolt at any moment, a purely ridiculous idea. Certainly no one had made her feel that way.

She figured she’d winter in this town then perhaps move on again if she unlocked nothing about herself. That, she thought, was her real problem: trying on places and people, then hitting the road to search for the key to her memory.

But how could she put down roots? She had two huge fears: that she might plant herself in the wrong place and thus lose any chance of finding out who she was, and that she’d find out and not like what she learned. Given that those were polar opposites, she sometimes wondered what the heck she was doing.

She turned toward the woods then changed her mind. If nothing else, she could bring at least one piece of cheer into that cabin. Maybe something Christmasy, given her reaction to Lily’s costume. Maybe Christmas held some kind of key for her.

She’d bought a battered, secondhand car with some of the money she’d received for the sale of her coin, and she climbed into the blue monster now in case the day turned colder, or in case she actually splurged on something besides a few groceries. A Christmas tree? But then she’d have to decorate it.

Shaking her head at her own indecision, she turned over the ignition. This heap might not look like much, but it had turned out to be amazingly reliable so far. Probably the good thing about buying locally. The garage owner had a reputation to maintain in a relatively small town.

She was driving up Cedar toward the Crawford General Store when she spied that psychic Winona Cobbs, her white hair flying in the breeze. That woman made Julie uneasy, although she wasn’t sure exactly why. When Winona had given a talk back in August about listening to inner voices, she’d seemed slightly dotty but not crazy. Afterward, as Julie had been drawn forward to meet the woman, she had felt an almost electric zap. In that instant Winona had snapped her head around, looked at her then shrugged and returned to her conversation.

Whatever it was that had happened, Julie had no desire to repeat the experience. It had been weird, even creepy.

On a weekday morning, finding parking near the General Store was easy. Julie slid into a spot then pondered exactly what she intended to do there. Most folks here drove to Kalispell for major shopping, but the General Store had a bit of everything. She could not only get a few chicken breasts and veggies for dinner the next few nights, but she could also wander through a miserly selection of Western clothing and even some decorator items. She was almost positive she could find a pillow and a throw in here, although she’d have a bigger selection in Kalispell.

That didn’t entice her to pull out. Small things that mattered very little weren’t enough to drag her to a bigger town. Her needs, both psychological and physical, could be met here.

At least until she decided she needed to move on again.

Shaking her head at herself, she climbed out and headed into the store. Although it hadn’t been destroyed in the flood last year, some repairs had obviously been necessary regardless, because the store had clearly been freshly painted not that long ago. It was certainly jammed with merchandise. The Crawford family was doing their best to give people a reason to shop locally.

She didn’t get two steps inside the door before she was greeted by Nina Crawford Traub.

“Nice to see you, Julie. Can I help you find something?”

“Groceries, eventually, but I’m looking for a little color to add to my place.”

“I can help with that,” Nina said cheerfully. “Got a whole bunch of new Christmas stuff in.”

Which would be useless in little more than a month, Julie thought as she followed Nina. On the other hand, she was wondering if Christmas might hold some kind of key for her.

Nina finally waved her hand expansively at an area clearly marked out for the holiday season. Thanksgiving items were marked down as the big day was nearly upon them. Christmas colors shrieked from a heaped table and some nearby racks.

“Christmas tree decorations are in the back.” Nina pointed to her right, then her left. “If you want nonseasonal, look over there. Call if you need me.”

A pretty impressive display for such a relatively small space, Julie thought as she began to wander around the table. Stockings, pillows, tree skirts, even some holiday-themed costume jewelry. Someone had tried to hit every possibility, including a basket of inexpensive stocking stuffers.

But nothing struck her. Nothing touched her. Nothing seemed to jar anything within her. Well, if she was going to spend any money at all on brightening the place, she guessed the nonseasonal area would be the place to look.

She was just fingering a bright blue throw, almost electric in its brilliance, when a familiar voice caused her to freeze.

“Hi,” said Braden Traub. Then when she didn’t immediately answer, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Suddenly galvanized, embarrassed by what might appear to be rudeness, she turned and saw him half smiling at her. “You’re not,” she blurted, once again struck by how attractive he was. He wore a shearling jacket with gloves hanging out of the pockets, jeans and boots. An iconic man most women would drool over. She hoped she avoided that embarrassment.

“I tore up a couple of shirts over the last week,” he said casually as if he didn’t mind starting a conversation in the middle. “Damn barbed wire. So I’m replacing them. That’s a pretty color you’re looking at there.”

She glanced at the soft wool fabric between her fingers. “Yes, it is.” Then she made an effort. “I need to brighten my place up a little.”

“You’re at the old cabin outside town, right?”

“Yes.”

“It needs brightening,” he agreed. “I haven’t been in there for a few years, but it needed some back then, too.”

“Um...”

“Yes?” he said encouragingly.

“How could you tear shirts on barbed wire? Did it cut through your jacket?”

His smile widened. “No jacket. I was dealing with some rolls in the barn and got careless. I’m lucky I didn’t need stitches.”

“Shirts might cost almost as much.” It pleased her immensely when he laughed.

“There is that,” he agreed. “And the fact that I was careless more than once. I ought to know better.”

“I hope they were old shirts.”

“On their last legs. Are you thinking about decorating for Christmas? I could help you get a tree to your place.”

She blinked. A man whose own brothers claimed he was a recluse was offering to help her get a tree and bring it to her cabin? Then it struck her they might have been joking. “You and your brothers joke a lot.”

Surprise widened his dark eyes a bit, then he laughed again as he apparently caught her reference. “Oh, you mean what Dallas said about me being a recluse. Yeah, we joke a lot. The teasing is merciless. That’s the only thing I don’t mind about them all being at their own places now. It’s so dang peaceful.”

She felt a smile begin to dawn on her own face. “Things can be too peaceful.”

“Well, sometimes, but they come back often enough to keep me on my toes. I think they’ll all calm down when they have their own little Noelles.”

“That’s your niece? She’s so cute.”

“I think so, but I’m biased. Well, let me know if you need help with anything. I’m going to be in town for a few hours.” He started to turn away then paused. “Are you coming to the church to help with gift wrapping for the troops?”

“I’ve already promised Vanessa I will.”

“Great. See you there.” Then he paused again. “Unless you’d like to get some coffee when you’re done here?”

The invitation completely startled her. She’d been asked out a few times since she arrived here and had turned down all the offers. But it felt different to be casually asked for coffee. Part of her wanted to flee, because it was so tiring to conceal all the gaps in her memory, but another part of her wanted to keep looking at him, listening to him.

Becoming a hermit, she told herself sternly, wasn’t going to do the least thing to solve her problem. In fact, it might hinder her.

“I’d love coffee,” she answered, hoping her hesitation hadn’t been too noticeable.

“Great!” His smile widened again. “How long do you need?”

“Well, I have to pick out...” She stopped herself. Delaying tactics weren’t going to help anything. “I need to grab some groceries. Nothing that won’t keep in the car for a while. Twenty minutes?”

“Twenty minutes. Just enough time for me to pick and pay for my shirts. See you at checkout.”

She envied him his easiness, his ability to seem comfortable in his own skin. She often hoped she didn’t look as skittish and frightened as she sometimes felt.

On impulse, she grabbed the electric-blue throw and a couple of red, glittery Christmas pillows, both with angels on them. Cost be hanged, she thought as she headed over to the groceries. Color seemed imperative now, and it was apt to get more so as the winter deepened and darkened.

* * *

Coffee with the mystery lady, Braden thought, feeling as if he’d just made a huge leap. Of course, if anyone saw him having coffee with Julie Smith, the teasing was going to go through the roof.

Oh, well. He was used to it. Being the last Traub bachelor in town had not only increased the teasing, but had taught him that he seemed to be under some kind of local microscope, too. All the women who had come into town in a veritable wave looking for husbands had added to the local curiosity about a guy who seemed impervious to all those wiles.

He could just imagine what some folk suspected, although he didn’t really care. When the right woman came along, well... It was as his mother had once said, “Dating is a series of no, no, no until you finally get to yes.” Well, he’d had a few nos, enough to realize that dating could be a huge investment. Better to be picky before you really got started.

He pulled four plain Western shirts off the rack, glad that he hadn’t given in to a whim to go to Kalispell for a few hours. All he’d wanted were work shirts, and now he was going to have coffee with Julie Smith. His curiosity quickened again. At the very least he wanted to know why such a beautiful young woman seemed to hang back in some very noticeable ways.

Sort of like him, he thought humorously. Maybe she had some bad romances in her past.

“Stocking up again,” said Nina as she checked him out. “You’re hard on shirts, Braden Traub. Dallas takes better care than you do.”

“Blame it on the barbed wire.”

Nina rolled her eyes. Once his shirts were in a paper bag, he saw Julie approaching with a cart that contained two red throw pillows, the electric-blue blanket she’d been admiring, and some packaged chicken breasts, frozen vegetables and a couple of potatoes.

Bachelor fare, he thought as he stood back and waited. And given how cold it was outside, sunshine notwithstanding, if she put everything in her trunk, it would probably freeze before she got home.

Assuming he could keep her from bolting before she’d spent ten minutes with him.

God, she was pretty. Each time he looked at her, he felt it anew. And it wasn’t just those big blue eyes, blond hair or figure. It was an aura of, well, innocence. She reminded him of a lamb exploring the world for the first time, trying bravely and then showing huge timidity at something startlingly new. But she had to be somewhere in her early twenties, and that didn’t seem to fit with the whole innocence thing. More innocent than he was, certainly, but not a child.

He hoped he’d find out something about her. If he could quiet his curiosity, maybe he wouldn’t feel so drawn to her, and he could safely escape another entanglement doomed for failure.

He offered to help with her bags, although he was sure she could have carried them herself. Manners had been ingrained at an early age. A kind of old-fashioned chivalry, judging by much of what he saw of the world today. He had no doubt, however, that Nina would report back to Dallas, and he’d take another round of ribbing. Sometimes this town could be too small.

She blushed, but let him take a couple of the bags and carry them to her car. Then she lowered the boom he’d half expected.

“I should get this food home and into a refrigerator.”

Braden didn’t often give anyone a hard time, but some stubbornness reared in him. “It’s freezing out here. You put the chicken and frozen vegetables in your trunk, and it’ll stay colder than it would in your fridge while we have coffee. Not the potatoes, though. Don’t want them to freeze.”

In the bright morning sunlight, with the air as clear as fresh-washed glass, she looked even prettier. He saw emotions chase across her face, and she bit her lip.

“It’s just coffee,” he said gently.

“Just coffee,” she repeated. Then, at long last, “Okay.”

“Let’s go to Daisy’s donut shop on North Broomtail,” he prodded gently. “You can bring your own car and run as soon as you need to.”

Her face darkened in a way that told him he’d said exactly the wrong thing, but then, making an effort, she smoothed it over. “Sure. I’ll see you there.”

Wondering if she’d even show up, he went over to his mud-splashed truck, climbed in and left it to her to follow. He wasn’t going to force himself on any woman, even for a chance to talk.

* * *

After Braden drove off, Julie dithered in her car for a few minutes, letting it warm up. Well, that was her excuse anyway. Braden appealed to her, undeniably. She felt a jolt of sexual awareness every time she saw him. But was that enough to take this kind of risk?

What did she have to talk to him about? Her few months here in Rust Creek? His family, whom she did not really know? Maybe she could ask enough questions to keep him talking. But what if he asked questions?

She sat like a terrified rabbit for maybe five minutes until she realized the heat was blasting in her face, and if Braden was waiting for her, she was being rude. He’d helped her load her car. He must be wondering why she hadn’t followed right away. That’s what any normal woman would have done, wasn’t it?

She put the car in gear and headed for the donut shop. There’d be other people there, limiting their topics of conversation, she assured herself. Besides, as she’d been arguing to herself this morning, being a hermit was unlikely to get her any closer to the answers she wanted.

Stupid, she thought, to so desperately want to know about her past yet be equally frightened of finding out. Normal reaction, the psychologist had said, but how could anyone really know what was normal for someone who’d lost all memory of her past until she woke in a hospital unable to even remember her name? Her kind of retrograde amnesia was extremely rare, so rare that at first the doctors hadn’t seemed to believe her.

Some memory loss happened. Total memory loss was in a class of its own, evidently.

It didn’t take long to reach the donut shop. Braden’s truck was there, and she glimpsed him through the window. He waved when he saw her pulling in. The gesture warmed her a bit, and took the edge off her nerves. At least her knees didn’t feel like rubber as she climbed out and walked toward the door. She’d get through this, the way she had gotten through everything so far.

She had certainly gotten through a lot. Her memory of the last four years, short though it was, reminded her that she was made of sterner stuff than she sometimes thought. Maybe she should congratulate herself on getting this far, instead of fearing the next twenty minutes.

But his remark about her being able to run as soon as she wanted returned to her, and she wondered if she was giving everyone the impression that she wanted to bolt. Well, sometimes she did. Sometimes she seriously wanted to bolt from this whole situation. But where could she go? This was one of those things she would take with her wherever she went. No escape.

To her surprise, Braden opened the door for her. She hadn’t expected that, just walking into a coffee shop. His smile was welcoming, his voice kind as he teased, “I thought I’d lost you.”

His eyes were warm, just like his smile, and she felt some inner tension let go. “I just warmed up the car a bit. The guy I bought it from said I shouldn’t make a habit of running with a cold engine.”

“Good advice, usually. You can see how well I pay attention to it.”

He motioned her to the booth, and she loosened her coat.

Braden remained on his feet until she slid into the bench facing where he’d been sitting. Only then did he sit facing her. “I’m going to have a latte,” he said. “Don’t let anybody know. I’ll be hearing from my brothers how I need to drink real coffee. The manly stuff.”

More of her tension seeped away, and she laughed. “Grow-hair-on-your-chest coffee, huh?”

“Something like that, although that day is long past. Did you ever wonder why they tell you coffee will stunt your growth when you’re young, and then when you get older it’ll make you manly?”

She laughed again. “No, sorry. Wrong gender.”

His head tipped a little, a laugh escaped him, then he leaned toward her a bit, his eyes dancing. “The things your gender has spared you. What will you have? My treat, and the sky’s the limit.”

She looked up at the menu hanging over the counter. “I’ll have the mocha cinnamon latte,” she decided, then nearly patted her own back for finding it so easy to order. So natural. Some things didn’t feel at all natural to her anymore. So maybe her previous self had liked that kind of coffee?

Pointless question.

Braden called the waitress over. “Candy? When you have a sec?”

She returned her attention to Braden as he ordered for them, adding a couple of blueberry muffins. “I hope you like them,” he said to her as the waitress walked away.

“I do,” she admitted. Then a thought occurred to her. He’d called the waitress by name. “Do you know everyone in town?”

“Certainly not you,” he said lightly. Then more seriously, “No, I don’t know everyone. We’ve had a lot of new people come to help with the floods and other things.”

“And you’re very busy at the ranch?” Keep asking questions, don’t give him a chance to pry.

“These days, yes. My brothers are busy with their personal lives. They have their own businesses and families to take care of these days. Can’t say I blame them.”

Her smile came easily. “Me neither. Which is how you came to be wrestling with barbed wire?”

He grinned. “Exactly. And wrestling is a good term for it. Are you ready for our winter?”

The change of subject seemed abrupt, but at least she could answer truthfully. “I love winter.”

“Maybe not winters here so much. We get dang cold. Where’d you come from?”

“New England.” Which was truthful insofar as it went. “Part of what drew me out here was the idea of snow-capped mountains. Real mountains. And Lissa Roarke’s blog, of course. Though I gather she’s now Lissa Christensen.” Julie had learned from local gossip that Lissa had married her own Rust Creek cowboy, Sheriff Gage Christensen, a few months after her arrival in town last year.

“I never had much time to read her blog,” he said, leaning back as the waitress, Candy, served them. He thanked her. “I hope she didn’t make us seem overly romantic.”

“Depends on what you mean by romance. I just knew I wanted mountains and snow, and this place sounded friendly.”

“Do you ski?”

She blinked. A blank wall answered that question. “Not really,” she hedged.

“Most people who like snow do. Just asking. I don’t have a lot of time for it, myself, but if I can arrange it, I like cross-country. I don’t need a slope and don’t have to risk permanent disability.”

He was cute, she thought, and he made it so easy to laugh. She wanted to keep her guard up, but she was beginning to feel safe with him. For now, at least. Growing warm, she slipped the coat off her shoulders and reached for her coffee.

“Want me to cut the muffins up?” he asked.

“It might make it easier.”

Again that twinkle in his eyes. “Depends on who’s eating and where.” But he unwrapped the flatware that was rolled in the napkin and cut the two muffins into bite-size pieces. Crumbs tumbled all over the plate, but he didn’t seem concerned.

“That’s an interesting necklace you’re wearing,” he said, pushing the plate toward her in invitation. “It looks old.”

“It is,” she admitted. She at least knew something about it for certain. “It’s an heirloom.” She reached for a piece of muffin and pulled a napkin out of the dispenser to place it on, while she tensed for the next question.

“It’s nice to have something like that,” he said, picking a piece of muffin for himself. “I like things that pass down through the generations. They create a great sense of connection.”

A cowboy philosopher, she thought, and wondered what he’d think if he knew that necklace was her only connection. Probably find an excuse to head back to his ranch and pretend they’d never met.

She picked up her coffee, nearly hiding behind it, wondering why she was so ashamed of her amnesia. It wasn’t some kind of personal failing. She’d been severely injured, probably in some awful accident, and should just be grateful to be alive. Why did she feel so embarrassed by it?

Because she wasn’t normal. She wasn’t anything approaching normal. Missing a limb was more normal than missing your entire past, and most people would probably think she was making it up, or crazy in some way. That was the problem. Her dirty little secret.

“I’ve never experienced winter in New England,” he said when he’d swallowed more muffin and coffee. “I wonder how it compares.”

“I can’t answer. This is my first time here.”

Again that devastating grin came to his face. “Maybe we should track the weather this winter and compare the two places. Betcha we get colder.”

Remembering the last winter, she felt a smile play around her mouth. “I wouldn’t be so sure. We got pretty darn cold last winter. Colder than normal, though.” She knew that because she’d heard it countless times.

“Then maybe we beat you in the snow department.” When she didn’t answer immediately, he winked. “Say, aren’t you willing to get into an argument about whose home has the worst winter?”

“You might have better luck with your brothers.”

He laughed with pure pleasure. “Good one. Points for you.”

She felt her cheeks warm at his approval. Maybe this would become easier.

“You seem thick as thieves with Vanessa.”

“She’s great. She and Mallory and Cecelia and Callie. They’ve all been wonderful to me. And I just adore little Lily.”

“She’s easy to adore, although I suppose I should defend the Traub honor and claim that for Noelle.”

“She’s adorable, too.”

“I just hope she doesn’t grow up quite as mouthy as Lily. That girl! Whatever pops into her head comes out of her mouth. I actually like it. Caleb does too except for when it seems to bother Mallory.”

“She’ll grow out of it. I kind of like knowing where I stand with her.”

“Until she tries some matchmaking.”

Julie’s cheeks flamed. “That was a little awkward.”

“Actually, it might have been a good idea.”

Julie froze. The urge to flee warred with the urge to stand her ground and not look like a fool by running.

“People do need friends,” he said as if he didn’t notice her reaction. Maybe he hadn’t. “So, that kind of ended the awkwardness. Then she was so cute when she couldn’t say that word.”

“She was,” Julie said around a thick tongue.

“I guess I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He looked out the window. “Winona Cobbs keeps saying we’re going to get a heckuva blizzard soon. One to remember. I wonder if she’s right.”

At last, a topic that made Julie feel safe. “Do you believe her predictions? I don’t know why, but she makes me a little uneasy.”

He returned his attention to her. “We’re at the time of year for blizzards. I won’t put much stock in a prediction like that unless it flies in the face of meteorology. As for being uneasy around her...well, some folks are. She’s essentially a harmless, nice person, but when those eyes settle on you, it’s possible to feel like she sees your soul.”

Remembering the strange electric tingle she had felt when Winona fixed her gaze on her, Julie could only nod. “There’s something about her...”

“Which is why some people listen more than maybe they should. But she means well, I’ll give her that. If she’s psychic, I don’t really know, but she’s not cheating widows out of the life insurance, if you get me.”

Julie didn’t know. She had no memory of psychics. “What do you mean?” she dared to ask.

“Oh, there are some scam artists around who’ll charge an arm and a leg to give you some ridiculous reading. Never knew one, just read about them. At least we don’t have one of them around here. Winona gets paid for speaking, but never charges for any information she volunteers. To my way of thinking, that makes her honest, even if it doesn’t necessarily make her right.”

Julie nodded, stuffing some more of the blueberry muffin in her mouth, savoring it then washing it down with her latte. “Great flavor combination,” she said after dabbing her lips with a napkin. She didn’t want to gossip about local people, even if gossip sometimes seemed to be a favorite pastime. She was willing to listen, but talking was a dangerous thing. There was no way to know, if she said something wrong, whether it would come back to haunt her. And sometimes she feared she simply didn’t know what the wrong things to say might be. She seemed to have retained most of her skills from her past, but she couldn’t be sure, without memory, how many of them were working right.

“So where in New England are you from?” Braden asked.

At once she tensed, and her mouth started to dry out. Now would come the questions she couldn’t answer because there were no answers. At least she knew the last place she had lived. “Outside Boston, in a town called Worcester.”

“I always liked the way that word doesn’t sound like it’s spelled. I had a terrible time when I was a kid learning to say Worcestershire, that sauce. Love it on my steaks. Anyway, mastering that one took long enough that my brothers were merciless. I think I finally got it.”

“I’d say so.”

“You must be missing your friends.”

She felt her face start to freeze. Time to go, before he grew too personal. “I moved a lot,” she said finally, glancing at her watch. “And I really need to go.”

“So soon?” He studied her. “I said something wrong.”

“No, really. I just have some other things I need to do.” Like examine her own head, explain to herself why she’d been stupid enough to accept this invitation, even if the guy awoke her entire sexual being. What the hell was she thinking? Yes, she needed to be out more and talk to more people if she was ever going to jog her memory, but her few friends here had stopped asking most questions a while back. A new person meant more questions, and each question caused her to evade and face the blank wall all over again.

“I wasn’t trying to pry,” he said, lifting his hand for the waitress. When she came over, he asked her to put both coffees in takeout cups, and the blueberry muffin remains in a bag.

Afterward, he passed the bag to Julie. “Sorry I cut it into mostly crumbs. I thought we had a little longer. It’s been great getting to know you. Thanks for the company, Julie.”

“Thank you for the coffee and muffin.” She stood and pulled her coat on quickly, not so quickly that she appeared to be in headlong flight, she hoped.

He stood, too, offering to shake her hand. She took it reluctantly, and once again met those brown eyes. They seemed to hold some kind of understanding, although what he was understanding she couldn’t imagine. She was acting like a nut.

“See you soon,” he said, and let her make her way out on her own. He watched her get into her car and drive off, and it wasn’t until she was out of town and nearing her cabin that she realized just how tense she had become; that reaction was making her shake.

One man, one coffee, a few casual questions and she became a basket case? God, she had to get over this. He appeared interested in her. She knew for a fact that she was interested in him. Then she turned into a nut and ran from what she wanted?

Oh, she definitely had to get over this, at least enough to reach for the future.

But the only way over it seemed to be recovering something that remained stubbornly elusive: her past.