Barbara McCauley - Midnight Bride

She couldn’t finish. It suddenly hurt to breathe. She looked away, struggling to hold on to her composure, but with a will of its own, her body started to shake.

“No.” He took hold of her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “There was no indication of someone hurting you like that.”

“How would you know?” she whispered hoarsely.

“When I brought you in last night, you were covered with mud.”

Confused, she looked at him. “And?”

“And I had to clean you up. Your clothes weren’t torn that way.”

“Oh…I see.” She was beginning to see. Too clearly. Up to now, she’d been too confused, too disoriented to have given a great deal of thought to her current condition and clothing. “So last night…you had to, that is you—”

“Had to be done, Sarah. You were soaking wet, covered with an inch of mud, and bleeding. I had to get you out of your clothes and in the shower, not only to get you clean and see how badly you were hurt, but to warm you up. You’ll have to trust me that I was a perfect gentleman.”

Trust him? Yes, she did have to trust him. What choice did she have? Still, the thought of him, a stranger, taking off her clothes, seeing her naked like that—

Suddenly the image—no, more like the sensation-of a man’s wet, bare skin against her own came to her again, just as it had last night when she’d awakened the first time. Only this time she understood where it came from. Her face blossomed bright red. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him. “Did you, were you also—”

“‘Fraid so. It was the quickest and easiest way. I was almost as wet and muddy as you, and I’ve never taken a shower with my clothes on yet.”

She looked quickly away as humiliation burned clear down to her toes. “Oh, my.”

Cupping her chin with his fingertips, he lifted her face to his and smiled. “If you have a husband, I’m a dead man,” he teased.

A husband? Did she have one? And if she did, would she be so incredibly aware of Caleb right now? The musky scent of his skin, the heat of his body, the touch of his hand on her chin? She stared at his lips and felt a strange tingling through her body. “I owe you my life,” she said quietly.

He moved closer, and she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “And Wolf.”

She smiled at that.

His hand dropped away. “We’ll give it a couple of days. You’ll either remember who you are, or someone will be looking for you.”

“What if there’s no one?” Her smiled faded. “What if no one claims me?”

Her worry cut straight to his heart. He understood, more than she could ever know. He saw himself twenty-five years ago, nine years old. Alone. Separated from Carrie, waiting for foster parents that never showed up. “Everyone has someone.”

Her gaze leveled with his. “Do you?”

His jaw clenched. “No.”

Utter despair darkened her soft blue eyes, and he kicked himself for not lying.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Helping someone you don’t know?”

Good question. He could tell her it was because she might be a government agent who had amnesia and it wouldn’t be a good idea to turn her in to the police. Or he could tell her it was because he’d help out anyone in trouble. But, of course, that was a lie.

He looked at her, watched her anxiously searching his face and decided there was really only one answer. Strangely enough, it was an honest one.

“I don’t know.”

She nodded, seemingly accepting that answer. “What about your work, or whatever it is you do here? Won’t I be in the way?”

“I’m in insurance,” he said carefully. “Life insurance. I broke my shoulder, and I’m on medical leave right now.” Mostly true, he thought. His business was a form of insurance, and he had broken his shoulder.

She sighed heavily, then ran her hands through her hair as she stared at the fire.

“Hey, Hunter,” she said after a long moment.

“Yeah?”

“Since you saved me, do you think you could feed me, too? I’m starving.”

Sarah sat at the small kitchen table, her gaze focused on the plate of spaghetti in front of her. She pushed the pasta around her dish, listening to the sound of the rain on the roof. She’d been starving a half hour ago, before she’d washed up and made herself presentable, but her appetite had waned the minute she’d sat across from Caleb, and the full realization of her isolation with the man hit her.

Alone.

With a man she didn’t know, had never even seen before. At least, she thought she’d never seen before. She’d tried to remember what had happened to her, how she’d come to be here in this condition, but every time she’d tried, the pain in her head had become unbearable.

She watched Caleb as he ate, amazed at his appetite and his ability to accept this situation so calmly. As if strange women fell at his doorstep all the time. Which, considering the man’s looks, might very well be the case.

“Thank you for the clothes and the, uh, other things you bought for me in town today,” she said, appreciative of the boots and jeans and denim shirt he’d picked up for her. She hadn’t tried them on yet, but they appeared to be the right sizes. He’d also bought her some personal items which included, much to her continued embarrassment, underwear and toiletries. “Please be sure and keep the receipt so I can reimburse you.”

He took a long swig of milk, then set the glass down with a clunk. “That might be difficult since I stole most of it.”

“You what!”

He looked at her with the patience one reserves for a child. “I couldn’t very well buy ladies’ clothes and underwear without raising a few eyebrows. Pinewood is a small town. Everyone knows who I am, and that I live alone. Unless I want people here to wonder if I’d picked up some unusual habits, I thought it best to be discreet.”

“Stealing is discreet?”

“Necessary. If it makes you feel better, I dropped a few bills behind the market counter. Judy will find it, and since she owns the store, it will go into her pocket.”

An honest crook. That should make her feel better, but it only increased the burning sensation in her stomach. In spite of her discomfort, she was pleased with the clothes and other items. Having a few things of her own gave her a small sense of identity. Other than the sweater and skirt she’d had on when he found her, which Caleb had washed and hung up in the shower to dry, she had nothing. Even her shoes had been lost in the storm.

She rubbed her feet together, thankful for the socks he’d given her to wear. They were way too big, but soft and warm, like the thermal pants and cotton shirt she also had on. His thermal pants and cotton shirt. Her stomach fluttered at the thought.

“Is Judy a friend of yours?” she asked cautiously.

He shrugged, then scooped up some spaghetti sauce with a piece of bread and took a bite.

Suddenly worried, she poked at a green bean. “Close personal?”

One brow raised, he looked at her.

She straightened and lifted her chin, irritated he was making her inquiry so difficult. “This is a rather delicate situation, Caleb. I’m in your home, wearing your clothes. I believe I should at least be prepared for the possibility of a jealous lover bursting through the door.”

“Ah.” He chewed thoughtfully. “You think Judy will be upset we took a shower together?”

“We did not shower together!”

“We didn’t?”

“Not like that, and you know it.” He was teasing, making jokes. Her fingers tightened around the fork in her hand. “You may find my anxiety amusing, Mr. Hunter, but I find it extremely uncomfortable.”