Roz Fox - More Than a Memory

Her host’s fluttering about made Jo nervous. “My coming to Tennessee is nothing so cloak-and-dagger. And I’m not that famous,” she added dryly.

Jim Rowan motored out of the kitchen. He slid two delicious-looking strawberry crêpes onto Jo’s plate. From his tray, he unloaded a small bowl of whipped cream and a steaming pot of tea. “Pay Kendra no mind. My wife has a vivid imagination. She’s hooked on romantic suspense novels, so she’s always looking for love and intrigue. We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything,” he said, pointedly grabbing his wife’s hand to drag her away.

Jo let them go before she tucked into the rich breakfast. She could strangle Jerrold. She’d dumped dozens of his calls from her cell last night. Her story was newsworthy and might make a good book, she conceded, but he had no right to speak about her without permission. Kendra would be disappointed that there was no romance involved. Jo’d never had time to cultivate a man’s friendship, let alone think of romance.

The front door opened as she sipped her tea. Her seat gave her an unobstructed view of the woman who entered the foyer. She was of medium height and her light brown hair curved artfully around her narrow face. Jo noticed the dour expression, because the woman’s hazel eyes narrowed on her. Feeling a bit as if she’d been caught with food on her face, Jo reached for the napkin she’d had draped across the knees of her oldest jeans. Another reason to feel uneasy. The woman studying her like a bug under a microscope was impeccably dressed in heels and a flowery spring dress.

Gripping an envelope purse, the newcomer hurried across the floor until she stood in front of Jo. “So the rumor’s true. You are back. There’s a lot of speculation as to why, Colleen. I’m happy to see you didn’t die, but if you’ve had second thoughts about dumping Garret, forget it. You had your chance with him, and you screwed up. Now it’s my turn. In fact—” she wiggled her left hand “—I intend to be wearing Garret’s ring by the end of the arts and crafts fair. We’ll be on our honeymoon by the start of the Mountain Music Festival—if that’s what’s brought you back to the valley.”

“What…who…?” Jo was too stunned to do more than croak. A tiny window in her brain cracked open long enough for her to know this wasn’t the first time she’d met the brunette. Then the window closed with a snap, leaving Jo gaping after a total stranger. A stranger who departed as quickly as she’d come.

Jo half rose, but the screen door shut before she could get to her feet. She sat again and heard an expulsion of breath that she knew hadn’t come from her. Glancing up, Jo saw Kendra and Jim hovering in the kitchen doorway.

“Who…was that?” Jo asked.

“Jaclyn Richmond,” Kendra said. “A local artist. She came by the day Jim’s dad put up our outdoor sign, asking if we’d display some of her paintings in our rooms. I guess she wanted us to sell them. But her work was too modern for our Victorian decor. Mrs. Applegate at the corner grocery store said Jaclyn used to be married to a football player, but the marriage fell apart. Now I hear she’s running after Garret Logan.”

“She seemed to know you,” Jim said, interrupting Kendra’s prattle.

Kendra wasn’t done, however. “Why did she call you Colleen? You signed our register as Jo Carroll, and that’s the name we used to find you on the Internet.”

Sighing, Jo folded her napkin, and decided it was time to trust them. “It’s a long story, or a short one, depending on how you view it. I can’t answer your question, Kendra.” Jo stood up. “I was in an auto accident seven years ago and have holes in my memory. Jaclyn Richmond and others in town may know more about me than I do. I came here hoping to learn about my past. It seems not everyone seems happy to see me.”

Kendra slid a hand onto her husband’s shoulder and studied their guest with troubled eyes. “If you need friends you can count on Jim and me. This is a very tight community and it can be hard to break in. There are somewho consider us outsiders even though Jim’s grandparents lived here a long time and his dadwas born here.”

“Thanks. But I should probably check out and find a room somewhere outside White Oak Valley.”

“We want you to stay, don’t we, Jim?” Kendra nudged him.

The man in the wheelchair caught and kissed his wife’s hand. “Kendra’s very stubborn when it comes to getting through tough times. She says stay, and I agree with her.”

“I will, then,” Jo said. “I appreciate your generosity. I really hope to straighten everything out in a day or two. With your blessing, I’ll get right to it.”

ON THE OTHER SIDE of town from the Rowans’ B and B, Clare Logan knocked on her son Garret’s kitchen door. His dog, Domino, a black-and-white spotted hound, barked and jumped up to bat the glass, but there was no response from Garret. Clare shifted the load she carried and, after a sharp command for the dog to sit, let herself in. “There’s a good boy,” she murmured as the hound sniffed her shoes, whined, then padded over to his empty food dish and gave her a pathetic look. “I see your master has fallen down on the job this morning. Let me check on him, then I’ll get you some kibble.”

“Garret,” she called again, “it’s Mom. I’ve brought homemade breakfast rolls and black coffee.” Clare set the still-warm rolls and the thermos on the granite counter. She tsked over the lack of any sign that Garret had eaten the night before.

Making her way to the living room, she wasn’t surprised to find her youngest son passed out on his leather couch, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. His left hand was wrapped limply around a half-empty bottle of Bushmills that rested on the floor. Grimacing, she took away the bottle, capped it and unceremoniously rolled Garret off the couch onto the hardwood floor.

“Cripes,” he yelped, coming alive. “Can’t a man get peace and quiet in his own home?” He tried levering himself up on both elbows, but groaned and fell back flat. He flung an arm over his eyes to protect them from the bright morning sunlight as his mother threw open his drapes.

“Dad and I heard from all three of your brothers last night. They said you tossed them out of here so you could wallow in self-pity. I was willing to let you mope for one night. Now it’s time to buck up and display a little Logan pride.”

Clare stowed the whiskey bottle in an otherwise empty portable bar, spun back toward her son and settled her hands on her hips.

“Go away,” he groaned. “Can’t you all see I just want to be left alone?”

A petite woman whose head barely reached the shoulders of her husband, Donovan, or any of her four sons, Clare Logan was nevertheless no weakling. She proved it now by hooking Garret under his arms and muscling him to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, but with his mother’s assistance, managed to stumble toward the downstairs bathroom. “Time for a shower,” Clare announced. “You smell worse than the pub after a bachelor party. I’ll fetch you some clean clothes, then I’ll feed Domino. A chore you should have handled hours ago.”

“Jeez, take it easy, okay? My head feels like I got kicked by a mule.” Garret leaned both palms on the sink and peered into the mirror before passing a shaky hand over his stubbled jaw. “I’m entitled to tie one on, Ma. Or didn’t Brian tell you who showed up at the pub yesterday afternoon?”

Clare crossed her arms, but her expression became a shade more sympathetic. “Sean phoned first, then Brian. Honey, we’ve all watched you be depressed over that girl for too long. We grieved with you in the beginning. Back then we loved her, too. Now I’m mad as hell. She couldn’t have phoned or written to you once in all that time? You know she could have.”