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Trim and petite, with those perky little breasts just hinting from behind her shirt in a way that stirred up a man without even trying.
And all that red hair…?. It was the color of the paprika that Junebug, the McDermot housekeeper, put on her deviled eggs.
And Jenn’s skin—that was like porcelain. Pure, flawless, luminous porcelain.
And that small, perfectly shaped nose.
And those soft, pink lips that were meant for kissing.
And those eyes…
Oh, yeah, those eyes…
The blue of a clear sky at twilight out on the range where no city lights diluted the rich, deep, deep hue…
Those eyes had just pulled him right in the minute they’d opened and he’d had his first look at them.
Not that he’d wanted to notice anything he’d noticed. Because he hadn’t. Any more than he wanted to be picturing it all again in his mind’s eye now.
He wanted to just see her as a passing stranger in need of a little assistance. Tall, short; thin, fat; beautiful or homely as a mud fence—he didn’t want it to make any difference to him one way or another.
“So don’t let it make any difference,” he ordered his refection as he scraped off the last of the shaving foam with his razor.
What he wanted—what he needed—was to put Jenn Johnson into perspective, he decided. And to remember a few things himself. Like the vow he’d made that the next woman he got involved with would be someone he knew like the back of his hand. Someone who had no secrets. Someone so open she verged on the boring.
Because getting burned by a secretive woman once was enough. There was no way he wanted anything to do with any woman he couldn’t read like a book.
And even though Jenn Johnson wasn’t purposely keeping secrets from him the way Sarah had, Jenn certainly wasn’t a woman he could read like a book. She was a woman who couldn’t even recall her own name.
So helping her out, giving her aid and comfort and a roof over her head—those things were just being neighborly and they were okay.
But thinking about her as much as he’d thought about her since he’d found her, feeling that old familiar eagerness in the pit of his stomach, shaving for her at eight o’clock at night and counting the minutes until he could meet up with her again in the kitchen—those were not so okay with him.
Matt washed his face a little rougher than was called for, as if the force could wipe away all those other things he wanted stopped.
He’d be damned if he’d let his inclinations toward Jenn Johnson have reign over him the way his inclination toward Sarah had had reign over him. He’d be damned if he’d invest any kind of emotions in her or let himself get lost in that curly paprika-red hair or those incredible twilight-blue eyes or that porcelain skin he was itching to touch.
He’d been a sap for a beautiful woman once and once was enough. He was nobody’s fool. He’d graduated magna cum laude from Texas A&M. He had a master’s degree in agriculture and animal husbandry. He’d run two ranches. He’d helped his older brothers come up with a new, heartier breed of cattle. He was a man who knew himself, who knew what he wanted out of life and where he was headed, and neither of those things included another woman he didn’t know backward and frontward, inside and out. And that was all there was to it.
He sloshed cold water on his face, committed to not losing one ounce of control to thoughts about Jenn Johnson in any personal sense. Because he was damn sure not going to think about her like that.
He was going to think about ways to figure out who she was and where she ought to be and who she ought to be with, and that was all.
That was definitely all.
But even as he swore to himself that he wasn’t going to get involved with her, another thought played at the back of his mind, taunting him.
Chemistry was chemistry.
And there just might be no small amount of it riding roughshod over him.
Regardless of what he vowed to himself or how strong his controls and convictions.
When Jenn stepped out of the bedroom half an hour later she’d changed into a heavy wool turtleneck sweater and a pair of jeans. She’d washed her face and reapplied some mascara and blush, and pulled her hair back into an oversize clip that left a spray of curls at her crown.
Nothing fancy. But at least she’d cleaned up and was more presentable than she had been.
Following Matt’s instructions, she went the rest of the way down the hall to the rear of the house until she found the brightly lit kitchen. The voices and sounds of clattering dishes that she’d heard when she’d arrived were gone now and so were the people making them. Instead only Matt McDermot was there, pulling containers from the refrigerator several feet across the room. He was so intent on what he was doing that he didn’t notice her standing in the doorway.
He’d cleaned up, too. His hair was somewhat less spiky than before and his handsome face was freshly shaved.
And the moment Jenn set eyes on him she felt that odd tingling sensation run through her again.
Of course it didn’t help matters that he repeatedly bent over to reach into the refrigerator and a terrific derriere took center stage.
She might have watched him much longer but from the doorway on the opposite side of the kitchen an elderly man came in, spotting her immediately.
“There she is,” he said as if he and Matt had been wondering what was taking her so long.
“Buzz Martindale,” Jenn christened him.
“Yep, that’s me all right,” he confirmed as he limped into the kitchen on a cane, favoring his right leg. “And Matt says you’re Jenn Johnson. Havin’ some head problems, are you?”
“It seems so,” she confirmed, going farther into the kitchen herself until they met at the counter where Matt was taking dishes down from a cupboard after tossing her a welcoming smile that seemed to draw her to him.
“How are you feelin’?” Matt asked, giving her the once-over with those forest-green eyes.
“The headache is better than it was. Still there, but better. The dizziness comes and goes. An ache seems to be settling into my neck and shoulders but I’m not so cold anymore.” Although being near him seemed to be what chased away the chills. Not that she’d ever say that, or even acknowledge it to herself.
“The neck and shoulder ache is prob’ly stress,” Buzz offered. “A good night’s sleep’ll get rid of that for you. Always helps me when I get it.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Your grandson the doctor checked out my neck and said he didn’t see any indication of whiplash,” Jenn told him.
Buzz was staring at her openly. Studying her. Maybe sizing her up.
It made Jenn uncomfortable.
“What can I do to help?” she asked Matt, thinking she’d rather be moving around than merely standing there being looked at like a specimen in a petri dish.
“Take what you can carry over to the table and sit down. I’ll do the rest,” Matt answered.
The table was a huge rectangle nestled within the arms of a breakfast nook at one end of the kitchen. It took up a full six feet of corner space in a U that would surely seat a dozen or more people comfortably.
Jenn set out the two plates, silverware and napkins she’d brought with her, placing one on the end and the other just around the corner. Then she slid in to sit behind it.
Buzz joined her, sitting at the other end of the U, but sideways so he could stretch his leg out along the bench seat as if that eased an ache of his own.
He was still studying her. Scrutinizing her, really.
“You look a little familiar,” he finally decreed. “I’m bettin’ you were headed for Elk Creek, not just passin’ through. Prob’ly to see family.”
Matt made three trips bringing fried chicken, coleslaw, biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy, honey and two glasses of water to the table before he slipped into the breakfast nook, too.
“Who’s she look like, then?” he asked as the old man continued to study Jenn.
“Don’t know. But she looks familiar. Name doesn’t ring a bell, though. No Johnsons ’round here. Maybe you lived in Elk Creek as a girl and Johnson’s yer married name.”
“Married?” Matt repeated as if he didn’t like the idea.
But then, for some reason, neither did Jenn.
“I don’t think I’m married,” she said with more forcefulness than was warranted. “I mean, I don’t feel married and there’s no wedding ring or mark on my wedding finger left by a ring. And there’s also no pictures in my wallet of a husband or kids.”
“And a husband would have missed her by now,” Matt added as he filled both his plate and hers with food. “Either she’d have been meeting him or he would have wanted her to call when she got where she was going to make sure she’d made it through this storm. And I just checked in with the sheriff a few minutes ago—nobody’s contacted him lookin’ for her. Granted, the phone lines are still down.”
“Could be a husband she left and he ain’t lookin’ fer her.”
“I don’t feel married,” Jenn repeated, thinking that if she were married, surely she wouldn’t be so attracted to Matt McDermot.
“How’s ’bout signs of childbirth? Got any of them stretch marks?”
“Buzz!” Matt chided his grandfather.
“Well, that’d be a clue, wouldn’t it?” the old man defended.
Jenn knew her face was coloring but she answered Buzz’s question anyway. “No, no stretch marks.” And she would have seen them if any existed because when she’d changed her clothes she’d checked out her body thoroughly to familiarize herself with it, finding not only no stretch marks but a narrow waist and a taut, flat stomach.
“Prob’ly no kids, then,” Buzz concluded from what she’d said about having no stretch marks. “How’s ’bout any birthmarks or scars?”
“None of those, either.”
“Got any tattoos?”
“Jeez, Buzz,” Matt groaned, rolling his eyes.
But Jenn only laughed at that one. “No, no tattoos, either.”
“How many toes you got? Knew a family moved on a long time ago—everyone of ’em had six toes on each foot.”
Jenn laughed again, enjoying the elderly man despite his bluntness. “Sorry. Only five per foot.”
“And you ain’t got that rosy hook-nosed beak of the Masseys from way back, so you prob’ly don’t belong to them neither.”
Buzz continued in that vein all the while Jenn and Matt ate, quizzing her, staring at her, trying to figure out who she was.
But he never did.
“Nope, can’t place you,” he finally concluded when both Matt and Jenn had finished eating. “There’s somethin’ ’bout you tickles my brain, though. I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“Maybe it’ll come to you,” Matt suggested.
“Sooner or later,” Buzz agreed. “I’ll keep workin’ on it.” The elderly man craned around to look at the clock on the back wall of the breakfast nook and then pushed himself to the end of the seat and used his cane to help himself get to his feet. “But now it’s time for my program. Think I’ll watch it under my heat blanket in bed.”
“Good idea,” Matt said, although he watched the old man with fondness and didn’t seem eager for him to go. “’Night, Buzz.”
“’Night. See you in the mornin’.” Then to Jenn he said, “And don’t worry ’bout nothin’, girl. You’re welcome to stay here long as you need to.”
“Thank you,” she said, telling the older man good-night as he limped out of the kitchen.
“Sorry about that stretch-mark business earlier,” Matt said when his grandfather was out of earshot.
“That’s okay. He was right. It would have been a sign of having kids. But there aren’t any,” she reiterated. “And even though I know it isn’t really a basis for anything, I honestly don’t have any sense of being married, either, so I really don’t think I am.”
Matt just nodded his head, accepting her conclusion but not necessarily committing to it. “Buzz will likely come up with something. He may not be young but he’s still sharp as a tack.”
“Do you always call him by his first name?” Jenn asked then, curious about it.
“I guess we all do.”
“Is that a remnant of not having known him when you were growing up?”
Once again Matt looked baffled. “You know about that, too?”
“I know he didn’t like the man your mother wanted to marry—your father—so she eloped and didn’t have anything to do with Buzz or her mother for years and years. That when they finally healed the rift she had a whole family of grown sons and a daughter that Buzz had never met before. But that you’ve all become close now.”
“Sometimes this is a little eerie,” was Matt’s only comment, referring to the facts about his family.
But his remark again gave Jenn second thoughts about the wisdom of spewing this information she had without knowing where it came from and so she changed the subject.
“Where is everybody else?” she asked. “From the sounds I heard when we came in tonight I expected a lot of people to be around. Did I scare them all away?”
“No. My brothers went out to shovel the walks, and their wives and my sister decided to stay out of the way for the night so they didn’t overwhelm you right off the bat, when you’ve already had a tough day.”
Matt mimicked his grandfather by glancing up at the clock. “And speaking of which, I think we should get you to bed.”
Jenn had to admit—to herself if not to him—that she’d begun to feel as if she were wilting.
“Let’s do the dishes and then I will,” she said.
“No way. No dishes for you. But how ’bout I make you a cup of tea with honey and lemon to take to bed with you?”
“That sounds good.”
Matt grabbed the honey pot and as many dishes as he could carry and slid out of the nook. “Sit tight while I get your tea ready,” he ordered.
Jenn didn’t protest. She was suddenly feeling very weak and worn-out and she honestly didn’t know if she had the strength to do more than get back to her bedroom. So she did as she’d been told and sat tight as Matt put the dirty dishes in the sink and filled a mug with water to heat in the microwave.
Then he took a fresh lemon from the refrigerator, washed it thoroughly and rolled it against the wooden cutting board with his palm and the heel of his hand before slicing a wedge from it.
Jenn knew she was really tired because something about his actions almost hypnotized her and she ended up watching his every move in silence.
Mainly her focus was on his hands. Big, capable hands that seemed to dwarf everything they came into contact with.
And in Jenn’s mind she pictured him rolling the strained muscles of her shoulders the way he’d rolled the lemon—pushing with his palm and the heel of his hand in a gentle, insistent, adept massage.
Those hands would be strong against her tight muscles. Firm. Tender. They’d squeeze the stress out of her the same way they squeezed the juice from the lemon, with just the right amount of pressure.
And she’d grow pliable beneath his touch. She’d melt inside and her head would fall back and she’d give herself over to those hands…
“Here you go. All set.”
Jenn didn’t know when she’d drifted off into some kind of trance but the sound of Matt’s voice brought her out of it and she snapped to attention, raising her gaze to a face too handsome to help matters.
“Are you all right? You look kind of flushed,” he said.
Great. He’d noticed the blush that she could feel flooding her face for the second time that evening and Jenn wondered if he could see past it into her wayward mind and figure out what she’d been thinking to cause it.
“I’m okay. Tired and dizzy again is all,” she lied to hide what was really going on with her. But then what else could she do? She couldn’t admit that she’d been fantasizing about him, could she?
“Let’s get you to your room,” he said, sounding concerned and making Jenn feel guilty for misleading him.
But she did need to get back to her room and away from this man and his effect on her, there was no doubt about that. So she slid around the bend of the bench seat.
Unfortunately it was right into Matt’s waiting hand at her arm to help her up.
Not a good thing. Because this time, even through her clothes, a single touch of one of those hands she’d just been daydreaming about set off a whole new and more powerful set of tingles all through her.
“I’m okay,” she insisted as she got to her feet, hoping he would let go.
He didn’t, though. He kept hold of her, guiding and supporting her all the way back to her bedroom and to the side of the bed.
He set the mug of hot tea on the nightstand and said, “Can you get yourself undressed and into bed or do you need help?”
Oh, what flashed through her mind at that suggestion!
Matt undressing her. His hands on her bare skin. Scooping her up into his arms to lie her gently on the bed. Getting into bed with her…
“No! Thank you. I’ll be fine.”
She’d answered too frantically and he seemed to think she was afraid of him.
He took a step backward, as if distance might help calm her fears. “My sister Kate or one of my sisters-in-law could come and help if you needed it. I didn’t mean that I—”
“I know you didn’t,” Jenn was quick to assure him. “It’s just that I don’t need any help. But really, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me today.”
“It was nothin’,” he said, still watching her and no doubt wondering if she really was all right or if the bump on her head had made her lose her mind.
But then that was something she was wondering herself.
He must have decided the best thing was to leave her to her own devices because he said, “If you have any problems during the night, just holler. I’m next door and I’ll hear you.”
“Thanks. But I’m sure I’ll be okay.”
He took another long, hard look at her then, as if to convince himself she was telling the truth, and those deep, dark green eyes seemed to emit the same kind of heat she’d imagined feeling from his touch, the kind she’d felt when his hand had taken hers to help her from the truck and again when he’d walked her to her bedside.
And in that moment she felt all the more certain that she just couldn’t be married and still feel the way this man made her feel.
“Well, all right, then,” he finally said, as if giving in against his will to leaving her alone. “Feel better.”
“I’m sure I will. I just need some sleep.”
“’Night, then.”
“Good night.”
Matt turned to leave and Jenn watched him go. She devoured every step of those long legs until he was out of her room and the door was closed behind him.
And then Jenn deflated, falling more than sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling every bit as weak as she’d claimed.
Except she wasn’t so sure that the weakness had come from her car accident or her bump on the head or the incredible things that had come out of them both.
Instead it seemed as if her weakness was more for Matt McDermot than from anything that had happened to her.
And that was every bit as unnerving as not being able to remember who she was.
Chapter 4
It was midmorning when Jenn woke up the next day. She’d slept nearly twelve hours and she felt rested and much stronger than she had the evening before.
But as she rolled onto her back in bed and opened her eyes to acclimate herself, she recalled a dream she’d had several times during the night. A dream of herself as an old woman. An old woman here in this house, but not in this house the way it was now. And not because she be longed in it.
Strange. It felt as if there was something very strange about that dream. Even stranger than the dream itself. But since not one whit of her memory had returned as she’d slept, she didn’t know why the dream seemed strange or if it was telling her something.
Lying in bed thinking about it didn’t give her any answers and she was already embarrassed to have slept as late as she had, so she decided she couldn’t stay there pondering it.
Instead she sat up and gingerly swung her legs over the side of the mattress. She wasn’t sure if her head would pound again or if her neck and shoulders would still ache or if she’d still feel as weak. But all the remnants of the accident were gone and she felt fine.
Well, as fine as a person could feel when she didn’t remember who she was.
Fine enough for a shower and a good shampoo, although she had to be careful about that because she still had a pretty good gash from her temple into her hairline.
Once she was finished with her shower, she dressed in jeans and a rolled-neck gray sweater with an argyle pattern on the front. She applied a little blush and mascara to put some color into her still slightly wan face and then blew her hair dry and pulled it back with an elastic scrunchie only inches from the ends in back.
When she judged herself presentable, she opened the heavy drapes that covered the windows.
Outside the sky was just as gray and overcast as it had been the day before, although the pristine whiteness of the snow that blanketed everything helped to brighten things considerably.
The wind didn’t seem to be blowing anymore but flakes were still falling, adding to what she guessed to be about three feet of snow already piled up.
It made for a beautiful sight, though. Clean. Quiet. Peaceful. A good day to be inside, all cozy and comfortable and warm.
She saw two men in the distance then, heading for the state-of-the-art barn, but they were too far away for her to tell if one of them was Matt.
She hoped not.
Until that moment she’d assumed he would be somewhere nearby and she’d been counting on it. More than counting on it. She’d been eager to leave this room, to see him again.
But the thought that he might not be there—and the bitter wave of disappointment that washed through her along with it—told her just how eager she’d been.
Eager enough that it had been with him in mind that she’d chosen her sweater, she realized in a sudden flash of insight. Eager enough that it had been with him in mind that she’d shampooed her hair and left a few come-hither wisps to curl freely around her face and over the cut on her head to camouflage them. Eager enough that it had been with him in mind that she’d applied the makeup that made her look healthier. Eager enough that it had been with him in mind that she’d dabbed on a little of the perfume she’d found in her makeup bag.
But now she had to ask herself what in the world she’d been doing to actually be primping for a man in this, the worst of situations, when she should have been thinking only about how to straighten out what was going on with her.
But she knew the answer to that. And she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead to the frigid windowpane in disgust with herself.
She was just too attracted to the man.
At least the evening before she’d been able to convince herself that her attraction to him had been a result of her dazed state of mind.
But today she didn’t have the same excuse.
No, she wasn’t completely well. She did still have the knot on her head and her memory was just as messed up. But she wasn’t as foggy-headed as she’d been and she just couldn’t blame the attraction on that anymore.
The plain truth of it was that Matt McDermot was a nice, kind, pleasant, incredibly gorgeous, all-man man.
And she was attracted to him.
Who wouldn’t be, after all? Handsome rescuer. Big, strong, considerate, caretaking cowboy. It wasn’t much of a stretch to find him appealing since that was pretty powerful stuff.
But whether or not her weakness for him was understandable, Jenn knew she had to keep it under control. Because this was not the time nor the place to be looking for any kind of romance.
And she knew it.
She’d just have to bury the attraction the same way she’d buried the shaving kit filled with money in her suitcase so that neither Matt nor anyone else would know it existed.