The Way Home (3 page)

J
AMES SAT
in Bella’s garden, once lush and glorious but now overgrown and neglected.

However much money he’d made—and there’d been plenty—she’d still insisted she didn’t require help to grow not only her own flowers but vegetables and herbs, here in this upscale neighborhood where most wives played tennis or shopped.

Not for her the diamond tennis bracelets or personal trainers. Bella’s muscles were won the hard way—with a shovel and trowel or on long walks where she was just as likely to spot a native plant to adopt.

How long had it been since Bella had set off on one of her rambles?

When was the last time he’d joined her?

Look,
she’d say.
See the finches? Hear the mockingbird? What must it be like to fly so free?

Is that what she’d done—flown away from him, from the life he’d labored so hard to create for them? The life she’d urged him to flee so many years ago?

Don’t go to the office today, James. You’re the boss. You can decide when to take off. Let’s play hooky. I’ll make a picnic. We’ll hike up to the falls.

He’d wanted to. God, how he had. Sometimes he missed being carefree kids so much, but you couldn’t turn back time. He’d tried leaving all this behind, had given up a guaranteed future to have her. Worked a series of menial jobs to the dismay of his family, who’d been horrified by his choice of mate. He’d busted his butt to show them how wrong they were when they’d predicted she’d be the ruin of him, that he was throwing away a future others would do anything to possess.

But Bella hadn’t wanted that future. Hadn’t cared about a big house or fancy cars. They were chains that killed the soul, she’d said, and she’d painted a picture of a good life, a simple one that the pursuit of wealth would poison. She’d asked for nothing but his love.

He’d discovered, however, that he was too ambitious for that. He longed to pamper her, to give her safety and ease and comfort to go with that love.

And so he’d convinced her to return to Parker’s Ridge to claim his heritage. Now he had responsibilities and obligations. When you were the boss, you couldn’t just leave. There were appointments and meetings and payroll and an example to set.

Always something to get between himself and the woman who had fascinated him from the very beginning. He remembered that day vividly.

He’d had a fight with his very possessive girlfriend. Usually, he had patience with Beth’s moods and could laugh off the short leash she kept trying to put on him. They were the golden couple of Parker’s Ridge High School, and his life was pretty well laid out for him, anyway—college at Auburn, then joining the family furniture-manufacturing firm. He drifted along with the plan because none of it bothered him. Lots of his fellow students would sell their souls to have his advantages.

But every once in a while, if he really thought about what lay ahead, he could barely breathe.

He’d stalked from the high-school lunchroom, desperate to get outside. Once on the rolling green grounds, he kept walking until he reached a spreading oak that would provide some shelter and separation. He dropped his books on the grass and collapsed next to them, leaning back against the wide trunk. He closed his eyes for a minute or two, then slid to lie full-length in the peaceful shade.

An acorn dropped onto his belly and bounced off. Then another that he brushed away.

One more had him frowning and looking upward—

Where about a mile of long, shapely legs dangled from a limb just above him—

A hand held out another acorn, ready to release it—

And green eyes sparkled with mischief above lips curved in a daredevil smile. It was the new girl, the one Beth had snubbed just that morning. “Think you can catch this one, Prince Charming? Oh—but that wasn’t Cinderella with you earlier, was it? Cruella de Vil, perhaps, in her teenage years?”

He rose and couldn’t help but chuckle. The comparison was too apt. “Beth has her moments.”

“What are you doing outside the castle walls, Prince?”

“I’m no prince. My name’s James. James Parker,” he added belatedly, mesmerized by the swinging of those very fine legs beneath a rucked-up skirt that barely covered the essentials.

“Hotshot on campus, I hear. Quarterback, champion debater and king in training.” But she winked and didn’t seem overly impressed.

Her sense of fun was irresistible. He took a cue from her and sketched a bow. “At your service,
mademoiselle.
And you are…”

“Trouble.”

“I’m not afraid of a little trouble.”

“But I’m not little.” She tilted her head and studied him. “Cocky, are you?”

“Not cocky if you’ve got the goods.”

“Nothing ever rattles you?”

He shrugged. “Nah.”

“Well, isn’t that just too—Oh!”

She lost purchase, then grasped the limb, only to slip again. He leaped for the nearest branch and began climbing. “Hold on—I’ll get you—”

He felt the tree quake, and his heart sped up from fear that he would be too late. He kept climbing but risked one glance…

She was already halfway down from her branch, reaching for the next handhold.

Grinning. Doing quite fine.

Her skirt rode up, and he could see a flash of pink nylon. She climbed onto the branch just above him and, with a mind-blowing glimpse of shapely thigh, eased down beside him. “I warned you.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he said through clenched teeth, his temper in the red zone. She had him way off-balance. He was dying to touch her but oddly afraid to—he didn’t know how to deal with any of it.

And she smelled like glory.

“Correction. Not nice, but definitely funny. I’ve never seen anyone climb a tree so fast, Prince James.” Her eyes held mingled laughter and a dare, but she extended a hand. “I’ll apologize. You might be more decent than your snotty girlfriend.” Behind her bravado he saw something like…loneliness. “I’m Isabella, by the way.”

He gripped her hand, but the motion shifted her balance. He caught her against him, and once again, he couldn’t breathe, but for a different reason this time. “Hello, Isabella.”

Suddenly, though, she turned shy and slipped from his grasp, headed for the ground, pausing at the base only long enough to grab her own stack of books from under a bush.

She glanced back at where he was still frozen in place. “Better not admit we know each other back in there, Prince James. But it was nice meeting you.” She started to go, then revolved. “And thank you for trying to save me.” Then she took off before he could say a word.

He watched her go, more than a little tempted to chase her down.

She’d been right the first time. She was capital-T Trouble.

He was mesmerized by her.

Oh, Bella.
Tonight, James offered up a wordless entreaty for her safety to whatever being might know where she was.

The police sure didn’t. She had left him voluntarily, so without evidence of foul play, there was little they could do. The unspoken message was that maybe she had a reason to stay out of touch, that there might be more to the story of why she’d gone.

He’d given them every bit of information he could imagine they would find useful—forced it on one sympathetic patrolman, actually. Driver’s license and social-security number, license-plate number, full description of her vehicle and a packet of photos.

But he was clear that, barring some report of an accident, locating her was up to him. He’d contacted his attorney for a recommendation and was waiting for the private investigator to call.

Meanwhile, he had no idea if Bella was hurt or…

He shook his head violently at the notion. He would not allow himself to even consider that she was lost to him forever.

She was everything to him, the breath in his body, the marrow of his bones. He’d forgotten that somehow, and they’d slipped from each other’s grasp. Maybe Bella was at fault, maybe he was, perhaps both.

But he remembered it now, and he could only pray that he would find her somewhere, safe and merely angry. Anger he could handle—she had every right to be furious with him.

Oh, love, how did we lose each other? How will we find our way back?

His cell rang, and he snatched it up. The number belonged to his office. He cared less than nothing what might be going on, but he was responsible for the jobs of hundreds of people who depended upon him for guidance, for a steady hand at the helm.

James rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily.

And accepted the call.

“S
OPHIA
,
IS IT
?”
Sam bowed over her hand. “This kitchen smells so fantastic that I’ll address you as Yankee Doodle if you’ll promise to share the food with me.” His brown eyes twinkled, but beneath the humor, he looked tired.

“Rough day?”

He ran one palm over his hair. “Probably not over yet. Millie Townsend thinks she’s going into labor.”

“We’d better get you fed, then. Can’t have your hands shaking from hunger, can we, Luisa?” She measured pasta by feel, then dropped it into a pot of boiling water, added a dollop of olive oil and lowered the flame a bit.

“Ah, yes,” Luisa said. “You do know your way around a kitchen.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “Why do you say that?”

“The oil will prevent the water from boiling over. You added it knowingly, just as you concocted the marinara. And you don’t measure. You cook without a recipe. This is—how you say it, Dr. Sam? Not your first rodeo?”

The three of them laughed, and for a moment, she didn’t feel so lonely.

“This is how it begins, Jane—er, Sophia,” Sam said. “Lacking items from your past to jog your memory, the doctors in Denver said the next best thing is activities you performed before. I’ve also checked with a few colleagues from my former days at Johns Hopkins about retrograde amnesia. They say—”

“You trained at Johns Hopkins? Isn’t that one of the premier medical schools in the country?”

“It is.”

“So how did you wind up here?”

“When I could be commanding top dollar in some city, you mean?”

“No. Well, yes, actually.”

“I grew up in Massachusetts, and my family is still there. I tried the big-city gig, but it just didn’t suit me. I wanted to be closer to the practice of medicine, not spending time in risk-management seminars or playing hospital politics. Plus, I always wanted to see the West. Too many cowboy movies as a kid, probably. And I like the outdoors, so—” he held out his hands “—here I am.”

“It’s none of my business, really.”

“As my patient, arguably it is.”

“You’re my friend now. I’m healing fine, except—” She tapped her temple.

“The brain is a funny organ, extremely complex and still more mystery than science. With this condition, one might be a world-renowned pianist and would recognize the instrument, perhaps, but not how to play it at first. Yet simple handling of the keys, over time, might bring back pieces of the past—not only the ability to play, but certain events surrounding performances or important people.

“On the other hand, sometimes special people from the past can do more harm than good because they have expectations of the amnesiac based on prior relationships. They remember everything they’ve ever felt with or about that person, and they respond accordingly, but that response is often too personal and highly uncomfortable for someone who is, in her own mind, meeting them for the first time.”

“You’re saying that even if I do have loved ones who locate me, I still might not recognize them? I’d feel nothing for them?”

“Possibly.”

“But soon I would, right?”

His gaze was troubled. “There’s reason to hope.”

She couldn’t breathe. She’d pinned everything on being found. “Are you saying that I might never regain my memory? That even if someone out there does care about me, nothing will change?” Shaking inside, she set down her spoon and walked to the door.

“
Bella,
do not worry yourself. Everything will turn out right—”

“Jane—I mean, Sophia—” Sam stood. “Sit down. Please.”

She swiveled. Blinked back hated tears. “I’m not Jane. I’m not Sophia. I’m not…anyone, and you’re telling me—” She clapped one hand over her mouth to stop the torrent of fear and anger. She shoved open the screen and bolted.

“Don’t—”

She heard Sam calling, but she couldn’t answer. Instead, she ran as hard as she could, ignoring conifer branches that slapped at her, scratched her. She welcomed the pain that mirrored the roar of anguish building inside her.

What if I never—

Oh, God, the prospect was too horrible. She ran and ran, heedless of her surroundings, until she tripped on a rock and went sprawling to the ground in a small clearing. Bruises not yet healed cried out in protest, but they only added to the cacophony within. She had tried to show courage, to be kind, to nurture patience even on the days when she was most terrified. When she thought she couldn’t bear one more pitying glance or whispered aside. Of the few things she believed she knew about herself, she’d imagined that she might be strong and at least a little brave.

But here, lying on damp, unfamiliar earth smelling of leaf and mold and tangy branches, injured in both body and soul and more alone than she thought she could endure…

She broke. Sobbed until her chest hurt and her head throbbed from the storm of tears. Her heart ached as she gave up all pretense, relinquished every last shred of hope that out there somewhere was one person who loved her. Who would search the world for her. A faint unease she’d been fighting to ignore murmured that she was on her own, that there was no magical soul mate to trust.

That she had no one but herself, in the final analysis. Whatever life she would weave from the broken strands of who she’d once been must begin here.

She rolled onto her back and peered up through endless green branches darkening to the charcoal of night. Up into fading blue sky streaked with clouds stained coral and gold.

She breathed deeply of the crisp air on the verge of cold, and she forced herself to stretch, to inhale the splendor around her, drawing it into the fibers of her muscles, the ruby rush of her blood.

She was alone, but she was alive. She dwelled—for the moment, at least—in a place of great beauty, and back in the house she had fled were two people who had extended the hand of friendship to her, as well as sustenance and shelter.

Begin as you mean to go on.
If only she knew who had said that to her, but that was lost, along with so much else, in the shadows of her mind. Regardless, she had the saying to cling to, a North Star to serve as her guide.

Sam hadn’t told her there was no hope, and for an instant, she let herself feel how desperately she yearned for it.

But then she sat up, stretched her arms to the sky and faced the heavens. “Thank you,” she said to whatever force had created this loveliness. Had spared her life.

She would do her best not to ask for more. Instead, she rose to her feet and brushed leaves and grass and seed pods from her hair, her skin and her very ugly dress.

And she smiled. She needed her own clothes, so she would find a way to earn the money for them. Sam could definitely use a gardener, even with fall rapidly approaching. And Luisa wasn’t getting any younger, so perhaps she could share cooking duties. Preparing food had soothed something inside her nearly as much as contemplating the improvements to Sam’s sorry garden had.

Just then, she heard a rustle off to her side.

Sam stood at the edge of the clearing beneath an aspen already mostly gold. “I’m sorry. Most people think I have a good bedside manner, but—” He spread his hands out to his sides.

“The fault isn’t yours. I just got…” She stared off to the side. “Overwhelmed.”

He approached her. “Anyone would. I promise you that every effort is being made to figure out your identity, except…”

“What?”

He frowned. “We could call in the media, splash your face all over television, newspapers, the Internet, but—”

“Go on.”

“It’s a lot of pressure on you, and stress is counterproductive for your condition. There’d likely be a horde of strangers descending, plus all the ghouls and con artists we’d have to weed through. Everyone I consulted advised waiting to subject you to that until you were able to decide for yourself.”

She smiled past her jitters. “Always so thoughtful of me. You’re a wonderful doctor, Sam. A big city’s loss is Lucky Draw’s gain.”

“You’re more than welcome.” His answering smile was both fond and a little sad. “I just wish…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

She tactfully didn’t inquire further. Too much was jumbled up inside her. She didn’t know whether she’d ever been married, if there was a man in her life. Sam was a very good man, and an attractive one, but—

“It’s getting dark,” he said. “And I didn’t bring a flashlight with me. We’d best be going.” He held out a hand.

She hesitated for a moment, then gratefully accepted it.

They walked in silence back to his house. When they started up the steps of the porch, she decided to press forward. “I need some jeans, Sam.”

He glanced at her as if that was the last thing he expected her to say. “I’ll buy you some tomorrow.”

“Please don’t. I’d prefer to purchase my own, but I have to get a job.”

“You most certainly do not.” He opened the door. “You’re my guest.”

“No.” She halted. “I don’t like being company. I have no idea how long I’ll be here or if I’m ready yet to encourage that deluge of attention. There’s so little I am sure about, but if I think about the whole big picture, I’ll lose what’s left of my mind, so—” she shrugged “—I’m not going to. I have to find a way to exert some control.” She gestured around her. “This is a nice place. I’m not so afraid here. Being fearful really kind of ticks me off. I have a feeling that I might not be a person who’s usually timid.”

He grinned. “I’d say you can take that to the bank.”

“So I insist on earning my keep. I thought I could tackle your landscaping.”

“Or lack thereof.”

“Exactly. No English garden—I don’t mean that. Nothing manicured. But you could use a space for vegetables, and flowers are good for the soul. You have a few, but they’re sadly neglected. It’s the wrong time of year, but the soil could be prepped, so—” Then a thought hit her. “But you might not be able to afford to pay me. I’ll understand if—Or maybe someone else around here—”

He chuckled. “I did the big-city gig first. I’ve got a few shekels saved up.” He glanced behind her. “Heaven knows you’re right about my jungle.”

“I could help Luisa cook, too, and I—”

“Jane.” He gripped her arms. “Sorry—Sophia—”

“I’m sick of auditioning names already,” she interrupted. “Let’s go back to Jane. It’s simpler.”

“If that’s what you wish.” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “For now, you require rest as much as anything else. Before you sign on to be my jack-of-all-trades, let’s just take things slow, okay?”

She fought the urge to cuddle against him, out of relief, out of more of that blasted fear. Or other impulses she wasn’t ready to name.

But she couldn’t quite stem the tears, so she ducked her head to hide them. “Thank you.”

He tilted her chin up. For a moment, she had the sense of the whole world holding its breath, waiting.

Sam exhaled sharply. Shook his head.

And bent to place a kiss on her forehead.

She sighed, too, unsure if it came from disappointment or relief.

“Let’s go inside,” he said. “You should eat. Doctor’s orders.”

Confused and tired but also jubilant to have made any sort of start, she only nodded and followed.