Without a Past (12 page)

“You have family.”

“Or had in 1998,” he corrected.

Only a few of the elegant ivory pages had been written on—as if the journal writer had just begun to log his thoughts before being interrupted. By a motorcycle accident, perhaps. On the inscribed pages, the ink had bled into blue rivers running parallel across each page. Some pages were stuck together like wet money.

Andi reached out and turned the book over. In the bottom corner of the cover were gold-leaf initials: JJN. “This is a very classy gift. Inscribed, no less.”

Harley didn't offer an opinion.

“How's the headache?”

“Still there, but, at least, I don't feel sick to my stomach.”

Andi sympathized with him. She couldn't begin to understand what he was going through and she felt powerless to help. Because she had to do
something,
she reached out and brushed her fingers along his jaw. The gesture wasn't meant to be anything but supportive. Unfortunately, a spark of current seemed to spring to life from the contact. The memory of their scintillating kiss made her sit back in her chair. She wasn't good at flirting, and this wasn't the time or place, anyway.

“Maybe Sam could help, if you take this stuff to the ranch. He's smart, worldly. You could try Donnie Grimaldo
again, but working with the sheriff's office is like opening a can of worms.”

He cocked his head. “Why do you say that? When Sam took me in to run my prints, Donnie seemed quite personable.”

Andi nodded. “Donnie's a genuinely nice guy, but he and Kristin had a thing in high school and it ended badly. We sort of do our best to avoid him.”

Harley's sandy-colored eyebrow shot up. “How do you manage that in a town this size?”

Andi shook her head. “It isn't easy. Last year at Josh's funeral, Donnie handled the traffic for us. But I figured that was because Josh and Donnie were friends. Everybody loved Josh.”

“So I've heard. Did you love him?”

Something about the way he said the words made her answer bluntly. “Of course. He was the brother I never had. But from the minute he spotted Jenny, there was never another girl for him.” Andi stifled a sigh. She'd always hoped for that same kind of love-at-first-sight romance in her life, but so far it hadn't worked out. The closest she'd ever come was the crazy sense of rebellion she'd felt when she'd dated Tyler Harrison during her senior year of high school. Until Kristin had batted her big blues at him.

“Donnie's a good man and a decent cop, but I wouldn't blame him if he still held a grudge. Kristin really set this town on its ear when she backed Ty's version of their altercation over Donnie's.” She shook her head. “It's old news—except when Gloria Hughes rehashes it in her gossip column.

“I swear that woman is part elephant. She never forgets. Of course, it doesn't help that she's Ty Harrison's mom.” She made a negating motion. “Never mind. It's a long story. We should probably hit the road. I'd like to be home when
Ida and Jenny get back from shopping. Maybe if Jenny's there, the two of us can help Ida understand that the new roof is absolutely necessary.”

“Okay,” he said. “But maybe we should talk about that kiss—”

She knew what he was going to say. “Don't,” she interrupted. “That was more about triumph than boy-girl stuff. The timing isn't right for either of us. But I consider myself your friend, Harley, and I want to help.”

He sat back and took a drink before speaking. “Actually, you're wrong. That kiss was
all
boy-girl stuff—for me anyway. But you're right about the timing. And I need all the friends I can get.”

His smile did things to her she wanted to ignore and his voice had an unprecedented effect on her libido. True she'd been celibate for over a year, but now wasn't the time or place to get carried away.

“Unless, of course, we discover something sordid in my past. If it turns out I'm an ax murderer or something odious, you're under no obligation to be my friend.”

Suddenly furious, she reached across the table and grabbed a fistful of T-shirt. “Just stop it, Harley. As your friend, I won't sit back and let you think the worst about yourself. Your past may be unknown. But the man I know is a great guy—the kind of man who chauffeurs old ladies and stops to fix a flat tire for tourists. So, quit running yourself down, okay?”

She released her hold and sat back, temper spent.

Harley looked down at his shirt, then without lifting his chin looked at her and smiled. Something raw and hungry surged through her body. Damn. She wanted this man—even if he was married to the beautiful blonde in the picture or about to be engaged to some other lucky woman.

“Andi-amie,” a cheerful voice boomed. “Whatcha doing in this neck of the woods,
ma petite?
”

Andi looked over her shoulder. A Goliath of a man—well over six foot with snowy hair and a rotund belly framed by bright red suspenders—clomped into the room. He had to duck to clear the threshold. At his heels trailed a golden retriever with white whiskers and a jaunty red, white and blue bandanna around her neck.

“Pascal,” Andi exclaimed, jumping to her feet. She hugged the older man with joy then dropped to her knees to embrace the dog. “Belle. Hello, girl. I've missed you.

“Harley, this is Pascal Fournier, my old—excuse me—
former
English teacher. Pascal, my friend Harley Forester.” She sort of stumbled over his name because it suddenly occurred to her that he wasn't Harley anymore. “Can you join us?”

“Oh, no,
chérie.
Wish I could, but I'm picking up take-out dinner for Waldo and Frenchy and myself. They're my brothers,” he added for Harley's benefit. His craggy eyebrows wiggled in self-deprecating humor. “Somehow—in the cruelest of ironies—we've ended up together in our old age. Three Frenchmen who never learned to cook because we smugly told ourselves we'd have women falling over themselves to take care of us in our twilight years.”

Andi hugged him again. “You know you were at the top of my list for years.”

“Ah, missy, if you only knew how often I've regretted turning down your offer. Perhaps if it had come from Ida Jane instead of her niece we might have worked something out,” he said with a wink.

Pascal looked at Harley, and in true teacher form, proceeded to explain in great detail about Andi's mission to find a man for her great-aunt to marry. “Nowadays, if a student walked around with a list of teachers' names in their
notebook, someone would probably call the police,” he said sadly. “How is Ida, by the way? I heard she'd moved home from the ranch.”

Andi gave him a quick briefing then added, “You're coming to the wedding, aren't you?”

He made a face. “Alas, the Fournier brothers will be in Chicago. A family reunion.”

A young server from the kitchen signaled Pascal that his order was ready, and the man said his goodbyes. Andi gave the big, friendly dog another hug then returned to her chair.

Harley was eyeing her with a serious look on his face.

Andi felt herself blush. “What? Ida Jane told you about my Daddy List.”

“I know, but I just realized what a determined person you are. You see a goal and map a course to take you there.”

Andi detected an undertone she didn't recognize. Trying for a lighter take on the subject, she said, “Setting a goal is one thing; achieving it is another. In case you hadn't noticed, I never succeeded in finding a husband for Ida Jane. I'm not an officer in the marines, and, even though I found your bike, I didn't help you get your memory back.”

He reached out and took her hand. His calluses were somehow reassuring—they made him more Harley than an unknown entity called Jonathan.

“Aren't you the person who gave me a hard time for bad-mouthing myself?” he asked. “Number one, you can't make a person fall in love—no matter how perfect the potential candidate. Two, you chose family over career—not an easy choice, but an admirable one in my book. And three, there are no miracles where amnesia is concerned. My doctor says the mind heals at its own rate. This—” he tapped his temple “—is out of your control, sweetheart.”

Harley squeezed her fingers then let go. She felt oddly
unsettled and a little sad. If she were looking for candidates for a husband list of her own, she knew who'd shoot right to the top.

 

H
ARLEY PAUSED
at the door of the old bordello. Jenny's minivan was in the parking lot, so he had no choice but to go inside if he wanted a ride to the Rocking M. But at the same time he was hesitant to share the news of Andi's find.

“Cold feet?” Andi asked, just inches behind him.

Her soft snicker made him want to grab her and run in the other direction. Ever since she'd handed him the makeshift knapsack filled with someone's personal belongings, Harley had felt as though he were slogging through quicksand. He now possessed a name, several credit cards and photos of people he didn't recognize. He could walk into a video store and rent the latest flicks—if he owned a TV and VCR. He could pay for gas with plastic. He even had an ATM card. If only he could recall the code, he'd have access to funds.

But none of those things brought him any closer to understanding who he was. He might not be Harley Forester, but he sure as hell wasn't Jonathan Newhall.

“Come on,” she cajoled, lightly touching his shoulder. “It's not going to get any easier.”

Harley bit down on a grin. One thing he'd learned about Andi Sullivan—she met life head-on, and she took anyone loitering in her path with her.

Harley followed her to the parlor he'd been in earlier. An assortment of lamps—including a 1920s molded-brass figure of a naked woman holding aloft a fringed lampshade—cast the room into warm shades of gold. Jenny and Ida Jane were sitting on the velvet settee, their booty at their feet.

“You're back,” Jenny exclaimed. “How'd it go? Did
you have as much luck as we did?” she asked, motioning toward the boxes of shoes and garment bags.

Andi dropped her gear just inside the door. She motioned him forward. “I'll let Harley—or should I say, Jonathan?—tell you about it.”

Her bombshell had the desired effect. Jenny leaped to her feet and flew across the room. “You found your bike?” she exclaimed, hugging him enthusiastically. “Congratulations. That's fantastic. Did seeing it trigger your memory?”

Ida Jane rapped a shoe box against the spindly-looking end table. “Give the man a moment to catch his breath before you bombard him with questions. Goodness me.”

Jenny stepped back. “Sorry. I just didn't expect—”

“You didn't think I could do it, did you?” Andi challenged, her hands on her hips.

“It's not that. I just thought it would take longer. That area is practically all wilderness.”

“Sit down,” Ida ordered. “I want the whole story.”

Harley took a chair near Ida Jane. The armchair was upholstered in animal hide of some kind; its springs were so weak his bottom sunk to within an inch of the floor. His elbows on the armrests were higher than his shoulders.

“Uh-oh. The bad chair,” Jenny said. “Auntie, I thought you sold that chair to Pete Petersen.”

“I did,” Ida Jane replied. “How'd it get back?”

“Maybe it's a homing chair,” Harley quipped.

The trio was laughing, when a knock sounded at the door. Harley saw the sisters exchange a look. Apparently, they weren't expecting visitors. Before either could respond, a voice called out, “Anybody home?”

Jenny's face lit with joy. “Sam,” she cried, disappearing in a flash.

Andi looked confused. “I thought he wasn't due back until tomorrow?”

“Hank told me Sam was shooting for today,” Harley told her. “If his meeting ended early enough.”

Harley knew his employer was a family man—and something of a recluse—who hated to be away from Jenny and the twins. He'd undertaken a campaign to alert the public to the dangers of grassland wildfires and had been asked to speak on behalf of legislation introduced by his local congressman.

A few moments later, Sam and Jenny entered the room. Jenny's cheeks were a pretty pink, her lips showed telltale signs of kissing. Sam looked as happy as Harley had ever seen him. “Hello, Andi. Miss Ida.” He crossed the room to give the older woman a kiss on the cheek, then turned to shake Harley's hand. “Don't get up—even if you can. I've gotten stuck in that chair once or twice myself.”

Sam and Jenny squeezed together on the sofa, then Sam looked at Harley and said, “Jen tells me you've found your bike.”

“Andi found it.”

Andi made a preening motion, then winked. “Piece of cake. There's only one road.”

Sam chuckled. “That twists and turns for ten miles. No small feat. Congratulations.”

Harley smiled at her blush. He wished he didn't like her so much.

Knowing there probably would never be a better time to discuss their discovery, he dug in his hip pocket for the wallet. “The good news is I've got a driver's license. The bad news is I've probably got a couple of hundred overdue parking tickets somewhere.”

Andi gave him a stern look.

“Turns out my name is Jonathan Jackson Newhall.”

“That sounds vaguely familiar,” Jenny said.

“Wasn't there a Newhall family that lived on the old
Ragsdale place when you girls were in school?” Ida Jane asked.

Andi shook her head. “Newhouse. Charity and Carla. Char was a junior cheerleader.”

Ida looked ready to argue the point, but Sam spoke first. “What about the bike? Is it salvageable?”

Andi rose from where she was sitting to hand Sam the wallet, then perched on the arm of Harley's chair.

Harley smiled at her back and said, “Ask the daring young woman who dangled from a rope on my behalf. One thing I learned today is I'm not partial to heights.”