Here to Stay (Silhouette Special Edition) (6 page)

The door swung open again. “I hear you’re being cooperative as usual,” Simmons commented as he stepped inside. He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Since you insist on going home to-night, I called Sam to pick you up. He won’t let you do anything stupid, no matter how hard you try.”

“Thank you so much,” Sasha muttered, while Miles wondered who Sam was. “When is he coming?”

Simmons glanced at his watch. “About an hour, maybe less.”

“I’d rather take a taxi, Peter. You know I hate hanging around hospitals.”

Miles thought fast. Now that he’d gotten this reprieve from his own stupidity, he intended to maintain contact with Sasha as long as possible. “I’ll take her back to my room and keep her out of trouble until this Sam comes.”

“Good idea,” Simmons agreed.

Sasha sighed noisily. “Hey, guys, I’m not a piece of furniture.”

“Humor me,” Miles told her. “I don’t need my memory to figure out I like being in control of a situation.”

Her dark eyes sparkled, even though the left one was almost swollen shut. “I could have told you that,” she said.

“Okay,” Simmons said, a speculative look on his narrow face. “That’s settled. You’re responsible, Kent. See that she behaves until Sam can take over.” With a quick wave, he walked out and left them alone again.

Sasha gave a tiny sputter of a laugh. Miles squeezed her hand gently. “Who’s Sam?”

“My other foster brother.” Her voice came out more slowly, as if her face was hurting more than before. “He’s a master cabinetmaker and single dad. His place is on the next concession road north of mine, so he exercises his big-brother privileges even more than Peter.”

A nurse bustled in and began fussing over Sasha’s face. She grimaced and a tiny moan escaped her lips, and he squeezed her hand to tell her that he was with her. When she squeezed his hand back, as if seeking strength from his, he felt something in his gut he couldn’t quite identify. Something oddly satisfying, yet somehow unsettling. Maybe it was the tug of being needed, even a little, by this spe-cial woman.

The antiseptic cleanser stung and the light pressure of the wet cotton pads on her bruised face hurt more than she expected. Sasha felt like a baby for moaning, but she’d gotten used to the numbness, and the pain caught her by surprise. That was the way with pain. Even when you anticipated getting hurt, the actual sensation was always a shock. She closed her eyes and tried to brace herself.

When Miles squeezed her hand, offering her comfort, it took her a moment to realize he really was there, really was willing to lessen her pain with his strength. She squeezed back, weakly, just trying to let him know she appreciated not being on her own this once. When the nurse was finished, she repeated the doctor’s warning that a night in hospital would be prudent. Sasha simply thanked her, needing to save what little energy she had left for getting home and doing chores. She sat on the edge of the examining table, waiting to gather enough of her strength to step down.

“Take it slow,” Miles said in his low, gravelly voice. It was a voice that invited confidence, intimacy, desire. He looked down at her, looming tall despite his own injuries. She tried, unsuccessfully, to shake the confusion of feeling desire at the same time as feeling as if she had kissed a moving vehicle. She needed a distraction.

“I have to call my friends who brought me in—”

“You mean they just dumped you here and split?”

His swift anger on her behalf puzzled her. “No, of course not. They brought me here after we trailered Desperado home and unloaded him. But Donna is a single mother and Marie works evenings, teaching riding, so they couldn’t stay. I wanted to take a taxi here myself, but—”

“You took the damn horse home first.” He shook his head, then stepped back a few inches. “Come on. Let me take you back to my place,” he said in that seductively low voice. He grinned, a wickedly slow grin, that hinted at tempting possibilities. Now that he didn’t look quite as battered, he was one very sexy, rather cocky male. Heaven help her if he got his memory back before he left. Miles Kent at full wattage would be one dangerously attractive man.

Her cheeks stung with heat at the thought of being alone with him. Would he put his arms around her, offering comfort?

Whenever she or any of her foster siblings had been hurt, either physically or emotionally, her parents and grandparents had always had a lap available, or a hug and a special treat once they got too big for lap sitting. She’d been a care-giver herself for so long that she’d forgotten how sweet it could be to receive comfort.

But she wasn’t so naive as to think a hug from Miles would be particularly comforting. It would be like pouring kerosene on a fire. Miles Kent was disturbing, and embracing him would be a highly...arousing experience.

“You must have been a hell-raiser as a kid,” she muttered.

For a brief second his expression darkened. Had she awakened some unhappy memory? Like Desperado, Miles’s life was not exactly an open book. She would always have to guess about the abuse the horse had suffered, and somehow, prove to him that she would never mistreat him. Miles, too, would have to guess about his past, until he regained his memory. Unlike Desperado, however, Miles didn’t have to be a slave to his past, whether he remembered it or not. She hoped he realized that.

“I imagine there were some who considered me the devil’s own,” he drawled. “But, as they say, success is the best revenge. And apparently, I’m some kind of success.”

His resolute tone when he mentioned revenge sent a little chill up her spine. Had he remembered something? Or was he simply making a statement? Dave McLeod’s warnings came back to her. She couldn’t deny her impulse to heal whatever wounds Miles had suffered. But would he be as dangerous as Desperado? She might never find out, she realized with some regret. He was hardly the stereotype of a homeless, confused amnesiac who needed shelter. He’d be going home to his private island as soon as the doctors were satisfied with the progress of his injuries.

Sasha eased herself off the examining table until her feet touched the floor. Then she waited for her head to clear, aware that Miles was watching her. Although he was the one leaning on a cane, she had the distinct impression that if she started to keel over, he’d have plenty of strength to catch her. The thought made her smile.

“What?” he asked.

“I was just thinking that this is a new spin on the blind leading the blind,” she told him. Gingerly, she stepped toward the door. A wave of dizziness made her catch her breath. Or maybe it was the sudden feel of Miles’s hand on her waist, supporting her. “Thanks. I...I’m not sure this is going to work. I think I was a little optimistic about my condition,” she admitted.

“Let me get you a wheelchair.”

She shook her head, which wasn’t the best thing to do to her scrambled brains. Smothering a gasp, she said, “No. I have to get myself moving eventually.”

Miles muttered something about damn stubborn women, but within a couple of minutes he had scared up—almost literally—a volunteer to help them both to his room. The woman who answered his call was the same volunteer who had delivered him to Sasha.

“My goodness!” the woman gasped when she walked into the examining room. “No wonder your young man was so worried. It was very impressive the way he demanded to be taken to you, like a knight rushing to defend his lady.”

Amused despite her embarrassment, Sasha glanced at Miles. He gave a shrug with his good shoulder, but the color that stained his cheeks belied his nonchalance. The volunteer took Sasha by the elbow. As they made their slow, awkward way toward the elevators, the woman introduced herself as Emmy’s mother, Doris.

“So you’re Caitlin and Hilary’s grandmother,” Sasha said, hoping to take her mind off the dizziness.

“I certainly am. I can’t wait to tell the girls I’ve finally met you. They’ve been after me for ages to come to one of their meetings, but honestly, horses frighten me. They’re so big. And they can be very dangerous.”

Sasha heard Miles grunt at this point in Doris’s monologue and she knew he was thinking about Desperado. She hoped he wouldn’t say anything to scare Doris about her granddaughters. “Most of them aren’t dangerous,” she said hastily.

“It only takes one,” Miles muttered.

Sasha decided to ignore him. She was having enough trouble staying upright until the elevator stopped at his floor.

“You know,” she said to Doris as they negotiated their way down the hall, “if you come to a meeting, you don’t have to get close to the horses to watch the girls. Think about coming soon. They’d love it.”

“Maybe I will. The meetings are at your farm, aren’t they?”

“Yes. Saturday mornings.”

Doris halted at Miles’s door, giving Sasha a moment to grasp the doorframe while she led Miles into the room and settled him on the edge of the bed. Doris then turned to reach a helping hand to Sasha as she followed, a little queasy from the elevator ride. Gratefully, Sasha let the older woman help her into a chair beside Miles’s bed.

“I think I will come to a meeting,” Doris said firmly. “I’ll tell the girls. It will be fun.”

“Great.” Sasha remembered something Caitlin had told her. “And Doris? I’ve got a litter of the sweetest kittens I need to find homes for. Two of them are gray tabbies.”

“Oh! Gray tabbies?” A sad look crossed Doris’s soft face. Then she beamed at Sasha. “Yes, I think I know someone who would like two tabby kittens. I’ll bring my cat carrier, if that’s all right.”

Sasha gave Doris’s hand a quick squeeze. After she’d asked Miles four times if he needed anything else, Doris finally left them alone. Sasha couldn’t help laughing at the bemused expression on Miles’s face, even though her own face hurt with every change of expression.

“What?” he demanded.

“I think she likes you.” He shrugged, but his expression seemed to soften a little. “I have a feeling you aren’t used to being mothered quite so aggressively.” He snorted. Sasha wondered if perhaps she’d accidentally hit on some truth about Miles.

Miles ran his right hand over his chin. “I suspect you’re right,” he said thoughtfully. “She really takes this helping stuff seriously, doesn’t she?”

Sasha tried to nod but her head protested and her neck stiffened. Instead, she grunted agreement. “She’s been a widow for a long time. The girls told me her old gray tabby cat died at Christmas, and Emmy says she’s very lonely. That’s why she volunteers here, and in a home for mentally challenged adults.”

“What about emotionally challenged adults?” he asked, his crooked grin not at all convincing. “That’s supposedly my problem. Your friend Peter thinks my memory is playing hide-and-seek over something I don’t want to remember.”

“Is that possible?”

“What could I be trying to forget? Think I did something horrible? Tax evasion, maybe? Maybe I’m a serial murderer. What do you think, Doc?” He studied her so intently that she felt her already painful face burn with a blush.

“I think you couldn’t possibly be a murderer, or anything remotely like that. I think it’s possible something awful happened
to
you, but I can’t believe you would do anything horrible to anyone else.”

“Do you always see the best in everyone?” he asked quietly.

Embarrassed, she shrugged. “I try.”

“Aren’t you ever wrong?”

“I keep hoping my optimism will be rewarded.”

“And what about the monster who attacked you?”

She managed a somewhat painful, lopsided smile. “Desperado wasn’t trying to hurt me. He just panicked when he realized he was in a trailer, and threw his head up. I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He could have trampled me after he knocked me down, but he stood like a perfect gentleman while Donna and Marie pulled me out from under him.”

The color drained from Miles’s face. He swore softly. “Do me a favor? Spare me the details.” He moved himself closer to her chair. “On second thought, maybe I’m not a serial murderer. I seem to be a little on the squeamish side.” His quick grin was rueful.

Sasha smiled as much as possible. “You do remind me a little of Desperado, striking out when you’re scared.”

He uttered a rude noise that made her smile broaden, despite the pain in her face. “I’m not scared. I’m frustrated, and that makes me angry. That’s all.”

“Oh. I see.”

He leaned down toward her, trapping her in the chair. He gazed intently at her for a long, unsettling time. Her smile faded as she felt herself leaning upward toward him, as if drawn by some magnetism emanating from deep within him. His golden eyes did a leisurely sweep of her face, lingering on her mouth. She could feel the warmth of his breath caressing her battered cheek. She could smell faint traces of spicy cologne and his own masculine skin. Sasha realized she was shaking, tiny tremors that raced over her nerves, tickling her into a state of intense awareness.

Miles’s hand reached out and cupped the unbruised side of her face. Slowly, irresistibly, he drew closer, leaning to meet her. The image of his face grew blurry. She closed her eyes. His warmth seemed to surround her.

G
ently, so gently that her eyes filled with tears, Miles touched her sore lips with his. “I just wanted to make up for Desperado’s kiss,” he told her, his voice husky and intimate. “From the devil you know to the devil you don’t know.”

Sasha swallowed. Slowly she opened her eyes to find Miles watching her, a guarded look in his eyes. “In comparison, Desperado does lack a certain finesse,” she murmured.

His smile warmed her like very smooth, very expensive brandy. She was tempted to read more into that sweet, simple kiss than the comfort Miles was offering. Lord knew, the attraction was there, sim-mering between them despite their frequent misunderstandings. That mutual attraction might even be the cause of those flare-ups between them. After all, she was trying not to get involved, and so must he be.

She’d never felt this confusion of emotions over any other man. When she’d told Miles she was married to her work, she’d meant it seriously. None of the men she’d known had ever stirred her blood, totally distracting her, the way Miles did. The feeling was deliciously intoxicating, daring her to seek more without the safety of sober judgment.

It was time, Sasha decided, for a reality check. For Miles, that meant finding out who he was and making his way back to himself. For her, that meant her life would go on even after Miles left. His leaving was inevitable, and she’d be a fool to let herself pretend otherwise. Besides, if there was one thing she was good at, it was letting go.

“Did you hear from that Mrs. Dobbs who’s supposed to work for you?” she asked, trying to sound businesslike despite the way her swollen face made her slur her words, and the way the effect of his kiss had turned her voice husky.

Miles lifted an eyebrow as if to challenge her change of subject, then settled back on the edge of the bed. “Yeah. She called last night, but she wasn’t much help. She was suspicious that it was some kind of setup, she said. About all I could find out from her at first was my own phone number. She finally told me I play Monopoly with real money, buying and selling businesses, and holding large interests in some very profitable companies. She’s been working for me for ten years. If I need outside help, I hire consultants.”

Miles spoke about himself as if he were describing a character in a play. There was no sense of connection to the facts, no emotion behind his recitation. Except, perhaps, dislike for the man he might be. And if his detachment bothered her, she mused, it must be torturing him, even if he wouldn’t let on.

She wanted to help him, but she was an animal doctor, and Miles had rejected Peter’s repeated offers of human psychological help. What could she do? Sasha thought for a moment. Nothing, really, she concluded, except to offer moral support. But there was someone who might be able to do something real to help Miles regain his memories.

“Your Mrs. Dobbs seems to be the only one who really knows who you are. Maybe she can give you some clues that will help jog your memory.”

Miles frowned. “Like what?”

Sasha thought again. “Like photographs,” she exclaimed, a little muffled by her sore jaw but excited by the possibilities. “Even under ordinary circumstances, people forget things, and then they see a photo and it reminds them of a person or an event or a place. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

Miles gaped at Sasha. It was so simple! Why hadn’t he thought of it when she’d been showing him pictures of her life? Well, the answer to that question was simple: he’d been trying not to make a fool of himself over his awareness of her. Maybe a monk could think logically with Sasha sitting next to him, but Miles sure wasn’t a monk. As a red-blooded male, his hormones ran riot when every breath brought her scent to him, every glance discovered some part of her he wanted to explore further with his hands and his mouth. Just remembering the brief taste of her lips made him wish he could forget.

That last thought almost made him laugh. Here he was wishing he could forget something, when he’d spent the past week ranting and raving about having amnesia.

Hoping Sasha couldn’t see how his hands trembled, Miles reached toward the nightstand where a black phone sat toadlike beside his water glass. “You’re a genius, Doc,” he muttered, picking up the phone and punching in the phone number written on the pad on the stand. A woman’s voice, soft and Southern, answered on the second ring. “Kent Associates.”

He smiled grimly at the name of his company. Ironic, wasn’t it, he thought, when he apparently didn’t have any associates. “Mrs. Dobbs? It’s Miles. Miles Kent.” The name still sounded strange on his tongue.

“Oh! Miles! Of course. It’s Eleanor. I’m so glad you called,” she drawled, that hint of the South making him frown. He searched for a memory that hovered at the edge of his mind, teasing him. Was it Eleanor Dobbs he was trying to recall, or some other woman’s honeyed voice? He forced his attention back to the phone. “I was afraid I hadn’t been much help to you last night,” she went on. “But I didn’t want to call back and take the chance of disturbing your rest. How are you feeling today?”

“Better, thanks.”

“Do you know when you’ll be able to come home again?”

“I’ll probably get out of the hospital in the next couple of days,” he told her, trying desperately to picture
home
and failing miserably. “Will you be able to handle the office until I get back?” Espe-cially since he probably wouldn’t know what to do himself. He tried to visualize his office, unable to see any mind’s image that felt like
his
office. He couldn’t meet Sasha’s eyes, knowing she was watch-ing him, wanting to help him, and knowing he was failing.

“Of course I can. You have a few dozen messages, but nothing urgent, so it’s business as usual. Is there anything special that you’d like me to do?”

Unsure how much his gracious and competent-sounding assistant understood about his predicament, he drew a deep breath. “Yes, uh, Eleanor. I’d like you to take photos of my house and office, and anything else you think I should remember. Shoot off a couple of rolls of film, get them developed right away, then book yourself a flight to Toronto and bring them to me. I need to talk to you. I’ll give you direc-tions—”

“Oh, dear!” Eleanor’s gasp came out almost as a sob. The sound cut his words off. “Oh, Miles! I didn’t want to believe that Canadian policeman when he told me over the phone that you’d lost your memory, but I do believe him now. I’m so sorry, but I can’t possibly do what you’ve asked, although I can arrange for someone to do it for you. Would that be all right, instead?”

Avoiding Sasha’s curious eyes, he swallowed hard. His chest felt as if something very heavy was pressing against it. “Eleanor, can you tell me why you can’t do it yourself?”

“I hardly ever leave my apartment. It’s so hard for me to get around, even with this beautiful wheelchair you provided for me. Don’t you remember that you work out of an office in your home, and that your office and mine are linked by all the latest technology? All the bells and whistles, you like to say. There are fax machines and computers and phones, and of course, we often use courier services.”

While he frantically tried to picture any of what his assistant described, she chuckled softly. “My goodness, I guess you don’t remember how petrified I was about the fax machines when you first had them installed. You spent hours with me, helping me. Just the way you did when we switched over from that electronic typewriter I thought was complicated enough, to a computer. You hired a computer teacher to come to my apartment and we ordered lunch from the deli, and then pizza for dinner, because it took all day for us to learn everything you wanted to learn. It was nice to work with you face-to-face, instead of by remote.”

He heard the unmistakable excitement in Eleanor’s voice as she talked. He wondered bleakly why she was confined to a wheelchair, and why he himself lived like a hermit. At least, from what his assistant was saying about their relationship, he wasn’t some kind of ogre. Not all the time, anyway.

“I...I’m sorry, Eleanor. Nothing personal, but I really don’t remember any of that.” From the corner of his eye he saw Sasha’s face. Shock, and worse than that, pity. Damn! “You said you can hire someone to take photos and get them up here. How quickly can you do that?”

“Well, it depends on who you’d prefer me to... Now, what am I saying? I guess you don’t remember, but my son, Jonathan, likes to take pictures. After all you’ve done for him, it would be his pleasure to do you a favor. I’ll phone him as soon as we finish here, and have him contact you for instructions, if that’s satisfactory.”

“It is,” he said, wondering what he’d done for her son. It was all so blank. “Thank you. And would you do me another favor?”

“Anything, dear boy. I feel so bad for you. What is it you’d like me to do? Do you have enough clothes and money?”

Her maternal fussing almost made him smile. “Yes, I do. What I’d like is for you to keep this confidential until I get the situation under control. You understand.”

“I surely do, Miles. But you don’t have to worry. I’m used to keeping your business confidential. That’s why I didn’t want to tell the Canadian police anything, even though they were very polite. I hope that won’t get either of us into trouble.”

He did smile then. After reassuring his assistant that neither of them were in any kind of legal trouble, he thanked her and said goodbye. Then, with his emotions on spin cycle, he turned toward Sasha. She was watching him, those big eyes of hers full of pity, but the sight of her battered face made him add one more confusing feeling to the mess inside his head. He wanted to take care of her, despite the fact that he could hardly take care of himself.

“It sounds like you hit pay dirt,” she said, her voice stiff, as if speaking hurt. Recalling how sore his own face had been for days after his accident, he was sure it did.

He smiled. “From what I can piece together, I’m apparently just a fanatical recluse, not a serial murderer.” Briefly he recapped what Eleanor Dobbs had told him, and her suggestion to have her son take photos and send them to him by courier.

Sasha frowned. “But by the time he does that, won’t you be ready to leave? Wouldn’t it make more sense just to go home and let your memory come back once you’re in familiar surroundings?”

“Probably,” he finally conceded. He knew she was right. But something visceral, something instinctive, kept him from wanting to leave. He had no reason—not even a lame excuse—to stay. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that if he left too soon, he might never find himself. Or maybe his reluctance to leave had more to do with the way Sasha made his pulse race. Had he ever felt like that about another woman? Was it something as trite as loving and losing that had turned him into a hermit?

“But if your shrink friend is right, maybe my going home will have the opposite effect,” he added, thinking out loud, grasping for straws. “Maybe I need to get away to remember. When I think about it, that must have been what I was doing when I drove up here. I used to do that a lot when—” He stopped, realizing he’d had his first real memory.

Sasha leaned forward. Her eyes shone with gentle eagerness. “What, Miles? You just remembered something, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I used to drive an old beat-up rattletrap along back roads—somewhere. I don’t know where. Just aimless driving and thinking.” Miles raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m tempted, but I can’t keep driving around, going nowhere.” He gave a disgusted snort. “That won’t solve anything.”

At least she didn’t say something lame to try to make him feel better, he thought bitterly. The silence stretched between them, while he tried to chase a memory that was already out of reach, and wondered once again what he’d been trying to escape. Finally he gave up and shook his head in frustration.

“Miles, instead of driving around aimlessly, you’re welcome to stay at my place,” Sasha offered softly. “I mean, until you feel better about going home.” He felt his jaw start to drop and snapped it shut. Her unbruised cheek turned pink. “It’s very peaceful on the farm and I have plenty of room, so...” She let the words trail off and shrugged.

It didn’t make a single shred of sense to stay here a day longer than necessary. Whatever his life was, it was on Secret Island, Florida, not on a farm for strays and cripples in the boondocks of southern Ontario. Running away, staying away, was a coward’s decision, and that wasn’t the sort of truth Miles wanted to learn about himself. But then, what kind of man hid on an island, except a coward?

More important, Miles didn’t know if he was the kind of man who could do the right thing when he was already very, very attracted to Doc Reiss. It was too tempting to think of the two of them alone to-gether, with no past and no future between them to complicate the relationship. He might be that kind of man, but Sasha wasn’t that kind of woman.

Better to walk away from her now, when it was still easy. Well, easier.

“Doc, I shouldn’t take advantage of you,” he murmured, intending to turn her down gently. But somehow he ended up saying, “But you just made me an offer I can’t refuse. Only on condition that I pay my way,” he added.

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is to me. I won’t insult you with cash, but there has to be something I can do to repay you. I’m not a deadbeat.”

“There’s always something to do around a farm.”

“Then it’s a deal. But it’s not indefinite. Just till I get on my feet. A few days, maximum. Okay?”

He watched her beautiful, battered face, searching for a clue that she’d changed her mind as suddenly as she’d made the offer. All he saw was a smile that must have hurt. It was a lot like the satisfied smile she’d worn when she’d told him about saving that vicious stallion, Desperado.

That really was all he meant to Doc Reiss...another needy case. The thought sent a wave of anger surging through Miles. He wasn’t a pathetic foundling, damn it! Regardless of what had happened to his memory or his ribs, he was a man, and that’s what his instincts wanted her to see.

The problem was, if he even hinted at what the sight, the sound, the scent of her did to his libido, she’d take back her invitation faster than he could blink. His memory had taken a hike, but his logical mind was functioning again. No sensible single woman who lived alone would want a randy stranger coming home with her.