After Midnight

“I’m sure that I’m tough as nails normally.” He rested his elbows on the clean surface of the oak table and held his head in his hands. “Do you often find strange men washed up on your beach?”

“You’re my first,” she replied. “But considering the size of you, I’m hoping for an ocean liner tomorrow.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her as she busied herself filling the drip coffeemaker.

“Have you lived here long?” he asked, making conversation.

“We’ve had the place a few years.”

“We?”

“The, um…man who lives here and I,” she replied noncommittally. It wouldn’t do to tell him she was single and on her own. “He normally drives down on Friday evenings,” she lied.

He didn’t seem to register the information. Perhaps he didn’t know what day it was.

“Today is Friday,” she said, just in case. “My friend is very nice, you’ll like him.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Any nausea yet? Drowsiness?”

“I haven’t got concussion,” he replied tersely. “I’m not sure how I know that I’d recognize the symptoms. Perhaps I’ve had it before.”

“Perhaps you haven’t.” She picked up the telephone and dialed.

“What are you doing?” he asked curtly.

“Phoning a friend. He’s a doctor. I want to…Hello, Chad?” she said when the person answered. “I’ve just rescued a swimmer who was suffering from a bang on the head. He’s conscious and very lucid,” she added with a meaningful glare at her houseguest. “But he won’t let me call an ambulance. Could you stop by here when you get back from the golf course and just reassure me that he isn’t going to drop dead on my floor.”

Chad Holman laughed. “Sure. No sweat. Let me ask you a couple of questions.”

He did and she fielded them to her guest, who replied reluctantly.

“I think he’ll do until I get there,” Chad reassured her. “But if he drops off and you can’t wake him or if he has any violent vomiting, call the ambulance anyway.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

“Any time.”

She hung up, feeling relieved now that she had a professional opinion on her guest’s condition. “Well, I don’t want any dead bodies in my living room, especially not one I can’t even drag!” she informed him mischievously.

He scowled at her. “Dead bodies. Dead…” He shook his head irritably. “I keep getting flashes, but I can’t grasp anything! Damn it!”

“The coffee’s almost ready. Maybe a jolt of caffeine will start your brain working again,” she suggested.

She perched on a stool at the counter, her long bare legs drawing his eyes. She glared at him.

“Don’t get any ideas about why you’re here, if you please,” she said, her voice soft but vaguely menacing just the same.

“Don’t worry. I’m absolutely sure that I don’t like green-eyed women,” he returned shortly. He sat back in the chair with a rough sigh and shifted, one big hand idly rubbing the thick hair on his chest. He made her very self-conscious and nervous. He looked aggressively masculine, whether he was or not. She fidgeted.

“I can find you something to put on, if you like,” she said after a minute.

“That would be nice. Your male friend leaves things here, I suppose? To remind you that you cohabit with him?”

She didn’t like the sarcasm, but she didn’t rise to it. She slipped easily off the stool. “The shirt may be a bit tight, but he’s got some baggy shorts with an elastic waist that probably will fit you. I won’t be a minute.”

She darted into Clayton’s bedroom and borrowed the biggest oversize shirt he owned, a three-colored one, and a pair of big tan shorts. They hung on her brother, but they were probably going to be a tight fit on the giant she’d found washed up on the beach.

She carried the clothes back in to him. “The bathroom is through there,” she said, nodding down the hall. “Third door on the right. You’ll find a razor and soap and towels if you’d like to clean up. Are you hungry?”

“I think I could eat,” he said.

“I’ll make an omelet and toast.”

He got to his feet very slowly, the clothes in one large hand. He hesitated as he turned to leave the room, looking very big and threatening to Nikki. “I don’t remember anything. But I’m not a cruel man, if it helps. I do know that.”

“It helps.” She managed a smile.

“I’m not used to accepting help from strangers,” he added.

“Good thing. I’m not used to offering it to strangers. Of course, there’s a first time…”

“…for everything,” he finished for her. “Thanks.”

He left the room and Nikki got out eggs and condiments, proceeding to make an omelet.

He showered and shaved before he changed into the dry clothes and joined her in the kitchen. He was still barefoot, but the shorts did fit. The shirt showed off muscles that had obviously not been obtained by any lengthy inactivity. He was fit and rippled, very athletic. Nikki had to remind herself not to look at him too hard.

“What do you like in your coffee?” she asked as she poured it into thick white mugs and set them on the spotless green-and-white checked tablecloth.

He frowned as he sat down. “I think I like cream.”

“I’d have thought you were a man who never added anything to his coffee,” she murmured with amusement.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You seem oddly familiar to me, as if I know you. But I don’t believe that I’ve ever seen you before,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “Maybe I have that kind of face.”

Her eyebrows arched. “You?”

He smiled, just faintly. “Thanks.” He sipped his coffee and pursed his lips. “Very nice. Just strong enough.”

“I make good coffee. It’s my only real accomplishment, except for omelets. I’m much too busy to learn how to cook.”

“What does your poor friend eat?” he asked.

“He lives on fast food and restaurant chow, but he isn’t home much.”

“What does he do?”