Father Found

She’d had a lot to deal with during the past few weeks, and though she’d been very concerned about her memory when he’d taken her to California, the garden had helped relax her when they’d arrived.

But he’d known something had been changing inside her the past few days. She’d been thinking about her place in life as an individual, and about the two of them as a couple. She was worrying about their relationship.

And that worried him.

Her fingers fluttered in the air between them, as though she wanted to touch him but didn’t dare. He caught them in his hand and kissed her knuckles, needing to break this spell.

“I’ll get the coffee,” he said, and walked around her to the coffeemaker.

Though he knew things could not go on forever as they had since he’d taken her from the hospital, he couldn’t help wishing they would. She knew only what he wanted her to know.

But the harder she thought, the more likely she was to remember.

Then she’d know what had really happened.

And that would not be good.

Chapter Two

All right, maybe they did have a good thing going.

Gusty examined that likelihood as she added chocolate chips and pecans to the smooth cookie batter. She and Bram had gone into town for plumbing supplies, and she’d picked up a few additional groceries before they headed home. She had game hens and a casserole dish of dressing baking in the oven, potatoes boiling on top of the stove, cauliflower steaming and ice cream in the freezer.

She wasn’t sure why she was making the cookies. She couldn’t recall having made them for him in the past, but she did have very recent memories of his consideration and his determination to keep her safe, of his taking her to old Dr. Grayson the first day they arrived in Paintbrush, and establishing her last-trimester care. At this point in time there was little she could do to pay him back but provide him with a favorite treat.

Her hands slowed in their work as she remembered the sexual sizzle that had taken place earlier when Bram had touched her abdomen. She’d felt something ignite inside her and had seen a small explosion in his eyes.

He’d walked around her into the kitchen easily enough, but he had to have felt as affected as she—and she didn’t even remember anything they’d shared.

He’d suggested they’d been eager lovers. With what she’d come to know of him—his kindness, despite his insistence on her compliance in matters of her safety—she found that notion both exciting and daunting. She must have had to fight constantly to protect her individuality. And yet she’d married him, so she must have accepted that and found a way to deal with it.

She shifted a little uncomfortably and put a hand to the small of her back as a twinge there reminded her that she’d stood too long.

Sounds of metal clanking on metal came from the bathroom as Bram worked on the plumbing. The iffy nature of the shower had been the cabin’s only inconvenience. The water trickled weakly rather than sprayed, and she’d grumbled about it that morning, telling him she longed for a good solid spray against her aching back.

She was touched that he seemed anxious to grant her the wish.

She put more chocolate chips in the batter and, with one hand rubbing her back, folded them in with the other.

Gusty was placing the first pan in the oven when a male voice behind her said in pleased wonderment, “I thought I smelled cookies!”

She turned to find Bram behind her, a wrench in one grubby hand and a rag in the other.

“I’d give you a bite,” she said apologetically, “but they’re too hot.”

“How about a bite of batter?” he asked hopefully.

She shook her head. “Raw eggs can carry salmonella.” She took a few chocolate chips in the tips of her fingers. “Will this do?”

He shrugged. “Better than nothing.” He held his dirty hands away from her as she popped the chips into his mouth.

“How’s the shower coming?” she asked, offering him a sip of her coffee.

“Mmm. Thanks. I’m just about finished. It was mostly lime buildup. I soaked the head in cleaner and I’m about to reconnect it. If it works, you can have a shower after dinner.”

“That sounds wonderful. And the cookies will be cooled by the time you’re finished. If it won’t spoil your dinner.”

“Cookies never spoil anything,” he said over his shoulder as he returned to his task.

He had second helpings of everything at dinner, and while she enjoyed her meal also, she knew she’d probably pay for the pleasure with heartburn during the night.

“It seems you married me for my cooking,” she observed, sipping at a glass of milk while he carried their plates to the sink.

“That,” he said, “and because you were on my mind constantly.”

She wondered about that. “Is that the same as love?”

He scraped the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Coming back to the table for bowls of leftover dressing and potatoes, he gave her a quizzical look. “I thought so. I’m usually very focused and on track. Until I met you and you consumed my life.”

She had to ask. “Has that been good or bad for you?”

He grinned and headed for the counter with his burden. “Mostly good,” he said.

She laughed lightly. “Mostly?”

She reached for the cauliflower and the rolls, intending to help clear, but his hand came down on her shoulder to hold her in her chair.

“I said I’d clean up.” He took the vegetable and rolls from her, then started to cover everything and put it in the refrigerator.

“Mostly,” he went on as he worked, “because I used to be focused and on track,” he repeated wryly, “and since you came along, I’ve had to adjust to having my attention split between my work and my life.”

“And your life didn’t come first when you were a CIA agent?”

Everything put away, he took the ice cream from the freezer and brought down two bowls. “No.” He answered matter-of-factly, as though he’d accepted it and didn’t particularly regret that now. “Everything about you is secondary to the work. But I was young then and it didn’t matter. The men I worked with became my family.”

“You told me you’d already quit the CIA when we met.”

“Yes.”

He scooped ice cream into the bowls, put the carton away, then brought them to the table, going back for the plate of cookies she’d prepared.

“Then you didn’t quit on my account and don’t resent me for that?”

He raised an eyebrow as he took his chair again. “No. Why?”

“Because,” she said for the second time, “something isn’t right between us.” When he rolled his eyes impatiently, she raised a silencing hand. “I know, I know. You told me it was because I can’t remember, that we’re usually very physical and this celibacy is unnatural. But I think it’s something else.”

SHE PROPPED HER ELBOW on the table and studied him with the disturbing concentration of the innocent. He tried to look back at her with the same innocence.