In the meantime, the IV disappeared, and Garret slipped into long days of sleeping, sleeping and sleeping.
Suzanne grew used to those days. With Dr. Jacobs’s help, she tended to him, his sleeping form passive and characterless. From time to time, she had to fend off earnest offers from friends to come assist her with her own supposed illhealth, but lies seemed to come more readily to her tongue nowadays.
By the fourth day, she didn’t give the situation much thought anymore. Until she walked into the guest bedroom with a fresh pitcher of water, and found Garret standing naked in the middle of the room.
He swayed slightly where he stood, his body pale but impressive with his feet planted on her old hardwood floor. Her eyes flew open, the color draining from her face. And in her shock, she couldn’t quite avert her gaze.
She saw muscle-bound, darkly haired legs with zigzagging scars down one side. She saw a black-furrowed chest with a narrow line darting through a washboard stomach to areas that made her eyes grow even wider. For a moment, the pure shock made her sway on her own feet.
“I want clothes,” Garret snarled.
Her wide hazel eyes riveted up, the heat of her cheeks more searing than his fever had ever been. “Wh-what?” she sounded out breathlessly. But he just stood there as if his nakedness meant nothing, and pinned her with his dark, glittering eyes.
“Clothes, damn it,” he repeated impatiently. “I want my clothes back.”
She recovered enough to set the pitcher down on a side table, her hands shaking enough to make it a small feat. Her pulse still pounded in her neck, but she forced her scattered thoughts together. Efficient and practical, Suzanne. Remember?
But all of sudden, she was feeling lips on hers in the rain, her young body pressed against the solid, muscled mass, before he whispered, “Someday.”
“Come on, damn it, I need my clothes.”
He took a step forward with his scarred leg, and that spurred her thoughts back together. She stiffened her spine and forced herself to meet his burning eyes even as her cheeks flushed darker.
“We threw away your clothes,” she said simply, her chin unconsciously setting.
He scowled, the expression dangerous and disconcerting in his unshaven face. “I need clothes,” he growled again. His eyes bore into her own, as if from sheer force of will he could make the desired garments appear in her hands.
It took effort for her even to swallow. “I have a few skirts that are a tad on the large side,” she returned squarely. “Perhaps you’d like to give them a try.” He scowled even more, but she simply shrugged defiantly. “I’m telling you, we threw away your clothes. They were blood-soaked and filthy.”
His face set, and underneath the thick covers of his whiskers, she could see his skin pale. He took another step, and this time wavered perceptibly. The damn fool was most likely going to faint on her floor. And naked no less.
“Back into bed,” she announced briskly, using her best kindergarten teacher’s voice. To prove her point, she walked sternly forward, looking at him with thin, determined lips. He, however, did not back away.
“I have to leave,” he grated, though some of the heat had gone from his voice, and the strain was becoming more noticeable in his face.
“All in good time,” she assured him. She’d reached his side now, but still he didn’t step back. And all of a sudden, she was aware of how close she was to his naked length. She could feel the heat roll out over her, intense and beguiling.
Once, she’d felt those arms wrap around her, strong and solid and fierce. She’d pressed herself against that body, feeling his muscled contours against her own soft frame, calling his lips down onto her own. And she could still feel the warmth of that kiss, caressing her skin through the cool spring rain. She’d never forgotten how he’d held her in those last few moments. Offering her something no one else ever had. And she’d never forget how he’d boarded the bus right after and never looked back.
“Get into bed,” she said stiffly, her face unconsciously shuttered and hard. “You’re sick and you’re weak. You want to leave, then do it when you’re not going to pass out on my bedroom floor.”
He grinned suddenly, the smile unexpected and spinetingling in his unshaven face. Without warning, he reached out a finger and lightly touched her cheek. She flinched noticeably.
“You sound like a kindergarten teacher,” he said softly, switching tactics. He’d learned long ago that where force sometimes failed, charm could still prevail.
She glared at him mutinously, nevertheless, her shoulders more set than he’d remembered. She’d come a long way in fifteen years, he thought abruptly. She wasn’t a scrawny kid anymore. Now she was nicely rounded in all the right places, her long hair pinned up in one of those knots that made a man wonder how many pins he could slide out before it all came tumbling down. Not his type at all.
He generally went for slender and athletic types, women who could take care of themselves and who understood a week meant a week and a night meant a night. Suzanne, however, in her cream lace tank top and long, crinkled blue skirt, looked feminine and provincial, all the things he avoided in a woman. She looked like the kind of woman who might walk a guy to the bus stop in the rain. The kind of woman who might cry in the rain and make a man remember long after he’d sworn to forget.
“Back into bed,” she reiterated sternly, pointing at the rumpled pile of sheets.
Her expression was so firm, her lips pressed together so tightly, he found his gaze lingering there. And fought the unholy urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her thoroughly. His gaze grew dark and he felt the restlessness gnaw sharply and urgently at his gut.
He had to get out of here, damn it. He had to get on his way, escaping from whatever shadowy thing was holding him captive. Another wave of darkness swept over him and he swayed slightly from the sudden exhaustion. He saw her hazel eyes soften with concern, and it was more than he could stand.
“I always checked up,” he whispered suddenly. “I always made sure you were all right.” Silly, stupid words, and he hated himself for saying them the minute they were out.
Immediately, her hazel eyes grew hard and her chin shot up. “Of course, Garret. And how kind of you. I’m sure I was doing grand when my mother died. The years of medical bankruptcy weren’t hard, either.”
He frowned, knowing that wasn’t what he’d meant and cursing himself yet again for saying anything. “But I knew there was someone here to look after you,” he added instead. It only buried him deeper.
“Drop the distant-protector act,” she told him bluntly. “I’m not Cinderella and I’m not looking for a fairy godmother. You went off to play soldier, Garret. That’s who you are, that’s who you’ve always been. Don’t try to dress it up now.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously, but just as he was going to open his mouth, another wave of weakness washed over him. He felt his knees go suddenly loose, and the next thing he knew, she was beneath his arm, guiding him toward the bed.
“Big stupid fool,” she muttered the whole way. “Big stupid fool.”
She had him back in the bed and covered up as fast as possible. She didn’t want to look at his naked legs with their mysterious scars, and she certainly didn’t want to see the rest of him. She wanted him well, and she wanted him gone.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered as if reading her thoughts. She glanced up to find his eyes staring into hers with an intensity she didn’t like.
“Cagney can bring some clothes,” she said after an uncomfortable minute. She remained standing at the bedside when she really should be moving away. Garret awake was not an easy man to handle.
He nodded, his dark eyes still not leaving her alone. Suddenly, he grinned again, this time the twisting of his lips at once bitter and mocking. “So anxious to see me go?”
“Never knew you liked to stay,” she stated right back.
His grin widened. “You always did understand me.”
For one moment, she couldn’t say anything at all while the words twisted her stomach into tight little knots of old aches and new pains. She forced herself to take a deep breath, and smooth her hands over her vintage skirt.
“Where will you go?” she asked calmly, congratulating herself on sounding so composed.
His grin, however, wavered. He turned away, and for a long moment, he closed his eyes. And though he didn’t say a word, she knew he was remembering the words he’d once spoken but now didn’t seem to want to recall. The ragged holes in his mind allowed him to know about her and the bus stop, but denied him what happened to his back.
“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he said at last, his big body moving restlessly beneath the worn white sheets.
“It’s all right,” she found herself saying, the words creeping out on their own. Defensively, she raised her chin. “Cagney’s my best friend, Garret, and you and I, we go way back, as well. You can stay as long as you need to. Cagney thinks maybe you’re safe here. If that’s the case, you should stay. At—at least,” she faltered, “at least until you know more.”
He gave her a little smile, but it wasn’t pleasant. “You always did take care of everyone,” he said softly, his frustration directed at once at himself but making him lash out at her anyway.
Her hands stilled on her skirt, then she forced herself to shrug. “Charity is never wasted.”
“Little Suzanne, the kindergarten teacher,” he whispered, his dark eyes sweeping over her. “Always raising everyone else’s children. What will you do when they grow up, Suzanne? What will you do when this batch is gone, as well?”
For a moment, she couldn’t move, his words cutting too near all those deep fears she only acknowledged late on rare nights. She made herself continue to breathe, but even then, her voice trembled when she finally spoke. “I remember you as being many things, Garret Guiness,” she whispered at last. “But I never remembered you as being so cruel.”
She turned, her skirt swirling around her legs, and even as he reached out to her, she swept from the room. The door shut firmly behind her, and he was left only with the frustration burning his gut and the soft waft of roses in the air.
G
arret had healed enough to roar.
Standing in the hall outside the closed bedroom door, Suzanne could hear his raging demands interspersed with Cagney’s quiet, steely replies. Garret wanted his clothes, a car and an immediate departure. Cagney informed him his clothes were burned, the car returned, and he might as well stay put until he fully regained his memory.
In the hallway, Suzanne found herself nodding her agreement, then quickly suppressed the movement with narrowed eyes. She didn’t care what Garret did, she reminded herself sternly. Garret was Garret. His leaving was not an if, only a matter of when. To listen to his grumbling retorts to Cagney’s arguments, she’d do well to remember that.
The door opened abruptly, and she started self-consciously where she stood, trying to make it appear as if she’d just arrived there. Cagney’s gray eyes met hers with a knowing look and she flushed immediately.
“So who won?” she asked as innocently as possible.
Cagney’s jaw tightened, and she didn’t have to look down to know his fists were clenched with the tension. “He’ll stay for now. At least until he remembers what the hell he’s running from, or Mitch learns enough to fill in the blanks. You’d think we were trying to kill the man rather than save his miserable, stubborn hide.” Cagney shook his head and took a deep breath. “I’ll be back in an hour or two with some clothes. In the meantime, he’s all yours. I’d suggest that you stop feeding him. He gets much more of his strength back and we won’t even be able to tie him down.”
Suzanne’s hazel eyes opened wide as she wondered if Cagney was joking or not. By the look on his normally calm face, probably not. Then abruptly, Cagney’s gaze narrowed in on her dress.
“Today’s not Sunday,” he said suddenly.
Suzanne’s cheeks flushed a little darker, but she managed to hold her head up even as her hands fidgeted with the beautiful, tiny-flowered folds of the dress’s flowing skirt. The dress had been a Christmas present from Dotti and Henry Guiness, and was one of the few pieces of original clothing she possessed, everything else having been prudently purchased from resale shops. The flowing lines smoothed over her rounded form, while the earth tones brought a glow to her skin and warm color to her eyes. Generally, she saved the Laura Ashley dress for church.
“Everything else needs to be washed,” she said a trifle defensively, then attempted a casual shrug of her shoulders. Cagney’s gaze narrowed even more, but the moment he opened his mouth, she held up a restraining hand. “Don’t you have some errands to run?” she asked pointedly. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears, but she refused to back down. It didn’t matter what Cagney thought. She
had not
put this dress on for Garret. She simply liked the way it felt, and there was nothing wrong with a woman enjoying the feel of fine fabric against her skin. Besides, at thirty-two years of age, she did not have to justify her choices to anyone.
“I give him two days,” Cagney said abruptly, his gray eyes steady on her face, “and then it won’t matter what you or I say. He’ll just leave if for no other reason than he doesn’t know how to stay.”
“Then he goes,” she said blithely, her hands crinkling the folds of her skirt while the disturbing images of Garret’s naked body flashed through her mind. “Time to get going, Cagney. Give Marina my regards.”
Cagney continued shaking his head even as she led him to the door. She’d no sooner closed the door than she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to find Garret standing ominously in the hallway, a thin cotton sheet knotted ridiculously around his waist like a toga.
“Done talking about me yet?” he said scowling. His dark eyes raked up and down her figure, and she found herself automatically holding in her stomach. His scowl deepened. “Do you always wear dresses?”
“Of course,” she retorted dryly, attempting to scan his half-naked frame as casually as he’d done hers. “But only because I don’t look nearly as good in a sheet.”