A Man She Couldn't Forget. Kathryn Shay

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      Clare didn’t have her memory back, but she knew certain things. Entering a house without knocking, a nickname, being served coffee without asking how it was taken and sharing pointed glances all indicated intimacy.

      Apparently Delia and Brady had stayed close while Clare had grown apart from them. She wished she could remember why.

      

      BRADY SAT AT THE DRAFTING table in his home office and stared at the walls, bookshelves and computer. On his desk sat the page proofs of one book to go over, and the beginning of another was in front of him. But right now, all he could think about was Clare.

      After he found her at Delia’s, they talked over coffee. Mostly she was comfortable, until something came up that she didn’t remember. Then she’d get agitated and, worse, fearful. He couldn’t stand watching her be afraid. After a while, he suggested a walk and she seemed to be itching for exercise. Why not? She’d never sat still for a minute before, even if she didn’t remember that. Two long weeks in a hospital bed had decreased her strength and stamina but not her desire to move.

      As they walked, she peppered him with questions about the Kramers, and he tried to fill her in the best he could. Don’s death was still hard for him to talk about, even though he’d known the guy the shortest period of time. Brady had moved into the old house ten years ago when the others were all settled in. He soon came to love Don, like they did. And like Max and Clare, Brady had been devastated for a long time after their friend died.

      Such grim thoughts often came these days when he was alone. He dragged himself up from the chair and walked into the living room. He’d insisted he and Clare leave their doors open in case she needed him. When he reached the front of his condo, he smiled at his own whimsy of creating the birds, which were supposed to represent the five of them. He fingered the goldfinch, Clare, who’d flown the coop. Shaking his head, he stepped into the hall. No sounds from her place. He went back to work, sat at the drafting table, and was just getting into Raoul the Rat and Millie the Mouse when the phone rang. Caller ID told him it was his agent, which was the only reason he answered.

      “Brady? Hi, it’s Leo.”

      “Hey, Leo.”

      “How’s Clare doing?”

      “Better. She’s home. I’m on watch this afternoon, but she’s sleeping, so guess where I am?”

      “Please, tell me you’re in your office.”

      “I am. And Millie and Raoul got one more page.”

      “Thank God. The publisher’s breathing down my neck. They gave the extension, but begrudgingly.”

      “Thanks, Leo.”

      But what could they do anyway? Brady worked at his own pace and did things in his own time frame. It used to drive his workaholic ex-wife Gail crazy. He was successful though, and their marriage had struggled along a bumpy road until tragedy struck and Brady’s whole life turned upside down.

      “Did you hear me, Brady?”

      Not exactly. His mind went where it always did these days. “Something about a delivery date.”

      “Funny.”

      “I don’t know when it’ll be done, Leo. I’ve promised to help out with Clare. I want to.”

      “You’re in a perfect position to do that. You work at home, she’s next door.” A pause. “You sure there’s nothing going on between you two other than friendship?”

      He hesitated, then said, “Yeah, sure.”

      There was a knock on his open door, and then a “Yo…”

      “Someone’s here. I gotta go.”

      “Scan and e-mail me what you’ve done.”

      “You know I don’t like to do that, Leo.”

      “It’ll calm my nerves.”

      “Take a Valium.” Max appeared at his door, and Brady motioned for him to wait.

      “Come on. I need a Millie and Raoul fix.”

      “Maybe. Talk to you soon.”

      After he clicked off, he stood and faced his longtime friend, Max Mason, whom he’d known since high school, when they’d hung out together and avoided playing football. Max was big enough to compete, though, with the build of a linebacker. Brady had based a character on him once, Mixy, the huge lovable rat. Max feigned outrage, but Brady had seen a few copies of the book on his buddy’s shelf.

      They hugged like men do—a bear clasp and pats on the back. Brady had always been grateful for Max’s friendship, especially in the past year.

      When he drew back, Max asked, “How is she?”

      “She’s home.”

      “I thought maybe. I saw the open door. I can help now. I got some time off.”

      “You did?”

      “I said I’d help.” He dropped his big form into the mahogany leather chair and propped his feet up on the ottoman.

      “I know, but she’s not your favorite person anymore.”

      His dark eyes narrowed and he ran a hand over his shaved head. Brady remembered when he’d worn it in an Afro. “No matter. If Dee and I don’t help, you’ll run yourself into the ground.” He glanced at the desk. “Or worse, put aside your work again to help her.”

      Brady wasn’t up for an argument, especially one they’d had so many times. “Want something?”

      “No, I’m going to catch a nap. Long flight.” Max was a pilot for a private company and had been flying his boss around the country while Clare lay in the hospital. “I won’t say any more after this, but I gotta get one thing off my chest.”

      “Max…”

      “I love you, bro. I don’t want her to hurt you. Be careful and protect yourself.”

      “Point taken.”

      When Max left, Brady found it impossible to get back to his book. Again, he pushed away from the desk, got up and headed to Clare’s condo. This time, he went in and found her in bed on her side, her hands under her face like she always slept. The pretty green sheet had slipped off, so he tucked it around her. His whole body responded to the sight of her, and the scent of her that permeated this room. Hell, this was all he needed now.

      She looked so fragile, bruised and fearful, even in slumber. Her brow furrowed and she turned over fitfully. How on earth could Brady abandon her now?

      Because she abandoned you. And Dee. And Max. Even her own sister.

      He shook his head. It didn’t matter. He had a Clare hex on him, and nothing could dispel it. He’d felt this way since the first day he met her…

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