Skyler Hawk: Lone Brave. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      “Yeah.” He glanced at the lime wedge floating in his beer. “I’m movin’ in with a girl.”

      “She the reason you’re scowling?”

      He laughed. Perceptive woman. “Yeah.”

      Apparently not the type to go after someone else’s man, she offered some advice, “Maybe you should go home and apologize.”

      Sky leaned back in the chair. The waitress thought he had a live-in lover. That would be the day. “What makes you think I owe her an apology?”

      She tapped a candy-apple-red fingernail on the table. “You look guilty.”

      Guilty. Hell, no woman ever made him guilty. He didn’t stick around long enough to feel anything. “Whatever,” he said, wanting the cocktail waitress to leave him alone.

      Okay, maybe he did feel guilty, but it wasn’t Windy he owed an apology to. It was that little boy who deserved an explanation—the little boy crowding his jumbled memories. His son. The child Skyler had wronged.

      Windy lounged in bed, phone in hand, dialing Edith’s number. Although this was her third attempt to reach the woman, leaving a message wasn’t possible. Edith Burke didn’t own an answering machine.

      When a familiar voice answered, she pitched forward. “Hi, Edith. This is Windy. I’m sorry for calling so late, but I couldn’t reach you earlier.”

      “Oh, hello, dear. I was at the homeless shelter. You know I volunteer every Friday.”

      Suddenly guilty, Windy took a bite of the takeout meal she’d ordered. While the elderly woman had spent her evening feeding the homeless, Windy had painted her toenails and nibbled on a carton of Chinese stir-fry. “I met Sky. He’s moving in tonight.”

      “Isn’t he a nice young man?”

      “Seems to be.” She stabbed a mushroom with the plastic fork. “Although he’s not what I expected.”

      Edith cleared her throat. “I suppose I should have warned you about his grammar. I don’t let him curse around me, and you shouldn’t, either. If it bothers you, I’ll speak to him about it.”

      Windy wasn’t about to correct a man like Sky about his dialect. She could live with his misuse of the English language. And an occasional hell and damn never hurt anyone.

      “That won’t be necessary. He was a perfect gentleman.” And I was a perfect lady. Sort of. I dropped the house key and we ended up in each other’s arms. Of course, now I can’t stop thinking about him. “Sky looks different than I thought he would.”

      Edith responded in her typical no-nonsense fashion. “I didn’t mention how handsome he was because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to be a matchmaker. You know I’m not encouraging hanky-panky. Sky knows that, as well.” The elderly woman continued in a softer voice. “But you don’t have to worry about him. Sky is a decent man. He would never take advantage of a lady.”

      Not unless she wanted to be taken advantage of, Windy thought. Sky might be decent, but he wasn’t exactly Boy Scout material. Nor would he be canonized a saint. That smile bordered on devilish.

      Edith cleared her throat again and Windy adjusted the phone, anxious for some answers. “Why didn’t you tell me he was hit by that car?”

      The other woman sighed. “I thought it was Sky’s place to tell you.”

      “Why? What happened to him?”

      “Oh, goodness. I should have known he wouldn’t tell you all of it.”

      Windy grimaced. “All of what?”

      Edith sighed again. “Sky lost his memory in the accident. He remembers very little about himself.”

      Windy’s heartbeat doubled. Amnesia? Sky had amnesia? “Oh, my God.” No wonder he had a difficult time talking about the accident. “He must remember something. I get the feeling he’s at odds with his past.”

      The other end of the line remained silent, as though Edith pondered Windy’s observation. When she finally answered, her voice lowered. “There is a bit more to his story, but it’s much too complicated to discuss over the phone. I promise we’ll get together this week. We’ll have a cup of tea, and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

      Anxious, she toyed with her fork. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

      Edith “tsked” like a disapproving grandmother. “You always were an impatient one. A few days won’t make a difference to you or to Sky. That accident happened almost sixteen years ago.” Fatigue sounded in the older woman’s voice. “Now I should get to bed. It’s late and I have a busy day tomorrow.”

      Windy knew Edith’s days consisted of volunteer work: church rummage sales, women’s shelters, literacy tutoring. Things far more important than Windy’s nagging curiosity. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

      “Goodbye, dear.”

      Windy tossed the phone aside and filled her mouth with another bite just as a light knock vibrated her bedroom door.

      “Honey, it’s Sky.”

      Honey? The endearment sounded intimate—sensuous and husky—even through the thick, painted wood. The food nearly stuck in her throat. “Just a minute,” she called back.

      She bounded off the bed. Should she open the door and peek out the crack, or keep it closed and simply ask what he wanted?

      No. She smoothed her oversize attire. That would seem rude. Smile and act friendly. Platonic friendly, she reminded herself. Don’t pant or drool. And don’t pester him about his memory. Be patient. Professional.

      She opened the door just enough to expose her head and shoulders. “Hi.”

      “Hi.” A slow smile spread across his face. “I saw your light on. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

      “No. I’m up.” And breathing him in. She tried not to, but couldn’t help herself. His scent had changed. An earthy blend misted him now. Horses, hay and…beer?

      She looked into his eyes. A gaze as clear and blue as a summer sea stared back at her. A social drink, she decided. He wasn’t drunk.

      “Just wanted to let you know that I’m movin’ my things in,” he said. “Didn’t want the noise to scare you.”

      “Okay. Thanks.” Windy noticed he wore the same clothes, but his hair wasn’t flowing over his shoulders. It rested in a tight ponytail at his nape. “How was work?”

      “Good. It was my first day, but I know the routine.”

      “Did you work the early show?”

      “Yeah.”

      She wanted to touch his dimples. He looked boyish when he smiled, rugged when he didn’t. “Do you play a cowboy or an Indian?”

      “Both.” The left СКАЧАТЬ