Home In Time For Christmas. Heather Graham

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СКАЧАТЬ he was a soldier. He—he says the last thing he remembers is that he was being executed, hanged, in New York City. He had a sister or half sister or stepsister or someone who was a witch and said some kind of curse—and he wound up on the road. Then I hit him.”

      Keith just stared at her for several seconds. He blinked. “Oh, great. You are making no sense. He thinks he fell to earth from the past, and still—you didn’t take him to the hospital!”

      “He didn’t appear to be hurt.”

      “You obviously gave the fellow a concussion.”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “He—he could be crazy.”

      “Well, that’s obvious!”

      “Right. So this is getting better and better.”

      “He needs our help. Somehow, he has to realize who he really is.”

      “Since when was your degree is psychology?”

      “I brought him home. I—I think his real memory will come back.”

      Her brother arched a brow skeptically.

      “Look, Keith, he must have a job as a costume interpreter or something.”

      “In costume, huh. You think?” he asked sarcastically.

      She glared at him. “He believes his own role right now. Quit judging me.”

      “I’m not judging you.”

      “He needs our help.”

      “Our help?”

      “My help. I always helped you!”

      Keith stared at her amazed, then started to laugh. “Okay, I’ve brought home a trillion puppies and kittens. But not a crazy.”

      She stiffened. “What about the pole-dancing stripper?”

      “Hey, she knew where she worked.”

      “Keith, look, he’s nice, he’s pleasant…I’m hoping that some normal time will help bring back his memory.”

      “And you think anyone is going to have ‘normal time’ at our house?” Keith asked dryly.

      “That’s not fair,” she accused him.

      “So. You hit him, he’s in costume, thinks he’s a soldier, and you bring him home to feed him and warm him up. This isn’t the same as what I did.”

      She glared at her brother. “You are not at all amusing.”

      “No, but you are in some weird water here, sis.”

      “Keith, stop it. I’ve kind of got a problem going here.”

      “Maybe you do,” he said. His eyes were bright with amusement as he moved closer to her. “What do you think he’s saying to the bartender? She’s pretty cute, too.”

      “Oh, God, I don’t know!” Melody stood up. She sat down. “Keith, go check on him. I don’t want to look like a jealous idiot. Go on, get him back over here.”

      Keith shrugged, grinned, and then did as she asked. He walked to the bar and set a hand on Jake’s shoulder and said something to him. The pretty bartender laughed at whatever was exchanged, and added the last cup to a tray that their waitress came to take. She led the way back to the table and, much to Melody’s relief, Jake and her brother followed.

      Melody picked up her cup and drank, barely aware that the chocolate concoction was hot.

      “Sweetie, if you want to swill something, it really shouldn’t be hot chocolate. Beer is best for swilling, wouldn’t you say, Jake?”

      “I suppose it’s a proper beverage for hefty consumption,” Jake said.

      “He knows who you think you are,” Melody said.

      “I know who I am. My name is Jake Mallory,” Jake said.

      “And you were at the end of a hangman’s noose?” Keith said.

      Jake seemed very tall and straight. “That is the absolute truth,” he said quietly.

      “And you know nothing that’s happened since the American Revolution?” Keith asked.

      “Only what your sister has been kind enough to tell me,” he said sincerely.

      Keith stared at Melody. “Huh.” He grinned suddenly. “Well, I know what we should do after dinner.”

      “What?” Melody asked dubiously.

      “A DVD glut.”

      She cast her head to the side and smiled slowly. “History and pop culture.”

      “Excuse me,” Jake said. “A DVD glut?”

      Melody groaned. Her brother began a scientific explanation.

      “I see,” Jake said.

      Keith rose. “Time for dinner. I came to fetch the two of you. Can’t be late for Mom’s nouvelle cuisine.”

      “We’re having stew, I believe,” Melody said.

      “Whatever,” Keith said. Then, “Stew? Oh, no. God knows what she puts in those Crock-Pots.” He grimaced. “She thinks she has powers.”

      “So Melody said. Maybe she does,” Jake said.

      “Forget it, forget it,” Melody said, rising. “My mother does not have powers. Please, don’t go encouraging her to think that she does! Come on, let’s get home.”

      Keith had brought his car. He encouraged Jake to ride with him, telling him that he could explain the workings of the vehicle much better than Melody might ever manage. She decided to let the two of them go—there was nothing that Keith didn’t know already, so whatever Jake said to him, it wouldn’t matter.

      She reached the house first and Keith and Jake pulled in right behind her. Other than the fact that his hair was long—easily understandable, if he made his living as an historic interpreter—Jake looked as if he belonged right where he was.

      That was good.

       Oh, Lord, she was beginning to fall for his fantasy!

      She shook off the thought as she headed for the house. Before she reached the door, Brutus was howling out a welcome. She entered the house quickly. One good thing about Brutus—no one would ever come sneaking up on the house. Brutus was louder than the most obnoxious doorbell ever created.

      Wheels for legs did not prevent the basset from having a tail that wagged so hard it was like being whacked when it hit ya.

      “Lovely!” her mom called, coming СКАЧАТЬ