The Texan's Surprise Return. Jolene Navarro

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      “My dad took all the kids to my house. We were about to clean up. Belle’s in the backyard,” she replied, her voice sounding stronger.

      When the door opened and closed behind the sheriff, he was alone with a wife he didn’t remember. Shifting, he pulled out of her reach. If he had any chance of controlling his ability to speak and think, he needed space.

      Leaning against the post opposite of her, he looked out into the night, past the lights and into the darkness. In the silence, he could make out the waves hitting the distant shore.

      Homesickness was a sucker punch to his gut. It almost knocked him back. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how much he had missed the ocean. “The ranch? Does it go to the Gulf?”

      She got to her feet but didn’t move toward him. “Yes. There’s over a mile of coastline. About half is sandy beaches, the other half rocky. How do you not remember?”

      “We were ambushed. I was unconscious for a few days. When I came to, I had no memory. I woke up in a hidden camp.” His voice was raw and low.

      “The rebel group?” She moved closer.

      Turning, he tried to study her face. He nodded, and pain shot up his neck, going straight to his eyes.

      “None of that matters right now. You’re home. It’s a miracle.” A soft laugh floated in the air. “I don’t use that word lightly. But I don’t know what else to call it when a man returns home from the dead.” Her mouth turned up at the corners. “At Christmastime, no less. My eyes say you’re here, but it doesn’t seem real.” She cupped his face, her thumb smoothing over his cheekbone.

      Giving in to the pain, he lowered his body to the steps, dropped his head in his hands. He closed his eyes, but the torturous Christmas joy drove through his lids with each pulse.

      Following him, she sat at his side. Her gentle touch was warm on his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Can I help?”

      He stiffened against the desire to lean into her. “Lights.”

      Coldness set in as soon as she pulled away. “Oh. Of course. I’m so sorry.” And with that she was gone.

      Alone, he rubbed hard against his scalp, pushing the pain away. It was stronger than him. He heard the door open, and immediately the lights went dead.

      The peaceful light of the moon was a welcome relief and he took in a deep breath. The door closed, and her soft footsteps stopped right behind him. His gaze stayed focused on his boots.

      “Is that better?” Her voice was as soft as a summer shower washing away the heat and grime.

      He nodded when all he really wanted to do was beg her to hold him. He might not have clear memories of her, but she was somewhere inside him. The need to be close to her had him wanting to share his fears and concerns.

      He didn’t share with anyone.

      Despite his best efforts to keep her at a distance, she settled in next to him. One more inch and she could rest her head on his shoulder. His gut tightened. “We’ve done this before. Sat on the steps and looked at the stars. You’d rest your head on my shoulder.” The memory was like an old photograph, without any sense of time or reason.

      One move and she had her head resting on him, her hand flat against his heart. “You remember.”

      He hated the hushed excitement in the soft voice.

      “No. More like a feeling of déjà vu.”

      The smell of honey and wildflowers surrounded him in the quietness of the night. The scent made him want to bury himself in her hair and hide, but he didn’t. The scent was so familiar. More so than his own name. He snorted at the irony of that.

      “What is it?” she asked him.

      He reached out and touched a strand of hair falling along the side of her face in a long, lazy curl. The rest of her hair, dark and thick, sat in some sort of fancy twist on the top of her head. “I know your scent. Summer Sunshine.” He closed his eyes and groaned.

      Before the last word was out, he wanted to pull it all back. “That sounded kind of creepy.”

      “How do you not know me, but you know the name of my shampoo and lotion?”

      “I’m not sure. Maybe smell has its own memory bank?”

      “It’s from a local farm. I’ve worn it since high school. No matter where you were, each Christmas I’d get a basket full of the soaps, shampoos and lotions, even laundry pods and candles from you.”

      “I haven’t been…” The words stopped. Not a single found it to his lips. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

      She waited but then must have realized he couldn’t speak.

      “No.” She sighed. “I was debating whether to go and buy it myself. It would mean you were really gone. But you must have set it up on an annual thing because I received a box in the mail. The first year I cried like a baby.” She sat up and pulled her knees up to her chest. “Receiving the gift was strangely like losing you all over again.”

      Unshed tears were in her voice, but she wasn’t crying. He wanted to make it right but didn’t have a clue how to go about doing that.

      With a sigh and her face turned to his, she touched the corner of his eye, tracing the scar that went to his jaw. “What do you remember?”

      He searched his memory, trying to pull up something, anything, that might make her smile, but it was still blank. “I’m sorry. Until they extracted me from the camp, I thought I was someone else. My brain is a scrambled mess of false information.”

      She stood and walked to the other side of the steps, gripping the railing. He readied his body to catch her if she fell again. To his relief, she settled in one of the rocking chairs.

      “You know my scent, but you don’t know who I am?” she repeated.

      Xavier didn’t say a word. Instead, he studied the night sky. In her voice there was so much hurt. Hurt he had caused. “Now that I’m home, the doctors say I have a good chance of recovering most of my memories. And with therapy, my eyesight could be healed.”

      “Your eyesight?”

      He tapped his fingers against his head. “I had some damage. Brain trauma. My vision was affected.” He stopped talking and closed his eyes. “But I know your voice. It’s here.” He touched his temple. “I just need to sort through the information.”

      She gasped. “You’re blind.”

      “Not really. More of depth issues and…” He rubbed his forehead. “Words are sometimes hard to form. There’s a disconnect from my head to my mouth. It all comes and goes.”

      Wife. Selena. Yes. Those words he knew. They just needed filing in the right place, connected to the right images. Then he could get his life back.

      Carefully, he opened his eyes and tried to СКАЧАТЬ