Reclaiming His Past. Karen Kirst

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      Nevertheless, she didn’t want him here.

      He’d rather be anywhere but here, at the mercy of strangers, an unwelcome guest with no past and an uncertain future. His sole possessions were the clothes on his back. He had nothing with which to repay their kindness. No matter what type of man he’d been before, it galled him now to be a recipient of charity.

      So he was to be called Grant. He had no strong feelings about those particular five letters. It was nice and ordinary. A simple name, Jessica had said. But it likely wasn’t the one he’d been born with.

      What am I supposed to do, Lord Jesus?

      His heart rate doubled. That had been a spontaneous prayer. He must be a man of faith. Wasn’t difficult to believe in a divine Creator. All a man had to do was look around and see the evidence... Someone hung the stars in the sky, molded the mountains, carved the riverbeds, imagined the vast varieties of animals into being.

      He squeezed his eyes shut and offered up a plea. Heavenly Father, I’m in desperate need of Your guidance. The doctor’s not sure if I’ll ever recover my memories. I’m lost. Alone.

      “Grant?”

      Mrs. O’Malley approached his bedside, her eyes kind behind the spectacles.

      “I hope it’s all right that I call you Grant. Jessica told me you’d settled on it.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      There was little resemblance between her and her youngest daughter. Short and plump, the woman had liberal amounts of gray streaked through the brown hair she wore pinned into a thick bun. She was dressed conservatively in a serviceable blouse and black skirt, a ruffled apron with pockets covering the entire front. She possessed a maternal air he’d missed growing up.

      Hold on a minute. How had he known that?

      “Is your head paining you, son?”

      He realized he’d been gripping his head. “I—I think I’ve remembered something.”

      “Oh? That’s wonderful.”

      Alice didn’t press him. “Nothing specific. It was just an impression.”

      “Any progress, no matter how big or small, is a positive thing.” Smiling, she eased into the chair. “Doc said to tell you he’ll bring a cane when he checks on you tomorrow. You’re not to put weight on that ankle.”

      “I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to stay, Mrs. O’Malley. I regret putting you out like this.”

      “Call me Alice, please. You’re not a burden. The good Lord has blessed us, and we’re eager to pass those blessings on to others. We’re happy to aid you in any way we can.”

      Her daughter didn’t share in that particular sentiment. “As soon as I’m able, I’ll work off my debt.” He’d show Miss Jessica O’Malley that he wasn’t a lazy, no-good excuse of a man who preyed on women’s generosity.

      “Don’t worry about that. Concentrate on getting well.” Cocking her head to one side, she lifted a finger to stop her spectacles’ downward slide. “How has Jessica been treating you?”

      “She’s been very attentive.”

      While she hadn’t tried to hide her dislike, she’d taken pains to see to his comfort. There’d been compassion in her expression when he’d embarrassed himself by almost being sick in front of her.

      Alice twisted her hands. “Jessica isn’t one to hide her feelings. She’s always been my most outspoken offspring. If she does come across as somewhat difficult, bear in mind that she’s been through a terrible ordeal and hasn’t allowed herself to heal.”

      He kept his silence. Inside, his thoughts whirled out of control. To what was she referring to?

      “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.” Glancing toward the hallway, she sighed. “A mother never stops worrying about her children.” Pushing out of the chair, she said, “I’ve got an errand to run. Try to get some rest.”

      When she’d gone, he turned his attention to the view beyond the window glass, not really seeing the trees arrayed in brilliant crimson, orange and gold framed by majestic mountain ridges. Curiosity ate at him. The alluring, feisty redhead was as much a mystery as his past. The only difference being that, with time, persistence and a little finesse, he could unravel hers.

       Chapter Three

      Of all the farms in these mountains, he just had to go and wind up on theirs.

      Jessica didn’t need another complication. She had enough to deal with without adding an aggravating male to the mix. Chopping the mound of raisins into tiny slivers, she tried to rein in her frustration.

      Why did You lead him here, Lord? Why did You choose us to be his caretakers?

      Of course, there wasn’t an answer. There never was. She’d been asking God why for a long time. She’d come to despise the silence.

      Laying down the knife, she turned to check the almonds bubbling atop the stove. The heat from the firebox wrapped around her, and she was considering opening the rear door to let in fresh air when she heard the slide of stocking feet across the floorboards.

      “What are you doing out of bed?” she exclaimed.

      “The walls were closing in.” His lips contorted into a half grin, half grimace.

      Looking scary-pale and about a second from collapsing, their patient—Grant, she must remember—reached for the closest sturdy object, which happened to be a ladder-back chair at the table. She rushed to his side. Without thinking, she wrapped an arm about his waist and took some of his weight as he slumped into the seat. Hovering there for a moment, she waited to make sure he wasn’t going to lose consciousness.

      “You could’ve ripped the stitches open.” Her fingers digging into her waist, she felt the sting of temper flare in her cheeks. “And Ma said you weren’t supposed to walk on that ankle.”

      “It’s sweet how concerned you are for my well-being,” he panted, an outrageous twinkle in his eye.

      “You keep mistaking my intentions,” she said through gritted teeth. “The fact of the matter is, the faster you heal, the sooner you leave.”

      “Ah. Well, I promise to be a good boy and return to my room before Miss Alice comes back.”

      Jessica rolled her eyes. She refused to give in to his charm.

      Satisfied he wasn’t going to slide to the floor, she retrieved the kettle and set about fixing him tea, uncomfortably aware of his steady regard. It had been ages since she’d spent one-on-one time with any man outside her family. Perhaps she wouldn’t be so bothered by his presence if he were older and had warts on his nose.

      “Smells like Christmas in here. What are you making?”

      “A cake.”

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