A Stranger She Can Trust. Regan Black

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “You will,” he replied confidently. He would cling to that belief, sure her memory would return, for both of them. “The hall bathroom should have whatever you need. Feel free to raid the closet or dresser. My sisters leave stuff here all the time and they won’t mind.”

      “Are you always this generous?”

      “Only with their stuff.” He regretted the joke almost immediately as her gaze clouded over. “I’m kidding.” He extended a hand to offer comfort, then quickly pulled back, reluctant to send any mixed signals. At this point he was basically her doctor, and he needed to maintain that distance. “Take a shower, and I’ll redress and treat the areas that need attention when you come downstairs.”

      “Okay.”

      As she turned and walked down the hall to the guest room, he realized she was barefoot. The sight charmed him. He ducked back into his bedroom and tried to stifle the awkward blend of empathy and pride that in the midst of her crisis, she trusted him enough to ditch the shoes.

      Unwilling to have another encounter in the hallway, he waited until he heard the taps running before heading downstairs to start on breakfast. His own stomach was rumbling loudly by the time he started oatmeal, so he heated a skillet for bacon and cracked a few eggs into a bowl, whisking in pepper and a dash of salt and wondering if he should add dill and thyme the way his sisters did.

      He set out raisins, brown sugar and a small pitcher of milk to go with the oatmeal. Better to give her options, he decided, than force her brain to struggle and puzzle over what she preferred.

      The second round of bacon was sizzling in the pan when she appeared in ankle-length yoga pants and a souvenir shirt from the October music festival the Escape Club had anchored last year. Her glossy, damp hair was held back with a clip at the nape of her neck, and her hands were hidden in the pockets of the denim jacket. She’d slipped her shoes on.

      “It smells good in here,” she said with a lopsided smile.

      “Let’s hope that’s a good sign things will taste good.”

      She stepped closer to the stove. “You made oatmeal.”

      “Is that a problem?” She’d mentioned it last night, and he wanted to support anything familiar.

      “No.” She didn’t look convinced.

      “It’s a go-to comfort food in my family.” He tipped his head to the table. “We usually add apples, but I’m out. There are raisins and other toppings to make it interesting. I also have eggs and bacon going.”

      “I remember the aroma of oatmeal with cinnamon and apples, but I can’t put any faces or names with it.”

      “You will in time. It sounds like a positive memory,” he pointed out.

      “It does.” Her eyes glistened with a tear-raising emotion, but she didn’t elaborate or let the tears fall today.

      She ladled oatmeal into a bowl, added various toppings sparingly and stirred it before taking her first bite. “That’s delicious. Thank you,” she said, adding another spoonful of brown sugar.

      “You’re welcome.” He turned the bacon in the skillet. “You don’t have to thank me for every little thing. We stick by each other at the Escape Club, and we help out when and where we’re needed.”

      “That extends to people like me?” She took a seat at the counter, cradling her oatmeal bowl in her hands.

      “Yes, it does.” He pulled out a tray of bacon and eggs he’d kept warm in the oven.

      “Even when you don’t know who you’re sticking by?”

      He nudged a plate toward her. “Fill up as you please.” Treat her normally, he thought. They didn’t know her name, and it was better if they ignored that elephant-sized detail for now.

      He watched as she chose one slice of bacon and a small portion of the scrambled eggs. While it was possible she was cautious until she knew what she liked, he had the distinct feeling that someone had raised her not to waste food. As helpful details went, it didn’t rank very high on the list, but it was something to keep in mind. She murmured approval of everything she tasted and went back for seconds on the oatmeal.

      “Did you get any rest last night?” he asked as he set the machine for a second cup of coffee. She’d turned down the offer of coffee, sticking with water.

      “Some, thank y—” She cut off the gratitude with a self-deprecating quirk at the corner of her mouth. The move made her wince. “Some.”

      “Would you like another ice pack for the lip or the eye?”

      “Arnica oil,” she said, her entire body perking up. “You apply arnica oil to heal bruises.” She grinned and gave the oatmeal a stir. “I’m going to sit here and be thrilled I know that.”

      “Okay,” he agreed easily. “I don’t have any, but I can make a call. My oldest sister is big into alternatives to standard medicine.”

      Her grin faded. “Arnica is an alternative?”

      “It is to me,” Carson replied with an abbreviated laugh. “One more reason I’m glad I stopped at being a paramedic rather than going on to medical school. My sister and I fight enough as it is.”

      She savored the last bites of her oatmeal. “I don’t think I have a sister.” Her eyebrows furrowed a moment. “Or a brother. Thinking about siblings makes me feel strange.” She tapped a finger over her heart. “Not sad, but not happy, either.”

      He leaned back against the counter, his mug of fresh coffee steaming as he raised it to his lips. “Your injuries alone would play havoc with your emotions. Compound that with whatever ordeal has your memory locked down, and it’s not a surprise that you’re not sure how you’re feeling about any of this.”

      “I feel like I can trust you, Carson.” She gave him a lopsided smile as she used his name. “I’m basing all my reactions on that one point.”

      No pressure there. “I suppose you need to start somewhere.”

      “Right.” She twisted the paper napkin in her hands. “Now that it’s daylight, could you take me for a drive around the city? Please?”

      “Sure.” He took another gulp of coffee. “The cab driver said he picked you up near the Penn campus. We could start there and then head over to meet Grant at the club. He’ll want to see how you’re doing and share any information he’s found through his contacts.”

      “All right.” She gathered up the dishes and put them on the counter, systematically scraping each dish into the trash, then setting it in the sink. “What kind of contacts?”

      “He was a police officer and is still friends with people all over the city,” Carson explained as he loaded the dishes into the dishwasher. He urged her to have a seat while he finished the cleanup. “I’m sure he has people checking missing person reports or any reported domestic troubles.”

      “That sounds smart.”

      Hearing the catch in her voice, he glanced over his shoulder, then СКАЧАТЬ