Caroline drenched the chicken pieces in flour as the oil sizzled in her cast-iron skillet. How could she remember the exact temperature for getting a perfect scorch on her fried chicken, yet not remember whether or not her fiancé even liked her cooking?
Glancing at the digital clock on the stove, Caroline realized that she was stressing about what to feed Craig when she should be worried about the fact that he might not be coming back at all.
No. Of course he would come back. Her gut knew it, even if her head was slow to see all the other signs. He’d sat with her in the hospital all night. If he was going to bail out on her, he would’ve done it long before now.
She’d spent the past hour walking around her house, looking in drawers and pulling out old family photo albums, gaining more comfort and confidence each time she’d come across another detail in her life that she recalled clear as day. If she had her laptop, she would get online and do some research on amnesia and concussions and anything else that could be wrong with her brain.
Not that anything else seemed to be wrong. As far as she could tell, Craig was the only person in her world that she didn’t remember. Sure, it was disconcerting, but it would’ve been downright eerie if she didn’t have that steady sensation that there was definitely something about the man that felt right.
Turning up the volume on the music channel on her television, Caroline sang along with the classic country station, taking further solace in the fact that she still knew all the words to every George Jones, Dolly Parton and Conway Twitty song by heart.
When Tammy Wynette came on and encouraged her to stand by her man, Caroline hiccuped a little giggle. Her mother had once caught her only child listening to that particular song and immediately put on her Helen Reddy CD and had her daughter memorize the lyrics to “I Am Woman” instead.
Caroline really needed to email her parents. She’d video chatted with them on Monday, but they never went more than four or five days without at least a text conversation. They were bound to get worried if they didn’t hear from her soon. Not that Caroline would tell them about being in the hospital. Her dad had a writer’s imagination and she didn’t need him thinking the worst and flying back to the States early just to check on her.
A light knock sounded at the door and she padded out of the kitchen in her pink fuzzy slippers. Looking through the peephole, she felt a charge of excitement surge through her when she saw Craig standing on her porch.
“You didn’t have to knock,” she told him as she yanked the door open so quickly, it bumped against her shoulder. “I left it unlocked for you.”
“I didn’t want to just barge in and scare you, especially if you were still asleep.”
“I’m awake.” She smiled, then felt her lips falter as she realized she was standing there like an eager cocker spaniel, stating the obvious. Caroline stepped aside to let him into the house.
Craig handed her the laptop case and her smartphone with twenty-four missed calls and twice as many text alerts. He sniffed and asked, “Are you cooking something?”
Caroline was still leaning against the open door frame and the chilly air reminded her that she’d taken off her sweatshirt when she’d started working in the kitchen. Craig’s eyes dropped to where her hardened nipples pressed against the soft cotton fabric of her tank top. However, instead of shivering from the cold, Caroline was filled with a rush of warmth from his intense stare.
If it had been any other person standing there, she would’ve clutched the laptop to her chest and blocked his view. But there was something slightly empowering about having this type of effect on her man. Overcome with a boldness she couldn’t explain, Caroline pushed her shoulders back, making her small breasts thrust further out. She saw the muscles in his throat swallow and then she actually did shiver.
“Yes,” she finally said, then spoke louder. “I’m making fried chicken and mashed potatoes. I wasn’t sure what you liked to eat so I hope that’s okay?”
Walking toward the kitchen, she set her laptop down on the dining table along the way. She heard Craig closing the front door and wondered if she should’ve also grabbed her sweatshirt off the back of the sofa and covered up. Even though they were engaged, she was completely alone in her house with the man. A man who looked at her as though she was the most attractive woman in the world and he was just now seeing her for the first time.
Of course that was silly on both accounts—she was by no means beautiful and, obviously, Craig had seen her before. But why did it suddenly feel as though she was now playing with fire?
Trying to ignore all these unfamiliar emotions battling inside her, Caroline flipped the chicken over in her trusty skillet, needing to ground herself in something she understood. Food.
A tingling crept up the back of her neck and she glanced over her shoulder, spotting Craig leaning one of his jean-clad hips against the counter.
“That’s my favorite,” he said, still staring at her, his nostrils slightly flared.
Caroline’s mouth went dry. “What is?”
“Fried chicken.” But his dark blue eyes weren’t focused on the food in the pan. They were studying her and all that lovely heat was spreading through her body again. “You asked if it was okay.”
“Oh.” Caroline forced her own attention back to the stove.
“Do you need any help in here?” he asked.
She allowed her head to turn only slightly in his direction. “You know how to cook?”
“Of course. I’m the oldest of eight kids and I grew up on a ranch. My parents made all of us learn how to do every job around the place from wrestling steers to feeding baby calves to churning homemade butter.”
“When I was a kid, I didn’t even have baby dolls to take care of. I wish I had grown up with siblings. What was that like?”
“Trust me, my brothers and sisters were way more needy and annoying than baby dolls. But once in a while, they would come in handy when we had a lot of chores to do.”
“Are ranches a lot of work?” she asked, wanting to keep the conversation off anything that would make her think about how close he was to her in this tiny kitchen.
“You have no idea.” Craig made a weird huffy sound that came out as a chuckle. It was the same noise her college roommate had made when Caroline enrolled in the same linear algebra class as the serious math major. By the end of the semester, the roommate was coming to Caroline for tutoring.
There were few things in this world that Caroline actually found to be all that challenging once she set her mind to it. So when someone implied that she couldn’t handle something, it only made her want to master that very thing. It didn’t matter if it was ranching, advanced mathematics or mashing some potatoes while a sexy cowboy stood so close, her tummy felt like it was doing flips.
Oh, and she could also do flips, thanks to her years on two different junior high gymnastics teams.
She was tempted to say as much to Craig, but it was always easier to just show people what she could do. Although she had to admit that she’d been the first one to question his abilities when he’d offered to help her cook.
Instead, Caroline forced a smile and told her fiancé, “I’ve got things under control in here.”
“Oh. Okay.” He put his hands in his back pockets and she turned to the fridge to pull out more ingredients for the potatoes. She was reaching for a pint of half-and-half when he added, “Then would you mind if I used your shower?”
She turned around so quickly, the carton of butter she’d been holding slipped out of her grip, and one of the sticks popped out and landed near the toe of his cowboy boot. Before he could bend down to pick it up, she was already forming an image of a very naked Craig in her small, steamy bathroom.
“Unless you’d rather I stay here to help,” he said, holding out the butter that was still wrapped in its wax paper, one corner completely dented. It was then that she noticed he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on at the hospital yesterday. No wonder he wanted to take them off. She stared at the buttons on his shirt, thinking how easy it would be to slip them through their little holes and... Stop, she commanded herself, then drew in a deep gulp of air and found her voice.
“No, I’m fine. I’ll get you a towel as soon as I turn the heat down in here,” she offered, then caught her breath at the double meaning. “The heat on the stove, I mean. Unless you already know where the towels are. Assuming you’ve taken a shower here before. Not that you would have, unless there was a time when you needed to. Although how would I know either way? It’s not like I’ve been giving a lot of thought to you being in my shower. And now I’m just babbling and not making sense at all. I better just show you where the linen cabinet is.”
Except he didn’t seem the least bit confused by her rambling, awkward speech. In fact, his normally questioning eyebrow remained firmly in place as he lifted one side of his mouth and replied, “I think I can figure it out.”
* * *
Caroline Ruth had almost as many bottles lined up on her tiled shower wall as she did on the narrow shelf above her pedestal sink. Although he’d never shared a bathroom with his sisters, Craig knew perfectly well that women tended to like a variety of beauty products, especially ones that smelled good. However, the amount of choices on display before him had to be some sort of record.
Craig sniffed at the open lid of the fancy shampoo. At least, he assumed it was fancy judging by the French label. He also assumed it was shampoo since he didn’t speak French. But it wasn’t like he was some young, inexperienced buck. He was thirty-five years old and had stayed the night at ladies’ places before. But that was mostly when he’d been traveling on the pro circuit, and he usually did so only after a night out celebrating a good ride. Then he’d be back on the road, heading for the next city. He’d never really been all that invested in a relationship enough to pay much attention to what the women he dated stocked in their bathrooms.
Well, except for Tina. She’d been his neighbor and they’d practically grown up at each other’s houses. Tina had been the type to use whatever soap was on sale at the local market. It was why she’d been the perfect partner for Craig. She didn’t care about all these frilly, girlie things like—he squinted his eyes at the label across the white bottle he’d just knocked over—Paraben-Free Volumizing Conditioner with Added Boost. She cared about horses and working hard and merging her family’s ranch with his. Unfortunately, Craig’s dream of the perfect partnership and the perfect relationship had died along with Tina many years ago.
Pretending otherwise with Caroline wasn’t fair to either of them.
Foregoing the shampoo bottle’s posted recommendation of a five-minute wait time, Craig stuck his head under the nozzle to rinse off. Then he turned the water as hot as he could stand it, hoping the steam would drive away all the cravings the pretty wedding planner had recently brought back into his world.
His skin was red and stinging when he finally shut off the water. Maybe he should’ve taken a cold shower instead. He grabbed a fluffy lavender towel—because apparently there was nothing masculine in this house—and wrapped it around his waist. Wiping his hand across the fogged-up mirror above the sink, Craig stared at his reflection.
What was he doing here?
He needed to go out there and tell Caroline the truth. He needed to call Josselyn or Drew or Dr. Robinson and inform them that he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep lying to that poor, sweet girl.
No. She wasn’t a girl, he reminded himself as he saw an edge of lace peeking out from behind the damp towel hanging off a hook on the back of the door. She was a woman. A woman who clearly wasn’t wearing a bra right this second. And he’d boldly stared at her small, firm breasts as though he’d had a right to look. He’d stood there in her open doorway wondering what shade of pink her nipples would be as his palms had itched to slide up underneath her skimpy tank top.
Now that his body recalled the image, he had to refasten his towel over his growing arousal. Cursing, he dug into his duffel bag to pull out his shaving kit and ended up knocking the whole thing off the toilet. This bathroom was so tiny.
Hell, the whole house was tiny. It felt as if everything was shrinking in on him. How was he going to last the entire night with Caroline and not accidentally touch her? There had to be someone else who could stay here with her.
As though reading his exact thoughts, Craig’s phone lit up with an incoming text from Drew. How’s our patient?
She seems to be completely fine, Craig’s big fingers tapped out awkwardly on the minuscule keyboard.
It was the truth. Caroline looked totally healthy. Almost too healthy, if one asked Craig’s growing libido. He stared at his screen, hoping that his buddy would give him permission to abandon his caregiver duties.
Head injuries are like that. They can seem fine one minute, and the next minute... Drew didn’t finish his sentence, letting three little dots at the end of his sentence imply all the potential risks to Caroline.
Those three dots were the reason Craig was here. Nobody knew what to expect.
When Craig didn’t reply, another text bubble appeared from Drew. Has she regained her memory yet?
As far as I can tell, she knows everything else about her past except who I am. It’s weird.
The brain is a weird and complex thing.
Thanks for the anatomy lesson, Dr. Drew. But what do I do in the meantime? I can’t keep pretending that we’re engaged.
What else do you have going on right now?
Craig pushed a lock of wet hair off his forehead before typing, It’s not a matter of my time.
You want me to see if Ben can come stay with her?
Even with all the hot air surrounding him, Craig went cold at the thought. No, he typed and hit the send button.
It’s me she wants, not Ben, he began typing, then immediately deleted the words. That would make him sound jealous when he clearly had nothing to be jealous of because none of this was real. Caroline didn’t truly want him. She didn’t even know him.
It’s that none of this feels right. She’s going to be so pissed when she finds out we have been tricking her, Craig wrote instead, purposely using the word we to remind Drew that he was in on this asinine plan.
There was no response for a while, so Craig set his phone down and lathered his face. He was halfway done shaving when Drew’s next text came through. Just try to be as honest as possible without stressing her out. And remember, it’s not YOU tricking her. It’s her brain.
But why did her brain pick me? he replied. Not that he would’ve preferred it picking Ben.
This time, he didn’t have to wait long for Drew’s response. Buddy, I may be a doctor, but even someone as smart as me doesn’t know why ANY woman’s brain would pick you.
Haha, Craig texted, then added an emoji of a hand making a crude gesture. That was pretty much the extent of his technology skills.
He finished shaving and found a clean pair of jeans in his duffel bag. However, all the steam in the enclosed space made his skin damp and he had to wrestle the jeans over his legs. After he finally buttoned his fly, he decided he needed to let in some cool air before pulling on one of his T-shirts.
When he opened the bathroom door, Caroline stood on the other side, one arm raised as though she’d been about to knock. At first, her eyes were round with surprise, but then her lids lowered toward his bare chest. He resisted the urge to flex his pectoral muscles, but he also couldn’t bring himself to break her concentration as she studied him, a slight hitch in her breathing. After all, it had been a while since his body was whole. Since a woman had been so obviously and physically responsive in her assessment of him.
They stared at each other for what felt like minutes before she finally squeaked, “Dinner’s ready.”
Caroline pivoted quickly and her slim legs practically ran toward the living room. When she was finally a safe distance away, Craig’s only thought was that if they both kept looking at each other like that, they would never get through the night.