A glass of mint iced tea in her hand and a paperback book in her lap, Emily lay on the chaise longue beside her parents’ swimming pool. The May day was warm, the air scented with roses and a vine of blooming jasmine that spilled over a wrought-iron trellis leading to her mother’s newly planted vegetable garden. Pots filled with white phlox and purple petunias surrounded the brick patio, while water bubbled from the mouth of a leaping bronze dolphin, then trickled down into a three-tiered fountain.
Emily had been told that the fountain had been last year’s birthday gift from her to her mother, that two weeks ago she’d helped plant bulbs in the garden, that only three days before her accident she’d stopped by after leaving work to drop off some pictures she’d taken at Easter.
They’d shown her photo album after photo album, videotapes of parties and family barbecues, pictures of her own apartment in Brookline. They’d made her favorite foods and played the music from Carmen, the last opera she’d attended with her parents.
She remembered none of it.
She’d been released from the hospital five days ago. After two days of tests and monitoring, Dr. Tuscano had concluded there was nothing physically wrong with her patient. The cut on her temple was healing well, her headaches were gone and all vital signs were normal. This morning she’d noticed that even the bruises scattered on her body were beginning to fade to pale yellow and soft blue.
How odd it had been to look in the mirror that first time and see a stranger staring back. Even though she’d prepared herself, she’d still been startled and a little frightened. She’d touched her chin-length dark brown hair, her cheeks, her lips, needed to make sure she wasn’t dreaming, that all of this wasn’t a dream.
Or a nightmare.
But Shane had been real. That much she knew. He hadn’t returned to the hospital after that last visit, or called her, either. She’d wanted so badly to see him again. Just one more time. Her family had meant well by fussing over her, but she was still confused by what had happened, still unsure of herself and what she was going to do. When Shane had been there, she’d felt calmer, more in control.
Let your mind go somewhere else, he’d told her.
She went there now. Back to her Caribbean island. The birdsong from her mother’s maple tree and the trickling water from the fountain made it easier to visualize her tropical paradise. She could feel the warm sand on her back. Hear the waves lap at the shore, see the yellow hibiscus sway in the breeze. The sun had begun to dip low on the horizon, turning the ocean into a sea of dancing stars. Shane rose up from the silvery water, his muscled shoulders and arms rippling as he dragged his hands back through his hair. He had the body of an athlete, a swimmer, lean and solid, defined.
Very well defined, she thought as he walked toward her. The tan cutoffs he wore were plastered to his hips and thighs, leaving little to her imagination. She smiled. Or should she say a lot to the imagination.
He stood over her, held out his arm to her. She placed her hand in his and rose up to meet him, then lifted her face as he lowered his. His mouth was gentle and tasted of salt and fresh air. When his tongue slipped between her lips, she opened to him, leaned into the warmth of his body and the heat of his kiss. His arms, wet and strong and so powerful, enclosed her, pulled her firmly against him—
“Emily.” Sandra Barone’s cheerful voice rang out. “I’ve brought you some soup and a sandwich.”
Jolted out of her fantasy, Emily spilled the iced tea she held in her hand. Her heart pounded as much from being startled as from her daydreaming about Shane.
“Oh, dear.” Sandra set down the tray on a small glass patio table and quickly handed her daughter a linen napkin. “I’m sorry I frightened you. I thought you heard me coming.”
“It’s all right.” Emily set her glass on the brick decking, then dabbed at the spilled tea on the chaise cushion. “I, ah, must have fallen asleep.”
“Well, I certainly hope so.” Her mother slid the table closer to the chaise. “I hear you walking the hallways and downstairs at night, plus you’ve barely eaten enough to keep a kitten alive. I made you egg salad today and minestrone. You used to love my minestrone.”
Despite the fact she wasn’t hungry, Emily tasted a spoonful of the soup and forced a smile. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”
“Emily.” Sandra sat down on the chaise beside her daughter. “You were never one to hide your feelings very well. You may not remember me right now, but I’m still your mother. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“It’s been a week.” Emily stared at the spoon in her hand, then looked into her mother’s soft blue eyes. “I haven’t remembered one thing. Not you, not Dad. Not this house. Nothing.”
“It’s going to get better, sweetheart,” Sandra said. “Easier. Some things just take time.”
“And what if it doesn’t get better?” Emily asked quietly. “What if I don’t ever remember?”
Sandra reached up to smooth her daughter’s hair, then tucked a loose strand behind her ear. A mother’s gesture, Emily thought. Caring and tender. And still, Emily thought miserably, she felt nothing for this woman beyond appreciation.
“Why don’t we just take one day at a time right now?” her mother suggested. “I know we’ve all been smothering you these past few days. Maybe it’s time we all give you some breathing room, let you work this out yourself. If your head isn’t speaking to you, why don’t you just listen to your heart?”
“Thank you.” Emily smiled at her mother, not a forced one this time. “I would appreciate that.”
Sandra kissed Emily’s cheek, sighed, then stood. “Don’t think this means I’m not worried about you, or that I won’t fuss over you at least a little. You might as well tell the sun not to rise or Mrs. Carmichael not to walk her Pekinese through my front flower beds. It will simply fall on deaf ears. Now, I’ll leave you to eat your soup. At least be polite and make an attempt at the sandwich. If I’ve done nothing else, I’ve raised my children with manners.”
Her back straight, Sandra walked back through the patio French doors. Because she wanted to please her, Emily picked up the sandwich, then nibbled at it while she watched a sparrow splash in the fountain, then shake its feathers and fly away.
Why don’t you just listen to your heart?
And what did her heart tell her?
To take action. Not to sit around. To do something.
What?
The answer came to her easily, and quite loudly.
Cookies.
Smiling, she quickly gathered up her things, then headed for the kitchen.
“For God’s sake, Shane, when the hell are you gonna learn how to cook?”
Shane turned the large firehouse oven to 425©, then tossed a box of frozen pepperoni pizza to Matt. “I am cooking,” he said, and grabbed another box. “And at least it’s recognizable. We’ve still got bets going whether that meat you served last week was beef or chicken.”
“Very funny.” Offended, Matt ripped open the box of pizza. “You know damn well it was fish.”
“Fish? Damn, I just lost five bucks.”
“That recipe dates back to my great-grandmother,” Matt said with a scowl. “She prepared that dish every spring to ensure a bountiful harvest.”
“Well, see, that’s where I think you’ve got it wrong,” Shane said cheerfully. “You weren’t supposed to eat it, you were supposed to bury it.”
“Watch it, Cummings.” Matt gathered up the empty pizza boxes. “Don’t you be messing with family tradition.”
He couldn’t very well mess with something he didn’t know anything about, Shane thought. With both his parents gone, there’d been no traditions to carry on. Unless he counted his uncle’s yearly St. Patrick’s Day Festival. You weren’t allowed in the pub unless you wore green, ate green and drank green. It was loud and rowdy, and for a day, everyone, no matter what their heritage, was Irish.
And that was the extent of Shane’s family and their traditions.
“And you better come up with something other than that packaged pudding you served yesterday,” Matt said on his way out the kitchen door, “or we’ll all bury you.”
“It was chocolate last night,” Shane called after Matt. “Tonight’s vanilla.”
“I’m gonna go get my shovel,” Matt yelled back.
So he couldn’t cook, Shane thought with a frown. Big deal. He got by just fine on frozen and fast food. But there had been a great deal of complaining lately about his meals. Maybe, just to shut everyone up, he should try to make more of an effort. At least with the dessert. He went to the pantry and looked inside. Maybe he could just disguise the pudding somehow. Make it less recognizable. He scanned the shelves. Pasta. Peas. Tuna. Corn oil. Olives. Nothing he’d ever eaten in a dessert.
I’m a dead man, he thought.
That was when he spotted the box of graham crackers. Bingo. Slap a few crackers on the bottom of a pan, dump the packaged pudding on top, then…what? Meringue. That was eggs, right? he asked himself. Whip up some eggs, just the whites, he thought, then dump that on top of the pudding and— Wait, didn’t meringue have to be cooked? Or maybe—
“Shane?”
He turned at the sound of the quiet, feminine voice.
Emily.
His pulse tripped at the sight of her standing in the doorway holding a square white box. She wore a lavender blouse and black slacks, and looked slightly flustered.
Damn if he didn’t feel a little flustered himself.
“I hope I’m not bothering you,” she said awkwardly.
Dammit, why did she have to show up now, looking so pretty and so lost? He’d managed to keep away from her this past week, though he hadn’t managed to keep her out of his thoughts. He’d nearly caved half a dozen times and gone to see her, then came to his senses.
He watched her worry at her lower lip and felt his heart lurch.
“You’re not bothering me.” Actually, he was very bothered, though not the same kind of bothered she was referring to.
“I just wanted to stop by and…say thank you again. For saving my life.” She glanced down at the box in her hands. “I made some cookies. And some brownies, too, with chocolate frosting.”
“Homemade cookies and brownies?” His mouth was already watering, though not just for the treats. “Bless you, woman. Now you’ve saved my life.”
When she looked at him curiously, he grinned. “It’s my night to cook. Let’s just say it’s not what I do best. The guys will forgive the frozen pizza if I share a few cookies with them.”
Clearly, a week’s rest had been good for her. Her high cheeks had a lovely bloom of rose on them, her whiskey-colored eyes sparkled with clarity. Soft, wispy bangs covered the fading bruise on her right temple and hid any sign of a scar she might have from the stitches she’d received.
An air of vulnerability still shimmered around her, Shane thought. A look of wide-eyed innocence that invoked a need to protect, to defend. A need that made him feel strangely, and ridiculously, possessive.
He moved close to her, caught the faint floral scent of her perfume. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” she said, her tone light, her smile brave. “Except for the little detail that, despite my family’s best efforts to remind me, I still don’t know who I am.”
Is that really why she’d come here? he asked himself. Not so much to say thank you, but to get away from her family?
And did he care?
She was here, that was all that really mattered.
His fingers itched to touch her. But this was hardly the time, and definitely not the place. By now, everyone in the station was aware of the fact that a beautiful woman was in the kitchen with him. There’d be comments, he knew, and while normally he would just laugh it off, the idea of anyone making lewd remarks about Emily set his teeth on edge.
“Well, I…I’ve got to go.” She hesitated, then held the box out toward him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you.” How polite they both were, Shane thought irritably, though the lust churning inside him at the moment was anything but polite. He set the box on the long kitchen table. “Stay for a while.”
“No, really. I should be going.”
“Emily.” With a sigh, he took her shoulders in his hands and leveled his gaze with hers. “I want you to stay.”
This time the smile made it to her eyes. “Okay.”
Dammit, but he wanted to kiss her. He felt the need to pull her close, knew it would be a very foolish thing to do. Yet, still he did not release her.
Emily knew she should step away from Shane’s touch. Knew she should say something light or casual, anything to break the sudden spell she found herself under. At the very least, she told herself, she should look away from the blue-green gaze he had locked on her.
But she couldn’t move. Could barely breathe, for that matter. It felt so right to be here with him, for his hands to be on her. The anticipation that he might kiss her made her pulse begin to race.
“Emily,” he said softly. “I need to—”
He paused, lowered his gaze to her mouth.
“What?” She let her head tip back, felt her lips open ever so slightly….
His hands tightened, then dropped away. “Check my pizza.”
“Oh. Of course.”
She was still holding her breath, she realized, and slowly released it when he turned away. She felt utterly ridiculous, and was glad his back was to her while she struggled to regain her composure. When he opened the oven, the aroma of Italian spices and melting cheese wafted out. The scents were familiar to her and she found them comforting as she wandered around the neat, spacious kitchen.
On the wall beside the refrigerator, snapshots and various announcements were pinned to a large cork bulletin board. Emily smiled at the picture of a baby girl named Martha on a birth announcement, then read the flyer beside it for an upcoming fireman’s bachelor auction at the Boston Marriott on the Long Wharf.
“I’ll give you a tour after we eat.” Shane shifted the pizzas around in the oven, then closed the door again. “Should be ready in about ten minutes.”
“I’m not staying to eat.” Just the thought of sitting around this big table with a crew of firefighters made her heart jump. “I really couldn’t. I just—”
“You think you can remember how to make a salad?”
“I— Of course I do.”
“Then you’re staying. Lettuce and tomatoes are in the fridge drawer, and whatever else you can find. Personally, I could do without it, but some of the guys are convinced it’s necessary.” He opened a cupboard and pulled out an armload of plates. “Unless you’d rather set the table.”
“The salad is fine.” After a week of sitting around being waited on, Emily felt almost giddy with something to make herself feel useful.
She found everything she needed, including a large bowl, and began to chop tomatoes, green peppers and mushrooms. She and Shane worked in amiable silence for a few minutes, and though she thought it odd that none of the other men had come into the kitchen, she suspected they were keeping their distance until dinnertime because of her.
She was grateful to all these men. Every one of them risked his life every time he went out on a call. In spite of the fact she’d lost her memory, she still knew that she was one of the lucky ones, that without them she wouldn’t be standing here at all.
She’d wanted to personally thank all the firemen for fighting the fire, and though the cookies had been an inspiration, she knew she’d especially wanted to see Shane. She’d even called the station before she came down to make sure he was working.
“Has the cause of the fire been determined yet?” she asked while she sliced a tomato.
“Nothing definite yet,” he said. “It’s still under investigation.”
She glanced over at him, watched him move back and forth to the cupboards and drawers as he set the table. The instant butterflies in her stomach made her feel like an infatuated teenager. She knew that she shouldn’t be here, but after a week in her parents’ house, she’d needed desperately to get out, if only for a little while.
“One of the nurses mentioned you own a boat.” She reached for a bell pepper. The nurses had mentioned other things about Shane, as well. That he was single and had never been married, that he’d dated a few of the nurses from the hospital, and that any woman who wanted to become Mrs. Shane Cummings had better take a number and wait in line.
And according to the nurses, it looked as if it would be a long wait.
“I’ve got a sloop at Boston Harbor Marina.” He moved beside her and reached for a pitcher in an overhead cupboard. “Ever been on a sailboat?”
“I don’t know.”
He set the pitcher on the counter, then took her chin in his hand and tilted her face upward. “Maybe that’s the fun of losing your memory,” he said with a smile. “Everything’s a new experience.”
“I hadn’t quite looked at it that way.” She smiled back. “But it’s certainly true.”
“You’ll remember, Emily,” he said softly.
“What if I don’t?”
“Then you don’t.” He traced her jaw with his thumb. “You just move forward, one day at a time, and build new memories. My shift ends tomorrow. I’ll take you sailing.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I don’t have to. I want to.” He lifted a brow. “Is there someone who’d rather I didn’t?”
She furrowed her brow in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“If I’m going to make a boyfriend jealous, I’d at least like to know ahead of time.”
“Oh.” Emily had learned from her sister that she’d dated someone named Jeffrey for a few months, but they’d broken up several months before the fire. “No. There’s no one.”
“Then I’ll pick you up in the early afternoon.”
“I’d like that.” Heavens. She wasn’t even trying to be coy. She was practically throwing herself at Shane. And she didn’t care.
Had she been this brazen before? she wondered. It was difficult to imagine, but certainly anything was possible.
As his hand lingered on her chin, the awareness shimmered between them again, just as it had only a few minutes ago. It frightened her how much she wanted this man to hold her, to kiss her. To tell her everything would be all right.
The oven buzzer sounded, but Shane ignored it.
“There is one thing I’ll bet you’ve never done before,” he murmured.
“What’s that?”
“Had dinner surrounded by twelve burly firemen.”
She laughed softly. “I’ll bet you’re right.”
“Prepare yourself, Miss Barone.” He dropped his hand away. “You are about to have what will most definitely be a memorable experience.”