Chapter 17

“Good morning, Peter,” she said arriving in the kitchen just as the coffee finished brewing.

“You remember my name! Wow, such good news. You must have decided to use the patch. I’m so glad it is working.”

“The patch?”

“The herbal…” Her blank stare said it all.

She pulled out her smart phone and tapped at the keys. “Ah, the patch,” she said, feeling for it in her pocket. “No, it’s still here; I didn’t use it. I used my smart phone. This morning it rang and when I found it, there in front of me was a picture of you with your name along with instructions on how to find a special document with information on things which happened to me before I can remember.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Coffee?” he offered.

“You have wolfish eyes. Wow. Yes, a coffee would be great. I believe I take sugar.” She was staring at him, like she had the first day they’d met—her eyes not leaving his face even as he hunted in the cupboards for mugs and sugar cubes. He could smell her arousal.

“Marie, does your document explain we have to figure out some kind of permanent living arrangements for you?”

“There were a bunch of sad highlights I read, about now being on my own and needing to figure things out for myself. I’m programmed to survive though, so I’m not sure why it seemed such an issue yesterday.” She quit staring and began scrolling through her phone.

“I don’t think your survival programming counted on you being an amnesiac. At least that’s my understanding.”

“The most important thing, apparently, is deciding whether or not to use the patch. I can no longer remember the pros and cons and although I can read them on my phone, I don’t have the all-important emotional connotations and subtleties a memory would provide. It’s a decision that should not have been delayed.”

“The connotations and subtleties were too intense last night. You were too tired to sort through it all. You waited because you wanted it to be a rational decision.”

“I see. In that case…” She pulled out the patch, peeled off the backing and plastered it on her upper arm. “It’s hardly a difficult decision considering the lack of alternatives.” She scrunched the backing and looked around for the garbage. “I think I was expecting you to tell me that last night.”

“I wasn’t going to make a potentially dangerous decision for someone perfectly capable of deciding for themselves. It wasn’t like I had any special knowledge about any of it. You knew way more about the entire situation than I did.”

“I knew way more than you about everything the day we met in the bush yet you had no qualms about kidnapping me and overriding my every decision!”

“I’ve apologized—did you forget to note that fact in your document? Here, give me your garbage.” He grabbed the backing and threw it in the trash can under the sink. “I’ve poured your coffee. Go ahead and put in however much sugar you want and join me in the front room—it’s less messy than the dinette, and brighter in the morning.”

Her pheromones were enveloping her entire being, an aura of sexual energy damned near pulsated. He rushed from the room, wondering if arguing had stimulated her arousal—if it stimulated all women—if that was why make-up sex was so intensely pleasurable.

She still reeked of arousal when she joined him moments later. “Why don’t you find me attractive?” she asked.

“It wouldn’t be proper,” he said.

“Why not?”

“You’re too young.”

“I’m twenty-five. What are you, a grandpa?”

“You don’t look twenty-five. Don’t smell twenty-five.”

“It’s not fair you judge me by how I look. It’s not my fault the experiments did this to me. I read that you don’t like me calling you a wolf, even though your experiments have made you one.”

“I’m not a wolf! The experiments did NOT make me a wolf.”

“And I’m not fifteen.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re fifteen or fifty. I’m not the kind of guy who gets turned on by everything that happens to walk by in a skirt. Even if you were to look your true age, there’s no guarantee the sparks would fly.”

“You should broaden your base of potential mates. The opportunities might be scarce if you’re looking for ones in skirts. I don’t remember the last time I saw a lady in one.” She walked to his big garden window and looked out at the mellow morning.

“I don’t need your dating advice.”

“What is it you look for in a woman?”

“Something special.”

“It’s not all about procreation with you, is it? You’re looking to settle down.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s true. I’m ready to settle down, too, you know.”

“Forget it! Marie, the feelings I have toward you are…are…”

She turned from the window, a smile raising her lips. “Are what?”

“Platonic. Parental. Protective. Not romantic.”

“Give it time,” she said.

“No, it’s not going to work. It’s never going to work. I need a woman who acts her age. Talks her age—and not in robotic tones and stilted English. I need someone who doesn’t smell nubile. I need someone who will wake up beside me and remember who I am—without looking at her phone.”

“I suppose living with me as I am, would be quite challenging.” She sighed and sat down beside him. Together they looked out at the brown bareness that was an Alberta October.

“Marie, I know you’ll find someone who will fall madly in love with you and not mind those challenges a bit. However, your special someone won’t be me.”

“In that case, if I’m not anyone you fancy and your feelings toward me are platonic and puritanical, why must we find other permanent living arrangements for me? Can I not stay here? In your spare room?”

“NO!” He slammed down his coffee, almost breaking both the cup and the glass tabletop.

“Why not?”

He rose and paced to the window. “This is my space, my life. My home. I come and go and do as I please. I like it that way.”

“Yeah, I’d kind of cramp your love life, wouldn’t I? You wouldn’t have a hope in hell of finding a mate if you’re already living with a woman. Would it work if we were to tell people I were your daughter?”

He turned and glared at her. “NO!”

“Niece?”

“It’s not happening, Marie.” His phone rang and it was Sergeant Chris wanting to arrange a visit between Marie and Victim Services. Peter offered to take her to the Detachment. When he hung up, a great weight lifted off his shoulders.