The clothes relayed one image, her frail body another, and that haughty Midwestern voice, yet another. His gaze traveled over the woman. Around thirty, medium height. Whispery brown hair trailed her, riding the wind and revealing delicate cheekbones to match those dainty wrists and ankles. Her fresh, heart-shaped face might as well have home fires and bridge club tattooed across her forehead. He could almost smell the cookies baking through the plate-glass window.
She wouldn’t be making cookies anytime soon if she froze to death wearing that neon number.
Who the hell was she? And why did he care?
So her scum boyfriend had ditched her in a hotel, leaving her stranded. It wasn’t Jacob’s problem. She hadn’t even asked for his help. He’d helped her anyway by extending her checkout time until the phones were working again and she could call a friend to pick her up. Problem solved.
Jacob reached for his remote and began easing himself into his chair, which offered him a too-perfect view of the woman collapsing on the top step.
He’d already started toward the door when she jerked upright. She gripped the railing and began heaving onto the snowbank beside her.
Aw, hell. Jacob shrugged out of his sling and into a coat with a wince, grabbing an extra jacket for her. He wrenched open the door. Cold air in front and warmed air on his back vise-locked him until he jerked the door closed. He lowered himself beside her and waited.
Slowly she straightened and grappled in her pocket, pulling free a tissue.
He draped the extra coat over her stockinged legs. “You okay?”
She nodded, dabbing the wadded Kleenex along her mouth like his grandma used to do after a cup of tea. “Thank you. I’ll be all right in a minute.”
Jacob stared down the endless length of the two-lane highway. A familiar truck droned closer, a plow wedge on front. Just like any other day here. Except for the woman beside him. “I’m not so sure I agree. Seems like you have a problem Ms…. What was your name again?”
Her fingers fluttered to her necklace, the D glinting. She frowned. Her face cleared as her hand fell to her lap. “Dee. Dee Smith.”
“Smith, huh?”
“Yes, Smith.”
Let her keep her little secrets. Maybe she didn’t want her indiscretion to become public knowledge. “I don’t mean to pry, but it’s fairly obvious you’re stranded. Is there someone I can call to give you a ride?”
“There’s no one.”
That stunk. He remembered the feeling from when he was a kid with a dad who didn’t give a crap. Now he had people he could call on 24/7 anywhere, anytime. He could give a shout out to any of his Air Force friends stationed back at Charleston Air Force base in South Carolina. He even had some closer who’d transferred to the C-17 base in Tacoma.
He didn’t take that sense of family for granted, not for one second.
Dee slid her hands under the coat. “If you really meant it about staying in the room another few hours, I’ll just rest, then call a cab when the phones are up and working.”
“No cab’s going to come from Tacoma to this microdot on the map, especially not in this weather. It’s dicey if the roads will even stay open much longer.”
What would she do now to dodge telling him her real story? Playing mind games with each other could be fun, if she didn’t have that bleak expression plastered across her face.
He sat beside her and waited. He was patient and thrived on puzzles, like putting the pieces together in an engine so things worked right again. Restoring order, even to a car, had given him a sense of control as a teen stuck in a chaotic home.
The rust-rimmed truck on the highway slowed and swerved into the parking lot. It bounced along the rutted ice, plowing with methodical sweeps. His ear tuned to listen for any warning noises from the engine, but the hum sounded a helluva lot better now thanks to his tune-up last weekend. Installing the new battery one-handed had been a challenge, but he’d enjoyed the familiar scents, routine, being able to fix something in his hay-wire world. Apparently not much had changed since he’d left.
Dee pointed to the teenage driver. “What about her?”
With each quick turn of the Ford 250, the girl’s ponytail bobbed just above her parka.
“That’s my sister.” Who shouldn’t be out in this storm, and certainly not with her baby in tow. But Emily had run wild on her own for years. Their father had been long on smiles, jokes and unkept promises, but short on maturity, structure and follow-through. He didn’t give a damn what his kids did so long as they didn’t make any demands on him.
Guilt kicked at Jacob all over again for not taking Emily along when he’d left. But the state wouldn’t pull her out of her father’s care to stay with a military brother who was deployed most of every year. His job hadn’t changed, and he needed to figure out some way for a seventeen-year-old unwed mother to care for herself and her baby. “She uses our dad’s old truck to clear driveways and side roads before school for extra money. School’s canceled and she shouldn’t even be out at all. No help for you there, I’m afraid.”
He needed to move this woman along and have a talk with his sister. Emily avoided discussing the future as if somehow that would make their problems disappear.
“Oh.” Dee’s blue lip quivered as Emily’s truck disappeared around the office to clear the back lot.
As much as he needed to move on, he couldn’t just walk away, not when tears hovered on the edges of her eyelids. “Hey, now, are you okay?”
“I’m not crying.” She sniffled.
“Right. Of course you’re not.”
“I’m not!” The starch layered back into her voice and spine.
“Okay!” His hands raised in surrender.
Icy sludge from the plow gathered and slapped to the side. Dee drew her feet in, tucking Jacob’s coat around her ankles. Trim, delicate ankles, like the rest of her.
A slow burn started inside him.
She was prettier up close than he’d originally thought, not that he planned to do a thing about it beyond admiring the view. “I can give you a ride when the storm passes, but you’re probably stuck here for at least another night until the roads clear.”
Her eyes fluttered closed. “How much are the rates?”
“If you need a loan—”
“No handouts. But thank you.”
He wanted to tell her pride had a way of biting folks when they least expected it. He’d been so busy flying around the world to save people in other countries he’d let down his own sister. “I can give you a ride into town later.” He held up a freezing finger to stop her. “Just think it over and get back to me.”
Why was he so hell-bent on settling this woman’s problems? He had enough responsibility in that truck. Let the mystery woman snag a nap and come to her senses. She would either find someone to help her or accept his offer for a ride. No sweat either way.
Jacob pushed to his feet. He had better things to do than freeze his butt off for someone he didn’t even know.
But first, he would shovel the walkway one more time. Just to wait for his sister to finish so he could help with her baby daughter. Right?
Damn.
He kicked through the snow and yanked free the shovel embedded in a four-foot drift. Ouch. Just what his healing arm needed. The gunshot wound was six weeks old, the fractured bone about healed, but the incision from surgery still pulled like hell.
His muttered curses filled the air with puffy clouds. Jacob scooped a trail along the walk and flung it to the side, burying the spot where she’d thrown up. He kept shoveling, losing himself in the mundane task.
Dee didn’t move. The wind kept howling down from the mountains.
Jacob shoveled past her and stopped, resting his arms on the handle. “How bad are things?”
“The worst.” She dabbed her face with the tissue again, grandma-style.
He believed her. Hell, he’d been there in this very same place. Which made him wonder where she was from. Somewhere close by? He tried to recall what state the Suburban plates had sported, but he couldn’t remember having read what Mr. Smith wrote on the check-in form. He’d only made sure all the boxes were filled out. Regardless of how close or far away she lived, how damn sad to be this alone.
Jacob let the icy air clear away the bitterness. He couldn’t be like his old man and turn a blind eye to other people’s needs.
“I have a job open here to tide you over for a few days. Doesn’t pay much, but you can have a room to sleep in and all the Continental breakfast doughnuts you can eat until you figure out what to do.”
She opened her mouth. “But—”
“Wait before you answer. The job’s nothing glamorous. You’ll be cleaning rooms. It’s dirty, hard work, even when there are only a few rooms filled. You’ll earn every penny I pay you.”
Her lips pressed tightly together before she blurted, “There’s something you should know.”
More secrets? More obligation. Not a chance. “Hold on. I don’t need your life story or anything.”
She laughed, a high-pitched, nervous sort of sound. “Don’t worry. I’m not likely to spill it anytime soon.”
“Are you in trouble with the law?”
She twisted her wind-raw hands together. “Not that I know of. But I may not be around long.”
“To be fair, this motel might not be around much longer, either.” Selling the place—if he could even find a buyer—was an option, if he could persuade his sister to leave. “Let’s just get through this next batch of tourists.” He leaned forward on the shovel handle. “And no drugs.”
Her nose tipped with an air a mite too haughty for a woman in her position. “Of course not.”
Yet, again, he believed her, with not even one good reason to call upon, and a thousand bad ones telling him she was trouble. “Then that’s all I need to know for now. About the job?”
“I’ll take it. Thank you.” Her eyes met his, lit with hope and gratitude.
Her pretty face shone with a gentle beauty that threatened to draw the air from his lungs more effectively than the biting wind. What the hell had he just done?
Lord, she hoped fate would cut her a break. Dee wrapped the coat tighter around her legs and considered her options.
Jacob Stone’s offer had seemed the perfect answer, but “Mr. Smith’s” fake registration and apparent desertion led her to believe her instincts on men hadn’t been stellar even when she’d possessed a full set of memories to draw upon. God, she was so scared.
What kind of person was she? Someone who stayed in cheap motels with men who slipped away the next morning? She tried to wrap her mind around that image of herself, and it didn’t fit.
Did amnesia change a person’s basic nature? Perhaps.
Hopefully the phone lines would be up soon. She could put in a call to the cops, even if the roads were impassable. Maybe she had a big, fat account full of money somewhere and could spend her hundred dollars without concern while she waited.
Except that didn’t feel right, either. Just as she knew she wasn’t the one-night-stand kind of woman, she also knew she needed to cling to every penny of that hundred dollars.
Taking the job was the best solution for now. Having a plan didn’t stop the fear, but at least her hands stopped shaking.
Dee draped Jacob’s extra coat over her arm and struggled to her feet, hoping her wooziness had fled for good. The mere thought of ammonia made her want to gag. “Okay, Mr. Stone. Point me to the mop and bucket so I can get to work.”
“It’s Jacob. And you should change first.” His gaze lingered a second too long on her dress.
She yanked her coat closed, unsure if she should bristle at his order. The guy did have a way of taking charge. She reminded herself not to be a temperamental ingrate. “Which rooms should I start with?”
