“Let’s get some food in you, and we’ll see what we can figure out.” She opened the fridge. “I have milk, water, orange juice, Sprite—”
“Beer?”
“Sorry. Out of beer.” She liked a cold one now and then, but it just wasn’t a winter drink.
“Chili without beer is a crime in some places,” Reseph said. “Well, it should be. Sprite, please.”
She grabbed two cans and two glasses, and when she turned around, Reseph was seated. But he’d moved his bowl to a seat closer to hers. She sighed. Her mom would have said he needed to be house-trained.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
“It’s just chili.”
He shook his head, his wet hair brushing the sweatshirt collar. “For that, and for taking care of me.”
As if he were embarrassed, he looked down at the bowl and dug in.
Reseph had never seen a woman as beautiful as Jillian or tasted anything as awesome as her chili. Well, he was pretty sure of the never part. With her chin-length dark hair that was clipped shorter at the nape and brilliant green eyes, Jillian drew his gaze as often as his bowl drew his spoon. He was ravenous for both company and food, which made him wonder how long he’d been without either.
He finished off the bowl before Jillian had eaten a quarter of hers.
“I’ll get you more.” She started to stand, but he gripped her forearm and held her down.
“You’ve done enough. I can get it.” Though he supposed if he let her serve him, he’d be able to watch her fine ass sway in those worn jeans that hugged her perfect curves. Not even the worn black and blue flannel shirt she wore could hide what he suspected was a fantastic body.
No, he’d felt enough of that body when she’d been beneath him on the mattress to more than suspect.
She looked a little flustered… from his touch, maybe? He got that, because her warm skin felt so good under his hand, good enough that he wanted to leave it there. And he did, for a few seconds longer than was appropriate.
Because somehow he knew what appropriate was. He just didn’t care.
Had he always been like that? He was kind of a dick, wasn’t he?
With a mental shrug, he fetched a heaping bowl of chili and returned to the table. “So. Where are we?” When she gave him a startled look, as if he wasn’t sure he was in a kitchen, he laughed. “In the world. Where are we in the world?”
“Oh.” She smiled in obvious relief. A beautiful smile on a generous mouth and lips the color of a ripe apple. Made him wonder if they’d taste as sweet. “Colorado. We’re in the Rockies, near the Wyoming border.”
“Why?”
Her sable brows shot up. “Why?”
The spoon clacked as he dug into his bowl. “Why do you live here?” Why was he here?
“Um… because it’s where I grew up. I inherited the cabin from my parents when they passed away.”
He dug deep into his brain, trying to find a memory that involved his own parents, but there was nothing. “What do people do around here?”
“For a living, you mean?” When he nodded, she sipped her drink, as if needing time to come up with an answer. “Well, I guess they mostly work in the ranching, logging, or hunting industries. The nearest town is barely a speck on the map.”
“So why would I be here?”
She shook her head, making her hair sweep against her jaw in soft waves. “I have no idea.”
“Maybe I was hunting?”
“You were na**d. And you didn’t have a gun or bow.”
Bow. For some reason, having a bow… it sounded familiar. Naked? That sounded familiar, too. But maybe not na**d in the snow.
He considered the winter-nudist scenario. “Were there tracks near me? Maybe I was attacked.”
“If so, you don’t have a mark on you.” A soft blush spread across her cheeks, and he grinned.
“Got a good look at me, huh?”
“I was checking for injuries.” She cleared her throat. “In any case, you weren’t injured, and there weren’t any tracks near you, but the blizzard would have covered up any.”
He thought about that for a second. “What were you doing out in a blizzard?”
Her spoon clinked against her bowl as she fished for a kidney bean. “I was collecting the last of the firewood I cut yesterday.”
“Firewood…” He recalled the trees he’d seen while he was lying in the snowbank. “What’s the date?”
“December tenth.”
Cool. He might not like snow, but December was his favorite month. “It’s Christmas time. Maybe I was out here to get a Christmas tree.”
“Naked, with no ax or vehicle? And if you were, you were trespassing on private property.”
Reseph finished off his soda and asked, “You found me on your property?”
“Yep.”
He watched her stir her chili, her hands delicate but work-roughened. “You live here by yourself?”
“Yep again.”
“Why?”
She shrugged, making the embroidered black wolf emblem on the pocket of her shirt dance. “I like being by myself.”
Reseph definitely did not like being alone. “Do you have a mate?”
One dark eyebrow climbed up. “Like, a friend?”
“Like a lover. You know, a mate.”
“I’d sure like to know where you’re from,” she muttered. “But no. No… mate.”
For some reason, he liked that answer. “Why not? You’re pretty. You should have lots of them.”
She coughed a little. “Maybe we should concentrate on your situation.”
She was probably right, but he wasn’t sure where to even start. “Do you have a computer?”
“I do, but the Internet is dial-up, and it’s twitchy. Like the electricity.”
“What about TV?”
“I have a satellite dish, but it doesn’t always work.”
Twitchy Internet and electricity, spotty television, and snow. Christ, Jillian lived in hell. “What do you do out here? How do you keep busy?”
“I read a lot. Hike in the woods and hunt mushrooms. It isn’t hard to stay busy. The farm takes up a lot of my time.”
Hunt mushrooms? Who did that when you could buy them at the store? “Sounds like you’re massively tied down.”
Annoyance flickered across her face. “I’m not tied down. I love it here.”
“But you’re alone.” He eyed her, thinking she was too beautiful to ever be alone. “And a farm is a lot of responsibility.”
“Neither of those things are bad,” she said, but Reseph wasn’t so sure. Being alone sucked, and responsibility was just another way to say tied down. “And how did we get back onto me as the topic of conversation?”
“I have a history of a snowbank,” he said simply. “And I don’t even like snow.”
“I’m sorry, Reseph.” She dropped the spoon into her half-eaten chili, as if her appetite had gone. “When the storm dies down, we’ll take the snowmobile into town if the road isn’t clear. I’ll take you to the sheriff’s office and they’ll help you.”
Alarm rang through him, stealing his appetite as well. “You can’t take me there.” His voice was a humiliatingly low rasp.
“I have to,” she said, reaching for a napkin. “They’ll be able to help more than I can.”
His pulse kicked into high gear, and a load of hot adrenaline seared his veins. He wanted to find out who he was, but right now, the only thing he knew was Jillian and her cabin. He couldn’t deal with more unknown. He couldn’t be abandoned again. Assuming he’d been abandoned in the first place, anyway.
Hastily shoving back from the table, he stood, startling Jillian to her feet.
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Son of a bitch, that wasn’t true. He shook his head, which was starting to pound, almost as if there was someone on the inside, tapping on his skull. “Everything. Fuck, I don’t know.”
She started to move toward him, but he wasn’t ready to be touched or to be talked down or to answer questions. Some sort of sensory overload was making his brain tweak out. Or maybe he had hit his head. Whatever was freaking him out, he didn’t like it.
Before she could get closer, he grabbed his empty bowl and glass and darted to the sink. Then he stood there like a dolt, his palms sweating and his heart pounding.
“Reseph?” Her voice was tentative. Soft. “Are you okay?”
Not even close. “You have a dishwasher.”
“It’s old, but it works.”
He swallowed. “I don’t know how to use it.”
“Every model is different—”
“No. I don’t think I’ve ever used one.” It was such a stupid thing, but it made him feel so… lost.
“You have amnesia, Reseph.”
“It’s not that. I mean, I might not remember anything, but some things are familiar. I knew I liked chili. I know I like sex. I know how to use a computer. But I don’t know what to do with a dishwasher.”
Her hand came down on his as he held onto his bowl in the sink, and he changed his mind about not wanting to be touched, because her hand soothed him as quickly as a shot of fine tequila. Which was another thing he knew he liked.
“I’ll do this,” she said gently. “Why don’t you get some rest?”
“I’ve gotten enough rest.”
“Then go watch some TV. I have DVDs if the satellite isn’t working.”
He didn’t want to leave her, but he wasn’t even sure why. Still, he sensed that she needed some space, and why wouldn’t she? He was a stranger in her house, where she was clearly used to living alone. Really, it was a miracle that she’d taken him in. A lot of people would have left him to die.