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No Possessions, No Memories, Not Even a Name!
The wounded stranger found on Jessica O’Malley’s property has no idea who he is. And Jessica would be foolish to trust him after being proven so wrong about a former suitor who turned out to be a criminal. But Jessica’s wariness toward the newcomer is soon turning to interest...and hope.
Until he knows his true identity, “Grant” can’t make a life in this quaint Tennessee town. He certainly shouldn’t be thinking so much about the feisty redhead with beautiful, guarded eyes. But even as he fights to keep a distance from Jessica, his feelings for her grow. And he can’t help but wonder if he’ll want to return to his old life when his past is revealed.
Smoky Mountain Matches: Dreams of home and family come true in the Smoky Mountains
“You and I aren’t friends?” she said.
In the intimate closeness the serene, dark forest imparted, he lifted his head to regard her with eyes that had deepened to a navy hue. “That’s a question only you can answer, Jessica. Friends trust each other. They don’t suspect them of deceit and ill intent.”
There was no condemnation in his tone. He’d spoken frankly, but there was understanding there, too. As if he identified with her misgivings.
“In that case, the answer is yes.”
The slow arrival of gratitude, then relief and finally happiness passing over his clean-shaven features did serious damage to her defenses. Bolting to her feet, she bid him a brief good-night and reentered the house, seeking sanctuary in her room.
She couldn’t allow herself to like Grant Parker. Empathy was acceptable. Concern for his health was natural. But opening herself up to a man, even for something as innocent as friendship, could very well be the first step to disaster.
KAREN KIRST was born and raised in East Tennessee near the Great Smoky Mountains. A lifelong lover of books, it wasn’t until after college that she had the grand idea to write one herself. Now she divides her time between being a wife, homeschooling mom and romance writer. Her favorite pastimes are reading, visiting tearooms and watching romantic comedies.
Reclaiming His Past
Karen Kirst
MILLS & BOON
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I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.
—Psalms 32:8
To Kelly Young—who could’ve guessed we’d wind up in the same place? I’m so thankful for you and your family. Looking forward to many more years of friendship.
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Introduction
About the Author
Title Page
Bible Verse
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Extract
Copyright
Chapter One
October 1885
Gatlinburg, Tennessee
It wasn’t easy staying angry at a dead man.
Jessica O’Malley hesitated in the barn’s entrance, the tang of fresh hay ripening the air. The horses whickered greetings from their stalls, beckoning her inside, probably hoping for a treat. She used to bring them carrots and apples. She used to enjoy spending time out here.
This place had become the source of her nightmares. Her gaze homed in on the spot where the man she’d loved had died defending her. The bloodstain was long gone, but the image of Lee as she’d held him during those final, soul-wrenching moments would be with her for as long as she lived.
His whispered apology, his last uttered words, came to her during those nights she couldn’t sleep. At times she missed him so much it hurt to breathe. Other times she wished she could give him a piece of her mind. How could he have been so reckless, so irresponsible with their future?
If he’d been honest with her, if he’d made different choices, she wouldn’t be living this lonely, going-through-the-motions existence She wouldn’t be a shadow of her former self, clueless how to reclaim the fun-loving girl she once was.
Lost in troubling memories, she was wrenched back to the present by a weak cry for help. Her empty milk pail slipping from her fingers, Jessica hurried to investigate. She and her mother lived alone on the farm. And right this minute, her mother was inside the cabin preparing breakfast. She surged around the barn’s exterior corner and had to grope the weathered wall for support at the unexpected sight of a bruised and battered man near the smokehouse.
He was hatless and looked as if he’d romped in a leaf pile, and his golden-blond hair was messy. “Can you help me?”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
He dropped to his knees, one hand outstretched and the other clutching his side. Jessica belatedly noticed the blood soaking through his tattered shirt. Bile rose into her throat. Lee’s gunshot wound had done the same to his clothing. There’d been so much. It had covered her hands. Her dress. Even the straw covering the barn floor had been drenched with it.
“Please...ma’am...”
The distress in his scraped-raw voice galvanized her into action. Searching the autumn-draped woods fanning out behind her farm’s outbuildings, she hurried to his side and ducked beneath his arm. She barely had time to absorb the impact of his celestial blue eyes on hers. “What happened to you?”
“I...don’t remember.”
Struggling to help him stand, she shot him a disbelieving look. At this moment, she supposed it didn’t matter how he’d come to be on her property. He required immediate medical attention. “Let’s get you inside.”
Several inches taller and made of solid muscle, he leaned heavily on her, his hitched breaths testament to his discomfort. His uneven gait made the distance to her two-story cabin seem impossible.
His injuries likely hadn’t resulted from a wagon accident or a toss from the saddle. “Should I be worried someone will show up here to finish the job?”
The split on his full lower lip reopened when he frowned deeply. Dark blond stubble lined his hard cheeks and chin. “Can’t say. My mind’s gone hazy.”
Can’t or won’t? Either he was rattled, or he was reluctant to admit the truth. Perhaps he thought she’d refuse him aid if he did.
When they reached the main door, he sagged against the notched logs, eyes closed, chest heaving. Beneath his tan, a deep purple bruise blossomed over his cheekbone. What sort of trouble had befallen him?
“Just a few more steps,” she urged, compassion eclipsing suspicion. “Then you can rest.”
His golden lashes fluttered, and his startling gaze locked on to hers. “Thank you.”
Confusion and pain swirled in the depths, yet he’d taken the time to express gratitude. Yanking the door open, she called for her mother. He was too big and heavy for her to maneuver into the bedroom on her own, and his strength was fading fast.
“Is something the matter?” Alice advanced into the room wiping her hands on the apron stretched across her plump figure, bushy brows lifting above her spectacles. “Who’s this?”
“I was about to milk Sadie when I heard him outside. Can you help me get him into Jane’s room?”
Halfway to the couch, he stumbled, his hand curling into the wet, stained fabric of his shirt. A weak groan escaped him. Jessica prayed he wouldn’t collapse right there on their living room floor.
“Just a little farther,” she grunted.
Having spent her entire life in these mountains, her ma had dealt with more than her fair share of mishaps. Solemn yet determined, she hurried over and took his other arm. Together they got him to her sister’s old room and stripped the quilt off the bed before lowering him onto it.
“Let’s see your wound, young man.” Alice edged his bloodied hand aside.
Jessica transferred her attention to his boots and began working them off.
“Looks like a knife’s to blame.” Alice’s tone was grave. “It’s too deep for me to stitch up. We need Doc Owens.”
Grabbing a towel from the washstand, Alice leaned across and pressed it against his opposite flank.
“You go, Mama. I’ll stay with him.”
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
“I am.” She was far more comfortable with firearms than her ma. Thanks to her cousins’ patient instruction, she’d learned to protect herself. “I can handle this.”
The stranger dwarfed the bed, his body rigid atop the mattress, his head deep in the pillow and his teeth gritted. Images of Lee, wounded and dying on the barn floor, bombarded her. The boots hit the floor with a clatter.
He flinched.
“Jessica.” Her ma was looking at her with a knowing, sympathetic expression that she’d grown to loathe this past year, one that made her feel as if she was five years old again. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
Sinking onto the mattress edge, she gently dislodged her ma’s hand. “I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m armed. You’re not. When was the last time you shot a gun, anyway?”
“Too long.” With a shake of her head, Alice began untying her apron strings. Wisps of her silver-streaked brown hair had escaped her loose bun to dance about her hairline. “Are you certain you don’t mind? I know how you get around this sort of thing.”
“I’m certain.”
“I’ll hurry.”
“Be careful. And don’t worry about me.”
“That’s like telling a robin not to fly,” she said wryly.
Her mother left her with the mystery man, the swish of the clock’s pendulum punctuating the bed’s creaking beneath their combined weight. Long lashes fanned against his cheeks. He possessed handsome, open features that made it hard to guess his age. Jessica figured him to be in his midtwenties.
His forehead screwed up. “Think I’m gonna be sick.”
Seizing the patterned washbowl, she struggled to maintain pressure on his injury as he tipped over the side of the bed. Unwanted sympathy welled in her chest. He collapsed against the pillow minutes later, perspiration dotting his brow.
Blond strands stuck to his forehead, and the impulse to smooth them back surprised her.
“False alarm, I guess,” he murmured.
“Hold the towel in position. I’ll be right back.”
Jessica darted into her room across the hall and retrieved the tin of homemade ginger candies from her bedside cabinet.
“Try one.” Resuming her spot, she held one out to him. “They’re good at relieving an upset stomach.”
When he’d complied, he glanced out the single window situated square in the middle of the log wall. Jane’s old room faced the rear of their property. There wasn’t much behind the cabin besides the well and outhouse. Beyond the small clearing, a thick deciduous forest dominated their property.
“Where are we?”
“In my home.”
“No, I mean what part of the country?”
“Tennessee. The eastern section. Gatlinburg, to be exact. About a day and a half’s ride from Knoxville.”
A worried crease pulled his eyebrows together. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
An air of uncertainty shrouded him. Was there a legitimate reason her earlier questions had gone unanswered?
“Have you hit your head?”
He sank his fingers into the short blond locks. He grimaced as he tentatively probed a place behind his ear. “Something did. There’s a knot here.”
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Of course. It’s...” Uncertainty flashed in his blue, blue eyes. “It’s, ah...” He blanched. “I—I don’t know. I can’t remember. I can’t remember anything.”
Jessica studied him. Either he was a seasoned con man, or the blow had scattered his memories.
* * *
Hands fisting in the mattress ticking, he fought the panic rippling through him.
His head felt as if it had been crushed beneath a loaded wagon wheel. The flesh where he’d been gutted like a fish burned hot, and the redhead’s shifting weight as she stemmed the blood flow only served to inflame it further. The ache in his busted ankle was bearable by comparison.
Shoving all that aside, he tried to sort out the facts of his life. He’d woken facedown in the woods not far from this cabin, with no idea how he’d gotten there. A blank, black void prevented him from remembering. Faces scrolled through his mind, vaguely familiar and yet not. One clear memory replayed itself—a young boy calling to him, beckoning him to come and climb a tree.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
The ginger candy dissolved on his tongue. His stomach had calmed as she’d said it would.
“Waking up on your property.” Hurt. Disoriented. “Before that, I recall patches of information. People whose identities and how they relate to me I can’t grasp.”
Disbelief shimmered in eyes the color of forest moss. She had expressive eyes, almond-shaped and rimmed with cinnamon-hued lashes and topped with bold, slashing eyebrows. High cheekbones were offset by a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her expressive mouth twisted in open irritation.
“I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” he said. “I wouldn’t believe me, either.”
Her gaze dropped to his wound for a second before skittering to the window draped with lacy white curtains. Beyond the glass, the cloudless sky was a brilliant blue. He realized he didn’t even know what month it was. Or the year.
The panic pounced, constricting his lungs until he thought he’d suffocate.
Focus on the here and now. Maintain control.
“Your name is Jessica, right?”
Seated close, her chocolate-hued skirts spread over the ticking, she had to lean across him to reach his injury. Her long hair, restrained by a shiny brown ribbon, spilled over her ivory blouse like deep red silk. “Is it just you and your ma living here?”
“Why do you ask?” She visibly bristled.
“No reason.” He gestured to indicate the space decorated in bold hues of red, white and blue. The handmade quilt folded over the footboard had repeating diamond shapes, and a flag design dominated the hooked rug beside the bed. Maps of various sizes had been pinned to the wall. A stack of books joined a dusty jewelry box atop the dresser. “I hope I haven’t taken over your room.”
“This used to be my sister’s. She’s married now.”
Her reticence wasn’t surprising. Why wouldn’t she be concerned for her safety? She couldn’t know his intentions, whether or not he meant her harm.
Unease niggled at the base of his skull. “Have you lived here your whole life?”
“Yes.”
“Suppose that means I’m not a local, seeing as you don’t recognize me.”
“Your accent isn’t Southern.”
“It’s not exactly Northern, either. I could’ve moved here at some point.”
“Perhaps.” She shifted again, her hand digging into his flank. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Look, I’m not going to hand you an opportunity to take advantage of us, so you might as well cease with the questions. As soon as Doc gets here, he’s going to stitch you up and take you away. I’m certain the sheriff will be interested in discussing your situation.”
His unease grew. What sort of man was he? The law-abiding, church-going sort? Or someone who lived according to his own code of ethics? Not knowing was tougher to handle than any physical discomfort.
“Meeting with the sheriff is a good idea,” he said, exploring the knot beneath his hair again. “I apologize for making you uncomfortable. And for invading your home like this.”
She said nothing, contemplating him with that cool, assessing gaze. “Pretty words. You play a convincing victim. I’m reserving judgment until we see whether or not your likeness matches one of the town’s wanted posters.”
Victim? That label didn’t sit well with him. He wasn’t about to argue with her, though.
“You’re right to be wary of me.” Weariness that went far beyond his physical condition settled over him like the blackest night. He lifted his hand so that it hovered above his leaking wound. “I’ll take over now.”
His unenthusiastic hostess removed herself from the bed and backed toward the door, leaving the faint scent of roses in her wake. A rose with thorns, he thought, soaking in her innocent, vibrant beauty that seemed to be at odds with the prickly, glaring distrust in her eyes.
“You must be thirsty. I’ll bring water.”
“Could I trouble you for a mirror first?”
Inclining her head, she disappeared into the room across the way again, returning with a carved handheld mirror.
“Appreciate it.”
She hovered a moment before quitting the room and giving him the privacy he craved. Heart thundering, he slowly brought the mirror to face level and peered at his reflection. No spark of recognition. No jarred memory. Nothing.
He was staring at the face of a stranger.
Chapter Two
“I’ve completed my examination.”
Gatlinburg’s only doctor—middle-aged, distinguished and a stranger to frivolity—entered the kitchen after being closeted with their visitor for more than an hour.
Jessica gave the vegetable soup a final stir, the aroma of potatoes, carrots and pungent greens causing her stomach to rumble.
“How is he?” Alice poured hot, black coffee into a blue enamel mug and carried it to him.
Depositing his scuffed medical bag on the table they used as a work space, he accepted her offering and sipped the steaming brew. “He’s a fortunate young man. If the cut had been any deeper, I would’ve had to perform surgery. Now, if we can stave off infection, he should heal without complications.”
“Poor man.” Alice twisted the plain wedding band on her fourth finger. Jessica’s pa had been gone for many years, but her mother liked the reminder of him. “We heard his suffering clear out here, didn’t we?”
Jessica clamped her lips together. His pitiful moans still echoed through her mind.
“He refused my offer of laudanum,” Doc said.
“It’s quiet now.” Jessica busied herself slicing up the corn bread, trying not to think of the agony he’d endured. For all she knew, he’d been the one to instigate the violent encounter. He could be a thief. He could’ve ambushed someone, and that person fought back.
“He eventually lost consciousness.” Silver hair gleaming in the midmorning light streaming through the kitchen window, Doc cradled the mug in his bear-paw hands.
Jessica shook her head to dislodge the image of the blond stranger in Jane’s old bed, as weak as a kitten and vulnerable.
“He claims to have lost his memory,” she said. “Do you believe him?”
“While I haven’t personally treated any patients with amnesia, I’ve read about numerous cases. Each one is slightly different. The young man has suffered head trauma, so it’s plausible.”
Her ma’s age-spotted hands rested on the chair back. “Not everyone has a hidden agenda, Jessica.”
Tired of the vague references to Lee and his perfidy, she sighed. “We know nothing about him.” Wiping the crumbs from the knife, she addressed the doctor. “Besides, it’s hardly our problem. You’ll be moving him to your residence right away, I assume.”
He grimaced. “My rooms are occupied with other patients, I’m afraid. If you’re uncomfortable with him here, I can look for another family to take him in.”
“What about his injuries?” Alice asked.
“At this point, moving him would exacerbate them.”
Jessica hugged her middle to calm her churning insides. “Ma, he could be a dangerous criminal. He could have enemies searching for him.”
“Or he could be an upstanding young man who met with an unfortunate accident. Would you turn him out on the slim chance he’s pretending to have amnesia?”
As much as she hated to admit it, her mother had a point. There was no way to know for sure. What if he was one of the good guys, and they turned him away? His further suffering would be her fault.
“Would one of your nephews be willing to spend a few nights here?” Doc shifted his weight. “Having another man around might ease your concerns.”
“They’ve got their own families.”
“Will might do it.” Her cousin Nathan’s young brother-in-law wouldn’t mind. Will Tanner was always up for an adventure, but levelheaded enough that he’d be helpful if danger presented itself.
“Good idea. I’ll go and speak to him after lunch.” Pulling serving bowls from the hutch, Alice addressed the doctor over her shoulder. “Would you care to join us, Doc?”
“Next time, perhaps. My wife’s expecting me.” Draining his mug, he gathered his bag. “I’ll come tomorrow and check on the patient. If you have any problems before then, you know where to find me.”
“Jessica, would you mind seeing Doc out while I deliver soup to our young man?”
Our young man? She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Her mother’s never-ending well of compassion was admirable most days. Today was different.
“I’ll take it to him.” This was the perfect time to deliver a warning. He’d soon discover she’d do anything to protect her family. Past mistakes had carved lessons onto her heart that she wasn’t about to repeat.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Jessica didn’t miss her look of surprised approval. No doubt she thought Doc’s assessment had erased her misgivings.
“What are we supposed to call him?” she asked Doc. “If he’s going to remain here for any length of time, we can’t keep referring to him as the patient.”
He stroked his chin in thoughtful concentration. “I suggest you discuss the matter with him. Let him choose a name.”
Ma’s smile held a world of sympathy. “Hopefully he’ll remember his true name before long.”
Jessica wished she’d inherited a smidgen of her ma’s positive outlook.
While the pair conversed on the porch, Jessica assembled his meal.
He appeared to be asleep when she entered the room. Sliding the tray onto the bedside table, she brought a chair from the dining room and sat, prepared to be patient. She noticed Doc had cleaned up his hands. Pink and raw in places, one knuckle was busted, indicating he’d used them in the scuffle. For fending off an attacker? Or for inflicting damage?
Uncertainty waged war inside her. He didn’t look dangerous. Lying there in her sister’s old bed, he looked forlorn. In need of a helping hand. And if they didn’t help him, who would? They had ample space, food to spare, and, unlike many households in these mountains, there were no children underfoot. He’d have peace and quiet to speed his recovery.
This blond-haired, blue-eyed stranger was someone’s son. Possibly someone’s brother or cousin or even husband. If one of her loved ones was in the same predicament, she’d be begging God to keep him safe. To place him in the path of decent people.
While Jessica wasn’t pleased with her mother’s decision, offering him shelter and meeting his basic needs didn’t mean she had to suspend caution. Even before her life became entangled with Lee Cavanaugh’s, her outlook hadn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. Now it was positively morose. She anticipated the worst. Expected people to fail her. Or deceive her.
God was no doubt displeased with this manner of thinking, but she wasn’t sure how to undo what had been done.
He stirred, the quilt covering his lower body sliding low on his waist. His bloodied shirt had been disposed of, and a long-sleeved white cotton undershirt hugged his shoulders, sculpted chest and flat stomach. Thick padding covered his wound beneath the fabric.
The man would benefit from a bath and a shave. He wore his fair hair short on the sides, with slightly longer strands sweeping over his forehead. The brown cast of his skin indicated he worked outdoors.
“How long have I been out?”
His raspy inquiry snapped her out of her inspection. “Nearly an hour. I’ve brought you soup and some buttered bread. Do you feel up to eating?”
Hefting himself up so that the headboard supported his back, he studied the tray’s contents. “I’ll try the bread first, thanks.”
When he’d finished, she handed him the still-warm bowl. “The soup is rather strong. If it’s not to your liking, I can make a thin broth.”
“No need to go to any extra trouble.” His disconcerting gaze locked on her, he tested it. “It’s very good.”
“Did Doc give you anything for that busted lip?”
The bowl cradled against his chest, he shook his head. “It’ll heal soon enough.”
“Why didn’t you want anything for the pain?” She gestured to the padding beneath his shirt. “Must’ve been horrible.”
“Medicine messes with your head. I figure mine’s messed up enough.” Shadows passed over his face. “Plus, I’m uncomfortable with the idea of not being in control of my actions.”
A stilted silence blanketed them. When he’d polished off half the contents and handed the bowl back to her, he rested his folded hands on his middle.
“I didn’t expect to wake and find you watching over me.”
The muted mischief in his eyes needled her. “That’s not what I was doing,” she huffed.
“Why don’t you tell me the true reason, then? Afraid I might swipe something of your sister’s?”
She arched a brow at him. “It’s been decided that you will remain here until you’ve recuperated.”
“I can tell you’re pleased.” Wry humor touched his mobile mouth.
He would laugh at her, would he? Her movements measured, she made a show of removing the Colt Lightning from her ankle holster. Barrel pointed to the wall, she lazily spun the full chamber. “I have no problem protecting what’s mine.” She smiled tightly. “A benefit from growing up with three competitive, slightly overbearing males.”
Her warning didn’t shock or anger him. If anything, his humor increased, joined by open admiration. “A woman who can take care of herself. I like that. So you have brothers?”
“Cousins. Their family’s property adjoins ours.”
“And you have one sister?”
“Four, actually. I’m the youngest.”
“Are you the only one still living at home?”
The question was innocent enough, yet it unleashed a rock slide of hurt and disappointment. She was the last unwed O’Malley sister. Growing up, Jessica hadn’t obsessed over boys, hadn’t daydreamed about her future husband. She’d wanted a family of her own, of course. Someday. Once she’d reached marriageable age, she’d become friendly with a few interesting men. Nothing serious had developed. She’d been content with her single life until a dashing young man from Virginia moved to town. Suddenly, love and marriage became a priority. She’d wanted it all.
She replaced her weapon. “My life’s details aren’t important. Yours are. Doc thinks you should think up a name for yourself.”
His expression altered, and she almost felt sorry she’d introduced the subject.
“Right. I suppose I do need one.” His exhale was shaky. “Nothing comes to mind.”
“You could choose something classic, like John or James. Or you could go with a decidedly Biblical name, like Hezekiah. Or Malachi.”
The softening of his mouth gave Jessica a strange feeling...something akin to satisfaction that she’d lightened his burden.
“Any more suggestions?” he said.
She strove for something unexpected. “Wiley? Fentress?”
“This is too bizarre.”
“If I were you, I’d settle on something simple. You don’t want to get too attached.”
“On the other hand, I might be saddled with this name for the rest of my life.” He absently rubbed the knot behind his ear.
“You remind me of a boy I went to school with. His name was Grant Harper.”
That startled him out of his melancholy. “I do?”
“He had the same fair coloring as you.” And the same roguish streak cloaked in innocence.
“What happened to him?” His eyes narrowed.
“Nothing dramatic. His family moved away about five years ago to be closer to his grandparents.”
He stared up at the rafters, quiet for long minutes. “Grant, huh?”
“What do you think? Can you live with it?”
“It’ll do. Just don’t expect me to answer to it right away.”
“Understood.” She rose to leave.
“Jessica?” His expression turned earnest. “You have nothing to fear from me. I won’t harm you or your mother.”
She didn’t answer. Nodding, she left him, all too aware of how convincing a person could be when the stakes were high.
* * *
He stared at the doorway his intriguing hostess had vacated rather abruptly. He wondered what or who was responsible for the guardedness in her eyes. His arrival on her doorstep couldn’t be the sole cause.
Nevertheless, she didn’t want him here.
He’d rather be anywhere but here, at the mercy of strangers, an unwelcome guest with no past and an uncertain future. His sole possessions were the clothes on his back. He had nothing with which to repay their kindness. No matter what type of man he’d been before, it galled him now to be a recipient of charity.
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