Remember My Touch

It had been the two-sentence teaser the society writer had included at the bottom that had been branded into his consciousness, that had gnawed at his gut since he’d first seen it. The words he had read over and over concerned the impending nuptials of Senator Richardson himself. To the widow of slain Texas lawman Mac McCullar.

The man’s gaze lifted again to the mirror. He didn’t recognize the reflection there—the black patch that hid the empty socket of his right eye; the strange, reconstructed features; the deliberately altered color of his remaining eye. A stranger in a stranger’s body, and he guessed that was the way it should be. He felt like a stranger.

He picked up the clipping, which was beginning to come apart along the creases from the number of times he had unfolded the paper to reread those words, and he held it for a long time, thinking.

He had given up any rights he’d ever had to interfere in Jenny’s life, he acknowledged, given them up by conscious decision. He shouldn’t be here. He had no right to be. That had been the guiding principle of his life for the last five years. And then…and then he had seen this, and all the reasons he had known and understood had seemed to fade into insignificance in the face of those two sentences.

Finally, he took a breath and allowed his long, brown fingers to close around the small piece of paper, crumpling it between them. He wadded the clipping into a ball, and on his way out the door, he pitched it accurately so it landed in the metal trash can the motel had thoughtfully provided.

CHASE MCCULLAR WAS leaning against the wall watching the crowd at the wedding reception. The dancers were hugging the postage-stamp-size dance floor, working to avoid the long, lace-and-flower-covered tables that were filled to overflowing with finger foods and punch and wedding cake. The other guests were standing, balancing glass plates and cups, most of them managing to talk and eat at the same time, despite those burdens.

“You thinking they’re gonna let an ugly old cowpoke like you kiss the bride?”

Chase glanced up at the soft comment. The man who had asked that sardonic question was standing beside him. He was tall and broad-shouldered, yet whipcord lean, without an ounce of excess fat on his body. And his face was unfamiliar. Eerily unfamiliar.

Chase couldn’t prevent the telltale reaction that might have given him away if anyone had been paying the least bit of attention to either of them. Chase’s blue eyes had widened, the dark pupils dilating suddenly, and his heart had literally hesitated a few beats before resuming its steady rhythm. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked softly, his breathing uneven from shock. He pulled his gaze away from the man who had spoken and made himself focus instead on the crowd, automatically picking out the figures of his wife and his sister-in-law, who were engaged in an animated, laughing conversation on the far side of the room.

“I’m crashing a wedding,” the stranger said, his tone barely audible under the noise of the crowd, certainly audible only to Chase. “Think somebody’s gonna throw me out?” he asked casually.

That wasn’t something that he seemed to be concerned about, and he was probably right not to be. Given the size of the crowd and considering the impeccable cut of the charcoal gray suit, and the white shirt and maroon silk tie the gate-crasher was wearing, it was certainly unlikely that would happen.

At any wedding of this size, the bride’s friends would assume anyone they didn’t know belonged to the groom’s party, and vice versa. And at this particular wedding, since Rio knew almost no one in the throng, the groom was unlikely to protest the presence of one more strange face.

The features of the man who was now leaning against the wall beside Chase were, in fact, the slightest bit strange. There was nothing obvious, other than the black patch that hid his right eye, but still the alignment of the underlying bone structure was unusual. The angles were strong, almost harsh, and although he was clean shaven, the texture of the skin that stretched over those strong bones was as subtly different as the bone structure itself. What made them unusual, however, would have been difficult to articulate. It wasn’t an unpleasant face, but it was hard, and the black patch gave it an air of danger that was somehow in keeping with the rest.

He looked like a man who had seen a lot, who had endured a lot, Chase found himself thinking, his eyes skimming over the features again as if he had never seen them before. He had, of course, but they were always disconcerting.

“Well?” the stranger asked. The left corner of his mouth moved, twitching with amusement at whatever he saw in Chase’s face.

“Well, what?” Chase asked, deliberately forcing his eyes back to the crowd. Samantha and Jenny had moved away from the place where he had spotted them before, and now he couldn’t find either of them in the colorful, shifting patterns of the mob.

“You think they’ll let me kiss the bride?” the stranger asked.

The same amusement that had briefly touched the harsh features was in his voice. It, too, was unusual. Deep and almost hoarse, like someone getting over a bad case of laryngitis. “That’s not why you’re here,” Chase said sarcastically.

“It just seemed as good a time as any,” the stranger said laconically, his own gaze drifting over the throng.

“To do what?”

This time the corner of the thin mouth lifted, and the one-sided smile revealed genuine amusement. “Renew old acquaintances,” he said softly. The single brown eye continued to move over the crowd, as if searching it. “I heard somewhere that this might be a double wedding.”

“You heard wrong,” Chase said. He turned at that comment, his gaze focused again on the man beside him. His anger was apparent in the set line of his mouth. “I would have told you if that had been the case.”

“You tried to tell me. I wasn’t listening.”

“But you are now?”

“I am now,” the stranger agreed calmly.

Chase took the breath he had missed while he’d waited for that reply. “It’s about time,” he said softly. “What the hell changed your mind?”

“That,” the man said. His gaze was now following one of the couples moving on the crowded floor. A handsome man, tall and blond, his features remarkably well put-together by anyone’s standards, was guiding a small brunette in a slow waltz. They moved together flawlessly, despite the difference in their sizes. Her fingers were on his shoulder, the soft rose of her nail polish distinct against his jacket.

Chase nodded, knowing that there was probably nothing else in the world that would have brought this man here today. Nothing but the feelings that were revealed now in his face as he watched the attractive couple circling the small floor.

“Well, it’s about time,” Chase said again, speaking almost to himself. “It’s about damn time.”

“DID SOMEONE GIVE YOU birdseed?” Jenny McCullar asked. It was a question she had asked, it seemed, a thousand times. The decorated wicker basket over her right arm, which had once been full of packets of seed enclosed in small squares of tulle and tied tightly at their tops with narrow satin ribbon, was almost empty.

The cake had been cut and eaten, the reception line dismissed, and the bride had gone to change clothes for the honeymoon journey. It was almost time to shower the departing newlyweds with the traditional onslaught of rice. Nowadays, of course, the more ecologically correct birdseed had taken the place of grain.

The man she addressed had been standing in the narrow doorway that led from the reception-room hallway to the front of the country club. He was almost isolated from the excitement of the waiting guests who had gathered on the steps below. He hadn’t joined them; instead he stood alone, simply watching the commotion.

From the back, Jenny had been aware of nothing but his height and the width of his shoulders, which almost filled the narrow opening. And when he turned in response to her question, Jenny hoped her shock wasn’t too apparent. Mac used to warn her that she should never play poker because every emotion she ever felt was revealed in her features—as she was afraid they had been this time, revealed at least for an instant before she regained control.

She couldn’t say now why she had found his face so disconcerting. It was…unusual, she thought. There was a hint of gray in the brown hair and weathered skin stretched over strong bones, with a small fan of white lines around his eyes. Eye, she amended.

Maybe that was what she had found shocking. Jenny realized she had never known anyone who wore an eye patch. Those were for cover models on pirate romances, she thought, almost smiling at that sudden image, superimposed over the six-foot-four hunk of male reality standing before her. He probably would have made a damn fine pirate, she thought.

But of course, the patch hadn’t been all she’d reacted to, she realized, her eyes still fastened—fascinated, somehow—on his face. The texture of his skin was different, too. Slightly rough and maybe even…scarred? The light in the hallway was so poor that she couldn’t really be sure about that. She found a smile for him, trying to soften her rudeness if he had noticed the effect he had just had.

For some reason it wasn’t the forced, automatic smile she had been giving to strangers all afternoon as she tried to help Trent see to it that Anne and Rio’s wedding went smoothly. That wasn’t her responsibility, or really any of her business, she admitted; but at some time during the hurried preparations for this wedding, she had begun to feel like the mother of the bride. Or maybe the mother of the groom, she thought, her lips tilting upward a little more when she remembered that Rio still called her “ma’am.”

“Birdseed?” the man questioned, his gaze reacting to the upward tilt of her mouth. The brown eye was suddenly touched with amusement. As was his voice.

Even that was unusual. Deep, but…strained? Jenny wasn’t accustomed to having to search for words, but she was finding it hard to think right now, and she suspected it might have something to do with the intensity of the look this man was directing downward at her. He was taller than Trent. Taller even than Chase, she thought.

“Instead of rice,” she offered.

The left corner of his mouth moved, slowly lifting, and Jenny’s stomach reacted, tilting just as slowly. She couldn’t even decide whether that sensation was pleasant or not.

“No cleanup,” she explained. The words were a little breathless, and she broke contact with that disconcerting dark gaze by looking down into her basket.

She picked up one of the ribbon-tied bundles with her left hand and realized that her fingers were trembling. Recognizing that she didn’t have another option, she held the packet of seeds out to him, willing her normally competent and cooperative hands to stillness.

“The birds eat the seed, and then no one has to worry about sweeping up.”

“Cheap labor,” he said.

“Exactly,” Jenny agreed, smiling at him again, relieved that he’d grasped the idea from her muddled explanation.

He hadn’t reached out to take the little bundle from her fingers, and she realized belatedly that they were still vibrating. Obviously vibrating. She took a breath, striving for control.

What in the world was the matter with her? He wasn’t even handsome—not in Trent’s league by any stretch of the imagination. Her reaction was childish and ridiculous, she chided herself.

“Of course, throwing rice at the newlyweds is considered to bring good luck.” She offered the conversational gambit with the best intentions, just to keep talking until she grew up.

However, her voice was barely above a whisper and she thought he was bound to notice. Despite the crowd, they were almost alone here. Most of the guests had moved down the steps and onto the sidewalk where the car was awaiting Rio and Anne.