Heir to Secret Memories

“What are you doing?”

“Just let me carry you. You could have other injuries. You could have hit your head. You don’t need to be walking.”

Paige closed her eyes against the expectation of agonizing pain, and was surprised at the tenderness with which he lifted her into his arms.

She allowed herself to be carried. There was an awkward moment when he wrestled the cabin door open, jostling her shoulder, but soon he deposited her on a couch and went around lighting lanterns.

As light filtered into the corners of the room, Paige took in her surroundings. The shack was old and built of rough-hewn wood. The furnishings were sparse and stark.

At one end of the room were a wood stove and a counter with shelves that held a few plates and cups and pots. At the other end was a dark curtain that she figured must hide a sleeping area.

There was almost nothing to indicate that anyone lived here. But when Johnny lit the last lantern, Paige saw the sketches tacked to the wall in front of the couch.

These were dark slashes of charcoal, like nightmares brought to life under the artist’s pencil. Her heart twisted in compassion. How many times had he sat here, trying to make sense of the pieces of memory his mind fed him?

Her fertile imagination made her wonder if these were visions of his kidnapping. They evoked all her darkest emotions. Anger, fear, even hatred.

She couldn’t even imagine what he must have gone through. If the drawings were any indication, the place where they’d held him must have been a dark and frightening place.

She looked away, fear welling up in her throat until she thought she would scream. If they were holding Katie in a place like that…

“Can’t you hurry?” she asked, struggling to stand. Her knees collapsed beneath her as she reeled at the pain. “We have to find Katie.”

Johnny tossed the matches down on a table beside the last lamp he’d lit. “I need some light to look at your shoulder.”

“Fine. You’ve got light. Do something. My daughter is out there.”

He walked over to the kitchen area.

She gritted her teeth in frustration. “Aren’t you listening to me?”

He stuck a cup under her nose, a cup filled almost to the brim with a dark liquid. The sweet, hot smell of brandy hit her. “What’s that for?”

“Drink up. You’ll need something to numb the pain.”

“I can’t be drunk. I haven’t eaten all day. What if they call?”

“I’m sure if they call you’ll manage. Now drink it.” His harsh voice brooked no argument.

Paige shot him a venomous glance and reluctantly took the chipped cup. Her throbbing shoulder was sending waves of nauseating pain through her. The idea of stopping it for a little while was seductive.

She drank. The fiery stuff gagged her. She coughed, then drank some more. When she’d managed to down about half the cup, he took it and set it aside, then sat down beside her.

She tensed.

“Why did these people send you to find me? Why would they think you knew where I was?” he asked as he laid his hand on her shoulder.

Paige didn’t want to answer that question. She was stuck here, dependent on him. She had to have his help. If she told him the truth about why they’d kidnapped Katie, he might not believe her. He might not want to help her.

“That’s a good question,” she said, hoping he’d drop the subject.

“I’m listening if you want to give me a good answer,” he said, smiling slightly. “Tell me about us.” His hand gently traced the line of her shoulder, running over the place that hurt so badly, the place where she knew something was wrong.

“Us,” she repeated wryly. She was feeling woozy from the brandy, but at least every breath wasn’t total agony now.

“You said we met seven years ago.”

“In Jackson Square. I was on my way to work. I went to school during the day and worked at night.”

Johnny was feeling her shoulder with both hands now, his touch at once familiar and alien. They were Johnny’s gentle, caring fingers, but back then his hands had been soft.

Now rough calluses scraped her skin, and his arms were bronzed by the sun. He was different.

It was a very interesting difference.

“You asked if you could draw me.” She smiled sleepily. “You said I had a classic face.”

“You do.”

She lifted heavy eyelids to find his gaze roaming over her eyes and nose and mouth. It felt like gentle fingers tracing her features. His lashes shadowed his eyes as his gaze lingered on her suddenly dry lips. She licked them.

He frowned, then blinked. “I don’t think your shoulder is completely dislocated. That’s good,” he said, putting a hand on either side of her shoulder, where it hurt so bad.

“Have you ever done this before?” Paige didn’t like the way her words were coming out. They were slow and slurred. But she did like the way Johnny’s hands felt. The warmth of his roughened fingers was comforting. They seemed to soak the pain right out of her.

“Let’s say I have some experience. Tell me what happened after I drew you.”

His hands were gently massaging her shoulder. It hurt, but not as much as moving it herself did.

“I was seventeen. You may have been twenty-one.” She was back there again, sitting in the hot sun during the day while his talented hands created magic on paper. Then at night in her apartment, those hands created magic on her body. She closed her eyes as the memories stirred sweet yearnings inside her. “We fell in love.”

She had trusted him, but he’d broken her heart.

“You promised me you’d come back for me. You gave me this ring.” She started to hold up her left hand, but Johnny was squeezing her shoulder.