Returning Home by Karen Whiddon

ago.
    She’d vowed never to let her herself be hurt that way again. She’d had Alisha and that had been enough. Even then, Alisha had been taken from her.
    Pain and she had become intimate companions. She’d thought she’d learned to live with it Until now.
    Part of the truth would have to suffice. That was all she could give him.
    Hope licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry. “We were the world to each other.”
    At his skeptical expression, she sighed. “It was a long time ago, Jeff. We were only kids then.”
    “Did we marry?”
    She gasped. The question, however innocent, once again brought home how little he actually remem bered. “No.” Even to her own ears, her answer sounded hard, brit tl e.
    Jeff leaned closer, intently watching her the way his dogs watched the sheep. “Why not?”
    This was too much. She covered her face with shak ing hands, wondering whether to laugh or cry. When she opened them, it was to find that Jeff had moved his chair closer to her.
    He reached out and took one of her hands, holding it tightly in his. “I need to know.”
    Chest aching, Hope decided to be partially honest. “It still hurts me, Jeff. Surprising, I know, especially after all these years. I didn’t expect it to.”
    With a puzzled look, he glanced down at her hand and squeezed lightly . “We hurt each other back then, didn’t we?”
    All she could do was nod. Two foolish tears made their slow and glistening way down her cheeks. Snif fling, she attempted to pull her hand free to wipe them away.
    He wouldn’t let her go. Instead, he took a tissue from a box on the table and wiped her face, his fingers sure and tender. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His voice was low, intense, and full of sorrow and a strange kind of aching pain that seemed to mirror what was in her heart.
    She managed a watery smile. “I’ll get over it. I already did, once. It’s just that it’s taken me by sur prise.”
    Like the Jeff of old, he spoke the words that she didn’t say. “You think that you made a mistake in coming here, don’t you?”
    “I don’t know.” At this moment, she didn’t. All she could think of was Jeff, so big and strong and handsome as sin, holding her hand, caressing her face. Suddenly, she wanted more than anything for him to take her in his arms and hold her close. She wanted him to kiss her until she forgot the pain, forgot the past, forgot everything but the masculine scent and taste and texture of him.
    His eyes darkened in a way that she remembered well. Her heartbeat increased in response.
    Abrup tl y, he released her hand and pushed himself up from the chair. “Maybe I’d better skip dinner. Will you take a rain check on that drink?”
    Irrationally disappointed, Hope swallowed. “Sure,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “some other time.”
    As she watched him walk away, all she could think of was the haunted expression on his handsome face and how badly she’d wanted to kiss the pain away.
    Jeff had never realized that his memory, something most people took for granted, could change from a rock solid foundation to rapidly sinking quicksand. The effort to regain his lost past had consumed him, ever since the day he regained consciousness in the hospital and realized he had great gaping holes in his mind.
    He could remember learning to ride his first bike. He could remember bits and pieces of a cat tl e roundup he’d participated in a few years back. He could sort of remember his father’s stem, loving face.
    The feel of a football in his hands was familiar to him; even now he could hardly wait until football season started in a few months. He knew he followed college ball, and that the Aggies were his favorite team. Whether or not he’d gone to college there he couldn’t remember.
    His sister patiently answered his questions, when he knew enough to ask them.
    But she wouldn’t answer questions about Hope. When he asked them, Charlene would only smile mysteriously and