Returning Home by Karen Whiddon Page A

tell him to ask Hope herself. That, he didn’t want to do. Not yet Hope fascinated him. He must have loved her once, must have loved her deeply. Once Charlene had unearthed an old photo album from a closet, handing it to him without a word. Inside were photos from his high school years. He’d been amazed to find that a good number of the photographs also contained pictures of Hope. A girlish, more relaxed Hope, who gazed up at the boy he’d been with obvious adoration shining in her pretty face. And he’d worn the same love-struck expression on his teenage face.
    Jeff had poured over the photographs, studying them again and again, trying to remember, but noth ing came. There was nothing but a bittersweet sort of ache that seemed eerily familiar. He’d taken a few of the photos with him, hoping one of them might jog his memory. He pulled out his wallet and extracted his favorite one, studying it
    He knew Hope’s laugh. The old picture was of her holding a huge cane fishing pole, the sunlight in her eyes, her head tilted back in laughter. He imagined he could hear the sweet sound of it in his mind. Yes, he swore he could remember the joy that was Hope’s laughter.
    He knew her kiss, too. Merely thinking about it made him hungry, hard, and out of control. This scared the hell out of him. He who seemed to have very little control over anything, couldn’t afford to let one iota of it slip away.
    Hope might have the keys to helping him regain himself, his memories, and his personality. There had been a connection so deep, so profound, that even in his blank slate of a mind, he recognized her. Knew her. Wanted her.
    He wanted her so badly that he ached with the effort of holding back. Yet hold back he must, until he knew who he was and what they had meant to each other. Then and only then, would he allow himself the luxury that was Hope. Even now, he sensed on some deeper level that Hope was, despite her petite frame and laughing doe eyes, infinitely dangerous to him.
    She ate quickly, glad that Charlene had decided to eat in front of the TV. Three times while washing her make- up off, she decided the best thing to do would be to go back home to Dallas. Three times she had only to think of Jeff’s eyes—his beautiful, blank eyes—and decided to stay.
    At the bottom of her emotional upheaval was the ever present guilt. Yes, Jeff had hurt her, hurt her badly enough to make her leave. Wounded and ach ing she’d fled, taking with her something profound that she’d selfishly hugged to herself, sharing with no one. She’d stolen something from Jeff that could never be replaced, no matter how hard she might pray and wish that it was not so.
    Alisha.
    She had taken her precious little girl —their pre cious little girl, a child Jeff had never even known existed.
    She would stay because she owed him a greater debt than she ever could repay.
    Chapter Five
    Exhausted, Hope tried to sleep. Closing her eyes, she tried to rest, but all she could think of was Alisha. Sweet, tiny, perfect Alisha, who had been born with Jeff’s beautiful green eyes.
    Restless , Hope plumped up her pillow and reached into her nightstand drawer for one of the books she’d brought with her. Instead, she came up with Jeff’s old yearbook. Slowly, she turned to the first page. He’d written his name there, above all the other signa tures from his friends. The sight of his handwriting, slanted and bold, reminded her of the notes he used to pass her in study hall, and the ones he used to leave in her locker.
    Suddenly, she lacked the strength to turn another page. Her throat aching, Hope closed the book.
    Thinking about those days still hurt.
    Lying back against her pillow, exhausted, she decided to give Jeff the yearbook. Wondering about his reaction, she drifted off to sleep.
    In her sleep she dreamed. She dreamed of a time when Jeff had cared about her, loved her to the point of distraction. Being with him had always made her smile with joy. She