acquaintances. Nothing more. Psychologically, I’m guessing you’re placing importance on our relationship, because at the moment, aside from your infant son, I’m literally all you have.” He softened his voice. “That won’t last forever. In fact, there are probably search parties out looking for you right now.”
“Think so?”
He nodded.
She looked so utterly lost, so confused and alone and beaten, that he broke his every rule to extend his arms to her for a quick hug. When she stepped into his embrace, crying so hard that tears wet through his T-shirt, there was nothing he could do but hold her. Which hurt him. Every second she sobbed against his chest equated to weeks—hell, maybe months—it would take him to rebuild his carefully constructed walls.
How long had it been since he’d felt needed? He used to thrive on problem-solving. A part of him craved charging in to Jane’s rescue, but to fully embrace her needs, he’d have to abandon his own.
Or maybe not? Maybe all this situation required was basic human compassion. What could it hurt to at least offer her that?
She sniffed, finally backing away. “Sorry. I-I guess you’re right. I’ve been putting on this brave front, trying to act upbeat and like my loss of memory doesn’t really matter, but it does. I’m terrified. I have dozens more questions than answers. Biggest of all? What if I ran into the woods to escape danger?”
“Not gonna lie—” with her no longer in his arms, he missed their physical connection “—it’s a possibility. How about if we make a deal—once we get to the hospital, and your husband or parents step forward, if you feel at all threatened, give me a sign. Tug your ear or scratch your nose.”
“Then what?”
“No clue. We’ll figure it out when the time comes.”
“Promise?” She’d lowered her gaze, and when she glanced up at him with late-afternoon sun making her still-teary eyes glisten, Gideon was lost.
“Sure.” By this time tomorrow, Jane and her son would be back with her family, and he would be reunited with Jelly Bean, who was no doubt miffed to find he hadn’t yet made it home. His life would have officially reverted to normal.
His neighbor and occasional caretaker, Mrs. Gentry, would barge in right when he sat down to dinner, yammering on about what naughty boys and girls his ragtag crew of livestock had been. After helping herself to a good portion of his meal, she’d then devour most of his dessert, leaving him even more grouchy than when she’d arrived.
“You’re scowling again.” Jane had left him to retrieve Chip from his grassy patch in the sun.
“It’s not about you. I have a busybody neighbor who makes me all kinds of crazy. I was just thinking about how infuriating it is when she eats my baked goods.”
“I’ll have you know I’m the best baker in—” She covered her mouth when a gleeful laugh bubbled free. “Did you hear that? I’m not sure how I know, or even where I stash my prized pink KitchenAid mixer, but I know I’m a baker—and I like pink.”
“This is good,” he said, collecting wood for a fire. “Is anything else coming to mind? Do you specialize in pies or cake or cookies? Please, God, let it be cookies.” His laugh felt shockingly good—and real. As real as his love for oatmeal scotchies and snickerdoodles.
“I’m not sure. Maybe? That might make sense since the first name that popped into my head for this little guy was Chip.”
“That’s a logical assumption. And shoot, I never met a cookie I didn’t like. I’ll bet you make them for gifts—you know, for your family and neighbors.” He dumped his latest load of wood next to the stone ring he’d previously made.
“That sounds nice.”
“Yes, it does.”
Call him crazy, but relief shimmered through him over the fact that her mood had returned to her formerly perky self. He liked her better smiley than moping. A double standard considering his own mood swings over the course of their journey. But now that they’d cleared the air between them, and he’d had his say about the fact that they were destined to be acquaintances—nothing more—his spirit felt lighter. With her not expecting anything from him, he felt more at ease.
Groundwork had been laid.
Rules of engagement firmly established.
“Thank you.” On her tiptoes, she pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. It was no big deal. So why did his skin feel as hot as if he’d been branded?
“You’re welcome,” he said, “although I’m not sure what for. Regardless, no more of that, okay?”
“Of what?”
“You’re going to make me spell it out? That kiss, Jane. No more of that.”
“Don’t be silly.” She waved off his concern. “That wasn’t a real kiss. If I ever decided to really, truly lay one on you? I would hope you’d recognize the difference.”
* * *
JANE HADN’T MEANT to kiss Gideon. Just like she didn’t mean to flirt. But somehow their conversations naturally took that turn. Unlike him, she decided not to stress over it. Since she didn’t have a whole lot else going for her, what could a smidge of harmless flirtation hurt?
Plenty!
Her conscience was all too quick to remind her of the very real possibility that she could be married. But if that was the case, why didn’t she feel as if she’d made a lifelong commitment to the love of her life? Wouldn’t she at least have a vague recollection of such a momentous event?
Chip grew fitful, so while Gideon was off gathering more firewood, Jane ducked into the tent to feed her son.
The smell inside made her happy.
It was a comforting, somehow familiar scent—sunbaked nylon and the sweet smoky remains of countless campfires. The tent was large enough for three or four people. Why would she have packed such a large tent for only herself? Could she have had a friend, and they’d been injured?
Outside, the tumbling crash of firewood being dropped onto the growing woodpile made her call, “Gideon!”
“What’s wrong? Is the baby—oh.” He ducked into the tent. Upon catching a flash of her bare breasts, he blanched, then backed out. “Jane, we talked about that, too.”
“Sorry.” She drew a sweatshirt over herself and the baby for modesty. “I was so excited to run something past you that I forgot Chip was still nursing. Isn’t it wild? How a couple of days ago, I knew nothing about being a mom, yet now, I feel as if this precious guy has always been in my life.”
“That’s great,” he said with a hint of annoyance, voice muffled from having turned his back on her. “But what did you call me over for? You sounded as if it were urgent.”
“It is.” She explained her theory about the oversize tent.
“What do you think? Could I have been with someone else when I set off for my hike?”
“I
