She couldn’t be from around here, Land of Ten Thousand Lakes with hoards of Scandinavians who were whiter than white and had the tendency to mutter uff-da to express everything from annoyance to excitement.
Maybe she hailed from the more culturally varied Twin Cities? Had to. She could be a professional, or even a model or an actress.
Why not go to the police? They must have a way of searching for a person without a name but rather a picture. If she was a registered driver her license would be on file. Name learned. Problem solved.
For the most part. Simply learning her real name wouldn’t automatically restore her memory. Had to be tough not remembering a thing. She could have family. Friends. A husband.
Blade made a note to check her finger for a wedding band. He didn’t want to step on another man’s territory. Not that he was stepping. No, he was just helping a needy soul. It’s what he did, apparently.
“Come on, Oogie. We can’t sit out here like a couple of stalkers.”
* * *
The maxi dress with bright yellow-and-blue horizontal zigzags was a bit loud, but it felt comfortable and wasn’t too low cut. She did have nice, full breasts though, so revealing a little cleavage wasn’t going to kill her.
Zenia fluffed out her wet hair, and then borrowed Blade’s comb, which lay on the edge of the white porcelain vanity. A search in the small cupboard beneath the sink didn’t spy any hair products. And she didn’t want to check the drawers in the bedroom. Who knew if Oogie, the attack cat, might come after her?
After hanging the towel she had used to dry over the shower door, she shoved her dirty clothes in the backpack and headed down the hallway. Lured by the delicious scent of pancakes and maple syrup, she got right up to the kitchen counter, dropped the backpack, then veered toward the double cathedral windows at the end of the living area.
The old barn had obviously been restored and the windows added. They looked as though they belonged in Notre-Dame in Paris. And for some reason, she felt as though she’d been in the French city, though briefly; long enough to claim familiarity with the medieval cathedral. No color filled the glass sections that gently curved to a peak at their pinnacles. It gave the windows a clean, modern look. Very suitable for a man’s home. In a barn. It was an interesting choice, but again, seemed to match Blade’s no-frills, rough demeanor.
“They are so beautiful,” she said of the windows, then flinched when she heard the hiss behind her.
“Oogie!” Blade tossed a red stuffed mouse down the stairs that led to the garage below. “Go play with your mouse.”
The cat cast her a discerning look, then dashed off.
“I’m sorry,” Zenia said. “I don’t know why that thing doesn’t like me.”
“Oogie is a cat, not a thing.”
“Yeah, but it looks like a rat. Why doesn’t it have any hair?”
“He’s a Sphynx.”
“Oh, right. I know those breeds are hairless and require special care. Does he wear a sweater in the winter?”
“Actually, he does have one with a skull and crossbones on the back. Got a problem with that?”
She approached the kitchen counter and slid onto a stool. “No. Sorry, I seem to offend at every turn. I should leave. You’ve been more than kind.”
“Not until you eat.” He placed a plate stacked with pancakes before her. Beside that sat a coffee cup steaming with dark brew. “You like maple syrup?”
“I...don’t know.”
“Right.” He tapped his temple. “But you do know about Sphynx cats. Interesting.”
She dug into the pancakes. Mercy, but it had been days since she’d eaten a decent meal and not a candy bar or bag of Doritos that she’d gotten out of a vending machine. Her aching stomach growled with glee.
“So your bedroom is all black,” she stated between bites. Ah, hot food. And it smelled so good. And tasted even better.
Blade stood across from her by the stove, arms crossed and one hand wielding a spatula. He was noticeably not eating. “That it is.”
“And you’re all into the dark look yourself. Is that called goth?”
He made show of looking down the front of his black T-shirt, stretched tightly across muscled biceps, black jeans and, well, his feet were bare. “For a chick who’s lost her memory, you’re very judgmental.”
“And you are being sarcastic. I do know what sarcasm is.”
“Good for you. I’m not a goth. I’m just Blade. You find everything you needed in the bathroom?”
She touched her hair. “I borrowed your comb. I hope that was okay. You can’t imagine how good it feels to be showered and reasonably groomed. My hair must have looked horrible before.”
“It’s gorgeous,” he said quickly. And then he turned and made a show of checking that the griddle was turned off, mumbling as he did so, “I mean, it’s fine.”
Zenia brushed the wet locks over her shoulder, but couldn’t hide what felt like a blush. “So what do you do, Blade? You said you were running into town? To your job?”
“I do some fix-it work for the locals here and there. Got a quick job for a couple of retired nuns who are designing a water garden in their backyard. And I work with my brother, Stryke. He’s, er...leader of a...group.”
She sipped the hot coffee carefully, trying to figure out what he wasn’t willing to say. A group? Of what? People? For what reason? But she wouldn’t ask. Whatever he wanted to present to her, she’d take, and anything he didn’t want her to know was fine, too.
Should she be more curious? She had enough problems of her own to worry about. And she wanted to move over to his good side, maybe even befriend him. She could use a friend. Where were her friends? Were they worried about her? Had they called the police?
“Stryke is building a compound for...his work,” Blade offered. “I’m his second-in-command. It’s family stuff.”
“Sounds important. Do you think I have friends?”
The man shrugged. “Not sure. But you’re not wearing a ring.”
She studied her hands. The fingers were long and slender. “I must not wear jewelry.” That seemed sad. One should never forego a chance to sparkle. “I should have a couple of rings. I like sparkly things. Why did you notice the absence of a ring?”
“It’s nothing,” he said again, taking great interest in the griddle.
“These pancakes are delicious,” she said. “I’m trying not to devour them, but it’s not working.”
“Devour all you want. Griddle is still hot. I can make up more fast.”
“No, I think five is more than enough. Though, I will take a refill on the coffee. I figure it’s
