Chapter 9
Northern California
It was well past midnight by the time they circled Amanda’s drive and then piled through the front doors, which wasn’t an exaggeration. Seriously, there were nine of them, and that number would have been larger if not for the late hour.
On the ride from the airport, Alex had told her that he’d long ago leased the estate next door, and so whenever they knocked off for the night, that’s where he and most of his crew went. Amanda had stared at him incredulously. How had she never noticed? No wonder they were always close at hand.
Now that Amanda had some of her footing back and could see things a bit more clearly, she realized it was kind of ridiculous that she’d allowed that circus into her home so easily.
The break these past couple of days had been good for her. She’d needed that burst of independence, even if it had been short-lived.
Exhausted, Amanda let Alex carry a sleeping Callie up to her room and tuck her in, following closely behind. She stood in the doorway, watching him, racking her brain again for a memory, any memory, something. He looked so natural with Callie, like he fit.
At that moment, he turned, stood, and approached her. “Amanda, I—”
She reached out and laid her hand on his chest. It always surprised her that touching him was so easy, natural even.
Was that a sign? She’d never been so immediately easy with a man before.
And aside from when he’d dragged her closer in the truck and laced their hands together, he hadn’t made any overt moves.
Nothing romantic or particularly intimate.
In fact, she’d even caught him pulling back a couple times, which she really appreciated.
“Can we do this tomorrow, Alex? Please?” she asked, not ready for whatever other revelations he had in store.
He nodded. “I’ll be back in the morning.
” He covered her hand, gave her an uncustomarily shuttered look, and said good-night.
She could feel his hurt; it actually pained her.
Not just emotionally, but physically. Half of her felt like the worst person ever for sending him away, and the other was just so confused and tired.
Thank God for Evan, who had advised them to keep things as they were for the moment.
She stayed on the landing listening as Alex spoke quietly with his brother. Once they stepped outside, Amanda walked down the stairs to sit on the bottom step, watching as his taillights wound down her drive.
Stephen came back inside a few minutes later, looking beat and a bit forlorn. Amanda watched as he shut the door behind him and paused for a moment, before banging his head against it in frustration and then cursing quietly, rubbing the spot. He hadn’t seen her yet.
“I’ve tried that, and been told it won’t help,” Amanda said, feeling a sudden rush of affection for this man who, she realized with a start, was technically her brother-in-law. So weird. She could see the corners of his mouth lift a bit before he turned to look at her.
“Leave it to you, Amanda, to purposely hit your head.”
“Does that surprise you?”
He gave something of a snort. “There was a time when you did worse, so a knock to the head? Not even this much.” He demonstrated a smidge with his fingers.
Wow, she could actually feel the history—the familiarity—between them now. Not that she remembered it, but even the way he looked at her, spoke to her, she knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt, she really was connected to these brothers in a deep, inexplicable way.
“What’d I do?” she asked, scooching over to make room on the step for him.
He sat down and held out his hand to her.
Without thinking, she extended her left hand, but he shook his head.
“Oh, the good one,” she chuckled. “Lucky me.” She rolled her eyes and placed her right hand on top of his.
He turned it over and brushed his thumbs across the now-familiar scar that ran diagonally across her palm.
She had a flash of Alex doing the same thing when he’d brought her home from the hospital.
“Were you there?” she asked.
The sound he made was closer to a chortle this time, and he shook his head, looking up to the ceiling before returning her gaze.
“I was always there when something happened to you, Amanda. Or at least not far behind. I had your guard at times then too. When Alexander was off, uh, on business. Apparently, I suck at it.”
She smiled. There was something about the way he’d said that that warmed her heart. “We were close, Stephen, weren’t we?”
He nodded. “Yeah, we were.”
“Was it you who took me to the hospital?”
“A hospital.” He shook his head. “No way, we would have never—I mean—had we even been able, it would have been too far. Alex had just returned from sea and…Christ, Amanda, you were bleeding like a sieve. I held you while Alex stitched you up.”
“Wait,” she said, pulling her hand back and looking at the scar. It was so smooth, and aside from the small dots that still marred her skin where the stitches had been, it was terribly clean. “Your brother did this?” She held her hand up to him just to clarify they were speaking of the same wound.
Stephen nodded. “Yep. He did. Mr. Cool as a Cucumb—”
“Oh my God,” Amanda said, cutting Stephen off.
“Something just came to me, someth—If you ever have a crisis,” she said slowly, an image of Callie in an old-fashioned dress flashing through her mind.
Had she been playing dress up? “He’s the one and only person you need with you,” she said, her voice trailing off a second before she finished.
God, was this normal? Her new normal? “I don’t know where that came from.”
“Let’s keep that between us, okay? I wouldn’t want it to go to his head,” he teased. The levity was a much-needed break from all the tension that had filled the air, and she was grateful for it.
“Back to your hand, he cleaned, stitched, and dressed it him—”
“Wait!” Oh God, she could see a glass filled with a white milky substance.
She shuddered—a tactile memory of how horribly awful it had tasted.
Alex was straddling an ottoman and she was facing him with Stephen holding her steady from behind.
There was something terribly odd about the memory.
It looked like a room at the estate in Abersoch, but the furnishings were so old-fashioned. “I remember that.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “He had the most serious look on his face—I mean more serious than usual.” At this, Stephen smiled and nodded.
“I think he was in a uniform.” She hesitated.
The uniform was more like the ones she’d seen in historical reenactments, but she supposed it was entirely possible Alexander was into those things.
She narrowed her eyes as she tried to home in on the memory—her head was obviously a jumble—then shook her head and shrugged. It was gone. “Maybe.”
“He was so scared you would get an infection, or that if he didn’t get it closed just right, you wouldn’t be able to play the piano anymore.”
They both turned as Callie’s voice sounded from the top of the stairs. Poor baby, traipsing to and fro the past few days had taken its toll. Amanda reached out to Stephen. “Thank you for sharing that with me.” Then she called to Callie, “Coming, sweetie.”
So much had changed in the past few days.
And while she didn’t have her memories, at least not of her relationship with and marriage to Alexander Montgomery, she felt more secure, like there wasn’t this big secret hanging overhead, being kept from her.
It really helped her feel more in control.
And bits and pieces were starting to come back.
Later, in bed but with the light still on, she heard a soft knock on her door.
“Ammy?”
She turned as Sam pushed the door open and padded to the other side of the bed to slip beneath the covers next to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. You have every right to be angry with me,” she blurted out.
Amanda closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. Evan has assured me that my memory will return naturally. He really believes that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously! Now I’m buying into what the company shrink says.” They both chuckled. It felt good to laugh with her best friend again. And Evan’s words felt more possible now that she had started getting vivid flashes of things, as strange and startling as they were.
“I was just so mad and freaked out—you were an obvious and easy target.”
“You and Callie, and now Zander, have been my life for these past months, Amanda. I would never let anyone hurt you. Ever.” She came up on an elbow. “Like Stan would have to get the hell out of the way, because I would kill them myself.”
Amanda’s eyes softened as she tilted her head. “Thank God you called Stan that night. I can’t think of anyone else who could have helped us, all of us, through this.”
“You were a mess that night, Amanda. According to Stan, Callie was too. I was thousands of miles away when you called, and if I couldn’t be there myself, Stan—Mr. Protocol, Mr. Upstanding Guy, and good friend—was the only one I trusted to help.”
“I can’t remember it, but I’m glad it was him.
I can’t remember any of it.” She shook her head, looking at her wrist and the scar she had from her surgery.
She thought about Alex then, his stricken expression when she’d replayed whatever scene had happened with their hands.
Finally wiped out, Amanda turned off the light and rolled over.
She heard Sam flip the pillow and get comfortable.
“I asked him if we were happy,” she whispered a few minutes later.
“What did he say?”
“Deliriously.”
“You know, I didn’t meet him until Zander was born, but based on the way you spoke about him, I think you were, Ammy. I really think you were.”