Where There's Smoke.... Barbara McCauley
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single-mast sloop. Marjorie Cummings had loved the ocean, had enjoyed the sailing trips her son had taken her on before and even after she’d fallen ill. Shane liked to think that he’d made her smile when he’d bought the boat and moved in.
Damn, but he missed that smile.
The sound of a powerboat pulling away from its slip caught his attention, and he lifted a hand in greeting as The Sea Breeze passed by. She was a pretty little yacht. Built for show as well as speed. And while Shane admired the shiny chrome and custom paint, the fancy boat with all its bells and whistles and oversize stateroom was simply not his style. What would he do with all that space? he thought in amusement. He didn’t even have a girlfriend, let alone a wife, though a few of the women he’d dated had made it clear they’d be happy to change his marital status.
But he was content with his life just the way it was. He came and went as he pleased, sometimes for days at a time. Other than his uncle, Shane had no one to answer to. No one checking up on him, wondering where he was, whom he was with or what he was doing. And that was fine with him.
He glanced up at a pair of seagulls flapping noisily overhead, screeching at each other in argument over a chunk of bread scavenged from a nearby trash can. The damp, salty air was crisp and cool, but the early morning fog had already begun to lift and the weather promised to be clear and warm. A good day for sailing, he mused, briefly considered taking the boat out, then decided against it. He’d promised his uncle he’d come by and help out with the lunch crowd, and he still needed to revarnish the last section of deck he’d been sanding for the past few days. He had plenty to do to keep his hands and mind occupied.
So why, then, had he spent most of last night and this morning thinking about a pretty brunette with velvet-brown eyes and a wide, luscious mouth that would tempt a monk?
After he’d been booted out of Emily’s room last night, Shane had gone home, poured himself a cold beer, then sat on the deck of his boat in the darkness and sifted through what he’d learned about Emily Barone from the nurses.
The Barone family and their gelato empire, Baronessa Gelati, had been in the papers quite a bit lately, he’d been told. Tabloid stuff, most of it revolving around some rather risqué photographs of one of Emily’s cousins taken with a Baronessa public relations man, and something about a batch of gelato that had been tainted with habaneros. He’d also learned that Emily had an older sister and two older twin brothers, one of whom he’d met last night and instantly disliked. When he’d walked in and found Derrick bullying Emily, it had been all Shane could do not to grab the jerk by the scruff of his neck and throw him out on his butt. Fortunately, the nurse had interrupted with the phone call, then the doctor had banned all visitors.
Still, Shane had been restless all night, had felt uneasy knowing that Emily might wake and still not know who she was or what had happened to her. He knew, of course, that her parents would be there, that she’d be well cared for. But strangely, it didn’t ease his concern.
Shane scrubbed a hand over his face, then tossed back the rest of his coffee. He had no business thinking about Emily, wondering what was going to happen to her. He’d simply done his job by pulling her out of the burning building. Her injuries weren’t life-threatening. She had her family to take care of her now.
She’d be fine, he told himself with a shrug. Emily Barone wasn’t his concern any longer, and she most certainly wasn’t his problem.
“Emily, can I get you something, dear? Some water, or another pillow?”
Emily glanced at the woman sitting beside her bed. Her hair was a soft blond, the style short and chic, her eyes pale blue with fine webs of wrinkles in the corners. She was still dressed in the sleek black suit she’d worn to the opera the evening before, but she looked as though she’d just stepped out of a limousine. The single strand of pearls resting at the base of her slender neck suited her porcelain skin, Emily thought. She was tall and elegant, and quite beautiful.
The woman was her mother, Emily knew, but there was nothing remotely familiar about her.
“I’m fine, thank you,” Emily said. “Really.”
“Exactly what she told you five minutes ago when you asked,” a man said as he turned from the window where he’d been quietly standing. “Let her rest, Sandra. Let her think.”
The man who spoke was her father, Paul Barone. For a man, he wasn’t tall, maybe around five nine, but he was stocky, with a thick chest and neck. If her mother hadn’t told her that he was a lawyer, Emily would have guessed him to be a well-tailored bouncer. His hair was dark and thinning, his brows low and thick over deep brown eyes. He’d barely said more than a dozen words since they’d arrived, had preferred to let his wife do the talking while he took everything in.
There’d been a battery of tests when Emily had awakened this morning. A brain scan, more blood work, blood pressure. Dozens of questions about her past that she hadn’t been able to answer. Dr. Tuscano had been thorough with her prodding and probing, and had pronounced her patient to be in excellent health. Except for one little thing.
Amnesia.
It had taken quite some time to digest the word. It was one thing to know what it meant, Emily thought, to know that such a thing existed, and quite another to live it.
Dr. Tuscano had reassured Emily and her parents that a loss of memory following a head trauma was nothing to worry about. Plus there was the emotional trauma to consider, as well, the doctor had said. Though no one knew exactly what had happened, it was reasonable to presume that Emily had been terrified, running to escape the flames and smoke when the ceiling had collapsed.
When—or if—her memory would return remained to be seen.
A young man brought a huge bouquet of brightly colored flowers into the room, the second bouquet she’d received this morning. Her mother accepted them, then looked at the card.
“They’re from Claudia,” Sandra said and glanced at her watch. “She was in a meeting in Washington, D.C., but caught the first plane out this morning when we called. She’s worried sick about you, and Daniel is, too, of course. He’s driving down from Manchester now. It took me forever to reach him, but then, you know how he is.”
No, she didn’t know how he was. She didn’t know him at all, or anyone else. She’d been told she had a sister named Claudia and a brother named Daniel— Derrick’s twin—but she didn’t know them. And the thought of all these people coming to see her, asking her questions, trying to make her remember, made her head start to pound again.
Emily closed her eyes and thought of Shane. He was her only connection, the only familiar person in what felt like a foreign land. He’d stayed with her last night until she’d fallen asleep. She knew it was silly of her, but she’d wished he’d been there when she’d woken this morning.
The thought that she probably wouldn’t see him again made her chest ache.
“I’ve said something wrong,” Sandra said. “I’m so sorry. I—I’m a little tired and seeing you lying here like this, knowing that you almost—” Sandra’s voice faltered, then she sucked in a breath and blinked back the threatening tears. “I just love you so much.”
“Thank you.” Though she couldn’t return the sentiment, Emily reached for her mother’s hand. “It’s nice to know I have a family, people who care about me. Why don’t you and…Dad go home and rest. Come back this afternoon.”
“I can’t leave you like this, all alone, not knowing—”
“Sandra.” Paul Barone moved beside his wife and put a hand on her shoulder. “Emily needs to rest, too. She can’t do that with us hovering. We’ll come back later.”
“I suppose you’re right.” But there was still reluctance in Sandra’s tired eyes. “We do need to shower and change. Lord knows, these heels are killing my feet.”
“I’ll be fine.” Emily forced a smile. “Really.”
With