White lies

"I’ll get in touch with Frank after dinner." He could have done it then, but filling his stomach was more important. Jay made great spaghetti, and getting in touch with Frank could be time-consuming. First things first.

After the dinner dishes had been cleaned and Steve was in the shed contacting Frank, Jay stretched out on the rug in front of the fire, for the first time thinking about the chic little apartment in New York that Frank had been keeping for her. It contrasted sharply with the rustic comfort of the cabin, but she much preferred the cabin. She would hate to leave it; it would be beautiful here during the summer, but she wondered how much longer they would be here. Surely Steve’s memory would return before then, and even if it didn’t, how much longer would it be before Frank told him the truth? They couldn’t let him live another man’s life forever. Or could they? Had that been the plan? Did they somehow know he’d never get his memory back?

The mirrors kept reflecting back different answers, different facets to the puzzle, different solutions. And none of them fit.

"Are you asleep?" he asked softly.

She gasped and rolled over, her heart jumping. "I didn’t hear you come in. You didn’t make any noise." He always moved silently, like a cat, but she should have heard the back door. She’d been so deep in thought that the sounds hadn’t registered.

"The better to sneak up on you, my dear," he growled in his best big-bad- wolf voice. He joined her on the rug, sinking his hands into her hair as he angled her mouth up toward his. He kissed her slowly, deeply, taking his tune and using his tongue. Her breathing altered, and her eyes grew heavy lidded. Desire was a heavy warmth inside her, slowly expanding until it completely filled her.

They weren’t in any hurry. It felt too good to lie there in the warmth of the crackling fire and savor their kisses. But eventually the heat was too much, and she moaned as he unbuttoned her flannel shirt, parting the edges to press his lips to the swollen curves of her breasts. He lay on top of her, his heavy legs controlling hers even though she twisted restlessly. She wanted more. Moaning again, her voice sharp with need, she turned until her nipple brushed against his mouth. Lazily he extended his tongue and licked it, then clamped his mouth over it and sucked strongly, giving her what she needed.

The firelight burnished her hair with golden lights and her skin with a rosy glow as he unfastened her jeans and pulled them off. Her mouth was red and moist, glistening with the sheen of his kisses. Abruptly he couldn’t wait any longer and jerked his own clothes off. The flannel shirt still hung around her shoulders, but even that was too much. He pulled it away from her and knelt between her legs, draping her thighs over his as he bent forward to enter her, fusing their bodies as surely as their lives were fused.

They lay together for a long time afterward, too content to move. He put another log on the fire and pulled on his jeans, then put his own shirt around her to stave off any chill. She sat in the circle of his arms, her head on his shoulder, wishing nothing would ever happen to disturb this happiness.

He watched the waving yellow flames, his rough chin rubbing back and forth against her hair. "Do you want kids?" he asked absently.

The question startled her enough that she lifted her head from his shoulder. "I… think I do." she replied. "I’ve never really thought about it, because it just didn’t seem like an option, but now…" Her voice trailed off.

"Before, we didn’t have much of a marriage. I don’t want it to be like that again. I want to come home every night, live a normal life." He tightened his arms around her. "I’d like to have a couple of kids, but that’s a mutual decision. I didn’t know how you felt about it."

"I like kids," she said softly, but guilt assailed her. They hadn’t had any kind of a marriage before! He was feeling guilty for another man’s acts.

"Yeah, I like them, too." He smiled, still watching the fire. "I get a kick out of watching Amy–"

Jay jerked away from him, her eyes wide with something like panic in them. "Who’s Amy?"

Steve’s face was hard, his mouth grim. "I don’t know," he muttered. "I feel as if I just ran into a brick wall. The words just slipped out, then bam! I hit the wall and there’s nothing."

Jay felt sick. Had she been so wrong in trusting that Frank wouldn’t have set this up if Steve had been married? Was he a father as well as a husband?

Steve was watching her and sensed the direction of her thoughts, if not the content. "No, I’m not married and I don’t have any kids," he said sharply, pulling her back to him. "It’s probably just a friend’s little girl. Do you know anyone with a little girl named Amy?"

She shook her head, not looking at him. The terror was back; she felt stiff with it. Was his memory returning? When it did, would he leave? Paradise could end at any time.

Steve lay awake long after they had gone to bed that night. Jay slept in his arms, as she had every night since the chinook blew, her hair streaming over his left shoulder and her warm breath sighing against his neck. Her bare, silky body was pressed all along his left side, and her slender arm was draped across his chest. She had looked so panicked for a second when he’d mentioned Amy’s name, whoever Amy was. He held her closer, trying to erase that panic even from her sleep.

This would probably happen a lot, a casual remark triggering flashes of memory. He hoped they wouldn’t all scare her so much. Was she truly afraid he wouldn’t want her when his memory returned? God, couldn’t she feel how much he loved her? It went beyond memory. It was in his bones, buried in the very depths of his existence.

Amy. Amy.

The name flashed through his mind like fire and suddenly he saw a little girl with glossy dark hair, giggling as she shoved a chubby, dimpled fist into her mouth. Amy.