“No, thanks.” He glanced at the door. “Actually, I think I’d like to go soak in a hot bath before I stiffen up any more than I already have.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to take something for pain?”
“I’ve got some aspirin in the guest house. I’ll take a couple of those before I turn in.”
She followed him to the door. “If you need anything during the night, just let me know, okay?”
“Anything?”
Because his lopsided grin was the one that usually preceded a kiss, her knees weakened. She stiffened them with an effort. “You know what I mean.”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, I’m afraid I do. I’ll see you tomorrow, Serena.”
“We’ll go see Dan first thing in the morning.”
“We?”
“You might very well find yourself in need of a lawyer.”
He chuckled wryly. “Or maybe Dan will need the lawyer—after he strangles me.”
“That’s another possibility,” she conceded.
“Good night, Serena.”
“Good night—Sam.”
The momentary hesitation before his name didn’t escape him. He gave a funny, faintly apologetic little shrug, then let himself out. Ser
ena closed the door behind him with a sigh. And then she rested her head against the wood, a dull ache throbbing in her temples.
She’d thought the man Kara had fallen for was unsuitable because he was too young and too impractical. But at least Pierce knew who he was, where he’d come from.
Kara might be the adventurous sister, but Serena seemed to be the one currently on a path to certain disaster.
Chapter Thirteen
The chains supporting the rose-garden swing creaked when Sam sank into it. Other than the crickets, frogs and night birds in the woods behind the neighborhood, the creaking was the only sound to disturb the stillness of the night. He caught himself listening for revving car engines, wailing sirens, raised voices—even gunshots. What kind of life had he led before that had caused him to think of those sounds as an inextricable part of the night?
He closed his eyes and savored the quiet peacefulness. Was it possible that he’d once preferred those other, half-remembered noises to this? If so, how could a blow to the head have changed his entire personality so radically?
It had been another dream that had disturbed his sleep and brought him outside to try to clear his mind with rose-scented night air. It wasn’t one of the good dreams this time—the ones filled with echoes of laughter and sensations of warmth. This had been a dream he’d had before, and one that always left him feeling empty and depressed.
Who was the woman who cried in those dreams? He could almost picture her now—young, fresh-faced, pretty in a wholesome sort of way. Yet her face had been reddened and tear-streaked, her expression miserable. And though he couldn’t remember who she was or what his connection was to her, he knew somehow that she was real—and that he had caused her tears.
Someone who had loved him? He’d tried to focus on his own feelings toward her in the dreams, identifying only a vague sense of affection and sympathy. And guilt. Definite guilt. He had little doubt that he’d been the cause of her misery, though that was the only fact he knew for certain.
Who was she? And who was he, that he had hurt her so badly?
“Are you in pain?”
Serena’s quiet question made him open his eyes. He hadn’t heard her approach, which indicated he’d been completely lost in his thoughts. She stood in front of the swing, bathed in the glow of the summer moon. Her hair was tousled around her unpainted face. She wore a tank top and shorts, leaving quite a bit of creamy skin bare. She was as much a part of this place as the roses and the night birds, a vital part of the peace and the charm. He was the outsider here.
He remembered that early-regained memory of Brigadoon, the magical village suspended in time whose residents were unable to leave. His initial fear had been that he would be trapped here. Now he dreaded the inevitable time when he would have to go.
“Sam? Are you okay?”
He made an effort to smile. “I’m fine. Just having another night when I can’t sleep. I hope I didn’t wake you.”