The Stranger In Room 205 (Hot off the Press! 1)

The meeting with Dan had been as difficult as she and Sam had predicted. Dan had been stunned and then steamed that Sam had concealed his amnesia behind a made-up tale of a mugging. Serena had reminded Dan that Sam had acted while still confused, disoriented and in pain, barely accountable for his actions. After dryly reminding Serena that she wasn’t arguing a case in front of a jury, Dan had promised to get started immediately on the search for Sam’s real identity.

Serena had driven Sam to Dr. Frank’s clinic after they left the police station. She’d called to set up an appointment. After hearing what the problem was, Dr. Frank had immediately agreed to work Sam into his already busy schedule. Like Dan, the doctor had reprimanded Sam for keeping quiet, this time for medical reasons. He had done a very thorough examination and then had set up appointments with specialists in Little Rock for Monday, pulling every string he had to get Sam in that quickly. He’d seemed encouraged that Sam was having flashes of memory and dreams that seemed meaningful, but he was obviously concerned that the extensive memory loss had lasted so long.

“He seemed to believe me,” Sam had told Serena on the way home.

“Well, of course he believed you. Why wouldn’t he?”

Though Sam hadn’t come up with an answer, he still seemed bemused by the doctor’s acceptance of his peculiar tale.

Marjorie’s first reaction to hearing about Sam’s amnesia had been exactly what Serena had expected. She’d been horrified, certain that Sam was suffering from a terrible injury that put him in imminent danger of dying. Sam and Serena had assured her that Dr. Frank had pronounced him in generally good health, considering everything.

Even though Sam had apologized profusely for deceiving her, Marjorie hadn’t seemed to find his repentance necessary. “I’m just sorry,” she had said, “that you’ve had to go through this alone. I wish you’d felt comfortable sharing it with us, but of course we were strangers to you. You needed time to grow comfortable with us.”

Serena could tell that Marjorie’s warm sympathy only made Sam feel guiltier. Since she thought a little guilt was justified, Serena had remained quiet. He really should have leveled with them sooner, even though she understood him well enough now to know why he hadn’t.

Marjorie had insisted that Sam stay for dinner. If she’d noticed the long, expressive looks Serena and Sam had exchanged during the meal, she’d given no sign of it.

It had been Marjorie who’d commented on how tired Sam looked after dinner, pointing out the dark circles under his eyes and the drawn look around his mouth. “You’ve been worrying too much and trying too hard to regain your memories. You need to get some sleep. And take tomorrow off if you’d like to sleep in,” she added.

Serena hadn’t been surprised when Sam immediately rejected that offer. “I have to be gone Monday,” he said. “I’ll be at work tomorrow.”

Marjorie hadn’t argued. Like Serena, she’d learned to recognize when Sam had made up his mind.

Marjorie had seemed to want to talk after Sam left, but Serena had also claimed exhaustion and made her escape. She needed to be alone with her thoughts for a while. She needed to try to sort out her emotions—not that she was making much headway. Perhaps because she was a bit afraid to define her emotions where Sam was concerned.

She hoped he was able to sleep. She wasn’t. She was too aware of Sam sleeping in the guest house. She would love to be with him now, to sleep in his arms again. But it was just as well she wasn’t there, she tried to convince herself. She wouldn’t want to get used to being with him when she knew that he could be gone at any time.

She was about to turn away from the window when her attention was caught by a shadowy movement in the rose garden. She looked closer and saw Sam standing there looking at her window, his face just v

isible in the glow of the security lights.

Stay where you are, Serena.

He looked lonely, she thought, resting a hand against the window.

Don’t do it, Serena. Quit while you’re ahead.

He didn’t sit on the swing. He just stood there, gazing at her—and she knew he saw her looking at him. She told herself he wasn’t really sending her a silent invitation—but she knew he was. And then she told herself that, even if he was, she didn’t have to accept—but she knew better than that, too.

She turned away from the window, but only to move toward the door. If she was going to have regrets eventually, she might as well follow Sam’s advice and make them worthwhile.

They overslept. Had the rising sun not glinted in Serena’s eyes, they might have slept until noon without stirring. She sat up with a gasp, her eyes turning instantly to the clock on the nightstand. “Oh, cripes.” She started to roll out of the bed.

Sam’s arm fell over her, holding her in place. “What’s the rush?”

“It’s almost six. Mother will be leaving for the diner in half an hour.”

He nuzzled her cheek, his morning beard scratchy against her skin. “Think she’s noticed you’re missing yet?”

“No. I sometimes sleep in on Saturdays. My bedroom door is closed, so she probably thinks I’m still in bed.”

“She’s right, isn’t she?” His lips grazed her collarbone. “You’re just not in your bed.”

“Sam, be serious.” She tried to sound stern, though she tilted her head to give him better access to her throat. Her fingers speared into his thick golden hair. “She’s going to be expecting you to meet her at the car, as you do every morning. You’re the one who told her you intend to work today.”

Planting a chain of kisses from her throat to her breastbone, he murmured, “It doesn’t take me long to get ready.”

“If you’re late, she’ll worry and come looking for you.”