Out of Uniform (Wingmen Warriors 14)

He either didn’t hear or chose to ignore the comment. Jacob stomped his feet as he turned. “Let’s get your supplies. Only one room needs cleaning. We can test you on that. The rest only need light touch-ups, some dusting and airing.”

As they walked inside, he rambled off a list of tasks. She registered his clipped phrases, all the while absorbing details around her to fill the terrifying emptiness within. She glanced at the framed buffalo prints over the fireplace. A faded map of Washington spread above a brochure rack. The scary ache didn’t even begin to fade.

Jacob Stone was the only person she could remember speaking to since waking, a strangely quiet man who took in stray amnesiacs and worried about his teenage sister on the road.

He and that young girl were the only people she’d seen face-to-face. Years of experiences with others had been lost, shrouded by an impenetrable fog. It was enough to make a person crazy.

If she wasn’t already.

He stared through his windshield at the lodge with her inside.

She’d been in and out of sight most of the morning. He couldn’t take his eyes off the shape of her, especially when the wind plastered her clothes into a tighter fit like now as she ducked into another room. Heat from the vents didn’t come close to the temperature pumping through him.

Want and hate, both hot, pumped through him.

Women screwed up everything. They always wanted more, more, more from a guy. She was just like the rest in the end. She was the messed up one, not him.

So what if he watched her through binoculars while parked on a side road? That didn’t make him a perv since she belonged to him anyway. Yeah, she still fascinated him even though he’d already had her.

He hated that about her, the way she had a hold over him. There were times he thought he would do anything to get rid of her. Then she drew him in again with her smile, her laugh, her touch.

Claustrophobia filled the vehicle in gusts as thick as the exhaust puffing from the tailpipe. He should just go. Somebody might see him lurking around. He could come up with an excuse, but it would seem weird. More than ever he needed to appear blameless.

Things would look bad enough when he got rid of her for good.

Chapter 3

D ee attacked the tub with a rag.

Surely routine household chores should stir a memory. How many tubs had she scrubbed over the years? One too many as of today since Jacob had underestimated the number of dirty rooms. Did his regular maid have bad eyesight?

Jacob Stone had been right about one thing. Cleaning was dirty, hard work. And she thanked God for the job plus the monotonous distraction it provided.

She’d done more than dust and air the extra rooms, but she felt obligated. Jacob would have been well within his rights to toss her into a snowbank. Of course with any luck, someone would come looking for her soon, whisk her off to a hot meal and soft bed, a bed she hadn’t made.

Meanwhile, she would pay her way while she waited to reclaim her identity. Her pride demanded it. Pride? The notion seemed misplaced given her current mess, but she didn’t have much else left.

Dee slumped against the bathroom wall and clutched her legs to her chest. What had robbed her of her past? She’d scoured every inch of her head, and there wasn’t a telling lump to be found, just a sore spot that could have come from brushing her hair too hard.

Could she trust someone on the tour bus to help her? Possibly, but not worth betting the bank. That just left her new boss.

What a puzzling man. Not that she had much to compare him to. He seemed determined to help her when he had absolutely no obligation.

Around midday, he’d slipped through the door, set a plate of food on the table and silently lumbered back out before she could speak. While she hadn’t been able to tolerate more than a mouthful of the sandwich, she’d stared out the window at his footprints long after he’d been swallowed by the circling snow. His thoughtfulness had filled her with a sense of security far more nourishing than two slices of bread and some turkey.

Dee stretched her legs the length of the minuscule bathroom. Every muscle resisted, tightening, urging her to curl up and sleep.

Not a chance. She had to break out the vacuum and get back to work before her boss caught her napping on the job.

She flung the can of scrubbing bubbles into the supply bucket just as voices swelled from the next room. Dee conquered her aching muscles and stood, ducking her head out the bathroom door. “Hello? Who’s there?”

The television blared to life from the stand. She stepped into the room and found the girl from the plow truck—Emily, Jacob’s sister—pitching aside the remote control.

“Hi, there.” Emily sat cross-legged in the middle of one of the unmade beds, a jelly-filled doughnut in one hand, foam cup of milk in the other resting on her knee. On the television, a game show contestant puzzled over an answer that could win her a Winnebago and a year’s supply of beef jerky.

All of that faded for Dee as her gaze focused on the sleeping baby in the middle of the bed. Swaddled in a pink sleeper with footies, the infant appeared to be no more than two or three months old.

Jacob had a child and recruited his sister for babysitting? She’d just assumed from his bare ring finger that he was single.