Reclaiming His Past Read Online Free PDF Page A

appreciate any further coddling.
    Returning to the kitchen, her attempts to push him out of her thoughts failed spectacularly.
    * * *
    He woke with aching muscles and a head full of cotton.
    Contemplating the yellow-hazed dusk blanketing the mountain view, he took a full minute to remember where he was. The soft click of metal alerted him to the fact he wasn’t alone. Adjusting the pillow beneath his cheek, he studied his self-appointed sentinel in the glow of lantern light, admiring the way her hair shimmered like liquid fire rippling over her shoulder.
    The light smattering of freckles added an air of playfulness to her otherwise elegant features. False advertisement, in his opinion. He’d yet to glimpse any upbeat emotion in her. He wondered how she’d look without the sour attitude, found it tough to imagine her laughing, her eyes brimming with warmth and good humor.
    What had stolen her joy?
    A furrow pulled her fine eyebrows together, and her mouth was again pressed into a frown. Her focus was centered on the half-finished project in her lap. Various-colored yarns filled the basket at her feet.
    â€œWhat are you working on?”
    She lifted her molten gaze, her expression frustratingly blank. “A new rug for the rear entrance.”
    â€œYou shoot, bake and create works of art out of yarn and burlap. You’re a woman of many talents.”
    â€œNo more than any other woman in these mountains.”
    â€œI’ve been out awhile, haven’t I? Did you put something in my tea?”
    Abandoning her task, she folded her hands together in a show of exaggerated patience. One flame-hued brow arched. “Yes. I doctored it so that you’d sleep the remainder of your recovery away. Guess I didn’t put enough in there.”
    Grant laughed, then winced when his stitches pulled and pain radiated toward his hip.
    â€œYou were asleep when I came in to wash your hair,” she said. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
    He noticed the quilt had been adjusted, pulled up to chest level and tucked around him. Weak and trembling from his ill-advised journey through the cabin, he hadn’t bothered with it when he’d lain down earlier. She must’ve thought he was chilled. While the thought of Jessica watching him sleep was unnerving, being the recipient of her nurturing instinct filled him with strange fluttery sensations. Especially considering her antipathy toward him.
    â€œInstead of waking you, I went exploring in the general area around the smokehouse. I found something.”
    He carefully maneuvered into a sitting position, his stomach going sideways. “What is it?”
    Putting her things in the basket, she rose and, crossing to the corner, retrieved an alligator-skin travel bag.
    His heart threatened to burst from his chest as she placed it on his lap. He ran his fingertips across the bumpy surface. “Doesn’t look familiar.”
    â€œI almost missed it. It was half-hidden beneath a shrub, some of the contents strewn over the ground.”
    His fingers fumbled on the clasp. One by one, he lifted out items that proved ambiguous. Two changes of clothes, sturdy trousers with well-worn hems and solid-color shirts, didn’t spark recognition. Socks. A black handkerchief that looked new. A razor and shaving soap. Basic traveling necessities that could belong to anyone.
    Then he saw the Bible lying in the bottom. His gaze shot to Jessica’s. Her expression was unreadable as she stood, hands folded behind her back.
    He balanced the heavy tome in his hands. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. There, on the filmy, delicate first page, a name had been scrawled in blocky letters. “I can’t make out the first name,” he murmured. “Parker is the surname.”
    â€œDoes it trigger any memories?”
    â€œNo.” Defeat marred his tone. He rubbed the coffee-colored stain obscuring much of the first name. “This looks like an