Authors: Billie Green
Why couldn't he remember? Daniel thought in frustration. In eleven years, so much would have changed. Who could he call? Who could he trust not to send him back? He had to be careful. If the nightmare was any indication of what it was like for him at Greenleigh, he would never go back. He couldn't take a chance on calling the wrong person.
Clenching his fists, he swung away from the window. He caught her off guard and the look in her eyes
surprised him. It was a deep sadness, a shocking
loneliness.
"You never told me what you had planned to do for the two years you were going to have charge of Danny."
He paused suddenly. Even he was beginning to think of Danny as another person, or maybe a youthful doppelganger was a better way to put it. It was a weird, weird feeling.
Shaking his head, he continued. "Surely you weren't planning on staying hidden all that time."
She shrugged. "I didn't think that far ahead. I just wanted to get you out. I was prepared to do whatever was necessary for the future."
"That's it," he said suddenly. "That's what I can't figure. Why? Why on earth would you be prepared to do all this? You would have been giving up two years of your life... and for what?"
For Danny's happiness, she answered silently, and for her own happiness. How could she explain that to him? He had been skeptical of everything she had told him. How could she add that she was in love with the man he used to be, the man he was yesterday? She could hear him sneer, "In love with an idiot?" She shivered. No, she couldn't ever tell him why she had done it.
"You need to eat," she said, making her voice sound matter-of-fact. "We can't even think about what to do until we get food inside us."
As Daniel watched her working in the small kitchen area, he found himself fascinated by the way she moved. Why was he so drawn to her? She turned suddenly, and he felt a shaft of desire-pierce him; the sensation was so strong it was overwhelming.
He had to regain control of his emotions, he thought, frowning, it wasn't like him to be obsessed with a woman, or anything for that matter. His control and his use of logic had always been his greatest strengths. He couldn't allow that to change now.
"It's chilly," he said, standing abruptly. "I'll get wood for the fireplace while you're finishing." Without waiting for a reply he walked out.
He found neatly split logs in a wooden shed not far from the cabin, but didn't attempt to take them in at once. He needed time to think.
A little way from the cabin he sat on a decomposing log and stared around him. He didn't know what part of Nevada they were in. Hell, he only had her word they were in Nevada at all. They could be in Alaska for all he knew, he thought, throwing down in disgust a stick he held.
Daniel had never felt so useless. He had always been the one to take charge. He was the mover, the doer. He got things done. Now he was as helpless as the six-year-old she told him he was yesterday.
Not for long, he vowed silently. As soon as he got back his strength and his memory, he would end this situation. And once more he would be the man in charge.
Amanda listened to the silence, feeling relaxed for the first time that day. But then, this was the first time today that she had been alone, without those watching eyes. He was driving her crazy. She didn't know how much more she could take.
He had been gone for fifteen minutes, too long to get wood, she thought. Maybe he needed to get away from her as much as she needed to get away from him.
The original odd couple, she thought wryly, then laughed and the sound surprised her.
Later, she was to remember that laughter wistfully. The second he walked back into the cabin carrying an armload of wood, all serenity fled. Throughout their silent meal and as she cleaned up afterward, she felt the heat of his gaze on her, following her every movement until she felt she would scream if he didn't stop.
Finally, she had had enough. Laying down the dish towel, she turned slowly to face him.
"I think I'll take a walk," she said tightly. "I need some fresh air." And some space, she added silently. Turnabout was fair play.
She hadn't gone three steps into the woods when she found him beside her. She closed her eyes briefly. He probably thought she was going to try to leave. She almost laughed aloud. Where would she go? She couldn't go far enough or fast enough to forget it was all her fault. No, she thought, whatever happened next, she was in this situation for the duration.
They walked in silence, and even though he was no longer watching her, the silence was different from what she had experienced with Danny. It wasn't comfortable; it wasn't companionable.
Gradually she began to take in the beauty of the woods, and it calmed her. Spring was just reaching the low-lying mountain area, and green was bursting from every tree and bush. Flowers of pink and white were just beginning to open.
Suddenly, on the path ahead, she saw a tiny blue butterfly, its wings fluttering in azure joy. Exclaiming, she turned to the man beside her. "Oh, look— isn't it beautiful?"
Pulling his eyes away from hers, he stared after the butterfly. After a moment, he nodded, then glanced up at the trees above them.
Amanda swallowed her disappointment. He wasn't Danny. She would have to tell herself that over and over until she knew it by heart. By heart, she repeated silently. That was painfully funny—her heart was the only part of her that knew for sure that this man wasn't Danny.
She stared with something close to resentment at Daniel's upturned face. Suddenly, he swayed. Perspiration sprung out on his forehead. When he staggered, she lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"What is it?" she asked, the blood pounding in her veins. "What's wrong?"
"Just help me get back to the cabin," he said shortly, as though he resented having to ask for her help.
Please, God, let him be all right, she begged silently as they made their way slowly back to the cabin. Each step became a major accomplishment as he grew heavier and heavier.
Panting, she pulled his arm around her shoulders. "Just keep it there and hang on," she said, her voice rough with determination. "A few more steps. A few more steps." The words became a litany, a prayer for survival. The whole time they struggled forward, she thought, I can't do this, as her heart pounded painfully in her chest.
She almost cried in relief when she saw the cabin through the trees. "We made it," she gasped, her eyes stinging with perspiration. "We really made it."
Pushing open the door of the cabin, she staggered with him to the bed. When he fell awkwardly across it, she leaned over him, wiping his face with the sheet.
"What can I do?" she asked anxiously.
"It's going away," Daniel said. "Don't fuss."
Gradually his lie became truth as the dizziness diminished. After a while, he glanced at the woman still leaning over him.
She's terrified, he thought in amazement as he studied her features.
Daniel was completely baffled. He didn't know what to think about this small woman. What was her angle? She certainly didn't look mercenary right now. His gaze drifted over her. In fact, she looked beautiful. Too beautiful for her own good. Too damn beautiful for his own good.
Shifting on the bed, he tried to sit up, but when he moved, the room swam crazily. He shook his head stubbornly when she tried to help. He had to do it alone. By sheer force of will, he physically pulled himself into an upright position.
He sat quietly, watching her move reluctantly away from the bed, watching as she refilled the lanterns and poked at the coals in the fireplace. He knew she wanted to discuss what had happened out in the woods, but he refused. He hated the weakness that had gripped him; he hated the way it brought back the fear, fear that what she had told him about the mysterious disease was the truth.
As the day slowly passed, the charged atmosphere between them grew stronger, building to unbearable proportions. Amanda was almost relieved to see the sun go down. At least she could ignore him in her sleep. Opening the cedar chest, she took out more blankets and began to prepare the couch.
"I'll take the couch," he said suddenly.
Amanda glanced up. "But—"
"You sleep on the bed," he said, cutting her off sharply. "I'll take the couch."
"That doesn't make any sense," she protested. "You're too tall for the couch."
Pulling the cover from her hands, he acted as though she hadn't spoken and silently began to spread out the sheet and blanket.
He was obviously used to having his own way, she thought later as she changed in the bathroom. Staring at her face in the mirror, she frowned. Had it been only two days since they had left Greenleigh? It seemed impossible. It felt lifetimes ago.
Turning around slowly, she leaned against the sink. How long before he fell asleep? How long before she felt safe from those piercing eyes? Sighing, she moved to sit on the edge of the bathtub to wait.
Daniel lay perfectly still, listening to the soft sound of her slippers on the wooden floor. With eyes barely open, he watched as she walked to each lantern, blowing them out in turn. Then she moved to the bed and dropped the robe to a chair.
Moonlight struck her body, making her gown invisible, exposing the shadowed, secret places.
He closed his eyes, stifling a groan. He had lain there for hours thinking of her. Now the desire burned through him, consuming him, until he wanted to scream in frustration.
Moving silently, she climbed into bed. He heard her body sink into it and imagined her dark hair spreading out across the pillow. What would it feel like to touch it? What would her skin feel like, taste like? Her scent was elusive and beckoning, driving him mad.
What had happened between them the night before? he wondered, not for the first time. Had he touched her, loved her? He was almost willing to give up the eleven years if he could just remember last night.
She shifted restlessly, and he felt every muscle contract in response. This was crazy, he thought suddenly, his lips tightening. Why shouldn't he make love to her? They were married—he had the paper to prove it. It was his conjugal right. Maybe it would get her out of his system. Maybe sanity would return.
Shadows brushed by the soft touch of moonlight didn't hide the sudden stiffening of her body beneath the blanket as he approached the bed. Suddenly she rolled over and stared up at him, her eyes wide in the darkness.
"We're married," he said harshly as he threw back the covers and lay down beside her.
Pulling her into his arms, he felt her trembling beneath his touch, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that she was here next to him, and she belonged to him. She belonged to him. With feverish movements, he pulled the gown off and almost groaned at the warm, soft beauty of her.
With shaking hands, he touched her hungrily, exploring all the places he had seen in his imagination. But no amount of imagining could equal the reality. She was lovely beyond words, beyond thought. Bending his head, he tasted her, reveling in her, marveling at the softness of her skin. His eyes closed tightly as he let the feeling penetrate his flesh, filling every corner of his mind.
He ran his hands over the rounded curves, exploring them, branding them with his touch. When his fingers sought the dark, curling triangle between her legs, she moaned, making his pulse pound crazily, spurring him on.
"Please, no," she whispered urgently, pain evident in her voice. "Oh, God, you're not Danny."
Daniel stiffened. Instantly he felt the desire ebb away, leaving him drained of emotion. He lay still for a moment. Suddenly he felt a rush of violent jealousy for the man called Danny, even though logic told him that he and Danny were one and the same.
Rising slowly from the bed, he stared down at her. "You win," he said, his voice cold. "I won't touch you again."
Later as he lay wide awake on the couch, he heard her crying, softly and helplessly. Strangely, he wanted to comfort her. He rolled over and pressed the pillow to his ears, blocking out the sound.
Chapter Twelve
Amanda put the last pan into the soapy water. From the corners of her eyes, she looked at the man standing beside her, drying the dishes as she handed them to him. They were both being very careful not to mention what had taken place the night before, each pretending that it had never happened.
"There's something soothing about doing dishes," he said, his voice thoughtful as he reached up to put a bowl away in the cabinet. "Someone should patent it."
She laughed, then stopped suddenly, surprise showing on her expressive face as she stared at him.
"I may not be Danny, but I am human," he said in exasperation.
She tensed immediately and, angry with himself, he snapped at her. "For heaven's sake, stop watching me constantly for symptoms."
He threw down the dish towel and turned away, running a hand through his hair. "This is crazy. We can't sit around here waiting for each other to fall apart."
Pacing a few steps away, he moved his shoulders wearily. "If only I had some of that drug. We could at least check to see what it is." Daniel had felt the dizziness again that morning, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit. "Then maybe I could go to a local doctor for this treatment you say I need so desperately."
She swung around and stared at him, her eyes hopeful. "Do you really mean that?"
He shrugged. "What difference does it make? You said I destroyed all you had."
Reaching into the pocket of her slacks, she pulled out a small glass vial. "I found it when I was cleaning up the glass. It had rolled under the bureau." She glanced away suddenly, avoiding his eyes. "I was saving it, in case..." Her voice drifted away.
"In case I freak out again?" he said, his voice dry. "Don't look so damn guilty. It may happen yet."
He took the glass vial from her, holding it gingerly between thumb and forefinger as he stared down at it. Then he raised his eyes to hers. "All right, let's go find civilization and see what we can do."
Amanda vaguely remembered the town of Allendale, twenty miles to the north of the cabin, but they needed the help of her road map to reach it. While
Allendale was not exactly a thriving metropolis, it was picturesque in a rough-hewn sort of way and contained all the necessities. At certain times of the year, she remembered, the town attracted its share of tourists. Luckily for them, early spring was not one of those times.
"Do you know a doctor here?" he asked as they drove through file main section of town.
She stared ahead, her eyes thoughtful. "I didn't come to the cabin often when Mom and Dad had it. There was one man my parents mentioned occasionally. .. Beidermyer, yes, that's it, Dr. Beidermyer. He and Dad played poker together, and he was the one who took care of Mother's asthma attack." She glanced at Daniel. "I've never met him though. I don't even know if he's still here."
He pulled the convertible to a stop next to a telephone booth. "I can find out real quick."
Seconds later he came back to the car. "He's still listed," he said, glancing down at her. "I assume there is only one Beidermyer allowed to a town," he added dryly, then nodded toward a gas station. "Since it's a route number, I'll have to ask them for directions."
Amanda saw him approach the blue-uniformed attendant. Then amazingly, as he stood talking to the man, Daniel began to laugh. She had never seen him laugh, and it shocked her. It made her wonder what he would be like under normal circumstances.
How would she react if she woke to find eleven years of her life missing? she wondered to herself suddenly. She had been so absorbed with the fact that he wasn't Danny, she had shut out the fact that he was a man under extreme pressure.
When he returned to the car, all evidence of the laughter was gone and, unreasonably, she felt a pang of loss.
"The doctor retired last year," he said as he slid behind the wheel, "but apparently he still helps out in an emergency. Hal says he lives about a mile west of town."
"Hal?"
"The attendant," he said, then fell silent as he concentrated on the road.
End of conversation, she thought, envying Hal as she glanced away from him.
The doctor's house wasn't difficult to locate. It matched perfectly the description, which Daniel had repeated to her, offered by the station attendant. Painted blue and white, the gingerbread-style house was neat as a pin. Somehow it added normalcy to their quest.
The door opened at the first knock to reveal a man with thinning white hair. The lines of good humor that radiated from his pale-blue eyes and the slightly bulbous nose would have made him look jolly had he not been so tall.
"Dr. Beidermyer?" Amanda said. When he nodded, she said, "We've never met, but you know my parents—Jed and Donna Timbers? I'm Amanda, and this is Daniel Phillips. We'd like to talk to you if you have time."
"Of course," he said, pleasure showing in his eyes. "Come in, come in."
When they were seated in a small, comfortable study
and had refused his offer of refreshment, the doctor said, "How are Jed and Donna? I get a card from them occasionally, but not nearly often enough. The last one was from France."
She nodded. "They loved France. Ireland is home base for them, but I don't think they stay there very often. They've always wanted to travel, and now that Dad is retired, they just don't stop."
The older man laughed. "That sounds like Jed. He's a whirlwind. Donna always seemed a little stunned by him."
"Dr. Beidermyer," Daniel said, and Amanda could sense his impatience. "We've come to you for some advice, and it's a little... frankly it's a little sensitive."
"Shoot," the doctor said. "Even though I've retired, I'm still a licensed physician and, as such, will respect any confidences given me."
Daniel nodded, relaxing visibly. "I appreciate that."
When he smiled, Amanda's eyes widened. The smile was as stunning as his laugh.
"The problem is my teenage nephew," Daniel said. "For a few days recently he stayed with us at Amanda's cabin and left some things behind. When we were boxing them up to send them on to him, we found this." He pulled the vial out of his pocket. "On the whole, he's not a bad kid, and I don't want to upset his parents unnecessarily. Can you tell us what it is?"
Amanda wondered if her mouth was hanging open. He had told the fabrication so easily. No one could have guessed that it was not the absolute truth.
Dr. Beidermyer took the vial from Daniel while he fumbled in the breast pocket of his shirt for his glasses. "I can certainly try," he said, studying the label. After a moment, he glanced up. "I'm afraid I don't recognize the name, but that doesn't mean anything. It could be the manufacturer's rather than a generic name. Or it might even be fake." He pulled off his glasses, frowning slightly. "I could send it to the lab in Las Vegas to be analyzed."
"How long would that take?" Daniel asked.
The older man rubbed his chin. "If I put a rush on it, I could have the results back in two, maybe three days."
Daniel nodded. "That's fine. We'll take care of any charge, of course."
Later in the car, as they drove back to town, Daniel held his silence, but somehow she sensed a change. Just outside the city limits, he pulled the car over to the side of the road. Resting his chin on the steering wheel, he stared straight ahead.
Amanda could feel the tension in him. She jumped skittishly when he slapped the steering wheel with his open hand.
"There's nothing we can do until we get the results from the laboratory. Agreed?"
She nodded slowly, wondering at the intensity in his voice.
"I can't stand the thought of going back to that cabin right now. There's nothing to do there but think." He turned his head toward her. "And I've had enough thinking to last me two lifetimes. So how about a truce? A vacation from this hell?" There was an underlying urgency in him that couldn't be disguised. "Why don't we have lunch, then do some sight-seeing like two ordinary tourists who have nothing more pressing to think about than if they have enough film in their camera."
Before she could answer one way or the other, he turned his head and met her gaze. "Look, I know this thing has been eating at you, too. We both need a day off."
She closed her eyes. "That sounds like heaven. Absolute heaven."
"Well, I don't know about heaven," he said, smiling slowly. "But then I never figured I would make it to heaven anyway."
For lunch, they found a small cafe with genuine Nevada artifacts decorating the walls. Afterward, as they walked around the small town, Amanda felt three hundred years younger than she had that morning. It was a strange sensation, watching his personality unfold. At first the change was hesitant, then it seemed to come with a rush Of relief.
They played Mom and Pop Tourist, pointing out things to each other like the post office and the VFW lodge. There were times when she would realize with a sense of shock that this laughing man beside her was the same man who had practically accused her of marrying him for his money. But every time a negative thought appeared, she shoved it down again, determined to make the most of this small gap in reality.
"And this is, of course, the pride of Allendale," Daniel said as they walked along the cracked sidewalk.
She glanced skeptically at the mud-brown, three story hotel he indicated. "Yes, I can see that." Then she leaned toward him and whispered, "Why is it the pride of Allendale?"
"Are you kidding? Haven't you heard of all the famous people who have slept there?"
She shook her head. "You're not going to tell me that George Washington slept there, are you? Because I don't believe it."
"George Washington?" he repeated, raising a brow. "Small potatoes, my dear Amanda. We're talking about people like Fats Domino and Troy Donahue."
She threw back her head and laughed. They had really and truly called a truce. Neither of them made any reference to the past or even the uncertainties of the present. It was as though they had agreed to pretend to be someone other than who they really were. If they also had to pretend to be at ease with each other, then it was working beautifully. Amanda had somehow separated in her mind the man she was with today, not only from Danny, but from the cold stranger in the cabin.
"Oh, there's a drugstore," she said, pulling on his arm. "Wait here for me while I get some toothpaste."
Without waiting for a response, she ran across the street and entered the drugstore. The small store reminded her of movies she had seen about the fifties. There was a soda fountain on one side of the room with shiny, stainless-steel equipment behind the counter and swiveling stools in front of it.
Toilet and health items crowded the walls and one center display and it took her a few minutes to find the toothpaste. She grabbed a bottle of aspirin on her way to the cash register at the back of the store.
As she dug in her purse to pay for her purchases, she heard someone move behind her and glanced around.
"Daniel," she said in surprise. "I'm sorry. Was I taking too long?"
He stared at her for a moment in silence, then smiled and shook his head. "I decided I couldn't miss seeing the drugstore. When you finish, I'll buy you a Coke," he added, nodding at the soda fountain.
There had been a strange quality to his smile, something she couldn't put her finger on. But she didn't dwell on it. Today wasn't the day for dwelling, she decided as she moved to join him at the counter.
Later, as he drove, Daniel whistled under his breath. Even now, when they were on their way back to the cabin, she was aware that the atmosphere between them had undergone a subtle change, and she couldn't put her finger on exactly what the change was.
It was only as she was climbing into bed that night that it occurred to her that she could have gotten in touch with Ted while they were in town.
That was why he had followed her into the drugstore. He had been testing her and evidently she had passed. Without realizing it, she had placed their destinies in his hands.
The next few days should have been tense ones, but strangely they weren't. It was as though each recognized the fact that there was nothing they could do for the time being except wait.
For Amanda it was a time out of time. As she sat on the rug in front of the fireplace with Daniel beside her, she thought of how strange it was that they should have been here only four days. Time had both expanded and contracted.
She smiled, remembering her physics professor. He had tried so hard to get her to grasp the fact that time had no independent existence apart from the order of events by which humans choose to measure it. He would be pleased to know that she finally understood. Without the darkness of night to show the passing of the time, the past few days would have been a single experience.
Every day, Daniel was remembering more about the missing eleven years. There were still large gaps, but they knew now that it would just take time.
Even though his returning memory pleased them both and the tension had eased, living with him was still not a comfortable experience. Exciting and unfathomable, but never anything so mundane as comfortable.
At times he would be abrupt, even cold. Never once had he apologized—at least not in words, she amended. Every time he was short with her, every time his temper flared, he would do some small thing for her to show that he regretted his behavior.