“If you’re that certain, then fine. Take this lantern with you. I have others. Leave the bathroom door unlocked, in case you’re not as strong as you think you are and need some help. Don’t let modesty prevent you from calling for me if you get into trouble. When you’re done, you’ll probably want some supper. I’ve already set up my propane camp stove on the back porch and can do a little cooking on it. We’ll decide later what sounds good.”
He was holding out the lantern, and Hope took it from him. So, she thought, he would rush to her rescue again, should she call out from the bathroom. Was he hoping for another peek at her bare skin, or hadn’t her nudity before bothered him? Maybe he’d barely noticed. Maybe her body wasn’t worthy of notice. For some reason that idea stung Hope’s pride. She hadn’t taken inventory of her figure yet, but she would, she decided.
Ignoring his offer of help, she said, “After all you’ve done for me, I shouldn’t have the gall to ask for one more thing. But these sweats I’m wearing are uncomfortably large and I was wondering if you had some old ones that you wouldn’t mind my cutting inches off the legs and arms.”
“As a matter of fact I do. I’ll get them and bring them and the scissors to the bathroom.” He walked off, vanishing in the darkness right before Hope’s eyes.
Her stomach turned over. She didn’t like being alone in the dark in this strange house, even with a lantern in her hand. It threw light, but it also created shadows, and Hope wondered if she’d always been leery of the dark or if this was just another perturbing side effect to amnesia.
Making her way to the bathroom door, she went in and set the lantern on the sink counter. Leaning forward until her nose was only a few inches from the mirror, she peered at her face in the lantern’s glow. She realized after a few moments that she had no base of information on which to judge her own looks. Was she pretty or plain? Her eyes were blue—quite a vivid blue, actually—but she’d noticed that Matt’s eyes were brown, and perhaps brown eyes were considerably more desirable than blue eyes.
Her dark hair might be appealing when shiny clean and curled—or something. How did she ordinarily wear it?
Hope had left the door open, and Matt walked in without preamble. “Here are several things you can cut up,” he said while placing a stack of clothes on the other end of the counter from the lantern. “Sorry I don’t have anything smaller, but I haven’t been your size since I was in the fifth grade.”
“You are…quite tall,” Hope murmured.
“Six foot three.” Matt walked to the door, but didn’t leave immediately. “Remember what I said about calling out if you need any help. In fact, if you’d leave the door ajar an inch or so, I’d feel a lot better about hearing you.”
“I…guess that would be all right.” She could detect the hint of an amused grin on his lips in the lantern light and became defensive. “Maybe I’m accustomed to bathing with the bathroom door open, but something inside me rebels at the idea so I can’t help doubting it,” she said sharply.
Realizing that no part of her predicament was funny to Hope, Matt erased all signs of amusement from his expression and said solemnly, “I doubt it, too. Take your bath and don’t worry about me peeking through the crack of the door. In the first place, I wouldn’t see anything I haven’t already seen, and in the second, I’m not in the habit of preying on healthy women, let alone one who’s in such sad shape.” He walked out, and pulled the door shut, leaving about a three-inch opening.
Hope’s jaw had dropped in painful surprise. Why, he’d practically come right out and said she was a pitiful specimen of womankind! No wonder he’d been able to undress and bathe her without emotion.
Oh, the shame of it, she thought, completely mortified over being so utterly undesirable. She hurried through a bath and a cautious shampoo, and never once really looked at her body. After all, why would she or any other woman want to inventory something so—so pathetic?
Later, Hope and Matt dined on grilled cheese sandwiches—prepared in an iron skillet on his propane camping stove—and small bowls of canned fruit. The lantern light softened Matt’s features, Hope noticed, and wondered if it did the same with hers. Not that his features needed softening. In spite of the constant concern gnawing at her over her long list of personal grievances, she admired Matt McCarlson’s masculine good looks. It seemed almost insane to be aware of a man’s looks under the circumstances, but Hope really couldn’t help herself.
Not that she expected or even fantasized anything coming of her admiration. She was, after all, so out of Matt’s league in the looks department that even if she was a hundred percent healthy, with a perfect memory and some decent clothes that actually fit, he would be no more affected by her than he would be by a great-grandmother sharing his house and table.
Hope sighed quietly and spooned a bit of canned peach to her mouth. Something flashed through her mind, something about peaches that she couldn’t hold on to or read clearly.
“You’re very quiet,” Matt said. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes, and I think I just had a glimmer of a memory.”
“You did? What was it?”
“It was nothing earthshaking, so don’t get excited. It had something to do with peaches.”
Matt sat back. “With peaches? Why in hell would your first memory be about peaches? I doubt there are very many peach trees in Massachusetts.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to get excited?” she said dryly. “Believe me, if I had any say in the order in which I might recall my past, my first memory would not have been about peaches. Besides, it wasn’t even a full memory. I mean, I don’t know if I was eating peaches, buying them or picking them off a tree.” Hope paused for a short breath and added, “Maybe I was throwing them at someone, possibly an irritating man.”
Matt’s eyebrows went up. “So you think I’m irritating.”
“Did I mention you?”
“Since I’m the only man you know at the present, you didn’t have to identify who you’d like to throw peaches at.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hope muttered.
“You’re angry. Not only that, you’re angry with me. What happened? What’d I do?”
Hope fell silent, did some thinking and realized that he was right. She was hurt and so angry that she would love to throw something at him. Yes, he’d rescued her from the storm—and only the good Lord knew what else—but then he’d found her so unappealing, so unattractive, that she might as well have been a mangy stray dog instead of a woman.
But she could not explain herself on that score, and she resorted to a lie. “Sorry, but you’re dead wrong. I’m not a bit angry with you. Why would I be? You probably saved my life, pathetic as it apparently is.”
Matt frowned. “Why would you think you have a pathetic life?” Should he go and get that newspaper article for her to read? The information in it sure didn’t read to him like Hope LeClaire led a pathetic life. An heiress to millions, possibly billions of dollars? And she was no slouch in the looks department, either. In truth, he’d never seen a more perfect body. Full, rounded breasts with gorgeous rosy nipples that looked as though they’d been created specifically for a man’s mouth. Oh, no, Hope’s assets weren’t all in banks or safes, not by a long shot.
“Have you seen anyone out here looking for me?” she retorted. “Wouldn’t you think your life was pretty pathetic,