The hair thing had been unintentional, but she had his attention. Were her auburn tresses as silky as they looked? He balled his hands into fists to keep from finding out.
He didn’t need this kind of distraction. He knew nothing about her and the danger she was in. He had too much work to do on the ranch, and he could never devote the time to a woman, which she deserved.
Isn’t that why I hired another ranch hand? So I could have time?
Yes, he’d been around when needed, but the inactivity drove him crazy. He wanted to be out riding, roping, and working hard. He needed to exhaust himself each day so he could sleep at night.
That’s why he’d baled hay last night. If he’d gone to bed, thoughts of Emily’s emerald eyes and strawberry-red lips would have kept him awake half the night, like they had the previous night.
He started the engine. “We’d better head back. If I sit much longer, I’ll fall asleep.” Orrun my hands through your hair.He doubted that would go over well.
Emily continued to ask questions about the ranch as they drove back, making the ride back pass quickly.
When he lifted her from the truck to carry her into the house, Jake couldn’t help himself. He inhaled deeply to see if her hair still smelled like strawberries.
It did. And it smelled so good.
He was allergic to strawberries, so he rarely thought about them. But Emily reminded him of strawberries, from her full red lips to her strawberry-scented auburn hair. He had a feeling he was going to forever feel differently about strawberries.
When they got in the house, Jake hesitated near the couch, reluctant to put Emily down. After smelling her hair one final time, he set her on the couch.
He straightened and cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. It must be from all the talking he’d done on the drive. “Would you like a drink of water?”
“Yes, please.”
Jake escaped to the kitchen where he downed a full glass, then refilled it and filled a glass for Emily. When he gave it to her, she took a few swallows then set her glass on the end table and stared at the baby grand piano in the far corner of the room.
She looked tired, but his mother wasn’t home yet, and it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to offer to help her get ready for bed. He was about to suggest they watch a movie when she scooted to the edge of the couch.
“Will you find my crutches, please?”
“Sure.” He wanted to insist on carrying her wherever she needed to go but decided he should let her have what little independence he could. No need to make things awkward if she needed to go to the bathroom. He retrieved her crutches from the back patio, where they’d left them earlier.
“Thank you.” Without another word, Emily shuffled to the piano. She sat down and plucked a few keys. She eyed the sheet music that lay open on the piano then played the top hand.
Jake stood behind her. When she stopped playing, he asked, “Did you remember learning to play? Or was it instinctual?”
“I don’t know. I got this feeling that maybe I could play. It’s strange that I felt it tonight when I have been looking at this piano for three days without feeling anything.”
Emily’s fingers glided over the ivory keys again as she played. Slowly. Thoughtfully.
Jake checked the music in front of her. He was rusty, but he could tell she wasn’t playing from the sheet music. He didn’t recognize the notes she played. Glancing at her face, he watched her eyes close. He listened to the beautiful melody, appreciating her talent.
Emily stopped playing and lowered her head as much as her neck brace allowed.
Jake looked at her face again.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
He perched on the edge of the bench and pulled her into his arms. “You remembered something, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
When she didn’t speak, he waited a few moments then asked, “Who taught you to play?”
“My mother,” she whispered.
“Why does remembering your mother make you sad?”
