She sighed and sat back down. “Not half as sorry as I am.”
He reached out a hand. “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he assured her gently.
Gen looked down at his hand. It was well used, bruised and callused and strong. A beautiful hand. The kind of hand she’d want comforting her, caressing her, caring for her. The kind of hand a woman would sell her soul to know.
She looked up into his eyes and felt that unnerving stumble of her heart. There was such beauty in those blue eyes, such joy and life, and there, deep, the shadow of sadness to make them so much richer. Not just a lake, but a lake with bewitching reflections.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to believe that this all made some kind of sense. The kind of sense she understood in her humdrum day-to-day world, where the most exciting thing to happen was her daughter’s dance recital. Not ghosts and premonitions and haunted houses. And yet her housewashaunted. Haunted by a man with the warmest smile and gentlest hands she’d ever known.
Well, if you’re going to have a hallucination, you might as well have one that’s fun, she thought.
“We have to call you something,” she said simply.
He gave another shrug. “Any suggestions? Nothing sounds right.”
It was Gen’s turn to smile, although there was very little amusement in her expression. “You answered to Rafe.”
His eyebrows went up. “Really? Okay.”
Gen nodded, businesslike, as if the right attitude alone could push some semblance of order back into her life. “Good. Well, then, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a really long day. Would you mind if we got a little sleep? It probably couldn’t hurt you, and it would certainly help me a little.”
He thought about it for a minute. “It’s going to storm again.”
Gen listened to the pitch of the wind. “I don’t think we ever stopped having the last one. It’ll probably clear out by morning, and then we can figure a way to get you off the island.”
He nodded. “That’s fine. I think.”
Gen was about to get up when he laid a hand on her arm. “Gen?”
She turned, bracing herself with the sweet light in those eyes. “Yes?”
“I know you, and you seem to know my name. Why don’t you know who I am?”
It took Gen a very long time to furnish him with an answer, simply because she didn’t have one. Not one that would make any sense, unless this man had, in fact, materialized from her dream. Or he was a delusion. If he was a coincidence, as she suspected—as she desperately hoped—tales of Civil War battles and abandonment neuroses would just aggravate his head injury.
“It’s kind of a long story,” she finally hedged. “Maybe I’ll give it a try after I’ve had some sleep.”
IfI’ve had some sleep, she thought miserably. If a person’s dream is sitting on her couch, will he still end up in her subconscious? Definitely the research topic for the night.
“Gen?”
She closed her eyes, knowing that she simply couldn’t pursue this right now. “Yes?”
“I need some clothes.”
That got her eyes open. It actually got a laugh out of her, as well. “My God, you’re right. I don’t have anything.”
Anything except what might be in those trunks she’d been intending to search.
Gen finally shrugged. “I’ll work something out in the morning, if that’s okay with you. You can sleep in the extra bedroom.”
Sleep. Should she wake him periodically during the night? She’d learned that in the first-aid course, too. But then, if she woke him and something was wrong, what was she going to do about it? Gen gave in to another sigh, this one sounding even wearier than the others. If she was going to be subject to inexplicable hallucinations, couldn’t they at least be easy ones? A walk in the park, a night at an exclusive restaurant, that kind of thing. She had to live hers as Cherry Ames, Civil War nurse.
Rafe seemed to think about Gen’s offer for a moment, his brow pursed, his eyes dark. Then, looking suddenly vulnerable, he offered another of those small shrugs. “I guess that would be okay. I can’t seem to remember anything important I need to do.”
Gen tried to encourage him with her best smile. She’d been married eight years, and had never once been struck by the overwhelming urge to comfort a man. Not like this. But there was something about the helpless frustration in this strong man that compelled her. She didn’t care, suddenly, who he was or why he’d ended up here. She decided, without even realizing it, to give in to the madness. No matter what else was going on in her life, or anybody else’s, this man was here and he needed her help.
This man who gave her memories she shouldn’t have.
