Remember Me (3 page)

“He would,” Hamish said.

“Thanks, bro.” Eamon smiled, and they shook hands in a brief moment of brotherly affection.

“Thanks for today.” Hamish tightened his grip on his brother’s hand. “I appreciate it.”

“No worries.” Eamon clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’ll lock up then.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

Rose kissed Eamon on the cheek and watched him walk away. Then she turned back to Hamish. “You sure you want me to stay?”

“Yes, please.”

She nodded. “Okay. Want another beer?”

He sighed, for the first time showing some emotion, apparently relieved she was staying. “God, yes.”

She went into the house and retrieved two more bottles, pausing for a moment as she shut the fridge. Yet again, she queried what she was doing. Even if he couldn’t remember anything, he hadn’t had a personality transplant. She didn’t know an awful lot about amnesia, but surely his memory could return at any time? If or when it did, how would he feel toward her? He hadn’t contacted her in the six months they’d been apart—clearly, he hadn’t changed his mind. Now, he was curious about their relationship and what they’d meant to each other. But if you took away that curiosity, what was left?

Come on Rose, do you want to go through it all again?

She could see him stroking Brandon’s head. He’d been to hell and back, and he’d lost a limb, as well as the memory of the past decade. He may not remember her, but they’d been close. Even though it hadn’t ended well, she owed him more than a passing conversation and a kiss on the cheek.

Chapter Three

Hamish sank his fingers into Brandon’s fur and tried to keep his breathing calm.
This is a crazy situation.
He and Rose had been lovers, but obviously something had gone wrong because the relationship had ended. What was he doing, asking her to stay?

She came out then, carrying the bottles, and he received his answer in the way his heart rate increased. His brain might not remember her, but his body did. Her frank manner amused him—all afternoon people had danced around the subject of his leg, worried about offending him, but Rose had talked about it straight away, presumably knowing he preferred the direct approach. Like Brandon, her presence comforted him. He wanted to talk to her for a while, to find out more about her.

She handed him the bottle, slid Eamon’s lounger toward him so they were a foot apart, and sat facing the sea. “Nice spot here, isn’t it?”

“Lovely.” He held his bottle up to hers. “What shall we drink to?”

“To absent body parts?”

He laughed. “To absent body parts.” They clinked the bottles, and he took a swig of the cold lager.

“Are you in much pain?” she asked.

He resisted the urge to rub his thigh. “Not as bad as you might think. The weirdest thing is the phantom pain. I can feel the lower leg sometimes. It aches. Very bizarre.”

“You don’t remember the bomb at all?”

“No...” He hesitated. “Well, sometimes I dream about it. Loud noise and light. But it’s always gone when I wake up.”

She turned and curled up on the lounger, facing him. “Tell me how it feels, having no memory. Do you feel lost?”

Once again, she’d cut right to the chase. None of his family or friends had asked him how he
felt
about losing his memory. All they’d been interested in was what he could or couldn’t remember. “Kinda. Complete strangers talk to me as if they know me. It makes me uneasy, because how do I know they’re telling the truth? That’s why it was so good to have Eamon there this afternoon, prompting from behind the scenes.”

Her blue eyes shone, open and honest. “Is that how I make you feel? Uneasy?”

“No, strangely.” He stroked Brandon’s velvety ears. “I suppose that’s weird. Or maybe not. I understand we were close.”

She picked at the label on the beer bottle. “Yes. We were.”

“Were we in love?”

She smiled shyly. “Yes.”

He ran his gaze from the long brown hair curling around her shoulders, over the swell of her breasts, followed the curve of her waist, and travelled down to her slender legs. By the time he returned to her face, an appealing flush colored her cheeks.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Rose.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “For what?”

“For hurting you.”

She bit her lip. “I hurt you too. And for that I’m very sorry.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Who?”

“Soldier Hamish. What was he like?”

Her lips curved. “Not so different to you, I think. Serious sometimes. He loved the Army. He’d seen things that had changed him—an enemy shot a close friend of his dead in front of him, and he was there when a bomb landed on a school and killed a whole class of children. I don’t think anyone can walk away from that sort of thing untouched. He lived with ghosts.”

He looked out to sea. “He sounds like quite a guy.”

She rested a hand on his arm. “He’s still you, even though you can’t remember what you did. When you get your memory back, you’ll think all this is hilarious.”

“I don’t think I’ll get it back.” He clenched his jaw with held-in emotion. “I think the crack on the concrete knocked it right out of me. Soldier Hamish has gone for good, I’m afraid. Just plain old civilian Hamish left now.” He glanced at her and gave her a humorless smile. “Sorry about that.”

She withdrew her hand and picked at the label again. “There’s nothing wrong with civilian Hamish. It was soldier Hamish I had issues with.”

“Oh? Why did we break up, anyway?”

She said nothing for a while and looked out at the white-topped waves in the distance. “I don’t know that we should discuss this.”

“Why not?”

Her gaze came back to him. “It would be unfair, because you’d only be getting one side of the story. I’m no angel.”

“The best girls aren’t.”

“Now
that
sounds like the Hamish I knew and loved.”

They both laughed.

“I’d like to know, though.” He frowned. “I feel as if I’m a detective, carrying out an investigation. Trying to piece together the soldier’s life, to find out what he was like, what he did before going away to fight. But I can’t do it on my own. I need your help.”

She heaved a sigh. Once again, she fell quiet. He didn’t push her—just sat and sipped his beer, watching her sift through her memories like panning for gold. Eventually, she made her decision, and her gaze came back to him, determined and maybe a little sympathetic. “You asked me to marry you.”

Chapter Four

Rose didn’t usually do parties, but it was the first weekend of the June school holidays and a friend was having a midwinter celebration. “You needn’t stay long,” Bev pleaded. “I really want you to come. You never get out. You seriously need some fun in your life, Rose Nicholls.”

“Jeez, Bev, you know I don’t do fun.”

Bev rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to come. There will be men there—single, attractive men who will want to hold a decent conversation with you.”

“Then I’m definitely not coming.” The thought of flirting with guys—of getting back into the dating game—scared her witless.

Pity clouded Bev’s eyes. “It’s been nearly three years, sweetie. The first year I could understand. When a partner dies, you can’t do anything until that first anniversary’s over with—I wouldn’t have expected anything else. Then, the second year, I thought, well, it’s going to take time, I mustn’t rush you, I’ll let you get back into it at your own speed. But now it’s coming up for three years, and honey, you’re too lovely to pine away like this.”

“I’m not pining.” The first year after Lee died, yes, she’d pined, but after that, being single had become a habit, until eventually the thought of dating again had horrified her. Fear had kept her from meeting someone else. Not only did the thought of another man seeing her naked make her want to hyperventilate into a paper bag, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to open up enough to love again.

“I’m not asking you to find a husband.” Bev’s gentle voice coaxed her. “Just come and talk to some people. Socialize, have a conversation—return to the real world.”

“I’m in the real world every day,” Rose reminded her. “You can’t get much more down-to-earth than a class of stroppy teenagers.”

“True. But you spend all your days giving. Don’t you want a little bit of fun for yourself?”

Rose opened her mouth and then shut it again. It was all well and good to hide away in her tiny flat and pretend she didn’t want to enter the big wide world, but truthfully, deep down, she
did
want to get out there. She just didn’t know how to do it. Maybe going to the party would be the first step.

Bev and her partner, Rob, were holding the party at their beach house in Ahipara, a small town on the west coast of the Northland. It wasn’t exactly beach weather, being the middle of winter, but many New Zealanders used their beach houses all year round in the sub-tropical Northland.

Rose’s parents had a house about half a mile from Bev’s, and she left there just before four o’clock, carrying a bottle of wine and a box of home-made chocolate brownies. It had rained the evening before, but that day the bright sunshine turned the sea a sparkling azure, and the temperature had risen several degrees.

She bit her lip, wondering if she’d worn the right outfit. Kiwis didn’t tend to dress up, even for parties, and most people would be wearing jeans and T-shirts. So why had she chosen to wear a dress? The same blue as the sky, it had a deep V-neck and short sleeves, and although pretty, it looked smart rather than casual. Oh well, too late now. She wouldn’t need the jacket she’d brought until late anyway.

Cars surrounded Bev’s house and music floated across the beach along with the smoke from the barbecue. People milled outside, some relaxing on the loungers, some playing beach games on the sand, and the smell of cooked food made her mouth water. She walked around to the deck that overlooked the sea and entered the house via the large sliding doors. Bev stood in the kitchen area, pouring sparkling wine into a row of glasses.

“Rose!” She put down the bottle and came over. “Ooh, brownies!”

Rose gave her the box. “All yours, sweetie—but don’t come running to me if you eat too many and they make you sick.” Bev’s penchant for chocolate cake was legendary.

“Ha ha.” But Bev had already opened the box and dived in. She took a bite of one. “Mm. Superb as ever.” She put down the box and gave Rose a hug, still holding the brownie. “I’m so glad you came. Come on, let me introduce you to some people.”

She led Rose around the room and presented her to friends and family. Rose said little and smiled a lot for a while, but once she moved onto her second glass of wine, she relaxed a little and began to chat.

Some of the people she already knew—mutual friends or owners of the other beach houses on the road. She’d met Robert and Sarah McIntyre before—a middle-aged couple with a place about another half a mile on from her parents’ house.

“Have you met their son, Eamon?” Bev tapped the shoulder of a tall, good looking guy with ruffled dark hair, and he turned and gave Rose a friendly smile.

“No.” Rose held out her hand. “Good to meet you, Eamon.”

“Pleasure.” He gripped and shook it firmly.

“Where have you been?” Bev handed him another beer. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I usually work weekends. I’m a firefighter,” he told Rose. “But my brother came home on leave this weekend so I’m taking a few days off.”

“Where is Hamish?” Bev looked around.

“Outside.”

“He’s a fidget,” Sarah complained. “He hasn’t sat down since he was old enough to walk.”

They all laughed. Sarah turned to talk to a friend while Bev started asking Eamon about a mutual friend of theirs.

Rose moved away, out of the sliding doors toward the decking. Eamon was a handsome guy, smart, and with a reliable job. She supposed she should have lingered and tried to find out if he was single, but even though he’d seemed friendly, the thought of engaging in a conversation alone with him turned her knees to jelly.

Would she ever be able to get back in the saddle? She wandered across the deck, wishing she hadn’t come. The too-loud music and raucous laughter had given her a headache. She’d rather have been at home, curled up with a book.

That thought made her grit her teeth.
Rose Nicholls, you’re only twenty-six. Start acting like it.

She sipped her wine as she watched half a dozen guys playing Frisbee on the sand. They all looked like typical Kiwi men—tanned, fit, and healthy, exactly the sort to tie her tongue in knots. One in particular caught her attention, however. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with the same dark hair as Eamon McIntyre—although this time cut into a short, neat style— he was obviously the brother they’d referred to, probably older by a couple of years. What had Eamon said?
My brother came home on leave this weekend
. So, an Army guy?

Warning bells rang in her head.
Not
a good idea. He was gorgeous though. His All Blacks T-shirt stretched tight over a toned torso, and his jeans clung to muscular thighs.
Very yummy
.
Okay, maybe I’m still in the land of the living.

At that moment, he glanced over at her. Rose’s eyes widened, embarrassed that he’d caught her staring, but even from ten yards away, he caught her gaze and refused to let it go. She stood transfixed, her heart pounding as a smile spread across his face.

Not looking at the others, he didn’t notice one of them throw the Frisbee at him, and it hit him on the temple. He jerked, stumbled, and fell backward onto his butt on the sand.

Alarmed, Rose put down her glass and ran across the beach. She dropped to her knees beside him. “Are you all right?”

He blinked and stared at her. “Do I have blue tweety birds going around my head?”

She laughed, relieved. “No. A few stars though.”

“Ah. That has nothing to do with the Frisbee.”

She sat back, amused. “Wow. You’re smooth, even with concussion.”