A Thanksgiving To Remember. Margaret Watson

way?” she cried. “What happened to ‘innocent until proven guilty’?”

      “He’s a cop, Tina,” Tom said, his voice weary. “He’s going with what he has. And I look damned guilty.”

      “How can you say that?”

      “My driver’s license is phony, and the only address they have for me is a vacant lot in St. Louis. Plus I was carrying a gun. If I were a cop, I’d be just as suspicious.”

      “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.” Her voice sounded desperate.

      Tom finally smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and he reached out and took her hand. “Thank you for taking my side. But I have to face the facts. Maybe I did have something to do with those people’s deaths.”

      “You didn’t,” she said automatically. “You’re not a killer. You can’t be.”

      Tom looked at Tina then, and for just a moment she saw his fear. Then it was gone, replaced by a warmth that made her breathless. “Your belief in me means more than I can tell you. But I won’t know if I had anything to do with the murders until I get my memory back.”

      “You’ll remember,” she said, and heard the fierceness in her voice. “Then Detective Jones will have to look somewhere else.”

      Tom twined his fingers with hers and brought her hand to his mouth. “Thank you.” His voice was hushed in the still, dark room. “I hope I don’t disappoint you when we know the truth.”

      “You won’t.” Tina studied Tom’s face, unable to see even a hint of guilt or evil there. He wasn’t a killer. She was sure of it. And if that made her a fool, she didn’t care.

      He brushed his lips against the back of her hand, then turned her hand over and pressed a kiss into her palm. Blood thickened in her veins and her heart began to pound as his lips lingered. Her skin felt scorched where he’d touched her. She felt her hand tremble, and felt Tom’s hand shaking, too.

      “You need to go home and get some sleep,” he said. But he didn’t let her hand go, and she didn’t pull away. It was late at night, and her common sense and natural caution had vanished. She didn’t care about sleeping. She didn’t care that she had to be back at work early the next afternoon. All she wanted to do was sit in this room with Tom, holding his hand.

      “Tina,” he whispered, turning toward her.

      “What?” She stared at him, unable to breathe, unable to move.

      He was inches away from her when he stopped suddenly, then leaned back against the pillows. He gently disengaged his hand from hers, then curled his hand into a fist and closed his eyes. “Go home.”

      “I’m not ready to go home.”

      Tom opened his eyes and looked at her. “Yes, you are. Go home, Tina. Get some sleep. And don’t have too much faith in me. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

      “You won’t,” she whispered.

      “That remains to be seen.” He opened his eyes after a moment and managed to smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      Slowly, she stood up. “I’ll be in early.”

      His smile deepened, extended to his eyes. “I know. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

      She resisted the impulse to bend down and kiss him, shocking herself with the thought. “Good night,” she said quickly, then hurried from the room. She paused in the hallway, took a deep breath, then walked quickly back to the nurses’ station and grabbed her belongings. She didn’t even notice the cool air hitting her overheated face as she rushed to her car. She needed to be back in her own home, where she belonged. She needed to be grounded, to remember what couldn’t be. And there was no place better for that than her home, the house she’d lived in for her whole life. If she needed any reminders about getting involved with a man, all she had to do was look around her house and remember.