More Than a Memory. Roz Fox Denny

she wiggled her left hand “—I intend to be wearing Garret’s ring by the end of the arts and crafts fair. We’ll be on our honeymoon by the start of the Mountain Music Festival—if that’s what’s brought you back to the valley.”

      “What…who…?” Jo was too stunned to do more than croak. A tiny window in her brain cracked open long enough for her to know this wasn’t the first time she’d met the brunette. Then the window closed with a snap, leaving Jo gaping after a total stranger. A stranger who departed as quickly as she’d come.

      Jo half rose, but the screen door shut before she could get to her feet. She sat again and heard an expulsion of breath that she knew hadn’t come from her. Glancing up, Jo saw Kendra and Jim hovering in the kitchen doorway.

      “Who…was that?” Jo asked.

      “Jaclyn Richmond,” Kendra said. “A local artist. She came by the day Jim’s dad put up our outdoor sign, asking if we’d display some of her paintings in our rooms. I guess she wanted us to sell them. But her work was too modern for our Victorian decor. Mrs. Applegate at the corner grocery store said Jaclyn used to be married to a football player, but the marriage fell apart. Now I hear she’s running after Garret Logan.”

      “She seemed to know you,” Jim said, interrupting Kendra’s prattle.

      Kendra wasn’t done, however. “Why did she call you Colleen? You signed our register as Jo Carroll, and that’s the name we used to find you on the Internet.”

      Sighing, Jo folded her napkin, and decided it was time to trust them. “It’s a long story, or a short one, depending on how you view it. I can’t answer your question, Kendra.” Jo stood up. “I was in an auto accident seven years ago and have holes in my memory. Jaclyn Richmond and others in town may know more about me than I do. I came here hoping to learn about my past. It seems not everyone seems happy to see me.”

      Kendra slid a hand onto her husband’s shoulder and studied their guest with troubled eyes. “If you need friends you can count on Jim and me. This is a very tight community and it can be hard to break in. There are somewho consider us outsiders even though Jim’s grandparents lived here a long time and his dadwas born here.”

      “Thanks. But I should probably check out and find a room somewhere outside White Oak Valley.”

      “We want you to stay, don’t we, Jim?” Kendra nudged him.

      The man in the wheelchair caught and kissed his wife’s hand. “Kendra’s very stubborn when it comes to getting through tough times. She says stay, and I agree with her.”

      “I will, then,” Jo said. “I appreciate your generosity. I really hope to straighten everything out in a day or two. With your blessing, I’ll get right to it.”

       Chapter Three

      ON THE OTHER SIDE of town from the Rowans’ B and B, Clare Logan knocked on her son Garret’s kitchen door. His dog, Domino, a black-and-white spotted hound, barked and jumped up to bat the glass, but there was no response from Garret. Clare shifted the load she carried and, after a sharp command for the dog to sit, let herself in. “There’s a good boy,” she murmured as the hound sniffed her shoes, whined, then padded over to his empty food dish and gave her a pathetic look. “I see your master has fallen down on the job this morning. Let me check on him, then I’ll get you some kibble.”

      “Garret,” she called again, “it’s Mom. I’ve brought homemade breakfast rolls and black coffee.” Clare set the still-warm rolls and the thermos on the granite counter. She tsked over the lack of any sign that Garret had eaten the night before.

      Making her way to the living room, she wasn’t surprised to find her youngest son passed out on his leather couch, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. His left hand was wrapped limply around a half-empty bottle of Bushmills that rested on the floor. Grimacing, she took away the bottle, capped it and unceremoniously rolled Garret off the couch onto the hardwood floor.

      “Cripes,” he yelped, coming alive. “Can’t a man get peace and quiet in his own home?” He tried levering himself up on both elbows, but groaned and fell back flat. He flung an arm over his eyes to protect them from the bright morning sunlight as his mother threw open his drapes.

      “Dad and I heard from all three of your brothers last night. They said you tossed them out of here so you could wallow in self-pity. I was willing to let you mope for one night. Now it’s time to buck up and display a little Logan pride.”

      Clare stowed the whiskey bottle in an otherwise empty portable bar, spun back toward her son and settled her hands on her hips.

      “Go away,” he groaned. “Can’t you all see I just want to be left alone?”

      A petite woman whose head barely reached the shoulders of her husband, Donovan, or any of her four sons, Clare Logan was nevertheless no weakling. She proved it now by hooking Garret under his arms and muscling him to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, but with his mother’s assistance, managed to stumble toward the downstairs bathroom. “Time for a shower,” Clare announced. “You smell worse than the pub after a bachelor party. I’ll fetch you some clean clothes, then I’ll feed Domino. A chore you should have handled hours ago.”

      “Jeez, take it easy, okay? My head feels like I got kicked by a mule.” Garret leaned both palms on the sink and peered into the mirror before passing a shaky hand over his stubbled jaw. “I’m entitled to tie one on, Ma. Or didn’t Brian tell you who showed up at the pub yesterday afternoon?”

      Clare crossed her arms, but her expression became a shade more sympathetic. “Sean phoned first, then Brian. Honey, we’ve all watched you be depressed over that girl for too long. We grieved with you in the beginning. Back then we loved her, too. Now I’m mad as hell. She couldn’t have phoned or written to you once in all that time? You know she could have.”

      Garret’s jaw twitched as he gritted his teeth.

      “Oh, son, it’s been so good this past year to see you getting back to the Garret we all know and love. None of us are willing to stand idly by and let Colleen Drake send you into another black hole.”

      Garret winced as his mother rolled Colleen’s name bitterly off her tongue. “Men don’t get depressed,” he argued. “I missed her and floundered for a while is all.”

      “That’s the kind of stubborn thinking that kept you from enjoying life. You found out whiskey didn’t help before. It won’t do anything now.”

      Garret sagged and his chin hit his chest. “I did try drowning my sorrows in booze. Luckily I hate hangovers.” And after several stiff drinks last night, Garret convinced himself he’d been mistaken yesterday at the pub. Now he wasn’t sure. “So,” he said, heaving a sigh. “She’s really alive? I started to hope, as Brian suggested, that it was her double.”

      “Don’t we wish? No, she tried to book a room at the resort. Sean figured she’d stop there, and he called Trish to warn her. She made up a story about all the area hotels being full from now through the Mountain Music Festival. Sean and Brian hoped Colleen would leave and go on her merry way. Unfortunately, no one told the Californian couple who opened that new B and B in the south end. Galen was driving home from work and saw Colleen hauling her luggage into the old Rowan house.” Galen was the eldest of Clare’s four sons, and the only one not involved in Logan’s pub.

      “Why do you suppose she came back after all this time?” Garret muttered half to himself as he turned on the shower. “At first, I could have sworn she didn’t recognize me. Then she hiked herself onto a bar stool and ordered sarsaparilla like she always did. I, uh, yelled at her in front of customers—a couple of salesmen traveling through White Oak Valley who’d stopped in for a beer. I realized what I’d done, and told her to meet me outside. But I just couldn’t face her. Seeing her was like an electric shock, Ma.”

      “I’m disappointed in her. She doesn’t seem the least bit