Jacob knelt beside it. Beside her. Damn, but he’d gone from putting distance between them to landing himself six inches away. “Dig deep. There’s a pair of gym shoes near the bottom that might come closer to fitting.”

Dee peered inside, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the vee neck of her dress. It didn’t make one bit of difference. Funny thing about the male imagination, he didn’t actually have to see what was beneath that dress to have a clear mental picture.

He buried his hands in the box, rummaging around until he found the near-new Nikes. Jacob tossed them onto her pile. He also grabbed a ski sweater, a long one, and added it to her stack, as well. “You can go shopping with your first paycheck. Which reminds me. If you’re going to work here long-term, you’ll need to fill out one of these.”

Jacob lumbered to his feet, knees and ankles popping as he stood. He shuffled through a stack of papers on his desk and passed one to her.

“What’s this?”

“Your W-2 form.”

“W-2?” Dee’s face turned whiter than the snow in the parking lot, her wide brown eyes the only splash of color.

“Yeah. Just fill in your name and address. I’ll take care of the rest when I file it. You know. For next year’s taxes.”

Dee sagged to the edge of her bed. She wanted to crawl beneath the covers and never come out. The Tacoma Police Department hadn’t told her anything useful on the phone, instead insisting she needed to come in once the highway cleared. They’d relayed only enough to let her know she didn’t fit the descriptions from any missing persons’ reports.

She clutched her little wad of clothes closer, bringing to mind an image of Emily cradling Madison earlier. Dee pressed her small bundle to her belly and rocked. Tears begging for release clogged her chapped nose. Still she rocked, refusing to cry. If she started, the fear would win. Just like if she crawled under those covers she might never tunnel back out.

At least she had a home, four paneled walls with her choice of two beds. Hers sported red plaid comforters to go with the shiny veneer furniture and cheap water-color of Puget Sound. Yes, she had a home. For now.

The W-2 form glared at her from beside the TV where she’d tossed it. How would she talk her way around this one? She wouldn’t, not in a shimmery crimson dress and do-me-sailor pumps.

Dee unrolled her bundle of clothes like some hobo’s pack. Two pairs of sweatpants. A couple of T-shirts. An overlong sweater. And tennis shoes. She’d relented and let Jacob toss in three pairs of his socks.

She peeled off the dress and panty hose with great relish. Forget practicality. She flung both into the trash. Without question, that can would be emptied pronto by the Lodge’s newest housekeeping employee.

As she stood in her lace bra and panties, Dee realized her body looked no more familiar than her face. How surreal to become reacquainted with herself at thirty-some-odd years old.

She extended her arms, twisting the right to one side and then the other arm. She discovered a faded, inch-long scar just below her left elbow and paused to trace it with her finger.

What else didn’t she know about herself?

On impulse, she tugged off her bra and checked the tag: 34B. Not overly endowed, but enough to catch the attention of a certain sexy-eyed man.

She shrugged back into the bra and told herself to quit losing focus. Who she’d been didn’t matter as much as who she became from this point forward. She wouldn’t repeat her “Mr. Smith” mistake by turning weak-kneed over the first hunk to cross her path.

Dee whipped a T-shirt over her head and stepped into sweatpants, wriggling them over her hips. Her hands paused midtug. She couldn’t have seen what she thought she had, could she? She eased the sweats down a notch.

She stared at the map of stretch marks scrolled across her stomach.

“Oh my God.” She blinked and looked again.

Nausea kicked into overdrive. Her hands twitched away. The pants snapped back, covering what she wasn’t ready to view.

“Calm down,” she muttered, not even caring that she was talking to herself since she’d decided she might well be crazy anyway. “Stretch marks can come about any number of ways. Maybe I’m a diet junkie with a ballooning weight problem. I’ve just got babies on the brain because of little Madison.”

Slowly she inched the pants lower, following the milky-white ladders all the way to—

A scar. A bikini-cut, puckered scar. Just like a Cesarean section scar.

Her legs turned to soup. Dee folded into a heap on the floor. All the bottled tears and terror gushed free. Fists pressed to her stomach, she scavenged for control, strength, reason in a world turned inside out.

Her time to plan had ended. If she had a child out there somewhere, she had to find her or him. Fast.

And that meant trusting Jacob Stone with everything and pray he wasn’t another “Mr. Smith.”

Chapter 4

J acob pushed away from the computer. The numbers weren’t going to change anytime soon and the busload of seniors should be arriving any minute now. At least he could accommodate them.

Whatever Dee’s secrets, she made one hell of a great worker. She’d accomplished more in a day than most would in a week. He’d found nothing wrong with any of her rooms. Not at all what he’d expected from a party girl.

More than her face didn’t fit the profile some of her initial behavior indicated. She could have cried or pleaded her way into an extension on her room, and most men would have caved. Dee hadn’t even tried.

She’d shown a lot of grit on a day that would have taken most folks down. He admired that. Emily liked her, too.

He sat upright.

Could Dee be the answer to his problems? An idea started to form in his mind. She seemed to be down on her luck, with no one to call. Maybe she wouldn’t mind relocating.

He’d already begun working on a transfer to McChord Air Force Base in Tacoma. He qualified for a family humanitarian transfer, given he was his sister’s guardian—Madison’s, too. Emily didn’t want to move even an hour away from Chase, and Jacob would still be gone too long and often for the teen to be alone out here, especially with a baby.

He wouldn’t trust a stranger with his sister, but getting to know more about Dee certainly had merit.

Through the window, he saw her step from her room, the halogen lights casting a domelike effect over the snow-covered parking lot. The Cascade Mountain Range loomed dimly in the distance. Her brisk strides carried her across concrete, snowflakes sprinkling down around her. At least she wasn’t shivering this time, just moving with efficiency in her new-used gray sweatpants. Somehow she made even grungy workout clothes look elegantly sexy.

No sex thoughts, dude. He needed to get his mind back on the plan. Find out more about Dee Smith. His life had been fraying at the seams for long enough. Time to start pulling things back together, starting tonight with Dee.

She pushed inside, her nose pink from the cold.

He stood to help her close the door, catching a whiff of her clean hair, which only made him itch to test the feel of it between his fingers. “Nice pants.”

“Huh?” She glanced down and plucked at the loose cotton. “Oh, they’re definitely warmer. Thank you.”

Dee slipped out of her coat. Her freshly washed hair crackled into a static halo. The coal-black sweater left her face paler than before, and he worried she’d worked too hard. Were her eyes red rimmed from tears or the elements?

Either way, she needed him as much as he needed her at the moment. He just had to decide how to approach her in a way that wouldn’t leave her feeling pressured about her job.

Five minutes ago, he would have laughed at the thought of asking Dee to walk across the street with him. Now, he warmed to the idea of getting to know her better—for his sister’s benefit. “Have you had anything to eat since lunch?”

She dropped the W-2 form onto the check-in counter. “Never mind about food. We need to talk.”

Dee sat at the kitchenette table in Jacob’s back-room apartment. She flattened her palms against the scarred oak surface, the only way to keep them from shaking. Forget trying to drink the can of Coke waiting in front of her.

She had scrounged the courage to talk to him, only to have the telephone repair crew put in their appearance. Jacob had asked her to wait in his apartment since he wanted to talk to her, too. She would bet good money his topic would be less upsetting.

The barnlike room echoed with silence. Located off the Lodge’s lobby, it held the basics, a sofa and oversize recliner. The roof angled up over a bed across the room tucked in a loft. Her gaze skittered away and back to the living area. Given the masculine air, she imagined his father must have lived here. From her time cleaning, she now knew that Emily lived in two hotel rooms with connecting doors, located beside this apartment. Emily and her baby.

Dee swallowed hard. The scar on her stomach itched.

How could a mother simply cease to exist? She must have hired a babysitter if she’d planned to meet with “Mr. Smith.” Or her child could be with his or her father.

Her ring finger was bare, no cheater-mark tan line in sight to show she’d worn a ring recently. While not proof positive, it reassured her somewhat.

Dee refused to believe she might be an unfaithful spouse. Regardless, she must be late with pickup or a phone call, or would be soon. Someone would report her missing.

Him or her? A son or a daughter? How awful not to know even that much. Not knowing didn’t make the urge to protect any less powerful.

Of course, having a C-section scar didn’t necessarily mean she’d kept the child. Maybe she’d been in a situation like Emily’s and chose to give her newborn up for adoption?

Another possibility speared her. Heaven forbid, the baby might have died.

All maybes aside, she had to operate on the assumption that she did have a live child out there somewhere, and that meant enlisting Jacob’s help.

His heavy tread sounded in the hall just before Jacob ducked through the doorway. “Sorry you had to wait. Phone lines are in working order again.”

“Good.” Nerves bubbled in her throat like a foaming soda. She’d been ready to tell him and now the words wouldn’t come.

“I checked in with the dispatcher, and the tour bus is an hour away. So I have some downtime for a late supper.” He opened the refrigerator and shoved aside a gallon of milk, unveiling a covered pot. “Pickings are pretty sparse around here. Good thing Emily ate with Chase’s family before coming home.”

He walked with ease around the minuscule kitchen, maneuvering with a lanky-limbed grace to pull out stoneware bowls, turn on the stove, place the pot on the burner. He didn’t do anything quickly, but with steady purpose, opening and closing drawers as he worked. “Marge’s Diner serves up good country cooking, but I don’t want to leave Emily here alone to deal with all those tourists.”

Jacob stirred the stew. “Rockfish isn’t large, but it’s a tight-knit community. Emily will have already told Chase’s mom about you, which is the same as putting an ad in the Rockfish Weekly, but faster since it comes with daily updates. By Sunday, you’ll be the hot topic at church potlucks along with the latest Jell-O mold recipe.”

Dee let him talk without interrupting. His bass tones washed over her, instilling a peace she hadn’t felt since she’d awakened, peace she desperately needed now more than ever. Had she always been attracted to this sort of man? Or had her episode with Mr. Smith rattled her into an awareness of men who wore honor on their sleeves?

Or in Jacob’s case, a worn Air Force T-shirt.

“We might as well preempt them with a trip to Marge’s tomorrow and introduce you around. You can meet almost everyone there. The roads should open up for regular traffic by supper tomorrow.” Jacob lounged a lazy hip against the counter. “What do you say?”

She stared at him until his words registered. He couldn’t be asking her out to eat. Could he? The roof seemed to lower, shrinking the room. Beside Jacob Stone, everything seemed small. He probably had plenty of women bringing him Jell-O molds.