Free Redemption by Sharon Cullen Page A

Suzanne Carmichael’s role in this. “Let me get a feel for this guy first.”
    Webster lived in a bungalow-style house with icicle Christmas lights hanging from a wide front porch. The place needed superficial work like painting and new windows, but other than that, it was clean and well maintained. Next door, a tricycle sat on its side while one of those blow-up yard Santas waved at him.
    As John stepped onto the sidewalk, a man stepped from the house and stood on the front porch staring at John’s truck. He was a bit on the pudgy side, with gold wire-rimmed glasses and short brown hair. The man suddenly bounded down the steps and ran toward the car.
    Hope stood next to the car, eyes wide, hand resting on her belly. John pivoted and ran toward her. His steps faltered as pain shot from his knee to his hip and he cursed the old injury. By sheer force of will, he reached Hope first and slipped in front of her. The man came to a stumbling halt, breathing hard.
    “You Daniel Webster?”
    “Yeah?” Webster’s gaze flicked to Hope then back. “Who the hell are you?”
    John felt Hope slide closer, her fingers curling around his.
    “What’s going on, Hope?” Webster took a step closer. John shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.
     
    “You’re Daniel Webster?” Hope asked, repeating John’s question for lack of anything else to say.
    Daniel’s brows dipped in confusion. “Of course I am. You know that.” He reached for her. She shied from his touch, taking a step closer to the only person she trusted in this mess. John’s solid presence reassured her even though he stood silently, hands crossed in front of him, staring Daniel Webster down from behind dark sunglasses.
    “What’s going on, Hope? What happened? Why’d you leave and where’ve you been?”
    She glanced at John, needing some sort of guidance, but he didn’t even look at her, so she turned back to Daniel. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you. I had this accident.” She touched the side of her head where the bump was still a little tender. “I guess with your car.”
    “My God. Are you okay?” He took another step closer and Hope flinched.
    “I’m fine. But I can’t remember much. Just my name.” She indicated John with a wave of her hand. “John saved me and found out the car I was driving belonged to you. That’s how I found you.”
    Daniel gaped at her. “You only remember your name? You don’t remember me?”
    “I’m sorry. No. Could you tell me how I ended up with your car?”
    He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well, sure. Come on in the house. It’s too cold to stand out here.”
    Hope shot a glance at John but he merely lifted his chin, silently telling her to for follow Daniel. She hated his stoicism, but understood why he was doing it. She’d sensed days ago that he didn’t let anyone close, and now that they were finally going to discover who she was, he was distancing himself for when he would leave.
    She experienced a flutter of panic at the thought of being without him. What if Daniel Webster was her husband? How could she live with a man she couldn’t remember?
    The inside of Daniel’s house smelled of stale air. The furniture was old, worn, but well loved. Magazines cluttered the table and the floor next to the couch. Books were stacked haphazardly in various locations. A cat darted from under the scarred coffee table to cower beneath the couch.
    Daniel cleared a spot on the couch and dumped the mixture of books and magazines on the hearth. He kept shooting worried glances at John who stood by the front door and refused the invitation to come in any farther.
    Once they were settled, Hope twisted her hands in her lap and cleared her throat. “Could you, uh, tell me my last name?”
    Daniel stared at her for several moments. “You weren’t kidding, were you? You really can’t remember your name.”
    “Believe me, I wouldn’t joke about something like this.”
    “This is so weird.” He continued