Finding Home

By JL Paul

Top female jockey, MaKenna Nilsen, suffers a horrific accident which takes away her memories. She’s trapped in an unfamiliar world with people she can’t remember.
Brett Nilsen, shortstop for the Indianapolis Racers, sees Kenna’s accident on an Internet newsreel and hurries to her side. He’s alarmed that she doesn’t remember him but also a little relieved. He hasn’t spoken to her in months and still hasn’t decided whether or not to file for divorce.
When Kenna is released from the hospital, she moves in with Brett, hoping he can help her to regain her memory. As they travel together down memory lane, they rediscover their feelings for each other. One little memory dangles just out of reach - the memory of why Brett left her in the first place.
In the meantime, Kenna struggles with the facts of her accident and the memories she has recovered. She can’t shake the feeling that her accident wasn’t an accident and that someone is still trying to seek revenge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JL Paul
• Release date: Sep 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465725639

JL Paul

I've been writing for years mostly as a hobby. I read constantly, although I'm pretty particular about what I read. I do not have a website for my work yet (yeah, I know, what is wrong with me, right?) but once I do, I'll post the link here.

Book preview

Finding Home

JL Paul

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 JL Paul

Prologue

MaKenna Nilsen stomped down the aisle, ignoring the curious noses poking over the stall doors, and smashed her hard hat to her head. She gripped her stick in her right hand, fighting the urge to smack someone with it. Her temper, always so close to the surface lately, was going to get her into trouble one of these days.

Kenna, wait! the older man called, as he started after her. Kenna!

She quickened her pace, nearly jogging out of the barn, and headed to the paddock area. Several people took one look at her dark face and practically jumped out of her way.

What was he thinking? she fumed as she continued to stalk further away from him. How could he?

Good luck, MaKenna, Lydia Streeting sneered, hurrying to keep pace with Kenna. Have a good race.

Just bite me, Kenna snapped. Veering to the left, she found the trainer and owner saddling a large, brown horse. She inhaled deeply, cleansing her body of the red hot anger burning her insides. Hey, boy, she said, smiling as she stroked the horse’s long nose. We’re going to win today.

Are you ready, Kenna? Walt the trainer asked as he checked the cinch and the stirrups.

Yeah, she said. How about you, Hero?

The horse bobbed his head, lifting his feet as if the ground were scorching his hooves. Kenna managed a weak smile as she ran her hand down his neck.

Riders up!

Let’s go, Walt said as Kenna moved closer, allowing him to hoist her into the saddle. He helped her slip her feet into the stirrups and handed her the reins. She clutched them tightly, her whip hanging off her wrist, and nodded. Walt led her out of the paddock and out to the track for the post parade.

Her horse, Hero Worship, shook his mane in anticipation as he stepped lightly on the track. A boy around her age on a spotted pony grabbed Hero’s bridle and together they walked in front of the stands.

Kenna squeezed her knees as she yanked her goggles over her eyes and felt a fine quiver rush through the colt’s veins. He was ready to run.

The parade came to an end and the hands began shoving horses into the gate. Hero Worship drew the fourth post and Kenna watched the other horses carefully. None of them fought the gate - they all went in docilely – which she thought could be a good sign. Maybe the rest of the field wasn’t as hyped about the race as Hero. But then, Hero was excellent at not showing his excitement which could be true of the others. You just never knew with thoroughbreds.

When the doors slammed behind her, she crouched over Hero, holding her breath. The horses in the stalls on either side of her were stomping their hooves, their ears pointed forward, waiting.

The bell trilled as the gates swung open and Hero broke cleanly. She held him in with little effort – she’d ridden him before and knew he was a stretch runner who loved to turn on the speed in the final stretch. But she didn’t want him falling too far behind, either.

She kept her eyes on the colt in front of her – a promising two year-old with an arrogant rider – and scooted closer. Hero liked to ride the rail but she didn’t want him to box himself in as the entire field was still too clustered.

When they passed the halfway point and the field broke up, she let him ride the rail. The colt in front of them was tiring while Hero hadn’t even hit his stride. She went to the whip and Hero let go, cranking up the speed. She ducked under her arm as if checking a side mirror on a car before making a move but another horse was quickly gaining ground.

Damn it, she cursed.

The colt in front of her was starting to lag but Kenna was helpless to move around him. The horse next to her had her boxed and didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Kenna glanced to her right and was a tad surprised to see Lydia grinning madly at her. She ignored the other woman and concentrated on getting her horse out of the jam. But making her move, Lydia bumped her horse into Hero.

Hero knocked heavily into the rail, grazing his side, and panicked. Thrashing, he tried to rear even though Kenna was shouting words of comfort at him. He bucked and her right foot slipped out of the stirrup. She slid to the left as Hero’s anxiety increased. Clutching the reins, she dug her fingers into his mane but it was no use – she tumbled off the horse and banged her neck on the rail, her helmet flying off. She screamed as Hero’s hind legs kicked her side, sending her briefly airborne before she finally landed with a hard, sickening crack on the packed dirt of the track.

No, she whispered incoherently as the rest of the field thundered toward her. She lifted her weak hands to cover her face as the world went mercifully dark.

Chapter One

Brett Nilsen yawned, stretching his left arm over his head while his right hand scratched absently at his stomach. He paused in the hotel bathroom doorway and watched in amusement as his best friend, Casey Keller, sat at a small table, gazing fanatically at the small screen of his laptop, engrossed in something.

Dude, Brett said as he folded his arms over his chest. Go surf for porn in your room. I’m beat and I want to go to bed.

Casey lifted a shoulder absently, eyes never leaving the screen, and grunted. Wireless doesn’t work as well in my room. Don’t know why.

Call management, Brett said as he leapt on the bed and crawled to the pillows. Settling on top of the blankets, he reached for the remote. He turned off the television and tucked his arms behind his head, allowing his eyes to ease closed. Dude, seriously – I’m tired.

Okay, one sec, Casey said. I want to check out some … scores.

If his eyes would have been open, Brett would have rolled them. He knew Casey was checking out the race results for the day. A bit of guilt caused Brett's heart to twinge but he ignored it – he was far too exhausted to worry about what to do with that other part of his life.

He yawned again and crossed his ankles, wishing he was in his own bed. Only a few more days and I can sleep between my own sheets.

Yeah, came Casey’s distracted answer. He plugged a set of ear buds into the computer so he could listen to the online news reports without disturbing Brett.

Brett grinned. He enjoyed his job very much but it had been a long road trip and he was tired of sleeping in hotel rooms and eating strange foods. He longed for his new apartment in Indy with its king-sized bed and airy living room. He’d only acquired it about a month before they'd left for spring training so he hadn’t really had the time to make it home.

But that would change. When they got back he’d buy some art, maybe a pool table, and get things situated. He’d even take the time to deal with that nagging problem constantly lurking in the back of his brain. He’d come to a preliminary decision and it was time to set things in motion. He was sure Kenna felt the same way.

Casey gasped startling Brett out of his thoughts. Brett opened an eye and bolted upright as the blood literally drained from Casey’s face. He scrambled off the bed and hurried over to the table.

What’s going on? Brett demanded.

Casey gaped at Brett, his mouth wide open, and slowly tugged the ear buds out of his ears. When’s the last time you spoke to Kenna?

Brett shrugged as he thought back – was it Christmas or Thanksgiving? Don’t know for sure but it was about five, six months ago.

He couldn’t remember – had he called her over the holidays or was it right before? Geez, it had been awhile. And he hadn’t seen her since August, probably – nearly a year ago.

Why, Casey? Brett asked. What’s going on?

Casey considered Brett for a brief second then shifted the laptop so Brett could see the screen. He’d been browsing a sporting news website and had been watching a video. A horse race.

What did she do? Brett asked as Casey moved his finger over the mouse pad and pointed the arrow at the play button.

Watch, Casey whispered as he clicked.

The horses broke out of the gate and he could nearly make out a voice narrating through the ear buds that dangled over the side of the table. He spotted Kenna immediately on a huge brown horse. She was dressed in yellow silks, crouched expertly over the horse’s neck, urging him through the throng.

Then it happened and his heart stopped. He watched in horror as Kenna flew off her horse and bounced off the rail before crashing to the ground. He cringed as the straggling horses narrowly avoided trampling her, not aware of his hands clenching the arms of the chair.

Is she… he asked hoarsely.

The reporter said she was taken to a nearby hospital and was listed as critical, Casey said, eyeing Brett cautiously.

Brett nodded as he shoved the chair away from the table. He began to pace, raking his fingers through his hair as his mind grappled to deal with the horrific images he’d just witnessed. I need to fly back.

I’ll call Ned, Casey said as he stood and yanked a cell phone from the front pocket of his faded jeans. And I’ll book you a flight.

Thanks, Brett mumbled as he dug an old duffel bag out of a closet. He tossed the little bit of clothing he had into the bag before retreating to the bathroom to collect his toiletries. He could hear Casey explaining the situation to their manager and by the time he returned to the table, Casey was booking a flight.

We have about an hour to get to the airport, Casey said as he closed the laptop. And Ned said he’d let the big guys know.

Damn, Brett said as he sank to the bed, helplessness washing over him. Damn.

Not much else you can do, Casey said as he grabbed Brett’s hastily packed bag and slung it over his shoulder. Come on, I’ll go to the airport with you. We’ll get the front desk to call us a cab.

***

The flight was agonizingly long although the flight attendants were more than accommodating. He would have taken advantage of their flirtatiousness had he not been horribly concerned. And overcome with guilt.

He rested his head on the back of his seat and closed his eyes. The sickening images kept running through his mind like a movie trailer for some irritating romantic comedy but this time, he couldn’t change the channel or hit the mute button.

Why hadn’t he called Kenna lately? Hell, the season was only a month old and he’d been in Indy a few times for home stands – so why hadn’t he called her?

I don’t know her schedule, he murmured under his breath, though it was a lame excuse. She had a cell phone and he had the number – it wasn’t like he couldn’t just call her.

But he knew the truth was lurking behind the farthest corner of his mind. He knew that he’d only been trying to avoid talking to her again – he didn’t need the same old tired arguments and accusations. And he didn’t want to face up to the fact that it was indeed time to move past everything and make some decisions. They’d drawn things out long enough. Besides, he still couldn’t forgive her for what she’d done.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he longed to order a beer or a brandy but he wanted to be clear-headed when he faced her father. That was another argument he didn’t need but it would be inevitable once Brett set foot in the hospital.

He landed at Indianapolis International Airport, grateful he’d only brought a bag small enough to carry on, and dashed outside to hail a cab. He greeted the cabbie, barking out his destination, his heart beginning to hammer in his chest. His anxiety grew as he drew nearer and nearer to the hospital and he tried to tamp it down in order to gain some semblance of control.

He had to be strong for Kenna. He’d do what he could for her and once she was recovered – if she recovered – well, they’d figure out how to handle the mess they were in and actually do something about it.

Once he reached the hospital, he paid the cabby, hoisted his bag over his shoulder and took a deep breath.

Entering the hospital, he walked slowly, dreadfully, toward the information desk. He cleared his throat and an elderly lady in a pink smock smiled warmly at him.

Can I help you, dear? she asked.

He was slightly horrified at the smudge of red lipstick on her teeth. He tried to keep his gaze on her eyes and not her mouth as he answered. Yes, um, I’m here to see MaKenna Nilsen. Could you tell me where she’s at?

The lady consulted a computer, tapped on the keyboard, and scribbled on a scrap piece of paper a room number. She handed it to him with another lipstick smile and directed him to the elevators while explaining where to go once he reached her floor.

Once he reached the third floor, he fumbled his way through the halls until he located her room. He paused before the door to catch his breath and prepare for what was lying in wait on the other side.

Get a grip, you coward, he said. He shoved the door open and nearly lost his breath.

Kenna had always been petite – her physique was perfect for her occupation – but as he gawked at her from the doorway, she seemed so much smaller. The entire left side of her face was purple and swollen and a chunk of blonde hair missing. Wires streamed from her body to various machines next to and above her bed, blinking and beeping. Her eyes were closed and she was unnaturally still, flat on her back with her arms stiff at her sides – her left arm encased in a cast.

Kenna, he whispered, dropping his bag as he rushed to the bed. His heart plunged to his feet as her chest rose and fell beneath the thin sheet. He waved his hands over her body, longing to hold her hand but afraid to touch her. Oh, hell.

He pulled a chair closer, gripped the bed rail, and rested his chin on his hands. He didn’t know what to do and he certainly didn’t know what to feel.

When the door opened behind him, he jerked his body around to find an older, graying man with an ashen face. Anger welled up inside as he slowly stood and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Mac, he said with a curt nod.

What the hell are you doing here? Mac asked, shutting the door.

Why didn’t you call me? Brett asked as he stepped toward the other man. I had a right to know. I had a right to a phone call instead of finding out by seeing some news reel on the Internet.

You have no right, Mac growled, fisting his hands at his side. None at all.

Brett dropped his head back with a sardonic laugh. He faced Mac with a sarcastic sneer plastered across his face. I have every right. She is my wife.

Your wife? Mac asked in disbelief. You haven’t been any kind of husband to her – you left her!

Don’t pretend like you know what happened, Brett hissed, narrowing his eyes. You know nothing. Your little girl isn’t the angel you think she is.

How dare you…

The door opened again, nicking Mac’s heel. A pretty woman with sleek black hair, beautiful caramel skin, and a burgeoning abdomen brushed past Mac and rushed to Brett’s side.

What are you doing here, Macy? Brett asked.

Theo called. He said Kenna had an accident and that you were flying home.

Brett placed an arm around her shoulders, grateful she was there. Thanks for coming.

You have some nerve, Nilsen, Mac said. Brett’s brows dipped as he considered him. Bringing your girlfriend here?

Gasping, Macy pressed a hand to her lips as Brett squeezed her shoulders and chuckled. Yeah, because I’m that much of an ass. He dropped his arm and stood closer to Mac. Macy is a good friend of mine – she’s married to another of my good friends. She knows Kenna.

Mac harrumphed and maneuvered around them to take the abandoned chair next to the bed. He took the cast -free hand and held it close to his face.

What’s wrong with her? Brett asked.

Sniffing, Mac wiped his nose on his sleeve. Concussion. Broken arm. Bruised a couple ribs. Banged up. Doc says he doesn’t know when she’ll wake up and what kind of shape she’ll be in when she does.

Brett’s lips parted as his heart plunged into a bucket of ice water. He glanced at Macy who slipped her hand in his and squeezed. What does that mean?

Not sure, Mac said, his gaze trained on his daughter.

Well, where’s the doctor? Brett asked searching the room as though the doctor would magically appear. I want some answers.

Mac gently set Kenna’s hand on the bed and rose, scooting the chair out of his way, as anger returned to his face. You want answers? You don’t deserve them!

I deserve to know as much as you!

Hey, Macy said in a quiet, yet firm voice. Don’t argue in here, huh? Take it outside.

Brett looked at Kenna, horrified. Had she heard them? Had their angry words penetrated her unconsciousness?

How about you just leave? Mac suggested in a lower tone.

I’m not going anywhere, Brett seethed.

In the hall, Macy said, pushing them out of the room. She closed the door and leaned against it, arms folded across her chest. If you want to shout at each other, then do it here.

There’s no argument, Brett insisted. Kenna is still legally my wife therefore I have every right to be here.

Mac grunted. You may still be legally married but you haven’t been her husband in at least a year. Matter of fact, she’s moved on and found herself a new man. So, you’re wasting your time.

Brett blanched as he processed this information. Of course he hadn’t expected her to sit around and wait for him to decide what to do about their marriage, but he hadn’t expected her to find someone else until things had been settled.

He recovered quickly before Mac could see that he’d been affected. Well, that’s neither here nor there – I’m sticking around until I know she’s going to be fine.

That’s your choice, Mac said. I’m going for coffee.

Brett watched as Mac punched the elevator buttons. Macy ran her hand up and down his arm and he smiled at her.

Brett…

He placed a hand on hers. It’s okay, Mace, don’t worry about it. I can deal. All that matters is that she recovers.

***

Smell came back to her first – especially the antiseptic. Next came the starchy sheets and the pinch in the back of her hand. Pain in her arm and her side. She knew she was in a hospital. But why?

Machines beeped and whooshed near her head but other than that, the room was silent. She was certain she’d heard voices – angry voices – but that could have been a dream. Maybe she was still dreaming. Maybe she was home in her bed.

She knew she was not home, though, and she was pretty sure she didn’t sleep so stiffly. But she didn’t remember.

Horror hit her as she tried to recall where she lived. She tried to recall what her bedroom looked like and if she had anything hanging on the walls. What color was her bedspread?