That Old Flame of Mine by J. J. Cook

got up and looked around the room. She’d never been here before.
    The wreck. I wrecked my bike. Dad is going to kill me.
    She might have expected to be in a hospital, but if that’s where she was, it was the swankiest hospital in the world.
    Everything was burgundy and gold. The huge bed looked like it had been made for a king. The carpet was thick underfoot, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling. The room seemed huge. She realized it might be that her perception was off.
    She walked over to a large window that overlooked millions of lights below it. Wherever she was, she had to be high up in the mountains to get this kind of view. That had to be Pigeon Forge and Sevierville down there. She could still make out the dark peaks of the Smokies on the horizon.
    The double door to the room opened and a woman in a nurse’s uniform came briskly into the room. “You should not be up yet. No one in your condition should be wandering around.”
    “Where am I?” Stella asked. “Who are you?”
    “I am Mrs. Waverly. Mr. Benton Carson brought me here to take care of you after your terrible accident.” The pretty cocoa-faced nurse scooted her back into bed, then immediately put a thermometer in her mouth and checked her pulse.
    “And who’s Benton Carson?” Stella asked around the thermometer. The name sounded familiar, but her brain felt like scrambled eggs. Not to mention that she’d met a lot of people in the past few weeks.
    “Why, honey, Benton Carson owns most of the land around here, including most of Sweet Pepper. His great-grandfather started the pepper factory. As you can imagine, he is pretty wealthy. You know what I mean?”
    The thermometer beeped, and Mrs. Waverly checked it. “Well, you don’t have a fever. You probably have a mild concussion. The doctor put a few stitches in your forehead to close that big cut. I’m surprised you don’t have any broken bones. You are one lucky girl.”
    Stella wasn’t feeling very lucky. She remembered the accident and wondered what kind of condition her Harley was in. Had anyone even towed it out of the ditch?
    “Thanks for everything. I need a ride back to the place where I’m staying.” She started to get up again, looking around for her clothes. It was too dark to see much.
    “Mr. Carson isn’t going to take too kindly to you refusing his hospitality, especially since he paid me and the doctor to take care of you. Just lay back there and be glad his stepson found you.”
    “Stepson?” Stella really wasn’t happy with the situation, and was getting less so with every piece of information that came out of Mrs. Waverly’s mouth. “Where are my clothes and my cell phone?”
    “I don’t think you’re in any condition to leave yet.” A man’s deep voice came out of the shadows. He came closer and peered down at her. “You were banged up badly on the road. Who in the world told you it was safe to ride a motorcycle?”
    Benton Carson—Stella guessed by his slightly annoyed, authoritative tone—was tall and thin, his shoulders stooped a little, his gray hair thinning.
    She hadn’t met him before, but she recognized the name. He was the owner of the pepper-packing company that had put Sweet Pepper on the culinary map. The city council had been apologetic when she’d first got there because he was out of town and she couldn’t meet him. Everyone else she’d met talked about him like he was a dark overlord.
    There was something oddly familiar about him. Something about the eyes. It made her uneasy.
    “I don’t think you’re in a position to decide if I should leave or not or if it’s safe for me to ride a bike. You must be my host. Thanks for the stitches and the hospitality. I think I should go home now.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” He dismissed Mrs. Waverly with a motion of his hand. “It’s the middle of the night. Go back to sleep and I’ll have someone take you home in the morning.”
    Stella got to her feet. The old pink flannel nightgown