“I could show you my hospital I.D.” He finally smiled. “Honest, I’m not an ax murderer.”
The smile made him look less menacing, but she didn’t return it as she glanced down at the gray bag, still wary. “I thought all doctors had little black bags.”
“Not really. They come in all colors.” He shifted closer. “I’d like to examine you again, now that you’re awake.”
The startled look was back on her face. “How do you mean? You…examined me?” She had trouble thinking of this very attractive, very masculine man as a medical person.
“Please relax. I’m a doctor. And I didn’t undress you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Without waiting for her permission, he forced her eyes wider to check her pupils then took out his stethoscope and listened to her heart and lungs. Her breathing was a bit fast as was her heartbeat, probably because she was still nervous about him.
With careful fingers, he touched her shoulder and she cried out. “This is your worst injury, a dislocated shoulder. Fixable but with some discomfort.” His hand went to her ankle, examining the tender swollen flesh. “Just a sprain but you’d best stay off it for awhile.” He indicated the gauze on her forehead. “That’s a cut I’ve already cleaned and bandaged.” He tapped lightly on her stomach through the sweater. “You’ve got some bruising here, from the steering wheel. Not serious, but painful.”
Sean watched her hand snake under her sweater as she realized he must have looked her over quite thoroughly.
He’s a doctor, she reminded herself. She raised a hand to check out the forehead bandage, then let her fingers drift into her hair. “My head really hurts.”
He nodded. “You undoubtedly have a concussion, but not a serious one. I’ll give you something for the pain.”
So many questions whirling around in her brain. “How’d I get in here? You say you found me?”
“I heard the crash and went out to check. I got you out and carried you here.” He could see concern and lingering pain in those midnight blue eyes, and wondered how they’d look when she laughed, when she was happy.
“I…thank you.” It was the least she could say.
Pausing, he studied her face. Her color was better, her complexion not so pale. “What in the world were you doing out in such a storm? Were you rushing to meet someone at the Ridgeway cabin? Because, up here, when it storms like this, the phones generally go out for days at a time. Is someone waiting for you—a parent, a husband, a boyfriend?”
She frowned. Her father was generally too busy to wonder where she was, her husband was now an ex and she hadn’t had a boyfriend in…well, a very long time.
She was honestly trying to remember, but everything was oddly hazy. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t going to meet anyone. I often go to the cabin alone. I love it there, like a secure haven. It was raining in Scottsdale when I left but I never dreamed I’d drive into a snowstorm.” She closed her eyes, willing the memory to return. “I remember I was in a hurry. That much seems clear. I had this urgency to get away, from something or someone. But I’m not sure who or why.” Her eyes opened and met his, filled with distress. “It’s really odd. I can’t seem to remember any more.”
“Not so odd. Can you think of anyone you’re afraid of?”
She just looked more confused. “I don’t know.”
No use pushing right now. She’d remember in time. Sean studied her huge blue eyes, the kind that could make a strong man weak. Then there was that cloud of jet-black hair and her lovely face without so much as a blemish, not even a freckle. To say nothing of her very feminine curves beneath the bulky sweater, her chest rising and falling with her nervous breathing.
He scooted the stool back a bit. “You haven’t told me your name,” he reminded her. Did she even remember it?
Good manners had been drilled into her from childhood. They had her setting aside her fear and responding to him. After all, he was a doctor, a caregiver. She had no reasonable reason to be afraid of him. The fear she felt was lingering from…from whatever it was she’d left behind.
“I’m sorry. Laura Marshall. I have an interior design studio in Old Scottsdale. My father’s Owen Marshall. He’s…”
“I’ve heard of him. He’s a Realtor.” Not just any Realtor, but one who owned half a dozen or so residential offices plus a large commercial division. He should have guessed from her clothes. Her family had pots of money. And yet, here she was, running from something. Or someone.
“Yes, that’s right. I decorate the company’s model homes, but I have a private clientele, as well.”
“Do you live with your father?” Sean had never met Owen Marshall, but he’d read that the man was widowed and lived in a large sprawling home on Camelback Mountain.
Something flickered in her eyes, a quick distaste, then was gone so quickly he wasn’t certain he’d seen it at all. “No, not since I left for college. I have a town house in Scottsdale in Old Town.”
“I’m not far from you. I have an older house on Mockingbird Lane that I’ve been renovating. Near Judson School in Paradise Valley.”
Finally, she believed him. “I know exactly where that is.” But a frown creased her forehead. “Why is it I can remember personal details, but not why I was in such a hurry to leave town?”
“It’s called traumatic amnesia. Someone who’s been traumatized by something fearful can’t recall the hurtful details but remembers common facts about her life. The rest will come back to you in time. Maybe gradually, or perhaps all at once. It’s the mind’s way of protecting you from an event too painful to recall. Something will trigger the memory when you’re ready to remember.”
Laura stared at his face, thinking he looked sincere and concerned. “You really are a doctor, aren’t you? I’m sorry I doubted you, but…”
“You don’t have to apologize. You had a frightful experience, then a bad accident and you woke up in a stranger’s house with injuries. Anyone would be skeptical.”
“My Bronco. Is it in bad shape?”
He shrugged. “Depends what you mean by bad. You must have veered off the road and down this incline, hit a small tree, then the Bronco spun around and wound up with its back end wedged between two trees. I think it can be repaired. If you’d have been driving a smaller car, you might not be here talking with me.”
She shuddered at the close call. “I just bought the Bronco about six months ago. I used to drive a BMW two-seater. But I have to carry around all these samples—carpeting, drapery, paint swatches, wood panels. I guess it was a good decision to switch.”
“Amen to that.”
Laura shifted on the couch, attempting to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through her shoulder. “Oh!”
“I think we’d better get your shoulder back in place,” Sean told her, getting to his feet. “I take it you’ve never had this type of injury before?”
Her face registered discomfort and
