the sound amplified in the quiet. He’d been so wrapped up in his memories that he was neglecting to care for her properly.
Softly cursing, he moved into action, tossing a couple of logs on the dwindling fire, stoking the embers and fanning the flame.
Returning to her, he dropped to his knees, ignoring the winking aspen leaf nestled near her breast.
She curled her small hand around his shoulder the same way she might have once upon a time. Trying to ignore the touch, he drew off her shoes, pricey leather flats that had no place in a Rocky Mountain blizzard.
Her socks were soaked, and he pulled them off, exposing the pale pink polish brushed across her toenails. She’d never painted her toenails before.
He shoved aside the thoughts and the anger that still nipped at his soul.
She no longer mattered to him.
Her denim jeans were frozen and stiff near the ankle, and he knew they needed to be removed, too. Damned if he’d do it, though.
He grabbed a throw from the back of the couch and settled it around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she murmured, tipping back her head and looking at him. Her hair fell away from her forehead, again exposing her wound.
In the dim light spilling through the large window, the cut seemed to ravage her skin.
He gritted his teeth. He’d already told himself she didn’t matter.
But her vulnerability sliced through his carefully constructed defenses.
Against his will, he moved his finger across her skin, not touching the injury but feeling the sizzle of heat against frost.
She flinched, but didn’t pull away.
“I need to call Doc Johnson.”
“Dr. Johnson?” She pressed her fingers against her temples, as if hoping to soothe away the pain. “What about Dr. Kirk?”
“He retired.” Was it possible that she’d truly forgotten the past few years? Surely it was the shock, nothing more….
Flames hissed and crackled, and his heart rate accelerated.
Pushing to his feet he said, “I’ll be right back,” before crossing to the master bedroom. He needed a lifeline to sanity, and she needed dry clothes.
Unable to reach Dr. Johnson at his office, Shane dialed the man’s home phone number and succinctly detailed the situation, including the fact that Angie was conscious and coherent and seemed fine, as long as you didn’t count the fact she was freezing cold and seemed to have no recollection of their divorce.
“That’s entirely possible, young man,” Dr. Johnson said. “With the car accident, potential trauma to the brain…your Angie could be suffering from posttraumatic amnesia.”
Amnesia. Breath rushed from Shane’s lungs. “She needs to see you immediately.”
“I completely agree, Shane, but you’d be risking further injury by trying to get her through the blizzard. I don’t have all the equipment to run a complete neurological examination. She needs to go to a hospital, but it’s doubtful we could get her there safely.”
“So what the hell am I supposed to do with her?”
“Keep her calm, give her aspirin for the pain. Watch her for the possibility of a concussion. As soon as the roads are plowed, we can send an ambulance or you can bring her in. Of course, if you have an emergency, call right away.”
“That’s it?”
“Sorry, Shane.”
“What do I do about her amnesia?”
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do, except try and keep her quiet,” the doctor said.
“What about her memory? When will she get it back?”
“That’s anyone’s guess, young man. Could be twenty minutes, could be next week.”
“And it might not happen at all,” Shane said flatly.
“I can’t say. But the last thing you need is for Angie to panic. She’s been through quite enough trauma as it is. Don’t you agree?”
Shane’s grip tightened on the phone. “I should let her believe she’s my wife?”
“If that keeps her from panicking and potentially causing more damage, yes.”
Shane didn’t like it. Before he could question the doctor further, static chewed up the phone line, and the connection died.
He was stuck, his ex-wife thinking they were still starry-eyed in love. And he couldn’t tell her any different.
He dropped the phone’s handset back into its cradle.
Shell-shocked, he returned to the living room.
“Shane? What did the doctor say?”
“Take two aspirin and call him in the morning.”
Her attempted smile faded before it formed. A part of him, one he thought no longer existed, stirred.
He crossed to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She fit his cupped palms perfectly, as if they had always been two parts of the same whole.
To distract himself from the unwelcome, impossible thought, he said, “You still need to change out of those wet clothes. As soon as you’ve done that, I’ll clean and bandage the wound on your forehead.”
Snowflakes had melted into her hair, the dampness making the color appear a couple of shades darker than he remembered. And now there was an alluring hint of copper buried between the strands. He struggled to resist the urge to bury his fingers in its thickness and hold her close.
But it was her eyes that really got to him. They were wide, and focused unblinkingly on him.
In the five years since he’d seen her, he’d forgotten how very powerful her eyes were. The color, a blue as vibrant as a sun-drenched sky, was potent, making him think of lovemaking and forever in a single blink. But he didn’t dare forget they were a great shield for deceit.
“Did we have a fight?” she asked softly.
He released her. “A fight?”
“Is that why you’re angry with me?”
“I’m not angry,” he denied, the doctor’s warning to keep her calm echoing in Shane’s mind.
“You always scowl like that when you’re upset.”
He dragged his fingers through his dark hair.
“You do that, too.”
In frustration, he exhaled. Damn it. How was it possible for her to remember so much and forget
