“The accident. Our fight… I’ve forgotten, haven’t I? I’ve blocked it out.” Her heart raced. “I’ve lost part of my memory.”
“There’s time for all this later.” He stood but thankfully didn’t move toward her. “When you’re feeling better, when you’ve rested.”
“That’s what you talked to Dr. Johnson about, isn’t it? My memory loss.”
“Angie—” he warned.
Suddenly she was more afraid than she ever remembered being. “How much, Shane? How much time have I lost?”
“I don’t know.” He spoke slowly, soothingly, his reassuring cadence the only lifeline she had to hold on to. “The doctor said it could be posttraumatic amnesia.”
Her knees weakened. “What does that mean?” She sank onto the bed she didn’t remember sharing with him.
“He won’t know, exactly, unless he runs a complete neurological examination.”
Twisting her hands together, she softly said, “And because of the weather, you can’t get me to the hospital.”
He nodded.
“So you’re stuck with me.”
“We’re stuck with each other.”
Oh, how she’d wanted him to deny it, to tell her that being with her wasn’t a hardship.
“Your memory could come back all on its own.”
She twisted her hands together. “When?”
“Anytime.”
“What happens if it doesn’t? What if it never comes back at all?”
“Don’t,” he warned, the word a soft growl. Devouring the distance in a couple of quick strides, he took hold of her upper arms, but there was nothing intimate about his grip.
“We don’t have any information, so we can’t hazard a guess. Dr. Johnson wouldn’t.”
She struggled to take it all in, but she was shivering, as if the cold was devouring her from the inside out.
“The best thing you can do is follow the doctor’s orders. Rest, and change out of the wet clothes so you don’t end up with a cold, as well.”
“But—”
His grip tightened. “Do us both a favor. Quit arguing.”
He released her, and the temperature plummeted. The howling wind and driving snow only made it worse.
Shane crossed to the closet and returned with a pair of sweatpants and matching shirt. At least these were familiar.
She grabbed for the hem of her damp sweater, only to wince when her muscles protested.
A pulse ticking in his temple, he offered his help.
“Thanks,” she said.
He eased the sweater over her head, dropping it onto the floor and scooping up the sweatshirt. As he helped her into the soft fleece, his fingers skimmed her bare skin, raising awareness deep inside her.
She glanced at him, and he refused to meet her gaze. He wasn’t looking at her.
Tears stung again, and she tried to blink them back.
“What about your jeans?”
“I can manage.” Better that than having a man touch her who no longer wanted to…
When she stood and fumbled with the zipper’s small tab, he said, “I’ll do it.”
His motions were deft and sure, not that that was a surprise. He’d undressed her dozens of times.
Yet there was something different knowing he was angry, recognizing he didn’t want to be near her, realizing their marriage was no longer the happily-ever-after fairy tale she believed it to be.
He shimmied the damp, stiff denim past her hips and down her thighs. Kneeling, he held the jeans while she stepped out of them.
Breath froze in her lungs.
His gaze swept upward as he looked at her, pausing midway up her body.
He sucked in a shallow breath, his eyes narrowing. Her body quickened in response to his unspoken need.
He touched her, gently.
Then, swearing softly, he dropped his hand, pushed to his feet and grabbed the aspirin he’d carried into the room.
Uncapping the bottle, he shook out two tablets and placed them on the bedside table, alongside a glass of water. “Call me if you need anything.” The door closed behind him with a sharp click.
She needed so much from him—needed to be held, caressed, loved…the very things he wasn’t offering.
Her head thundered. She wanted things back the way they had been before… Before… Before the fight she couldn’t remember.
She’d demanded answers, and Shane had given a few. Maybe he’d been right in guessing she was better off not knowing. His honesty hadn’t solved anything, it had only made it worse.
Finally, the pain ricocheting inside her head won. Angie gave in. Telling herself that maybe her memory would return if she rested, she pulled back the bedspread and crawled beneath the blanket.
She lay down and inhaled Shane’s scent, that of mountain air and citrus spice. Another small thing that was familiar in a world tipped upside down. She found comfort in it.
She gave a soft sigh of relief. He might be angry, but he hadn’t shut her out completely. When he’d taken off her jeans, sensuality had arced between them. That gave her a glimmer of hope.
She’d always been a fighter, and more than once Shane had said he admired that about her. Well, he’d never seen her fight like this before. She wanted Shane’s love back, and she’d do anything to get it.
The only problem was, she didn’t know where to start because the enemy was inside her own head….
She wasn’t the only one with memory problems.
Shane shoved the bottle of aspirin back on the shelf in the kitchen and slammed the cupboard door.
Pivoting, he strode into the living room, Hardhat on his heels.
What the hell was Shane thinking, allowing his gaze to caress her the way his hands once had, forgetting the way she’d callously turned and run from their vows and commitment?
Oh, it was easy to forget, when all he could do was remember the way they’d talk and laugh, the way he shared his darkest secrets with her, her responses, soft and sensual, daring and demanding…her scent, perfume and shampoo mingling with feminine temptation…the feel of her yielding to his desires….
Having
