impatience, “but what do you have to do with me?”
“You feel up to a walk around the grounds?” His slow smile heated up the room.
“If I walk with you, will you answer my question?”
He regarded her solemnly for a moment, then nodded.
A younger, more handsome version of the Marlboro Man, that’s who he reminded her of, with his chiseled features, sun-streaked hair and wind-burned skin. Another useless bit of information remembered. She clenched her fists in frustration at the quickening of her pulse and the flush that seared her cheeks.
Hoping to fill the emptiness with his presence, she couldn’t deny she’d been waiting for him all morning. But only for what he could tell her, she assured herself. Her racing blood and somersaulting stomach at the sight of the stranger were due strictly to her thirst for information. Neither Dr. Sinclair nor the nurses would tell her anything, but maybe Wade could furnish the facts she couldn’t recall.
She forced a smile with more bravery than she felt. After all, he’d promised answers. “I’d take you up on that walk, but my legs are a bit shaky.”
They’d gotten a whole lot shakier since he arrived.
His gaze scanned her legs, from the bottom of her short hospital gown to her ankles, crossed atop the covers. “They look fine to me.”
Her misgivings melted as the heat in his dark eyes transferred to the pit of her stomach. In a futile effort, she tugged at the hem of her gown. No sense going all warm and snuggly over Wade Garrett, when, for all she knew, she had a husband and three kids somewhere, waiting for her to come home.
Home.
Where was home? And what was she doing here, fighting the desire to throw herself into a tall stranger’s arms and have him take care of her?
She swung her legs off the bed on the side away from Wade and tugged on the shapeless cotton robe the hospital had provided. Shaky legs or not, she’d accompany him until he’d given her some explanations. She slid her feet into frumpy hospital slippers and stood on wobbly limbs.
In an instant, Wade was beside her, gripping her elbow to steady her. “Lean on me.”
She jumped at his touch and would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her.
What was the matter with her? Why had she hopped like water on a hot griddle at the pressure of his hand? She glanced into bottomless brown eyes that registered his confusion at her reaction. He’d offered a simple gesture of help and thoughtful words. She’d responded as if he’d electrocuted her.
Bewilderment brought tears to her eyes. She dashed them away with the back of her hand. Undeterred, Wade reached for her elbow again, but she shook off his assistance, hesitant to be indebted to a man she knew nothing about.
“I’ll be okay.” She didn’t sound convincing, even to herself.
Ignoring her protest, he slid an arm around her waist and bore the brunt of her weight. She would have protested further, but without his support, her legs would have buckled.
With Wade’s help, she shuffled into the hallway. He nodded toward the exit at the end of the hall. “The hospital garden’s just past those doors.”
She traversed the hall, aware of the searing heat of Wade’s strong hip pressed against her torso. She forced weak muscles to carry her forward, and Wade matched his pace to hers. When she stepped from beneath the entrance portico, morning sunlight toasted her face, banishing the chill of air conditioning.
If only it could unlock her memories as well.
She glanced up at the stranger at her side, hoping he held the key to who she was. If he did, he exhibited no haste to reveal it. A shiver joined the trembling in her legs. Maybe he was hiding something, something she wouldn’t want to hear.
She chastised herself for her fears. Surely nothing could be worse than not knowing. She’d make him tell. The sooner the better.
Bolstered by Wade’s strong arm, she ambled along the brick path through elliptical pools of shade cast by tall Douglas firs. Intent on the enigmatic man at her side, she spared only a cursory glance for the deep purple petunias and mounds of white alyssum that bordered the walk.
When they reached a concrete bench set back from the path under a small maple, he steadied her as she sat, then stepped away.
She drew the cotton robe around her and confronted him. “Isn’t it time you answered my questions?”
Seemingly unperturbed by her abruptness, he dropped to the ground with a natural gracefulness, leaned back against the bench and stared across the garden. She couldn’t see his eyes, only the angle of his cheek and the silky texture of sun-bleached hair that brushed the top of his collar. A twitching muscle in his jaw betrayed his calm.
“What do you want to know?” Something in his even tone hinted at emotions held firmly in check.
She looked around in confusion at the pine-covered hills rising beyond the river toward a range of snow-capped mountains in the distance. “Where am I?”
“You’re just outside Libby.”
“Where’s that?”
“Northwest Montana.”
“Do I live here?”
“You were traveling to your new home at Longhorn Lake, less than an hour west of here.”
Montana didn’t seem familiar, but then nothing else did, either. Her most pressing question concerned her identity. She leaned forward until she could watch his expression. “Who am I?”
His eyes glowed briefly with a curious longing before he looked away. “You’re Rachel O’Riley.”
“That’s only a name. Who am I?”
He shifted toward her, grasped her fists clenched on her lap and smoothed her fingers open with a gentleness unexpected in such a big man. “You’re coiled tighter than a spring. Dr. Sinclair says you mustn’t get worked up over this.”
“How can I not—”
“Shh.” He lifted his index finger to her lips, creating an unaccustomed tingle along the sensitive skin. “If you promise to relax, I promise to answer any questions I can.”
His composure irritated her, but his unyielding expression convinced her to follow his instructions. She inhaled, drawing in the resinous scent of evergreens and the fragrance of unfamiliar flowers on the cool mountain air. Slowly, her tension eased.
“That’s better.” He released her hands with a nod of satisfaction, but his eyes held a burning, distant look, as if he wished he was anywhere but there.
She resisted the urge to grab his hand again, yearning for his touch to drive away her lack of connection to anyone or anything. “Please, tell me about myself, my family, what I’m doing here.”
“You’re twenty-eight years old. You grew up in Missouri.” With a calm she envied, he ticked off the facts on long, capable fingers
