Betty? Liz? Or any of the other variations of the name? She didn’t know.
But she noted that she’d washed her hair before soaping her body, and it had been in the back of her mind that she’d better do that first—in case the hot water went off and she was caught with shampoo in her hair.
An interesting priority. Did it mean she lived in a house or an apartment where there was a problem with the hot-water heater? Or had she traveled abroad like Dr. Delano?
She clenched her hand around a bar of soap, annoyed with herself for switching her thoughts back to him. He’d made it clear that there couldn’t be anything personal between the two of them, and she understood that. Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t stop thinking of him as her lifeline to her own past.
After turning off the water and stepping out of the shower, she reached for a towel and began to dry herself. There was no hair dryer, so she worked extra hard on her hair, rubbing it into fluffy ringlets.
Was that the way she usually wore it? She didn’t think so, but it would do for now. Her coiffure was way down on her list of priorities. It didn’t matter what she looked like if she didn’t know who she was and how she’d gotten herself into deep kimchi. Because it was clear from the memory Dr. Delano had dredged up that she’d done something to bring trouble on herself. Was it something she deserved? Or something that wasn’t her fault?
She made a small sound of frustration as she tried to work around the holes in her memory, then stopped and started again. It was more like her entire past was a great void—except for the memories Matt Delano had brought to the surface. With that nagging side effect he hated, she reminded herself.
Well, that probably wasn’t true. She was pretty sure he didn’t hate the sexual pull between them. He’d responded, after all, but he was determined not to cross a line with her.
She clenched her fists in frustration. If she couldn’t fill in all the blank places in her mind, they were going to drive her crazy.
Chapter Three
At the nurses’ station, Matt was thinking about the moral issue that was tearing at him. Because he was very conscious of the sexual awareness between himself and Elizabeth Doe, he should stay away from her. But at the same time, how could he refuse to help her?
Mrs. Kramer came down the hall, her strides purposeful, and he looked up questioningly when he found her standing in front of him.
“Yes?”
“Do you get the feeling that Elizabeth is in some kind of trouble?” she asked. “I mean not just the memory loss.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps she was fleeing from someone. There was a report of a man dragging her out of her car at the accident scene. Maybe he took her purse.”
Matt nodded.
“Would it be all right, do you think, if I didn’t tell anyone that I was taking her home with me? Well, I mean, anyone besides you.”
“If someone is looking for her, wouldn’t that make it harder to locate her?” he said.
“But I’m thinking, it’s likely to be the wrong kind of person, and it might be better for him not to find her.”
“Or it could be her husband, frantic for information.”
“You think she’s married?” Kramer asked.
“No,” he answered immediately, then tried to assess his firm conviction. His certainty came from her mind, but he couldn’t tell that to Kramer. Instead, he said, “No ring.”
As the nurse nodded, he took his private speculation a step further. The best he could figure was that he hadn’t gotten any hint of a husband from her memories. Or any indication of a current relationship. Just from that brief trip into her mind, he thought that she was like him—disconnected from any meaningful relationship. Only for a few moments, the two of them had connected in a way he’d thought impossible for himself.
He clenched his teeth.
“Is something wrong?” Kramer asked.
Quickly he rearranged his features. “No.”
“You look tense.”
He wished she hadn’t noticed.
When he didn’t speak, the nurse said, “I’ll let you know how she’s doing.”
“Thanks.”
He did care, more than he should, but he couldn’t admit it or anything else that would give away the out-of-kilter personal involvement that had flared between them. He turned and left the ward before Elizabeth came out, and he did something he knew he shouldn’t—like touch her again.
Thinking about it made his nerve endings tingle, but he ignored the sensation as he headed for the other end of the hall.
* * *
POLLY KRAMER WATCHED Dr. Delano stride off. She could tell he was trying to react on a strictly professional level, but he wasn’t succeeding. Which was interesting. Since he’d come to Memorial Hospital, she’d thought of him as closed up. Maybe even a cold fish. But something about the woman with no memory had created a change in him. He seemed to really care about her, although he was trying not to show it.
Probably he thought any personal feelings about Elizabeth were inappropriate. But was there some way to change that? He’d been cautious of involvement with her because she was a patient. But she wouldn’t be a patient after she left the hospital.
Polly smiled to herself. Here she went again, trying to match people up. Because she’d been so happy in her marriage. And she wanted the same thing for other young couples.
A voice broke into her thoughts. It was Cynthia Price, one of the other nurses on the floor.
“I couldn’t help overhearing you and the doctor talking. Are you really taking that Jane Doe woman home with you?” Price asked. She was a slender brunette in her mid-thirties, and as far as Polly could tell, she had the right nursing skills, but she didn’t have much empathy for the patients.
“Yes.”
Polly’s colleague fiddled with the ballpoint pen she was holding. “I don’t like to interfere, but isn’t that taking a chance?”
“What do you mean?”
“She could be...” The woman raised a shoulder. “She could be a thief or Lord knows what.”
“I think I’m a good judge of character, and I don’t believe she’s a thief or a murderer. But Dr. Delano and I both have the idea she’s in some kind of trouble.”
“Yes, I heard you discussing it. What do you think it is?”
“When she gets her memory back, we’ll know.” Polly paused for a second. “I think it would be better if you don’t tell anyone she left with me.”
Cynthia considered the request. “What if
