Книга - The Temptation of Dr. Colton

The Temptation of Dr. Colton
Karen Whiddon


After a hit-and-run, all the victim can remember is Eric Colton, the doctor who rescued her. She has no identity and no memory, except the flash of a gunshot and a man’s name. But she knows she’s in grave danger.Eric can’t explain his irresistible attraction to the mystery woman who transforms him from workaholic surgeon to vigilant bodyguard. He can’t let her out of his arms, not when danger stalks her.Eric doesn’t know what she’s forgotten – but he knows people will kill to ensure she never remembers… and it’s up to him to stop them.









Instead of starting, his car exploded.


The force of the explosion knocked them both to the ground. She felt dazed; she didn’t understand what had happened. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard screams, running footsteps, the roar of fire and then another, smaller explosion that shook the ground.

Then Eric was there, his strong arms supporting her as he helped her to her feet. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.” She glanced up and gasped when she saw the jagged gash on his cheek. She couldn’t look away from all the blood.

“You’re bleeding …” Swaying, she clutched at him.

“Easy. I think you’re going into shock,” he murmured.

“What exactly just happened?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

“Someone blew up my car. If we’d been inside when it started, we’d both be—”

“Dead.”

And then the seriousness of the situation slammed home. Someone was after her. Someone who, for whatever reason, wanted her dead. But why? Who was she?

***

Be sure to check out the next books in The Coltons of Oklahoma series.

The Coltons of Oklahoma Family secrets always find a way to resurface …


The Temptation

of Dr Colton

Karen Whiddon




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


KAREN WHIDDON started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at eleven. Amid the Catskill Mountains, then the Rocky Mountains, she fueled her imagination with the natural beauty surrounding her. Karen lives in north Texas and shares her life with her hero of a husband and three doting dogs. You can e-mail Karen at KWhiddon1@aol.com (mailto:KWhiddon1@aol.com) or write to her at PO Box 820807, Fort Worth, TX 76182, USA. Fans can also check out her website, www.karenwhiddon.com (http://www.karenwhiddon.com).


To all the wonderful and patient medical professionals who answered questions about trauma surgeons, especially Heather Rodriquez, thank you for your insight. I also learned a lot about Oklahoma cattle ranches from the website of Ree Drummond, AKA The Pioneer Woman. Any mistakes about either are my own.


Contents

Cover (#uac55c8d1-6f8e-5cc0-a740-baddee6cfd63)

Introduction (#ue3bc2035-5474-5388-bd52-4cbb7fec5b4c)

Title Page (#ud08b8f08-9b9f-5fdb-ab64-89bda07b4c67)

About the Author (#u2bf6ae81-8b14-571a-a3ad-70d551322b05)

Dedication (#u28518bc1-14aa-5f56-9220-70ae79420626)

Chapter 1 (#u13626ba5-0a65-5c04-bd82-0652a249f1e3)

Chapter 2 (#uec313bf8-78e8-5e58-b922-879ef3e824dc)

Chapter 3 (#u5f412037-47e3-5866-90ef-68ec44300c7e)

Chapter 4 (#udf3d1d66-d5d6-598a-bd9d-63b9447242bc)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter 1 (#ulink_af07a873-ce56-578a-8231-57a5735109ae)

Despite the steady, light rain, Dr. Eric Colton plowed forward, chin up, his stride brisk. After a long, hot Oklahoma summer, any rain in August was a cause for celebration, though the slate-gray sky matched his mood. Walking home had become his own form of therapy, a way to clear his head after another exhilarating, stress-filled day as a trauma surgeon at Tulsa General Hospital.

The sound of tires squealing on slick pavement made him look back. A black Lincoln Town Car came barreling around the corner, engine revving. The light had just changed and a woman carrying a purple umbrella stepped into the crosswalk. The vehicle never slowed.

With his heart in his throat, he shouted a warning. Too late. As if in slow motion, he watched the car hit the woman, sending her into the air, umbrella and all. The Town Car kept going, taillights flashing red as it disappeared into the distance.

Eric ran, pulling out his cell phone and dialing 911. The woman lay in a crumpled heap on the pavement. He knelt and checked her pulse. Good. Since he knew better than to move her, he grabbed her umbrella and held it over her while he waited with her. As a small crowd gathered, he motioned them back. The same eerie calm he always experienced when he was working had settled over him, though adrenaline still pumped through his veins. Mentally, he assessed her possible injuries, already thinking ahead to types of treatment.

Siren sounding, lights flashing, an ambulance arrived. Still holding the purple umbrella, Eric identified himself as a doctor and explained what he’d witnessed. He watched as the EMTs used the scoop stretcher to get the woman up and he informed them he would be going to the hospital with her.

Once she’d been safely secured inside the ambulance, he climbed in, too. Though careful to stay in the background and not interfere, he kept a sharp eye on them as they worked on the woman. A bruise had begun to form on one high, exotic cheekbone. Even banged up, he could tell she was pretty, maybe even beautiful.

A few minutes later, they pulled up at the ER. While the EMTs got everything ready to bring the patient in, Eric took her small, delicate hand. To his shock, she opened her eyes—they were a startling light blue.

“Walter?” she asked, her husky voice weak. Before he could respond, she drifted back into unconsciousness.

Eric strode ahead, barking out orders, as they brought the woman in. Though his shift was over and Dr. Gina Patel was now on call, he wanted to be kept fully apprised of this patient’s progress. He also figured the police would be around soon to question him, since he’d witnessed the entire thing, so he might as well hang around.

He stepped back and let the staff take care of the woman. When Dr. Patel came running around the corner, she stopped short at the sight of him.

“I thought you’d left.”

“I had. But I saw someone get run over, so I came back with her.”

Dr. Patel raised one brow. “I see. I imagine that’s the patient they’re paging me on.”

“It is.” He dragged his hand through his wet hair, surprised to see he still held the purple umbrella. “Please keep me apprised of her status.”

“Will do.” With a brusque nod, the other doctor hurried off.

As Eric had predicted, the police arrived shortly after. Since Eric’s brother Ryan was an officer for the Tulsa PD, they recognized Eric’s name. After Eric relayed everything he’d seen, which unfortunately didn’t include the license plate on the Town Car, they thanked him and left.

“Dr. Colton, you should go home.” Dr. Patel again, leaving the woman’s room and stopping directly in front of him. “You look exhausted and clearly need some rest. You’ve done your civic duty. I think this patient is going to live. We’ll let you know her status once we finish running all the tests. I’ve asked the neurologist on call to stop by as well.”

Standard protocol. Nodding wearily, Eric exhaled. “Okay, thanks. Keep me posted.” He knew he sounded abrupt, but if anyone would understand, it’d be the ER doctor.

He turned and headed toward the front door. Suddenly the process of trudging home in the rain—even with the woman’s umbrella—seemed unbearable, so he hailed a cab instead.

Once he arrived at his town house—five blocks away from the hospital—he overtipped the cab driver and dashed inside. Once there, he eyed the purple umbrella and realized he would need to return it to her.

Leaning it against the wall in his foyer, he changed out of his drenched scrubs and toweled off his short brown hair. After pouring himself a scotch—neat—he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Then he poured the scotch out and opted for water instead. He expected the hospital to call at any moment, telling him they were prepping the woman for surgery. He figured she probably had a traumatic brain injury, despite what Dr. Patel thought. After all, the other doctor hadn’t seen the woman get hit.

Too restless to sit, he paced in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows as dusk settled over the city.

That woman. He kept seeing the moment of impact over and over, like a video recording set on repeat that he couldn’t seem to turn off. While he dealt with traumatic injuries every day, from gunshot wounds and stabbings to car accidents, he was used to seeing the patient after.

Surely after being hit like that, she’d have some sort of issue. Hopefully not a brain injury, or something internal.

The physician in him itched to be the one to heal her. The man in him wanted to find out more about her. When she’d stepped out into the crosswalk, she’d moved with a jaunty stride, despite the rain. Her purple umbrella had white cupcakes printed all along the edge.

She’d had short brown hair with reddish highlights. Even soaking wet, it had still managed to retain its curl, framing her heart-shaped face nicely.

And her eyes... Something about them, maybe the unusual light blue color, intrigued him. Who was Walter? When she’d briefly regained consciousness, she’d managed to say his name, which meant he had to be someone important to her. A husband or lover?

Sipping the water, he rolled his neck and shoulders. Though his body felt exhausted, he couldn’t shut off his mind. He needed to unwind, somehow.

His building had a gym, but after being on his feet for the better part of twelve hours, the last thing he felt like doing was working out. Even though intellectually he knew it would be good for him, tonight he’d take a pass.

It was Friday night. He could call one of his brothers and see if they wanted to meet up to shoot some pool or drink a few beers, even though he’d have to stick with something nonalcoholic, just in case. But—no surprise here—he’d rather be alone.

Clicking the TV off, he turned on his Bose stereo, with his iPod set to play classical music—Bach, Beethoven, Mozart—and let the music wash over him. His taste in music had been the source of much amusement growing up on the family ranch, where everyone listened to Garth Brooks, George Strait, or Willie Nelson. One or two of his brothers had secretly listened to rock, but no one, not even his sister, Greta, understood Eric’s musical choices.

He didn’t care. The soaring notes and perfect melodies were the polar opposite of the often violent cases he saw each day.

Tonight though, even his favorite music couldn’t soothe him. He reached for his phone, tempted to call the ER and find out the mystery woman’s status. But he didn’t. After all, he was on call through the weekend and if anything happened with her, they’d page him. He expected this at any time. Sometimes, waiting really was the hardest part.

* * *

The woman opened her eyes, fighting back panic. Where was she? What had happened? Machines beeped, and she realized she had an IV in her arm. A hospital? She tried to remember. Had there been an accident? Had she been ill? Her head hurt. No, more than hurt. Throbbed. Pressing against her forehead with her hand, she wondered if she could make it stop.

As she struggled to sit up, she set off some kind of an alarm. A nurse came running. “You’re awake,” she said, as if being awake was something special.

The woman nodded, then winced. “My head hurts,” she said. “Actually, my entire body is in pain.”

“That’s to be expected. You were in a pretty serious accident, though you were lucky. Nothing is broken.”

Processing this, she squinted at the other woman. “Where am I?”

“Tulsa General.” The nurse bustled around her, silencing the screeching machine, checking various things. “How are you feeling?”

She had to think about that for a second. “I’m...not sure. Dizzy? Hungry? Thirsty, maybe?”

The nurse smiled. “We can fix that. But first, can you tell me your name? We couldn’t find any ID on you.”

Her name. She tried to recall, to think, battling through the pain, hating that her head felt so muzzy. Finally, with a grimace, she admitted defeat. “I don’t know. I can’t seem to remember. I just don’t remember anything.”

“That’s okay,” the nurse soothed. “Don’t worry about that right now. I’m sure it will come to you. Meanwhile, how about I see what I can do for you in the food department.”

As it turned out, not much. The attending doctor had ordered a liquid-only diet until all the test results were in. She was given some tasteless broth, and unsweetened tea. Which turned out to be okay, since an attempt to drink the broth had her gagging.

What on earth had happened to her, and why couldn’t she remember even her own name? After racking her brain, the woman closed her eyes and went to sleep.

* * *

Despite Eric’s certainty, a call didn’t come that night. He fought the urge to phone the hospital himself, well aware that he needed to force himself to have a little separation from work. His colleagues had been telling him that for months now. Heck, even the nursing staff had taken to asking him when he’d take a vacation.

Time off. Such a concept was for other people, not him. He’d worked too hard to perform his life’s work just to chuck it for a week or two. There probably existed a healthy balance between work and personal life, but for him such a thing was an abstract concept. A couple of guys he knew from back when they’d done their residencies had all complained about the eighty-and ninety-hour workweeks, but Eric never had. The more time he worked, the more he thrived.

Being a trauma surgeon was all he’d ever wanted to do. If not for his siblings’ insistence that he spend the occasional time hanging out with them, he figured he’d probably devote every waking hour to the hospital.

His three brothers, one sister and one half brother had made it their mission to ensure he saw his family. Even if Eric never found time to visit the Lucky C—the Colton family ranch—they all drove in to Tulsa to spend time with him. He appreciated this more than they knew. He valued his family connection and loved his siblings.

Their closeness helped Eric live with his parents’ distance. His mother and father never came to see him. Despite Eric’s oldest brother, Jack’s, dedication to the family business, Big J—as they called their father, John—had never gotten over his second son’s defection to another line of work. At least the man had an excuse, unlike Abra, his mother.

All through his youth, Eric’s mother had always been too self-involved, too busy with her travel and her shopping to care about her children. Only once her friends had begun commenting on how fortunate she was to have a doctor in the family did she begin to make noises of approval about his career. By then, it had been too little, too late.

Eric told himself he’d gotten used to the fact that neither of his parents had even seen his town house. He even wondered what it said about him that his parents’ lack of interest in his life rarely bothered him anymore.

And then the unthinkable had happened. A few months ago someone had attacked Abra and she’d been transferred to Tulsa General. Eric had been on call, and seeing his mother’s beaten, comatose body had made him realize how foolish their stubborn feud had been.

Her condition had been stabilized and there’d been nothing to do but wait. The neurologist had said in cases like hers, there was a fifty-fifty chance.

Months had gone by and Abra remained in a coma. Big J had hired a private nursing firm and had her moved to the Lucky C. Though the waiting seemed agonizing, Eric knew only time could heal her. She’d wake when she was ready, or not at all.

He hoped she woke. The two of them had a few fences to mend. Never again would he let his hurt pride get in the way of what mattered.

Thinking about his family finally lulled him to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, even though it was a Saturday, he woke at five, his usual time. Once he slugged back a glass of water, he dressed and hurried downstairs to the building’s gym. He pounded out ten minutes of cardio, worked his upper body with free weights and then did another ten on the treadmill.

Satisfied and sweaty, he returned to his town house, downed a protein shake and showered. He’d promised to meet his sister, Greta, for lunch later since she was in town, but he still had enough time to run up to the hospital and check on the mystery woman. Surely by now they’d moved her to a regular room.

When he arrived, the nurse on call, an older woman who always seemed disgruntled, frowned at him. “Dr. Colton? Are you doing rounds today, too? I show you’re off for the weekend.”

With a shrug, he slipped behind the counter and checked the computer. “I witnessed a woman hit by a car and brought her into the ER last night. What’s her status? Sorry, I don’t know her name.”

“Jane Doe?”

“That’s her name?” He crossed his arms. “Or is that what you’re calling her until you learn her real name?”

“The latter. She’s been admitted for observation.”

“Observation?” Which explained why he hadn’t gotten a phone call.

“Yes.” She handed him the chart. “Take a look yourself.”

Flipping through the pages, he barely noticed when the nurse bustled off. Unbelievably, all Jane Doe appeared to have suffered was a concussion and some bruised ribs. No broken bones or internal injuries. Wow. As far as he could tell, she was the luckiest woman in Tulsa.

He might as well take a look at her while he was here. Chart in hand, he hurried down the hall toward her room.

After tapping briskly twice, he pushed open the door and called out a quiet “Good morning.” Apparently, he’d woken her. She blinked groggily up at him, her amazing pale blue eyes slow to focus on him. He couldn’t help but notice her long and thick lashes.

“Doctor?” Pushing herself up on her elbows, she shoved her light brown curls away from her face. “You look so familiar.”

“That’s because I rode with you in the ambulance last night.”

“Ambulance?” She tilted her head, giving him an uncertain smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that.”

Amnesia? He frowned. “How much do you remember?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Her husky voice broke and her full lips quivered, just the slightest bit. “Not even my name or what happened to me.”

He took a seat in the chair next to the bed, suppressing the urge to take her hand. “Give it time. You’ve suffered a traumatic accident. I’m quite confident you’ll start to remember bits and pieces as time goes on.”

“I hope so.” Her sleepy smile transformed her face, lighting her up, changing her from pretty to absolutely gorgeous.

Unbelievably, he felt his body stir in response. Shocked, he nearly pushed to his feet. This kind of thing had never happened to him, ever. He’d learned to maintain a professional detachment.

Yet something about this woman was different. She seemed more...helpless, or something. And cute. Despite her bruises and the road rash on her cheek and neck, she reminded him of a flower, delicate and fresh.

Again, not appropriate. But, he reminded himself, he was not her doctor. He’d only witnessed her accident after his shift.

When he went silent, her long, silky lashes swept down over her eyes, making him wonder if she’d fallen back asleep. But then she sighed, and raised her gaze to give him a long look. “The nurse said I was in an accident and then you mentioned an ambulance.”

“Yes.” He decided not to elaborate, feeling it would be better if she remembered on her own.

“Was I in a car crash?”

“Sort of.” Eyeing her, he remembered something else. “When you were hurt, you called out for Walter. Do you remember who that might be?”

“Walter?” she said, overenunciating, almost as if trying to sound out a word in a foreign language. “Walter.”

“Husband?” He didn’t like that idea, but it was a possibility. “Friend? Brother? Coworker?”

“Stop. I honestly have no idea.” She held up her hand, turning it to study her ring finger on her left hand. “I don’t see a wedding band, so I don’t think I’m married.”

The rush of gladness he felt at her words shocked him at first. “I wouldn’t think so,” he agreed.

“Me either.” A faint hint of hysteria had crept into her voice. “Hopefully I couldn’t forget my own husband.”

Now he did give in to temptation and touch her, lightly squeezing her shoulder, overly aware of the smoothness of her skin under the thin hospital gown. “Don’t stress. Believe me, you’ll remember in time.”

When she exhaled, she seemed deflated. “Thank you, Doctor.” The slight shine in her cornflower eyes told him she was fighting back tears.

This made his chest tighten. Immediately, he stood, slightly confused at the tangle of emotion she invoked in him. “You’ll be fine,” he repeated. “I’m sure Dr. Patel will be by to check on you soon.”

“Dr. Patel? You’re not my doctor?”

Unbelievably, she sounded...hurt. Even more unbelievable, he had to hide a grin.

“No, I’m not. I’m sorry.” On the way to the door, he turned back to glance at her. First mistake.

Her light brown curls looked windblown, and the perfect bow of her lush mouth made him want to kiss her. The stab of desire hit him low in his gut, completely unexpected and unwelcome.

He dragged his hand across his face, aware he needed to go but unable to pull himself away.

“Even though I can’t recall anything about what happened to me, for some reason I recognize you,” she mused. “How is that possible? Why would I remember one thing and not the others? What happened to me, exactly?”

“Probably because your memory is coming back in bits and pieces,” he told her, aware he hadn’t answered her question. But he didn’t want to reveal to her how she’d been injured; he’d rather give her the chance to remember on her own.

She blinked, her gaze both sleepy and seductive. His instinctive response to this slammed into him, so powerful he took a step back.

Dangerous.

Clearly, he’d lost his mind. He had to get out of there immediately, before he did something he’d regret. “Feel better soon. Take care,” he said, dipping his chin in a quick nod before he left her room.

He didn’t slow down until he reached the nurse’s station, which mercifully was empty at the moment. Taking a seat, he tried to calm his racing heart. Since work usually absorbed him, he took another look at Jane Doe’s chart.

Everything confirmed what he’d been told. Mild concussion and some bruising. Which meant, under any other circumstances, she’d be released to go home soon.

But she didn’t know where home was. So what were they going to do with her?

His cell phone vibrated. His brother Ryan. Since Ryan worked for the Tulsa PD, maybe he could help find out who the mystery woman was, and who exactly Walter might be. He really needed to know if Walter was her husband, for reasons he didn’t even want to consider right now.

Stepping into the hallway, Eric answered.

“I heard you got involved in a hit-and-run last night,” Ryan said by way of greeting.

“Yes, as a witness. As a matter of fact, I just left the victim’s room. I’m hoping you can help me.” Briefly, he outlined what little he knew. “I’ve already told most of this to the guys who came out to investigate last night. Though I know they’re busy.”

“Like I’m not?” Ryan laughed, taking the sting off his words. “How about we discuss it over lunch?”

“I’m meeting Greta. She’s in town and I haven’t seen her in a while.” And they both knew their sister frowned upon any “shop” talk when they got together.

“Dinner, then?”

“It’ll have to be a late one. You know how Greta likes to talk.”

They both laughed. Lunch would no doubt turn out to last at least two hours. Which was fine with Eric. He didn’t get to see his sister as often as he’d like. Since she’d gotten engaged, she’d moved to Oklahoma City, and didn’t come back to Tulsa as often. Her wedding had been postponed when Abra got hurt. Greta refused to get married without her mother. She continually said she’d wait until Abra was out of the coma.

“Dinner it is. I’ll call you when I get off work.” With that, Ryan ended the call.

Eric had just started to walk toward the elevator when his phone rang again. Thinking Ryan must have forgotten something, he answered.

“This is Nurse McPherson from Tulsa General. Dr. Colton?”

Immediately every nerve ending went on full alert. Phone calls like this usually meant he was needed for trauma surgery. Adrenaline pumping through him, he answered in the affirmative.

“I’m here, at the nurse’s station on the fifth floor,” he said, heading toward the elevator so he could get to the ER. “What’s the case?”

“I’m sorry.” She apologized for the misunderstanding. “I should have made myself clear. I’m not calling you to bring you in for surgery. I’m phoning about Jane Doe.”

Putting the skids on, he frowned. “What about her? I just saw her.”

“We’re discharging her today.”

“Discharging her?” he repeated, letting his tone reflect his disbelief, though he’d expected this. “To where?”

Now the nurse sounded apologetic. “That’s why I called you. I thought you’d like to know. It’s wrong, but you know how it is. There’s nothing medically wrong enough with her to keep her here. Plus, she has no insurance—”

“She doesn’t even remember who she is,” he exploded quietly, keeping his voice down and remembering that none of this was the nurse’s fault. “Where will she go? What will she do?”

But he already knew the answer.

“I’m sorry, but you’re aware of how this works,” the nurse replied. “We can’t hold anyone who isn’t injured or ill. We’ll give her a card with directions to one of the homeless shelters.”

Homeless shelter. Eric thought of the woman, with her cloudy blue eyes and sweet, sexy smile. Who knew what would happen to a woman who looked like her if they placed her on the streets with no memory?

He couldn’t let that happen. “Don’t discharge her yet,” he said. “Let me find Dr. Patel. Do you know where she is?” But he hung up before the nurse could reply.

Striding down toward the emergency department—a place that seemed more familiar than his own town house—Eric refused to consider the hundred reasons why he shouldn’t get involved. After all, it was just a matter of time until her memory returned or Ryan figured out her identity. Once that happened, Eric could return her safely to her home and consider a good deed done. Especially since he knew he couldn’t live with himself if he let a woman who had temporary amnesia be put out into the street to fend for herself.

If there was more to it than that, he refused to think about it. He had to protect her, no matter what the cost.


Chapter 2 (#ulink_1bc268c4-c1c1-5e23-aeb3-fa3c2fe8a5ce)

When Eric arrived back at the mystery woman’s room, a nurse was with her, messing with the controls on one of the monitors. She now sat on the edge of her bed, her wavy hair tied back in a neat ponytail. Rather than the hospital gown, she wore some ill-fitting clothes that obviously had come from the lost and found. Considering whatever she’d been wearing had probably been cut off her, the nurses hadn’t had a choice, but the sight still offended him.

When her unusually colored eyes met his, he again felt a sense of connection and attraction.

“Back again?” she asked, her generous mouth curving in a smile.

“Hey, there,” he said softly, trying like hell to maintain a professional demeanor under the watchful gaze of her nurse. “I hear you’re well enough to go home.”

The misery in her expression spoke louder than words. “That’s what they’ve told me. Unfortunately, I have no idea where home might be.” She couldn’t quite disguise the terror in her voice.

He cleared his throat, pretending not to be affected.

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m here.” He kept his voice light and carefree, as if speaking to a child instead of a beautiful woman. “I’m going to take you to my place. You can stay there until your memory comes back.”

The nurse gasped, then scowled at him, her silent disapproval making him want to ask her to leave.

“Your place?” Her frown deepened. “Are we friends, then?”

“Sort of.” He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to frighten her. “I brought you in here. I can’t let them send you out into the street with nowhere to go.”

He looked at the nurse, who still stared at him. “Could you please find Dr. Patel and send her here? She and I need to talk.”

With a curt nod, the woman left the room. He turned his attention back to the patient—not his patient, he reminded himself. “I promise you’ll be safe with me.”

Considering him, her gaze serious, she lifted her chin. He was prepared for her to argue. Relief filled him when she simply nodded. “You’re a doctor. I have to believe you wouldn’t take advantage of me.”

“I won’t.” He took a deep breath, well aware that as far as the rest of the world was concerned, he walked a fine line. Since he took care to be meticulous, he’d be exceedingly careful now. “Are you about ready, MW?”

One arched brow rose. “MW?”

“Mystery Woman. I refuse to call you Jane Doe.”

Regarding him with a bemused expression, she finally nodded. “All right. And what should I call you?”

He almost said Dr. Colton, but at the last minute changed his mind. “Eric. My name is Eric.”

“The nurse said Dr. Patel had to sign my discharge papers. Even though you asked the nurse to send her, I don’t have any idea how long that will take.”

Eric knew, depending on how busy the attending physician might be, that a discharge could take hours. But not with him expediting things. “Let me check on those. Will you wait right here until I get back?”

A brief flash of humor sparked in her eyes. With a graceful motion, she shoved the wisps of her unruly hair that had escaped her ponytail away from her face. “Sure. After all, where else am I going to go?”

The nurse had disappeared. Whether to find Dr. Patel or attend to other patients, he didn’t know. After locating the discharge papers at the nurse’s station, he hunted down Dr. Patel, and got them signed. He sidestepped his colleague’s questions, keeping his answers purposely vague.

Snagging one of the available wheelchairs on the way, he went to collect his new houseguest. When he got to her room, he was surprised to find her standing, clutching the bed frame.

“Hospital protocol,” he said, gesturing at the wheelchair. “Let me help you get seated.”

“I can do it.” Waving away his offer, and moving slowly, she made it to the end of the bed and then took the necessary steps to reach the wheelchair. Even in this, her movements were graceful.

Feeling inordinately proud, he grinned at her. “Are you ready?”

After a moment’s hesitation, she smiled back. “Let’s rock and roll.”

Bemused and glad she couldn’t see his face, he began pushing the chair. When they reached the lobby, he hailed a cab, bundled her up into it and gave the cabbie his address.

She glanced around her in curiosity as they headed toward his town house.

Once there, he had MW sling her arm around his shoulders and supported her on the short sidewalk to his town house, despite her protests that she could walk just fine. He liked the way she felt, all lush and curvy, not a bony toothpick like some of the women he’d dated in the past.

“Hungover or injured?” a feminine voice drawled. He jumped. His sister, Greta. He’d managed to completely forget their lunch date.

“Injured,” MW replied, her mild tone at odds with the arch look she gave him. “Though I kept insisting I can do this, Eric here refuses to believe me. I’m sorry, Mrs....?”

“Miss,” Greta corrected with an inquisitive smile. “I’m Greta. Eric’s sister.”

His heart sank. Realizing Greta would spin an entirely innocent occurrence into a fantastical story to entertain his family and anyone else who would listen, he hurriedly recounted the events of the night before.

“So I have no memory,” MW put in when he’d finished. “And your brother was kind enough to offer me a place to stay.”

Despite her casual attitude, Greta appeared as if she’d been punched in the stomach. He shot her a look, telling her not to say out loud whatever she might be considering saying.

“Oh,” Greta managed weakly. “That’s nice of him.” The look she gave him back told him he had some explaining to do later.

He didn’t care. He’d done what he felt had been right, and that would be the end of it.

“What’s your name?” Greta asked.

“Right now, we’re calling her MW,” Eric put in smoothly. “For Mystery Woman.”

If anything, Greta’s hazel eyes got rounder. “I see.”

“About lunch...” he began.

“I can run out and get a few sub sandwiches,” Greta managed. “If you don’t want to go out. I can bring them back here.”

Glancing at MW, he nodded. “That would be helpful.”

“No, that’s okay. I don’t want to disrupt your plans,” MW said. “I’m pretty tired anyway, so if you could direct me to your guest room, I think I’d like to take a nap.”

Ignoring his sister’s eagle-eyed stare, he took MW’s arm and led her down the hallway to his spare room, which thankfully his cleaning service kept ready for guests.

Despite everything that had happened to her, and his insistent hold on her arm, she carried herself confidently. He noted the top of her head came up just underneath his chin.

Perfect.

“Here you go,” he told her, swallowing hard as he released her. “We’re going to need to get you some toiletries and clothes, too.”

Consternation turned her eyes the color of storm clouds as she blinked up at him. Helpless to move, he again noticed the sensual rosebud shape of her mouth and the luxurious sweep of her dark brown eyelashes.

“I have no money, no way to pay you back. At least, not right now.”

Clothes. They’d been talking about clothing.

“Then it’s a good thing I have plenty.” Unable to resist the urge to touch her again, he squeezed her shoulder. “Right now I don’t want you to worry about anything but getting better.”

“Thank you, then.” And she moved away. Her yawn as she settled onto the bed told him she’d be out in minutes.

He almost asked her if she wanted to take off the ill-fitting and ugly clothes, but the realization that she’d be naked if she did stopped him in his tracks. Once summoned, the image wouldn’t leave him. He had to throttle the rush of desire racing through him.

Crud.

Without saying another word, he left.

After he closed the guest room door, he went into his living room, where Greta still waited for him, fairly bouncing up and down in her agitation. Today she wore her wavy dark hair in a ponytail and her usual jeans and cowboy boots, even though the temperature was pushing a hundred.

“What the heck are you doing?” she whispered loudly. “If she’s your patient, aren’t you going to get into all kinds of legal trouble for doing this?”

“She’s not my patient,” he told her back. “And I’m just helping out a fellow human being.”

“A fellow...” She gave him a sidelong look. “I think I get it. This is an extension of your job to you, isn’t it?”

Since his entire family all knew Eric lived and breathed for his work, he nodded. “Yes. I was there, I saw the car hit her. I can’t just turn her out on the street with no memory and let her fend for herself. I’ve asked Ryan to personally work on finding out what we can about her.”

Greta’s skeptical expression told him she still wasn’t entirely buying into his story. “Okay. Couldn’t you have turned her over to adult Social Services or something?”

“Not without knowing her identity.”

“What if she’s a criminal? She could be a bank robber or a murderess, for all you know.”

He laughed. “When you hear the sound of hooves, don’t look for zebras. It’s usually a herd of horses.”

“What?”

“It’s an old medical school saying. What seems obvious usually is. MW was just a very unlucky woman. Some idiot was in a hurry and ran a light and hit her. I believe it won’t be long until she’s back to normal. Until then, she’s welcome to stay here.”

Continuing to study him, her hazel eyes dark, Greta finally nodded. “Okay. Then tell me how I can help,” she said.

Relieved that he’d managed to sound convincing, he nodded. “Let’s go grab some lunch—we’ll bring something back for MW—and I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.”

Grinning, he took his sister’s arm. “What are you in the mood for?”

She gave him a second sidelong glance. “We can go to the deli. I’ve been craving a panini.”

They visited the little deli a block from his place. It wasn’t fancy, but the interior felt homey with the blue-and-white-checkered tables. Inside, the smell of cheese and pastrami and marinara made his mouth water. Eric loved their meatball subs. He exchanged a grin with his sister.

Greta ordered a chicken pesto panini, which arrived perfectly cooked and smelling like heaven. If not for his own meatball sub, Eric might have stolen hers. “I’ll have to try that one next time,” he said, even though they both knew he wouldn’t. He always said he’d try something else, but stuck to the same sandwich. How could he resist perfection on a hoagie roll?

All talk ceased while they both dug in, eating fast so they could get back to MW.

When Greta had gotten engaged and she and their mother had started planning her wedding, his sister had been the happiest Eric had ever seen her. Then their house had been burglarized and Abra attacked, and the entire family had been thrown into a tailspin. Greta more than anyone else—as the only daughter, she and Abra had been particularly close.

Now that Abra had been placed in a medically induced coma, Greta had put her entire life on hold. She and Abra had been in the middle of planning the wedding. Despite her fiancé’s pleas, Greta refused to move forward without her mother at her side.

As a result, Greta’s usual zest for life had dimmed somewhat. All of her brothers worried about her and did whatever they could to cheer her up. Feeding her always seemed to work for Eric.

As if she’d read his thoughts, Greta’s gaze studied him. “As far as distractions go, this one’s a biggie,” she commented. “You bringing a strange woman to stay in your town house. I know she’s pretty, but still...”

He didn’t bother to pretend not to understand. “I know,” he answered. “I can hardly fathom it myself. But something about her... I couldn’t let her get put out into the street with no memory.”

“They really do that?”

“We treat a lot of Tulsa’s homeless population,” he said, blotting his mouth with his paper napkin. “There’s a limit to what we can do to assist them, especially if it’s not medical.”

She frowned. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Most people don’t. It’s a sad fact of life in the city.”

“I’d like to help, too,” Greta said. “Is there anything I can do?”

Eric didn’t even have to think before answering. “Are you available this afternoon?” When she nodded, he continued, “Good. Then take her shopping. She needs everything.”

Greta’s eyes widened. She loved shopping. Next to training horses, shopping was her favorite activity. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” Removing a credit card from his wallet, he handed it to her. “Use this. And buy yourself something, too.”

Her eyes lit up, making him smile. Growing up, Greta had always been a tomboy. She hadn’t gotten into what he thought of as girlie things until she’d gotten engaged.

At his smile, she shook her head, though she still accepted the credit card. “What’s your budget?”

“Within reason. There’s no need to take her to fancy department stores. Just get her a few comfortable outfits that fit. A couple of pairs of shoes, pajamas, et cetera. You know better than I do what kind of things a woman needs.”

Her grin turned wicked, warning him she was about to tease.

“What about lingerie?” she drawled, drawing the word out so that it almost became four syllables rather than three.

“Don’t.” He could still shut her down with a glare. Relenting, he softened his tone. “Don’t try to turn this into something it’s not, all right?”

“Sorry.” Clearly unrepentant, she turned his credit card around in her hands, her hot-pink nail polish gleaming. “When you say to buy myself something nice, are you talking about a T-shirt or an entire outfit?”

With pretend annoyance, he sighed loudly. “Fine. An outfit. Just don’t be too extravagant, okay?”

“Yes.” She gave him a fist pump, then quickly tucked his credit card into her purse. “Do you think MW will feel up to shopping this afternoon? I mean, she just got out of the hospital today. I can’t do it tomorrow, because I have to go back to the ranch tonight and say goodbye to everyone. I’m heading home to Oklahoma City in the morning.”

Hearing “home” and “Oklahoma City” in the same sentence sounded weird, though he didn’t say so.

“All we can do is ask her. She should, since the only thing wrong with her is a slight concussion. I’m hoping she’ll be feeling much better when she wakes up from her nap. If not, then find out her size and go shopping without her. She has nothing but the clothes she’s wearing, and those apparently came from the hospital lost and found.”

“That’s awful.” Greta grimaced. “But honestly, she didn’t look in too great of shape. You were practically carrying her to your front door.”

He felt his face heat. “That’s my fault. She insisted she was fine, but I didn’t want to take a chance.”

Narrow eyed, she watched him as if waiting for him to say more. Instead, he concentrated on finishing the last of his meal.

Once every crumb had been devoured, instead of wanting to sit and chat like she normally did, Greta fidgeted.

“I’d like to go back and check on MW,” she finally confessed. “If I’m going to be back at the ranch by suppertime, we need to get started on shopping.”

After getting an extra meatball sub in case MW was hungry, he paid the bill and they headed back to his town house. Usually, Greta enjoyed strolling at a leisurely sauntering pace. Today, she moved with an unusual briskness in her step. Shopping, he thought. A lure she couldn’t resist.

“You know,” Greta mused on the walk back, “I can finally see why you like living downtown so much.”

He stared. For her entire life, his sister had loudly professed her love of the country to anyone who’d listen. When she’d moved away, everyone in the family had wondered how she’d survive life in Oklahoma City.

“You do?” he asked. “How’s that?”

Ducking her head, she gave a little shrug. “I don’t know, but I never thought about how nice it would be to be so convenient and close to everything. Sure, I miss the horses and the land, but this has its benefits, too.”

He laughed, resisting the urge to say “I told you so.” “You’re preaching to the choir.”

Back at the town house, the guest room door was still closed. “Let me go talk to her,” Greta said, shaking her head when he moved to follow. “Alone. Woman-to-woman. She might be slightly embarrassed over all this.”

With a shrug, he acquiesced. “I’ll be out on the patio. I’ve got a few calls to take care of.”

* * *

Lying in a soft bed, MW smiled and stretched. Pure luxury. She had decided to use the moniker the kind doctor had given her, and the sheer bliss of the silence instead of constant hospital noises felt like heaven. She only hoped Eric was right about her memory returning soon. She had the constant niggling worry that it might be important she remember something, though she wasn’t sure what exactly.

After dozing off, she must have fallen into a deep sleep, because she dreamed of cooking. She was working in a kitchen, a huge, modern, professional place, and whipping up some kind of risotto. Lobster risotto. The task involved a lot of stirring and just the right heat, but in this dream she was an old pro at this sort of thing.

After the risotto finished, she had a beautiful beef Wellington cooking, waiting to be sliced.

Bemused, she went with the flow. Just as she’d gotten the entire meal together to be served, a firm tapping on her door woke her. Blinking, she yawned and stretched. After a moment of panic as she tried to orient herself, she realized where she was. “Yes?”

“May I come in?” Eric’s sister, Greta. Which meant they must be back from lunch. Her stomach growled as she remembered the sandwich Greta had promised.

When MW answered in the affirmative, Greta bounced into the room. “How are you feeling?”

Blinking, MW sat up, pushing her thick, wavy hair away from her face. “Hungry,” she answered honestly.

“Oh.” Greta rushed out of the room. She returned a moment later carrying a brown paper sack. “Here you go.”

The smell of marinara and meatballs made MW’s mouth water. She pushed herself up from the bed, relieved when the room didn’t spin. “This isn’t the kind of thing one eats in bed. Can you point me toward the kitchen?”

Still smiling, Greta led the way. While Greta watched, MW devoured the sandwich, stopping just short of licking her fingers—it was honestly that good. She washed it down with bottled water.

“Better now?” Greta asked. She’d been jiggling one leg up and down the entire time MW ate, as if she had something else she needed to do.

“Yes, thank you.” MW looked around. “Where’s Eric?”

“Out on the patio.” Greta pointed. “He needed to make some phone calls. I was wondering, do you feel good enough to go shopping?”

“Shopping?” Bewildered, MW wasn’t sure how to respond. “I can’t. I have no money.”

If anything, Greta’s smile widened. “That’s okay. I have a credit card with a very high limit.”

Appalled, MW shook her head, feeling almost frantic. “No. I can’t take your charity.”

“Not mine.” Greta laughed. “My brother’s. Eric asked me to take you. He’d like you to have something to wear.”

“But—”

“I’m sure you can pay him back once your memory returns. Either way, I’m going to buy you some clothes. It’d be a lot better—and more fun—if you came with me.”

MW considered. Did she enjoy shopping? And did that even matter? Eric was right, she needed clothes, at least until she could remember. “I’d like to go,” she decided, but looked down at the ill-fitting and ugly sweat pants she wore. “But I don’t think I can go out like this.”

“Greta, don’t you always keep workout clothes in your car?” Eric asked, startling them both.

Hand to throat, MW spun around. He stood just inside the sliding glass door, watching them. Her entire body tingled at the sight of him, his light brown hair backlit by the sun, his green-eyed gaze intense.

Greta looked from one to the other. “Yes, I do.” She sized MW up, her gaze considering. “And I think we might be close in size, but I’m a lot taller.”

“Even so, anything is better than what she’s got,” Eric said, smiling softly at MW to lessen the sting of his words.

Nodding, Greta hurried away while MW burned from shame.

Eric caught sight of her face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, coming closer. “Are you feeling all right?”

She tried for indifference, but instead her eyes filled with stupid tears, which she hated. “Physically, I’m fine,” she replied. “But I have to say, I might not know who I am, but I know enough to realize I hate being a charity case. Borrowing an outfit is bad enough, but borrowing money to buy more clothes, when I’m not even sure I can repay you...”

“Then don’t.” He seemed supremely unbothered. “One thing’s for sure, you’ve got enough to worry about without stressing over whether or not you can repay me. So let it go.”

She opened her mouth, and then closed it. Because he was right. She had few options right now. Luckily, Greta reappeared, carrying a bright pink gym bag.

“Here you go.” She shoved it at MW. “Go ahead and try something on.” Pointedly glancing at her watch, she sighed. “Then we need to get going. I’m on a pretty tight schedule.”

Though Greta’s tone had been friendly, MW still flushed with embarrassment as she retreated to the bathroom. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she realized not only did she stand shorter than Greta, but was quite a bit curvier as well. As she opened the gym bag, she wondered if anything would actually fit.

Luckily, the workout clothes were made of stretchy material and she was able to pull them on. She didn’t have sneakers—the battered pair of flip-flops she’d been given by the hospital would have to do. Either way, this was a huge improvement on what she’d worn before. However, the tight workout outfit highlighted every curve. Almost embarrassingly so.

Feeling oddly shy, she emerged from the bathroom.

“You look great,” Greta crowed. “Doesn’t she, Eric?”

He let his gaze rove over her, his eyes darkening. “Much better,” he finally said. She couldn’t make herself look away. The vitality he radiated drew her like a magnet.

“Ahem.” Greta cleared her throat. “Are you ready?”

Face heating yet again, MW nodded. “I am.”

“Then let’s go. I’ve got to be back at the ranch at sundown.”

MW quickly learned that shopping with Greta was an endurance event. For the next three hours, Greta dragged her from store to store. MW was shocked when she found herself imagining Eric’s reaction to each outfit she tried on. Pushing away those thoughts became as difficult as trying to examine the price tags and mentally calculate the cost. Each time she tried to broach the subject with Greta, Greta refused to discuss it.

In the end, they purchased two dresses, three pairs of jeans, an assortment of T-shirts, blouses, bras and panties, socks, sneakers and two pairs of heels. Each time MW tried to protest, Greta just grinned and purchased the disputed item anyway.

By the time Greta pronounced them done, both women were loaded down with bags and MW had begun to stagger with exhaustion. Greta glanced at her and did a double take.

“I think we might have overdone it a little bit,” she muttered.

“Just make sure and give me the total,” MW replied tiredly. “I’m going to keep track of everything so I can pay it back.”

By the time they reached Eric’s street, MW’s stride was seriously lagging. The late-afternoon August heat made her feel dizzy. She also realized she hated to perspire. One more thing she remembered, which under normal circumstances would have energized her. Now she just longed for a cool shower.

“Are you all right?” Greta asked, her voice sharp. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, MW concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. “I’m fine.” They were nearly there. She prayed she could cross the last fifty feet and get through the door. Then she planned to find the closest available chair and plop herself into it.

A white panel van with dark tinted windows pulled up alongside them and slowed, matching their pace.

“Keep walking,” Greta said, her voice sharp. “Faster.”

MW pulled strength from somewhere and increased her stride.

The van stopped just ahead of them. A man with a baseball cap and dark sunglasses jumped out of the passenger side. He lunged for MW, grabbing her arm. She struggled, using her shopping bags as weapons, albeit ineffectually.

Shouting for someone to help them, Greta came to her aid. Somehow, she managed to wrench MW free, just as two Good Samaritans emerged from inside the coffee shop and chased after the men.

One would-be assailant cursed and jumped back into the van, which sped off.

It all happened so fast. Numb, heart pounding, MW watched the vehicle go while Greta and the two strangers picked up the spilled packages. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, standing there frozen and shell-shocked.

“Hon?” Greta touched her arm. “You look like you’re going to pass out. Do you need to sit down, maybe put your head between your knees?”

Blinking, MW slowly shook her head. “I want to go home.” Except she didn’t know where exactly that might be.

“Hang on, okay?” Greta turned to assist their rescuers in picking up the scattered clothing.

Once everything had been collected and placed in neat little piles, Greta thanked the two men who’d helped them.

“Are you all right?” Greta asked, putting her arm around MW.

Despite the fact that she’d started trembling and felt very unsteady, as if she might pass out at any moment, MW nodded. “I think so,” she answered, pleased that her voice came out strong and sure.

“We need to hurry up and find out who you are,” Greta said firmly. “And why so many people are out to get you.”


Chapter 3 (#ulink_5efb2f04-048d-57c3-9bb0-074482d02232)

Right after Greta and MW left to go shopping, Eric’s cell rang. Seeing Ryan’s name on the screen, he answered immediately.

“We’ve run everything we can think of on any missing women as well as anyone named Walter,” Ryan told him. “We’ve checked missing persons, warrants, and people who have been recently incarcerated. We even checked black Lincoln Town Cars registered in Tulsa. The traffic cameras were too blurry due to the rain. We’ve come up with absolutely nothing. Not on her or on the person who hit her.”

“Thanks for trying. It wasn’t a lot to go on.” Eric had known it would be too much to hope for this to be so easy. For the first time ever, he considered himself lucky the hospital hadn’t paged him to come in and do some sort of emergency surgery today. Next to medicine, there was nothing he liked more than a good mystery. And MW certainly presented one.

“How’d your meal with Greta go? Or are you two still at lunch?”

Eric laughed. “No, we finished in record time. Greta was in a hurry. She took the mystery woman shopping.”

The total silence told him how much he’d stunned his brother. Quickly, he explained. “MW—Mystery Woman—has nothing. No clothing, no toiletries, nada. I figured the best person to get her the basic things women need would be Greta. I gave her my credit card and let her get busy. She was thrilled. You know how she loves to shop.”

Ryan groaned. “You’re sure asking for it. At least I know you can afford the bill when it comes in. You should have plenty of money since you never buy a damn thing for yourself.”

Eric made a noncommittal sound. Ryan knew him well. He liked to work, didn’t have many hobbies, and aside from making his student-loan payments, paying the hefty premium for his malpractice insurance, his office space rent and employees’ payroll, his personal needs were few. After purchasing furniture and a sweet sports car, he banked most of his salary. Which was much less than most people realized.

“Are you still on for dinner?” Ryan asked.

Eric found himself wondering if his impromptu houseguest would be all right. “Can I get back to you on that?”

Ryan swore. “Sure. But I don’t have to tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to barbecue.”

“What is it with you and Greta and your food?” As far as Eric concerned, he ate to fuel his body, nothing more. It helped if it was something he truly enjoyed, like the meatball sub earlier, but he never obsessed about it. “She was craving a panini earlier.”

“Whatever. Like you don’t. I know you enjoy Red’s Ribs,” Ryan prodded. “Because as far as I can remember, the last time we were there, you ate an entire rack of them by yourself.”

Grinning, Eric conceded maybe he had. Growing up, with all of them crammed together on the ranch, he’d sought any means to escape his siblings. These days, he enjoyed their company. Maybe absence really did make the heart grow fonder.

“Most likely, I’ll be there,” he told his brother. “I want to make sure my houseguest is going to be all right by herself.”

“If not, just bring her with you.”

Eric frowned. “Why would I want to do that?”

“For me. I want to get a look at what kind of woman can get past my big brother’s defenses.”

“It’s not like that,” Eric started to protest hotly, and caught himself, aware his brother loved to tease him. “Both you and Greta like stirring things up, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” Ryan chuckled. “Give me a call as soon as you know if we’re on for dinner.”

“Will do.” He had some investigating of his own to do. Back in medical school and during his residency, he’d become a master of the internet search. Once he got started, he could lose hours of time without realizing it, but usually was pretty successful at getting results.

Right now, he planned to find out anything he could about the mystery woman who’d landed in his town house, and her connection to someone named Walter and a speeding Lincoln Town Car.

* * *

As MW tottered along behind Greta, who urged her to hurry, she nearly groaned out loud in relief when Eric’s town house came into view.

“We’re almost there.” Turning, Greta flashed her an encouraging smile. “At least once we’re in the atrium, you’ll be safe.”

MW couldn’t keep from looking behind her. “As long as they—whoever they are—don’t see where I’m going.”

Eric opened the door before Greta could knock, which was a good thing considering how many shopping bags she carried.

His vivid green eyes widened. “What the...”

Sweeping past him, Greta flashed an unrepentant grin as she dropped all her bags on the floor. “Your guest is now fully outfitted. You can thank me later.”

Ignoring them both, MW staggered past them and sank into the chair, dropping her shopping bags in the pile with Greta’s. She leaned forward, putting her head between her knees, willing the dizziness to abate.

Immediately, Eric crouched down next to her, taking her wrist to feel her pulse. “What’s wrong?”

She managed a weak smile. “I think I just overdid it a bit, that’s all.”

When he gave her shoulder a light squeeze, she had to fight the urge to lean into him. His big hand lingered on her wrist, making her aware he could completely encircle it with his fingers.

“Are you going to tell him or shall I?” Greta demanded, twin spots of color high on her cheeks.

MW swallowed.

Eric went tense, suddenly alert. “Tell me what?”

Gently rubbing her wrist where his grip had tightened, MW exchanged a glance with Greta. “You go ahead,” she said.

“Some men in a white van—just like in the movies—pulled up alongside us as we were walking. A guy got out of the passenger side and tried to grab MW. I screamed for help, but we were able to fight them off. Two guys came out of the coffee shop and chased them away.”

Both Eric and Greta stared at MW. She wanted to shrink into the chair. Inhaling deeply, she shrugged. “I know what you both are thinking, but I have no idea.”

“First someone tries to run you down, now someone else tries to grab you,” Eric said, echoing his sister’s earlier words. “We have got to increase our efforts and find out who you are and why someone is after you. As quickly as possible.”

Feeling slightly dejected, MW nodded. “I agree.”

“Until then, you both need to be super careful,” Greta said, her cool gaze sliding from one to the other. “Right now, I’ve got to go.” She walked over to Eric. “Here’s your credit card.”

“Thank you.” He tucked it away in his wallet.

Greta rummaged through the mountain of bags until she found the ones she wanted. “One outfit for me, including shoes, and thank you very much.”

She gave her brother a quick hug and rushed out the door.

After Greta left, Eric turned his emerald gaze on MW. Alone with him, suddenly she felt self-conscious. Why, she had no idea. At least the room no longer spun and she could catch her breath.

“Other than the attempted abduction, did you have a good time?” he asked. “I know my sister really enjoys shopping.”

“I did. But honestly, I didn’t need all of that,” she said, waving her hand at the pile of shopping bags. “We can return most of it tomorrow.”

Dragging his hand through his close-cropped hair, he shook his head, his mouth quirking. “Yes, you did. Keep it. You had nothing. Now you have something. Consider it my gift to you.”

Immediately, she shook her head. “Not a gift. I barely even know you. I want to pay you back as soon as I can.”

As their gazes locked, she realized the inherent strength and compassion in his rugged face appealed to her on many levels. His aquiline nose and the sensual curve of his mouth, combined with the intelligence shining in his eyes, drew her with an intensity she couldn’t explain.

Which might not be a good thing, especially if she was married. Or even involved. For all she knew, Walter could be her significant other.

Or her brother. Until her memory returned, she had no way of knowing. And while she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, that meant nothing. Until she realized if she was someone’s wife or girlfriend, she needed to rein in her attraction to this handsome, kind doctor.

“We’ll see,” he finally said. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll pull all the receipts and figure out the total. I’ll hang on to it until your memory comes back.”

Relieved, she nodded. “Thank you. Now what?”

“You’re welcome to hang out here. Rest, recuperate, do whatever makes you happy. I work a lot, so we won’t bump into each other much.”

Both appalled and fascinated, she swallowed. “You and I are strangers, correct? We didn’t know each other before my accident?”

“Right.”

“Yet you trust me alone in your beautiful home?” She glanced around, noting the polished wood floors, the perfectly matched accessories. Either the sexy doctor had impeccable taste or he’d hired an interior decorator. “How do you know I’m not a criminal? What if you were to come home one night after work and find I’d cleaned you out?”

His sensual mouth twitched, an obvious attempt not to laugh out loud. “Okay. Do you plan to do that?”

“Well, no. But...”

“Then there’s no problem. Don’t worry so much.” The warmth in his voice echoed in his smile. “I promise you, I really don’t mind.”

“As long as I don’t interfere in your life,” she continued stubbornly. As if she had some other place to go. “I’ll stay here if you give me your word you’ll let me know the second I become a burden.”

“Deal.” He held out his hand, making her notice his long and graceful fingers. A surgeon’s hand.

Taking a deep breath, she clasped his hand, surprised when he wove his fingers in between hers and held on. She found herself gripping his big yet elegant hand, at a total loss for words, but not wanting to let go. Inexplicably, this small kindness made her throat ache and her chest feel tight. She wondered if he could feel her heartbeat through her touch.

Again, her body tingled at the thought. Somehow, she managed to gently extricate herself before she got into trouble.

“I think I need to rest,” she finally managed, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“Let me help you.” Taking her arm—why did he have to keep on touching her?—he lifted her from the chair and supported her as they headed toward her room. Though she knew she could walk, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse his assistance, secretly enjoying the hard masculine feel of his body.

Once they reached her room, he held on to her while pulling back the covers to her bed. “Good thing you didn’t make the bed after your nap,” he said, his voice as husky as her own had been earlier.

A shudder of unadulterated wanting ran through her. Trouble, that was what he was. If she wasn’t careful, she could lose herself in him and possibly betray someone who might mean the world to her.

Struck dumb, heart pounding, she managed to nod. Despite her effort to shore herself up against her attraction to him, a sudden mental image came to her of the two of them, naked, sliding beneath the sheets. Skin on skin... Her entire body flushed as she realized the direction her thoughts had taken. Sex. Which was the last thing she needed to be thinking about when she didn’t even know her own name.

Luckily, Eric didn’t even notice, which was a good thing. How mortifying if he detected her unwarranted attraction and it made him pity her even more.

“Here you go.” He helped her onto the bed, finally letting go of her. She nodded, keeping her gaze averted. She couldn’t even look at him, afraid he’d somehow recognize the need burning in her eyes.

To her relief, he waited a moment before telling her to get some rest.

“Thank you,” she muttered, head still down, heart still racing.

“Oh.” At the doorway, he stopped. “I’m meeting my brother tonight for dinner. Barbecue. You’re welcome to come with us. He asked me to invite you.”

The idea terrified her. Thinking of the abduction attempt earlier, she couldn’t suppress a shudder. “I don’t know if that’s safe. Until I—we—figure out what’s going on, it’s probably best if I stay hidden.”

“Your choice.” He shrugged. “But you should know, my brother is a police officer. If anyone can keep you safe, he can.”

Despite being tempted—barbecue!—she shook her head. “I’d rather not risk it. I’m still recovering from the accident and this afternoon shopping zapped my energy.” She finally forced herself to look at him, hoping her smile seemed impersonal enough. “I feel like a loaf of bread someone tried to make but forgot to put in the yeast.”

“That’s an odd sort of comparison.” His gaze slid over her, delivering a flash of heat to her belly. “Do you like to cook?”

Did she? She shrugged to hide her confusion. “I don’t know.”

For the space of a couple of heartbeats he watched her, as if waiting for her to say more. When she didn’t, he reached to close the door. Before he did, he looked back at her. “You’ll probably be hungry later. Do you want me to bring you something?”

“I don’t want you to go through any trouble.”

A muscle quirked in his jaw. “We need to get something straight. If I offer, then it’s no trouble. Understand?”

Considering, she finally nodded. “Then thanks. I’d love a sliced-brisket sandwich.” She frowned, a memory tickling the edges of her mind. The more she tried to access it, the more it seemed to dance away, just out of reach. Aware he still watched her, she managed a smile. “Enjoy your night out. I’m going to get some rest.”

Finally, he left, closing the door behind him. She let out her breath, willing her racing heartbeat to slow.

* * *

For the first time since bringing her home, Eric realized MW might have the power to completely disrupt his orderly existence. Something, some reaction or emotion he glimpsed in her light blue eyes, had practically brought him to his knees. Damned if he understood what it was about this woman, but she made him feel things he shouldn’t. For one thing, she didn’t seem to realize how extraordinarily beautiful she was, which might be totally due to her amnesia.

For another, if he had a type—and until now, he hadn’t—MW would be it. He liked her generous curves, her perfect proportions. And her hair. Those wavy, thick strands had him longing to tangle his fingers in them.

Then there was her mouth. If ever he’d seen a mouth made to be kissed, hers...

No. Stop. Dragging his hand across his chin, Eric stared at her closed door and walked back into the living room. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to take advantage of a woman with no memory. As a physician, he’d sworn to help, not hurt. Just because his libido had finally decided to wake up and take notice didn’t give him a valid excuse to act like a fool.

Maybe the hospital board was right. Perhaps he should consider taking a vacation. Possibly once all this was over.

Again his thoughts returned to MW. How long could one woman take to regain her memory? In all his years of study, plus his five-year surgical residency and one year of medical fellowship, he hadn’t seen a single actual case of true amnesia. Brain trauma, yes. Stroke, yes. But MW had only suffered a mild concussion, definitely not something bad enough to cause her to forget her entire existence.

Glancing at his watch, he saw he had thirty minutes before he needed to meet Ryan. Since getting to Red’s Ribs would require him to drive, he’d better get a move on.

His little sports car could use an outing. He’d made the wildly impractical purchase after careful consideration, weighing his love of speed with the steep cost of a Porsche. He’d gone to the dealership one weekend just to look and had ended up becoming the proud owner of a brand-new Porsche Cayman GTS.

Though he rarely drove, every time he did, he was glad he’d made the purchase. At 340 HP, his car could do zero to sixty in 4.5 seconds. He should know, he’d tested it a few times.

Once he reached the restaurant, he parked, noticing that Ryan had beaten him there. Eric recognized his police cruiser parked one row over. He practically bounded from his car, not an easy feat since the sleek sports car sat so low to the ground.

Inside, he spotted Ryan, his dark brown hair as short as Eric’s. Ryan was out of uniform since he was off duty, and he’d already snagged a table. Pulling out a chair, Eric straddled it, quickly filling his brother in on everything that had happened.

“Her memory still hasn’t come back?” Ryan sounded skeptical. Eric didn’t blame him.

“Not yet. I’m hopeful it will soon, especially since there have been two attempts to harm her.”

“Except you don’t know that the hit-and-run was on purpose,” Ryan pointed out.

“It was. I have no doubt. I was there. I saw the Town Car gunning for her. And since two men in a van tried to grab her when she was shopping with Greta...”

“Again, they could have just been pervs out to grab the first woman or women they saw. You don’t know for sure that she was their specific target.”

Eric shook his head. “Don’t you think that’s a bit coincidental?”

“In my line of work, I learned early on never to jump to conclusions.”

“Point taken.” Eric looked around for the waitress, but since the dining room appeared packed, and all the servers seemed busy, he figured she’d stop by eventually.

“So what are you going to do now?” Ryan asked.

“I’m hoping her memory comes back quickly. At least once we know what we’re up against, I can come up with a better plan to keep her safe.”

At Eric’s words, Ryan stared. “Keep her safe? I’d think you’d contact her family.”

“Depends on the situation. I’m not going to allow her to be placed in danger.”

“Not going to... What does this woman look like?”

Immediately understanding where his brother was going, Eric shrugged. “Brown, shoulder-length hair. Wavy with reddish highlights. Light blue eyes. She doesn’t look like a fashion model, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“No.” Taking another sip of his beer, Ryan grinned. “I’m asking if she’s pretty.”

Eric pretended to have to think about it. “Well, she’s not ugly. Why does that matter?”

“Because you are always so laser focused on your job, you barely have time for family, never mind some strange female who you don’t even know.”

Refusing to let his brother needle him, Eric finally managed to catch the attention of a waitress and ordered a diet cola. “I’m on call,” he explained. Which, as Ryan knew, meant he couldn’t drink in case he got called in for surgery.

He waited for Ryan to say something like he usually did about how badly he needed a vacation, but the other man only shrugged and took another pull on his beer.

When the waitress reappeared, they ordered their meals. While waiting for his barbecued ribs, Eric couldn’t understand why he felt so antsy. He couldn’t stop thinking about MW, all alone and probably frightened, and he realized he probably shouldn’t have left her by herself. He decided he’d eat as quickly as possible and hurry home.

Of course Ryan, with his detective’s powers of observation, noticed his fidgeting. Luckily, their food arrived, which distracted him, though Eric knew it wouldn’t last for long.

Digging in, he tried to shrug off his fascination with his temporary houseguest and focused on the delicious meal.

Ryan ate heartily as well, though he kept shooting Eric questioning looks while he ate. Finally, he shook his head. Putting down his ribs, he licked his fingers before wiping his mouth with his paper towel. “All right, spill. You’re superdistracted. What’s wrong?”

Since there was no way Eric wanted to give his brother more ammunition with which to tease him, he shrugged and said the one word that always made Ryan change the subject. “Work,” he lied, and went back to devouring his meal. When he could eat no more, he used the finger wipes and cleaned his hands.

“That was good.” He leaned back in the chair and gave a sigh of contentment. Even now, in the back of his mind, he could picture offering MW a plate of ribs and watching her eat. Then he remembered she’d asked for a sliced beef sandwich, and got lost again contemplating her charms.

“There you go again.” Ryan’s sharp comment brought Eric out of his reverie.

“Sorry,” Eric apologized, meaning it. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Working too hard, probably.”

Because he had been and he hoped that was the reason for his unexplained preoccupation with his pretty houseguest, he nodded. “Probably.”

“You been home lately?” Ryan asked quietly, meaning the Lucky C ranch.

“No.” Eric refused to feel guilty. Both brothers had escaped the family ranch as quickly as they could—Eric because he’d never fit in, Ryan because of the never-ending drama. “How about you?”

Ryan sighed. “I’ve had to run out there a few times. I’m still investigating the attack on Mother. Since she’s unconscious, she can’t tell me anything. And there have been a couple other instances of vandalism, mostly minor.”

Eric grimaced. While he loved his mother, Abra Colton had always been one of those women who always seemed to be on edge. Everything made her nervous, including her children. Thus a series of nannies had raised Eric and his siblings. None of the Coltons had felt particularly close to their mother growing up, though not from lack of trying. Greta in particular. Eric had hated watching how often Abra’s careless indifference hurt his sister.

But these past several years, Abra had begun to mend the fences. She and Greta had become close. She’d even reached out to Eric, hoping to try to forge a tentative relationship. Unfortunately, this had been right before she’d been attacked, and Eric and she hadn’t made up.

“How’s Dad holding up?”

Ryan shrugged, his expression grim. “Oh, you know Big J. He’s devoted to making sure Mother is comfortable, as long as the hired nurses take care of her.”

Lately their father had been showing signs of early dementia, though he refused to see his doctor and get tested. Big J had always been larger than life, with his booming voice and his raucous laugh. Though he never spoke about it, all his sons understood he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Some days he seems better than others,” Ryan continued. “Jack’s keeping an eye on him.”

Their oldest brother, Jack, managed the Lucky C. Nothing mattered more to him than family, especially his son, Seth. The ranch came in a close second, though.

“You need to try and pop out there when you can,” Ryan said. “Even though Abra won’t know you’re there, I know Jack and Seth will be thrilled to see you.”

“I will,” Eric promised, meaning it. He adored his five-year-old nephew, Seth, and hadn’t seen him in too long. He couldn’t remember the last time Jack had brought his son into Tulsa.

Once they’d finished, Ryan announced he’d decided not to order his customary peach cobbler. Instead, he kept checking his watch. “I’ve got to run,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of reports I need to fill out and email in.”

Even though turnabout would be fair play, Eric resisted the urge to tease his brother about his own work. Truth be told, he felt relieved Ryan wasn’t inclined to chat. He wanted to get home and make sure MW was okay.

He ordered the extra sliced-brisket sandwich, paid for it as well as his own meal and gave his brother a quick hug goodbye before taking off.

The Porsche begged to be driven fast. Sometimes he had to force himself to travel relatively close to the speed limit. With all the afternoon traffic, this was one of those occasions. Nonetheless, he made it home in less time than it had taken him to go the opposite direction, mostly because rush-hour traffic went out of the city rather than in.

After parking in his private garage underneath the townhome, he grabbed the bag and hurried outside. He winced as the late-afternoon August heat blasted him the instant he left the garage. Sadly, the cooling rain of the previous day had turned into a distant memory. Oklahoma summers could be tough. The relentless sun and constant wind sometimes made him feel like dust coated everything, even mixing with the blood inside his body, turning it sluggish. Fanciful, certainly, since as a physician he knew such a thing wasn’t possible. He gave himself a mental shake. It was just a typical Oklahoma summer, and he wasn’t often given to such flights of abstract fancy.

Again he had the nagging feeling that taking in this mystery woman might change his life in ways he never could have anticipated.


Chapter 4 (#ulink_0e91b4b6-efdf-5edc-81fe-680833c515b8)

Anticipation at seeing her again quickened Eric’s footsteps. Using his key, he entered his town house, trying to be as quiet as possible so if MW still slept, he wouldn’t wake her.

But when he stepped into the living room, she rose gracefully from the sofa to greet him. She’d opened the blinds, and the western sun streamed in so brightly it silhouetted her in a halo. Stopping short, he caught his breath, struck dumb by her beauty.

“You’re back early,” she said, smiling.

Blinking, he took another step forward.

“Ryan had to go back to work. But I brought your sandwich.” He held up the now grease-stained bag. “It’s pretty big, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” she told him, her soft voice matching her smile. She followed him into the kitchen, taking a seat at the bar while he located a plate for her. Handing her the sandwich and some paper towels for a napkin, he asked her what she wanted to drink.

“Water is fine,” she answered. “But you don’t have to wait on me. If you’ll point out the cabinet that holds the glasses, I’ll be happy to get it myself.”

Unfortunately, he needed to keep busy to refrain from touching her. “Just sit. I can take care of this, so let me. Maybe after you’re feeling better, but for now, rest and relax.”

Once he got her water, he leaned against the counter and watched as she devoured her sandwich, trying not to eye her too intently while he attempted to figure out what exactly about her so entranced him.

As a physician, Eric believed in logic, in cold hard facts. He knew physical attraction could be due to pheromones, or physical appearance, or a combination of these things and more. Whatever the reason, he desired this woman, whom he’d just met, with a fierceness that should have shocked him. The fact that it didn’t made him wonder if he was losing his mind.

The sandwich disappeared, and MW sighed, blotting her lush mouth with the paper towel. He couldn’t help but follow the gesture with his gaze, feeling as if he might be drowning. She took a deep drink of water, then smiled at him. “Thank you so much. That was absolutely delicious.”

He swallowed tightly. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“Thank you so much for all you’re doing for me.” Impulsively, she pushed to her feet and enveloped him in a tight hug. His arms came up of their own accord, holding her close. He could feel every soft, rounded curve of her as she pressed herself against him. His body stirred, his arousal immediate and strong. Not wanting to frighten or horrify her, he quickly extricated himself from her embrace.

“You’re welcome.” Struggling to sound normal, he cleared his throat. He spied her purple umbrella, still in the stand near the doorway. “Do you recognize that?” he asked, pointing.

Frowning, she walked over to it and picked it up. “Purple with white cupcakes. Very cute. Is it mine?”

“Yes. You were carrying it the night you...had your accident.”

“Oh.” Dropping it back in the umbrella stand, she sighed. “I think I need to get some more rest.” She gave him a wobbly smile that made his chest feel tight. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay?”

Still battling a fierce and persistent need, he nodded. And then, feeling like a fool, he watched her walk away, all the way down the hall until she closed her bedroom door behind her.

Only once she’d vanished from view did the tightness disappear from his chest.

Some things couldn’t be analyzed, he knew, and if he’d been prone to flights of fancy, he’d think MW had been brought into his life for a reason. He’d been in the right place at the right time, and knew his quick call to 911 would have saved her life had she been badly hurt.

Imagination, wishful thinking, was as foreign to him as modern medicine might be to a witch doctor. Eric had never been anything but honest with himself. For whatever reason, he found MW attractive. His desire for her made the space around her seem electrified. Had she been anyone else, in any other situation, he’d have pursued her.

But until she had her memory back, until she knew who she was and the details of her life, he needed to keep himself under control. Somehow.

Frustrated, he considered heading down to the gym and working out, but didn’t want to leave her alone again.

Instead, he unwound by watching television, falling asleep to the ten-o’clock news. At some point near midnight, he roused himself and headed off to his own bed.

Always an early riser, the next morning, for the first time in his life, Eric tried to move around quietly so he didn’t wake his houseguest. Growing up on a ranch, he’d learned to wake before sunrise most mornings, a habit he’d temporarily abandoned in college, then taken back in medical school and residency. Out of necessity, these days he got to the hospital bright and early, sometimes even before the sun was more than a hint of light on the Oklahoma horizon.

When he walked into the kitchen for his first cup of coffee and flicked on the light, he stopped short at the sight of MW sitting hunched over a mug at his countertop bar.

“Hey.” She flashed him a weary smile. “I couldn’t sleep. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Since she looked brittle enough to crumble, he kept his movements slow. “Nope. This is when I normally get up.”

Now her eyes widened as she glanced from him to the wall clock. “At four-thirty?” She said the time with horror. “Seriously?”

“Yep.” He crossed to the Keurig coffeemaker, put his coffee pod in and pressed the button to brew. While he waited, he turned to study her. “Maybe today you’ll start to remember something.”

Her nod didn’t contain any real enthusiasm, which told him he hadn’t imagined her mood last night. “Why does that upset you?” he asked.

“I have no idea. I simply can’t remember. But for whatever reason, just thinking about it ties my stomach up in knots. That’s why I couldn’t sleep.”

Snagging his coffee, he took the bar stool next to her. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“I don’t know.” The downturn of her mouth fascinated him. He had the strangest urge to see if he could make it curve up in a smile.

Instead, he sipped his coffee. “What would you like to do today while I’m at work?”

She thought for a moment. “Do you have any cookbooks?” she asked.

Surprised, he nodded. “I can probably rustle up one or two. At one point I thought I might teach myself to be a better cook.”

“Did you?”

“No.” He grinned at her, mentally urging her to smile. “I don’t have the aptitude for it.”

Finally, one side of her mouth lifted, then the other. “I guess we can’t all be gifted in the kitchen.”

A hint? Careful not to show his excitement, he focused on his coffee. “Are you a good cook, then?

He looked up in time to catch her slight frown. “I... Maybe. It’s possible. Either way, while you’re at the hospital, I’d like to try.”

“Great.” Pushing to his feet, he dragged his hand through his hair and tried not to notice the way the frilly, brightly colored pajama shorts Greta had bought her showcased her legs. “I’ll find the books and leave them on the counter for you. Right now, I’ve got to get ready for work.”

He hurried out of the room, more flustered than he’d like to admit, even to himself.

* * *

After Eric left for the hospital, MW sat in the kitchen, lost in her own thoughts. The two cookbooks Eric had been able to locate sat in front of her, untouched. She didn’t understand why the idea of finally knowing her own name terrified her, or why a heavy weight of depression settled over her every time she thought about her memory returning. Had something bad happened to her? Or worse, what if she’d committed a horrible act? What kind of person would she turn out to be?

She didn’t know. Eric had said her memory could return at any time, but she shouldn’t try to force it. Since he hadn’t known precisely how long that would be, she had no choice but to try to be patient, even if she felt as if she were about to jump out of her own skin.

Finally, after her second cup of coffee, she reached for the first cookbook. Flipping through the glossy pages, she tried to figure out what she’d like to try making. Of course a lot of that depended on what supplies Eric had on hand.

Why this strong urge to cook, to make something with her own hands, she didn’t know. Maybe some vestige of who she really was. Either way, the idea brought her comfort.

After checking in Eric’s fridge and cupboards, she settled on a simple apple crisp. After all, she didn’t really know if she had any cooking skills.

Peeling, coring, slicing the apples she’d found in a bowl on the kitchen counter, she didn’t try to overthink anything. Her hands seemed to know what they were doing, so she let them. Measuring out the ingredients, she found herself adding a pinch of this and that, some extra cinnamon and a bit of nutmeg. When she finally placed the dessert in the oven to bake, she felt such a happy sense of accomplishment that she wished for music. Since she didn’t have any, she danced around the kitchen anyway.

She’d always loved to dance and sing while she cooked.

Stunned, the certainty of that knowledge made her freeze. An actual memory? What else could it have been?

Desperate, she tried to see if she could recall anything else. Evidently, she tried too hard, because all she came up with was a blank slate.

Meanwhile, the kitchen filled up with the fragrant smell of the apple crisp. It might have been the wrong thing to make in August, but for whatever reason it seemed like comfort food to her.

A quick glance at the clock showed noon had come and gone, and she needed to eat something for lunch. She fixed herself a salad, enjoying the selection of fresh greens she found in the refrigerator crisper. Dr. Eric Colton might be a busy man, but he sure knew how to stock a kitchen.

While she ate, she flipped through the second cookbook, wondering if she should make him something for dinner. Though she didn’t have any idea what time he actually came home, she guessed she could always keep warm whatever she prepared.

The idea energized her. She checked to see what kind of proteins he had. Once again, his freezer was well stocked. She took out a pork roast and put it in the fridge to thaw for tomorrow, and took out a packet of hamburger meat. She’d thaw it in the microwave, and whip up some kind of pasta casserole. That would be easy to reheat.

Grinning—listen to her, thinking she could just whip up a casserole—she started assembling the necessary components.

To her surprise, once she’d followed all the steps in the cookbook, again she found herself intuitively adding a pinch here and there of different seasonings. Just like with the crisp, it felt like she somehow instinctively knew they’d enhance the dish. Humming happily, she conceded the fact that since she had no idea of her past, she just might be a very good cook indeed.

Once she’d put the casserole in the oven, she decided to keep herself busy by concocting another dessert. A cake? Pie? In the end, she realized Eric had enough ingredients for her to make a delicious cheesecake. Since it would need an hour baking time, plus time to cool, she needed to get it going. What on earth they were going to do with two desserts, she didn’t know, but surely the sweet treats wouldn’t go to waste.

Quickly, she pulverized graham crackers, melted the butter, located a pie plate and made a crust. She put that in the oven for a few minutes, then got busy making the cheesecake itself.

Whipping the cream cheese and other components felt strangely satisfying. She again found herself performing steps by rote, as if from the memory of doing this before so many times the actions had become habit.

Since the oven temperature for the casserole was 350, she slid the casserole over and placed the cheesecake next to it. She set the microwave timer for that.

And then she sat back and waited while everything cooked.

By the time she removed the ground beef, pasta and mushrooms, all in a creamy cheese sauce, from the oven, she knew she’d made a winner. First, the fragrant smell made her mouth water, and secondly, the dish looked fit for a photographic spread in a cooking magazine—it was that beautiful.

A quick glance at the clock showed several hours had passed. She couldn’t believe the time—six-fifteen. She had no idea when Eric got off work at the hospital, but since he’d gone in over twelve hours ago, surely it would be soon.

Her stomach growled. Should she eat? Or wait? She decided to let the casserole cool slightly and if Eric wasn’t home, go ahead and have her meal. She knew he’d understand, especially if he didn’t return until much later.

Thirty minutes later she pulled out the cheesecake, pleased with the way it looked. She placed it on a rack to cool and opened a bottle of red wine. After pouring herself a glass, she walked to the window, gazing out at the busy city streets below.

The sound of the key in the front door lock made her jump. When Eric came inside, her heart skipped a beat.

“Wow.” He stopped, sniffing appreciatively. “Whatever that is, it smells great.”

His comment made her beam. Glad she’d waited, she hurried to set the table. “I made dinner.”

His green eyes twinkled. “You know you didn’t have to, but you wouldn’t believe how glad I am that you did. I barely had time to eat an apple today, so I’m starving.”

Happiness and pride hummed inside her as she placed the casserole in the center of the table. She poured him a glass of wine and took her seat across from him, watching as Eric dished up a large serving on his plate. Though her own helping was a third of the size of his, she felt a jolt of alarm as she realized she should have tasted it before serving it. Every good chef knew that.

Every good chef? What did she know about that? Shrugging off the thought, she watched as Eric raised his fork to his mouth.

He rolled his eyes, making appreciative sounds. “I didn’t know you were a gourmet chef,” he said, once he’d swallowed.

Delighted, she managed a casual shrug. “Neither did I,” she teased. “I simply followed a recipe I found in one of your cookbooks.”

One silver brow raised. “Taste it.”

After she complied, she made a pleased noise. “It is pretty good,” she admitted, having another bite.

Too busy devouring his meal to comment, Eric merely shook his head. When he’d cleaned his plate, he had seconds, which gave MW a serious case of the warm fuzzies.

“Try and leave room for dessert,” she told him, unable to keep from smiling.

“Dessert?” He followed her gaze to where the cheesecake sat cooling next to the apple crisp. “Be still my heart.”

This time, she laughed out loud. “You have a choice. I hope they’re as good as they look and smell.”

Eric opted for the cheesecake, promising to try the crisp in the morning. “Mmm. It’s even better.” Eric devoured his slice, then gave her a sheepish look as he got a second. “I’ll gain weight if I keep eating like this,” he said, sounding not the least bit repentant.

She laughed again. With surprise, she noted that despite everything, she was happy. She liked him. Not for the first time, she wondered if losing her memory gave her a much-needed opportunity to start over. A blank slate.

But that would only be needed if it turned out she had an awful past.

With that, she gave herself a mental shake. Until she knew the truth, why waste her time speculating?

When the meal was finished, she began clearing off the table. Rising, Eric helped. “We can eat these leftovers again,” he told her, smiling. “I’ll cover them and put them in the fridge for later.”

The tableau felt so cozy and domestic, she blinked. Swaying, she felt as if she watched them both from a distance, as though viewing a show on television. “Is disassociation part of amnesia?” she asked, trying not to worry.

Eric went still, eyeing her carefully. “Why do you ask?”

His stillness scared her more than anything. “Nothing,” she lied. “Just curious.”

She didn’t know him well enough to know if he believed her or not. “Do you get to take a lunch break during the day?” she asked, changing the subject while she carried the dishes to the sink.





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