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She shivered uncontrollably, and her light brown hair fell forward, shielding her face and thankfully blocking the gratitude and adoration emanating from her sky-blue eyes.
Moving her hand aside, he took hold of the zipper’s tab and parted the metal teeth.
A pendant glittered in the firelight.
He swallowed, hard.
Unable to help himself, he reached for the gold-dipped aspen leaf, tracing his fingertip across the raised veins in the metal, remembering…
As if it were yesterday, he recalled giving her the piece of jewelry. It had been their fourth date. He’d been young, poor, idealistic. She’d been young, rich and—he’d thought—different from other women.
She’d admired the aspen leaf, saying she’d never seen anything like it back east. He’d bought it for her.
Back then, purchasing the small trinket had been the financial equivalent of giving her the moon. Buying it had wiped out his last dollar.
She had protested his extravagance, saying he should spend his hard-earned money on Sarah and his new business. Softly Angie had added that being with him was all she needed.
Shane’s hardened heart had started to crack in that moment.
When he’d insisted she accept the gift, she’d lifted her hair, and he’d gently fastened the clasp at her nape.
And she still had the reminder of their time together. Amazing.
“Is something wrong?”
“Wrong?” he asked, voice raw, as if it had been dragged through rusty nails.
“You’re scowling.”
“Nothing,” he said, pulling his hand back and shoving aside the past.
With a physical gentleness he didn’t feel emotionally, he shucked the jacket from her shoulders and dropped it beside his single glove. She looked at him through the fringe of her hair, and he noticed that her lower lip quivered. She was getting to him….
Her teeth chattered, the sound amplified in the quiet. He’d been so wrapped up in his memories that he was neglecting to care for her properly.
Softly cursing, he moved into action, tossing a couple of logs on the dwindling fire, stoking the embers and fanning the flame.
Returning to her, he dropped to his knees, ignoring the winking aspen leaf nestled near her breast.
She curled her small hand around his shoulder the same way she might have once upon a time. Trying to ignore the touch, he drew off her shoes, pricey leather flats that had no place in a Rocky Mountain blizzard.
Her socks were soaked, and he pulled them off, exposing the pale pink polish brushed across her toenails. She’d never painted her toenails before.
He shoved aside the thoughts and the anger that still nipped at his soul.
She no longer mattered to him.
Her denim jeans were frozen and stiff near the ankle, and he knew they needed to be removed, too. Damned if he’d do it, though.
He grabbed a throw from the back of the couch and settled it around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she murmured, tipping back her head and looking at him. Her hair fell away from her forehead, again exposing her wound.
In the dim light spilling through the large window, the cut seemed to ravage her skin.
He gritted his teeth. He’d already told himself she didn’t matter.
But her vulnerability sliced through his carefully constructed defenses.
Against his will, he moved his finger across her skin, not touching the injury but feeling the sizzle of heat against frost.
She flinched, but didn’t pull away.
“I need to call Doc Johnson.”
“Dr. Johnson?” She pressed her fingers against her temples, as if hoping to soothe away the pain. “What about Dr. Kirk?”
“He retired.” Was it possible that she’d truly forgotten the past few years? Surely it was the shock, nothing more….
Flames hissed and crackled, and his heart rate accelerated.
Pushing to his feet he said, “I’ll be right back,” before crossing to the master bedroom. He needed a lifeline to sanity, and she needed dry clothes.
Unable to reach Dr. Johnson at his office, Shane dialed the man’s home phone number and succinctly detailed the situation, including the fact that Angie was conscious and coherent and seemed fine, as long as you didn’t count the fact she was freezing cold and seemed to have no recollection of their divorce.
“That’s entirely possible, young man,” Dr. Johnson said. “With the car accident, potential trauma to the brain…your Angie could be suffering from posttraumatic amnesia.”
Amnesia. Breath rushed from Shane’s lungs. “She needs to see you immediately.”
“I completely agree, Shane, but you’d be risking further injury by trying to get her through the blizzard. I don’t have all the equipment to run a complete neurological examination. She needs to go to a hospital, but it’s doubtful we could get her there safely.”
“So what the hell am I supposed to do with her?”
“Keep her calm, give her aspirin for the pain. Watch her for the possibility of a concussion. As soon as the roads are plowed, we can send an ambulance or you can bring her in. Of course, if you have an emergency, call right away.”
“That’s it?”
“Sorry, Shane.”
“What do I do about her amnesia?”
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do, except try and keep her quiet,” the doctor said.
“What about her memory? When will she get it back?”
“That’s anyone’s guess, young man. Could be twenty minutes, could be next week.”
“And it might not happen at all,” Shane said flatly.
“I can’t say. But the last thing you need is for Angie to panic. She’s been through quite enough trauma as it is. Don’t you agree?”
Shane’s grip tightened on the phone. “I should let her believe she’s my wife?”
“If that keeps her from panicking and potentially causing more damage, yes.”
Shane didn’t like it. Before he could question the doctor further, static chewed up the phone line, and the connection died.
He was stuck, his ex-wife thinking they were still starry-eyed in love. And he couldn’t tell her any different.
He dropped the phone’s handset back into its cradle.
Shell-shocked, he returned to the living room.
“Shane? What did the doctor say?”
“Take two aspirin and call him in the morning.”
Her attempted smile faded before it formed. A part of him, one he thought no longer existed, stirred.
He crossed to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She fit his cupped palms perfectly, as if they had always been two parts of the same whole.
To distract himself from the unwelcome, impossible thought, he said, “You still need to change out of those wet clothes. As soon as you’ve done that, I’ll clean and bandage the wound on your forehead.”
Snowflakes had melted into her hair, the dampness making the color appear a couple of shades darker than he remembered. And now there was an alluring hint of copper buried between the strands. He struggled to resist the urge to bury his fingers in its thickness and hold her close.
But it was her eyes that really got to him. They were wide, and focused unblinkingly on him.
In the five years since he’d seen her, he’d forgotten how very powerful her eyes were. The color, a blue as vibrant as a sun-drenched sky, was potent, making him think of lovemaking and forever in a single blink. But he didn’t dare forget they were a great shield for deceit.
“Did we have a fight?” she asked softly.
He released her. “A fight?”
“Is that why you’re angry with me?”
“I’m not angry,” he denied, the doctor’s warning to keep her calm echoing in Shane’s mind.
“You always scowl like that when you’re upset.”
He dragged his fingers through his dark hair.
“You do that, too.”
In frustration, he exhaled. Damn it. How was it possible for her to remember so much and forget even more?
As she had done earlier, she stroked the side of his unshaven cheekbone. The gentle abrasion shuddered through him.
“What did I do to upset you?” She paused at the cleft in his chin, as intimately as she had five years ago.
“Shane?”
She still said his name the same way, with a husk of sensuality that skipped across his skin like the slide of silk.
“Did I do something terrible?”
“No,” he lied, cuffing her wrist and moving her hand away.
“Then why don’t you want me touching you?”
“I need to clean that cut.”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
Unconsciously he took hold of her again. He didn’t want to care for her, protect her. He’d sworn he never wanted to set eyes on her again. Yet she was injured and alone, dependent on him.
Like it or not, he had an obligation. And Shane took his obligations seriously, had since he was nine years old and his mother deserted the family for a rich man and an easier life. His father had worked two jobs and drowned his sorrows when he was home, leaving Shane to care for his younger sister after school and on weekends. When he was nineteen and his dad died, Shane had naturally taken over raising Sarah.
And now he’d do what was expected of him, even if living Angie’s lie sat on his shoulders like a load of concrete. “You’re hurt,” he said. Then, softly, he added, “And you need to rest. Since we can’t get to town, I get to play doctor.”
“I’d like that.”
Tension fragmented the atmosphere.
Her gaze searched his face, looking, he figured, for anything less than honesty.
“Shane…”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“All of it? Why you’re angry, what I did, why you don’t want me touching you?”
Keep her calm. “Yeah.”
Her eyes darkened with distrust. His promise had been insincere and she’d heard the cop-out in his tone. But hell, short of taking her in his arms and finishing what she was so innocently trying to start, Shane knew there was nothing he could do.
Now, if only he weren’t so damn tempted…
Two
Even though the heartbeat of sensual awareness pulsed between them, she realized Shane was telling her what she wanted to hear, nothing more. Angie studied the pine-green depths of his eyes and saw the shadow of deceit. “Why are you lying to me?”
He dragged a hand through his hair, scattering a lock of dark brown across his forehead. “Can we postpone this until you’re feeling better?”
Angie prided herself on her strength. Without it, she would never have walked away from her father and the marriage he’d been arranging for her.
She’d shown courage in defying expectations, and she wouldn’t stop asking questions now.
“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Shane said, severing the contact of their gazes. He pushed to his feet and headed into the bathroom.
