The Loner And The Lady

“Better?” he asked in that comforting voice as he laid her back down.

She thought about nodding and didn’t. She thought about lying there until her other problem went away—but it wasn’t going to. She forced her eyes open, wretchedly embarrassed. “I need to use the bathroom.”

He nodded, the undamaged half of his face as unrevealing as the burned side. “I’ll get a bowl for you to use as a bedpan.”

“No way.” Surely, if he helped her, she could make it to the bathroom. She couldn’t stand the idea of some stranger, no matter how kind, helping her with such a private matter.

Some stranger?

No, he wasn’t a stranger. He was…his face was familiar, of course it was, and she’d think of his name in a minute. In a minute she’d remember…

By the time he came back to the bed, the humiliating bowl in his hand, her breath came in quick, fearful pants, like a dog. “Who are you?” she whispered.

He stopped dead. If his face had been unrevealing before, it was flatly blank now. “Seth,” he said slowly. “Seth Brogan.”

She closed her mouth. Licked her dry lips. Stared at him as if she could force her way through his deliberate blankness, force her way through to what she desperately needed. And asked her next question. “Who am I?”

Two

She couldn’t remember?

Seth stood rooted to the floor, holding the stupid bowl. All he could think, selfishly, was that the fear he’d seen twisting her pallid face hadn’t been about him, after all. She was afraid because she didn’t remember who she was.

Finally he got his tongue unstuck. “A blow to the head can affect the memory, but it’s temporary. Mostly temporary. You may never remember everything that happened right around your accident.” If whatever happened to her had been an accident. He’d begun to have some doubts about that.

“But the rest—my name—will come back to me?”

“Sure,” he said as if he knew the answer.

She wanted to believe him, that was obvious from the way her face relaxed. Then she saw the bowl in his hands and stiffened up again. “Are you a doctor?”

He shook his head.

She bit her lip. “I don’t suppose you’re my brother or something?”

He could have told her he was. She’d have accepted it. For some ungodly reason, probably because she had so little choice, she trusted him. Being cared for like this would be easier on her if she thought they were related.

Only how could he lie to her, when she trusted him? “Afraid not,” he said. “But listen, it could be worse.” The corner of his mouth, the one on the undamaged side, creaked up. “You could need a catheter. Trust me, that’s worse.”

In spite of everything, there was a faint, answering spark of humor in her eyes. Big, shamrock green eyes, he noticed for the first time. Green as the grass of Ireland, and somehow twice as pretty with the way her pale lashes left her eyes all open and unshielded.

Her humor died in the painful, awkward moments that followed. She hid by closing her eyes again. He went outside, leaving the door open so she could call him.

When he came back in she was white with pain and exhaustion, too worn-out, he thought, to feel more than mild embarrassment at their forced intimacy. He understood how that felt, too.

He had hoped she’d be able to get some soup down, but she fell asleep almost before he could get the covers settled back around her. Seth let his hands linger briefly while tucking her in, not invasively, he told himself. An innocent sort of touching, through the sheet and two blankets, and far less personal than the task he’d just performed for her.

But he looked at her face while his hands smoothed the covers over her. Her hair had dried to a streaky blond. It wisped around the edges of the pretty face eased by sleep, except on the left side. Dried blood clumped the soft blond strands together above her ear.

Looking at her sleeping face was, Seth understood, an invasion of sorts, an intrusion on her helplessness.

But he felt helpless, too. Helpless to keep from watching her. And wanting her, damn him for a fool. Seth looked over at the round oak table where he’d made a small pile of her things: slacks, panties, top, watch, a locket with a name engraved on it…and a small plastic bag he’d found in one of the deep pockets of that top. A bag half-full of white powder.

She woke up more easily this time, trailing wisps of memory after her. Enough memory to know where she was, so that she wasn’t startled when she opened her eyes and saw rafters and wood above her. Dust motes danced in the sunbeam slanting in the window.

She didn’t know what her name was. But she remembered his. “Seth?”

As before, he appeared almost immediately, his narrow face serious on one side, stiff with scars on the other. “How are you feeling?”

He wore jeans, a plain blue work shirt, and a dish towel stuck into the waist of his pants and apparently forgotten. The incongruously domestic touch on such a rough-looking man made her smile. “Better.”

A lot better, she realized as she shifted, testing her body’s reactions. Her head hurt, yes, but in a normal sort of way, no longer overpowering. Her whole body was stiff. She ached as if she’d been lying in one position far too long.

She breathed deeply and smelled a welcome aroma. “May I have a cup of that coffee?”

He hesitated. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt. I’m out of milk, so I hope you take it black. Sugar?”

“I don’t know.” How very peculiar, not to know how she drank her coffee. And yet she’d known, when she smelled the coffee, that she wanted a cup. “You can give it to me without and we’ll see if I like it that way.”

“You don’t seem very upset about your lack of memory.”

She wasn’t, and that, surely, was odd. But it was good just to lie here and not hurt. Too pleasant for her to waste energy worrying. She smiled. “I feel so much better than the last time I woke up, I guess it doesn’t seem worth getting upset over. After all, like you said, my memories will come back soon.”

He frowned. “You’ll need some breakfast to go with the coffee. I hope you like your eggs scrambled.”

“That sounds fine.” Did she like scrambled eggs? Did she like eggs at all? The idea of eating them didn’t disgust her, so she supposed they’d be okay.

When Seth moved she automatically followed him with her eyes, turning her head slightly on the pillow to keep him in sight.

Ouch. Well, it could be worse—had been, in fact, much worse. The swift stabbing pain that accompanied her head movement faded to the same dull ache she’d woken with. She ignored it in favor of studying the cabin…and Seth.

Seth was easy to watch. He got a bowl from the cabinets, moved out of her line of vision, and came back with several eggs cradled in one hand. He had big hands. Long fingers, like a pianist. He cracked the eggs into the bowl, stirred them, and carried the bowl to a large, modern stove, limping slightly.

She was curious about her rescuer, about his big hands and his big, athletically graceful body. Watching Seth was better than struggling with the clouds in her brain. Something about the way he moved, an athletic economy unimpaired by his limp, fascinated her, reminded her of—

Pain lanced through her skull, turning her so quickly away from.the memory that she lost the thread of thought. She blinked, dazed, grateful for the easing of the pain.

She looked away from Seth and her fascination with him. When she moved her head again, cautiously, it didn’t hurt too much, but her hair tugged at her scalp. She reached up and gingerly felt around the sorest place on her head, just above her left ear, and grimaced. Half her hair seemed to be caked together with what she was afraid was dried blood. Her blood.

She went back to her inspection of the cabin. By careful degrees she was able to move her head around on the pillow, taking in most of her surroundings. -

This was not a typical log cabin. The roof rose to a peak in the center, where a metal chimney carried aloft smoke and cinders from the big central fireplace. The oddest thing, though, was the shape, and the lack of interior walls. The cabin’s exterior walls defined five different living areas. Five sides…a pentagon. Like in Washington, D.C. Or like the basis for inscribing a pentagram, the shape used by witches and warlocks when casting their spells.

She didn’t think the cabin had much in common with the Pentagon, no more than her host had in common with the regimented warriors and drones who peopled the Defense Department. He did, however, have something of the look of a warlock. Brooding and mysterious.

Somehow even that thought wasn’t enough to disturb the inexplicable comfort she’d awoken with, a lazy sense of safety that she knew made no sense.

But then, she thought, watching Seth scrape the contents of a skillet onto a plate, her sorcerer had used his powers to save her, not to harm her.

Seth walked toward her, carrying a speckled blue plate that made her think of cowboys and camp fires. He set it, and the mug of coffee he held in his other hand, on the square table next to the bed. Then he turned away.

“Seth?” she said, when he went to a tall chest against the wall. “I, ah, I hate to bother you, but I don’t think I can sit up without a little help.”

He turned around, holding a blue shirt identical to the one he was wearing. “I’ll help you sit up and get this on.”

Get the shirt—oh, no. Tentatively she moved her leg and felt the sheet beneath, sheet and blankets above—all directly against her skin, nothing in between her and them, which meant…She moaned, grabbed the covers with one hand and pulled them up to her nose. That made her head hurt, so she squeezed her eyes shut.

A thread of humor laced his voice. “I think I’m the one who’s supposed to close my eyes, not you.”

He was amused? She opened her eyes and frowned.

If he’d been amused, he didn’t look it now. His face was as impassive as ever, frustratingly so. And she was still naked, quite entirely naked, whether her eyes were open or closed. She sighed. “Do we know each other at all?”

“We do now.”

“That’s a lousy answer,” she said, but she let go of the edge of the covers. There wasn’t much point, was there? He’d undressed her and—oh, Lord! That horrible bedpan yesterday! If she’d been in any shape to pay attention, that should have clued her in to her lack of clothing. “I guess I’ll need some help.”

He sat on the bed beside her. With one arm he scooped her upper body off the bed. The covers fell to her waist. The movement made her head pound and her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She tried to help him get her arms into the sleeves, but she was so dratted weak, her efforts were probably more hindrance than help. When she looked down to button the shirt, she got dizzy and nearly toppled over, so he took over doing that, too.

She closed her eyes again. Illogical, maybe, but it gave her the illusion of privacy. It also left her oddly attuned to his scent, a unique blend of soap, coffee and male…to the movement of his hand…a sensation of warmth, the slight rasp of the cotton against her skin, her nipples, as he tugged button and buttonhole together…the careful way his hand shifted to avoid touching her breasts.

By the time he finished, her head pounded miserably. She was dizzy. And aroused.

She knew she should have felt embarrassed. He’d probably noticed her involuntary reaction to the intimacy of being dressed by his careful hands. But embarrassment, like fear, seemed like too much effort. So she just smiled at him when he settled her against the pillows he’d arranged to prop her up.

“Whew.” Her heart thudded in rhythm with her head. “May I have some of that coffee now?”

He looked at her doubtfully, but whatever his objections, he didn’t voice them.

He helped her hold the cup. The coffee was strong, dark and hot. His hand on top of hers, steadying the mug for a few sips, was strong and warm, too. He set the mug down and held the plate of eggs and buttered bread for her, but she managed the fork herself.

Apparently she wasn’t a fussy eater. The overcooked eggs went down fine. At least a reasonable portion of them did—he’d given her enough to feed a fullback.

Once she persuaded him she really couldn’t eat any more, he gave her three aspirins and made her drink half a glass of water before he’d let her have the few last sips of coffee.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning back fully on the pillows. So many questions…they’d seeped in while she ate. “I have a lot to thank you for.”

He didn’t help her. Just sat there and watched her with his dark, dark eyes.

She licked her lips nervously. “How long have I been here?”

“Yesterday and last night. Part of the night before. I found you stumbling around Old Baldy in the middle of a storm.”

“What’s Old Baldy?”

“A mountain. Not especially high. Fifty years ago the top of it sheared off in an avalanche, so that today it looks bald. What do you remember?”

“You.” And the bedpan. She bit her lip and glanced around. “I remember waking up in this room. Where are we?”

“The Davis Mountains, not far from McDonald Observatory.”

“Near Fort Davis?”

He nodded.

She knew where that was. Texas. She felt a strong, diffused sense of relief. The knowledge carried a sense of familiarity. Fort Davis was in the far southwestern portion of the state, a desolate area half desert, half mountains. The Davis Mountains were the highest range in the area, high enough to wrest some rainfall from the thin, dry air.

They weren’t gentle, though, these mountains. They were rugged and rocky, home to porcupines, skunks, rattlers and the occasional mountain lion. Storms here could be deadly, gorging the little creeks with floodwater…

…blinding her with a darkness that bled rain. Rocks sliding under her feet—falling, getting up, pushing on through a curtain of night and rain, and hurting, hurting from the fear as much as from the blow to her head—her head hurt so bad, so bad—

No, she thought. No! And as the nightmare faded away, so did the crippling pain in her head.

“…all right? Sophie?”

She opened eyes she didn’t remember closing. Seth knelt by her bed, his hand on her shoulder.

“What?” she asked breathlessly. “What did you call me?”

“You had on a locket. That name is engraved on it.” His dark eyebrows drew together in a frown. “It says, To Sophie on one side. With Love, on the other.”

She wanted to react to the name, tried to find a feeling that went with it. But her momentary breathlessness was gone, leaving only exhaustion behind.

“Do you think that’s your name?”

“I don’t know. When I reach inside, I feel…like I’m stuffed with clouds instead of memories. You can’t really touch clouds, can you? There’s nothing there.” Her eyes were so tired. “But you can call me Sophie. It was on the locket. Maybe—probably—it’s my name.”

“All right, Sophie. Go on back to sleep now. Everything will seem better when you’re rested.” His voice was a quiet, cool ribbon in the darkness behind her closed eyes, a ribbon she held on to gladly as she sank into the soothing blankness of sleep.

By the time Seth’s patient woke up that afternoon it was drizzling again, and he was worrying.

Normally it didn’t bother him when bad weather made the road to his cabin impassable. Even when the timing was unfortunate, like now, and he was low on propane or other supplies, he didn’t mind being cut off from civilization.

But normally he didn’t have an injured woman with beautiful breasts stretched out in his bed, wearing his shirt. Only his shirt.

Dammit, he did not need this. He liked silence. Solitude. He sure as hell did not want to be responsible for another human soul.

He glanced out the front door. Rocky lay on the porch, protected from the fresh drizzle. Being responsible for a dog was enough, more than enough. He didn’t want the woman here.

But here she was, and neither of them had much choice about it. Seth sighed and looked at the book on the desk in front of him: A History of Texas Wildlife. Normally he enjoyed reading about his hobby, but today he couldn’t concentrate.

He had a good view of his bed and its occupant from this desk. At least, he did if he turned his head to the right and looked through the crowded miscellany on the open shelves that divided the office from the sleeping area. So he noticed right away when she stirred, because he’d been looking that way a lot more than he’d been looking at the book he was supposedly reading.

Dammit. He wasn’t going, to go running in there just because she was moving around beneath those covers. If she needed anything, she’d call him. He wasn’t going to…wasn’t going to listen to himself, apparently, because he pushed his chair back and was already halfway there when she called him.

She lay in the bed and looked up at him. The scrapes on the left side of her face were scabbed over and ugly. She smiled. “Every time I wake up it smells good in here. Is that chicken soup?”

Why was she always smiling at him? He frowned, wanting her to stop. “I had to clean out the freezer. I’m too low on fuel to run the generator, so everything’s defrosting and I need to use up what I can. I’ll get you some.”

“First things first.” She tried to push up.

“Hey!” He got his arm behind her, bracing her. “You aren’t ready for push-ups yet…Sophie.”

She tipped her head, acknowledging his use of what might be her name. “Well,” she said, her breath coming a little unsteadily, “I’ll agree to wait on the push-ups, but I refuse to consider that bedpan again. There is a bathroom behind that door, isn’t there?”

He nodded.

“Good.” She smiled again. “But I might need a little help standing.”

Good grief. Seth wasn’t about to let the fool woman walk there. He disregarded her protests and carried her into the one area of the cabin separated from the rest by four walls and a door. He didn’t like leaving her there, but agreed reluctantly when she agreed, with equal reluctance, to leave the door slightly ajar so he could hear her if she needed him.

Then he waited, scowling at the rocker and absently rubbing his thigh.

This is ridiculous, he told himself. She wasn’t that special to look at. Different, yes. Pretty. Well, all right, more than pretty. She had incredible eyes. And her breasts—but he wasn’t going to think about her breasts.

He knew about beautiful women, though, didn’t he? He didn’t miss that part of his other life. Sure, it had been awhile since a woman paid any attention to him, other than to look away fast. Two years and one month, or one year and nine months, depending on whether he counted from the accident or from his discharge from the hospital. But it was stupid for him to get flustered, to want to hang around her just to look at her. He hadn’t acted like that around a female since he dated Cindy Grover in high school.

He knew better. Especially with a beautiful woman. Especially considering the white powder he’d found on her.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t notice his scars, either. She’d seen them first, just like everyone did. But she saw the rest of him, too, saw both sides of his face, not just the half the surgeon hadn’t patched together all that well.

The thump from the bathroom nearly stopped his heart. “What the hell are you trying to do?” he demanded as he jerked the door open and saw her sitting on the platform that skirted the big sunken bathtub.

“I slipped when I sat down, that’s all.” The expression she faced him with was mule stubborn. “There’s dried blood in my hair. I’m smelly. I have to take a bath.”

Forget it, he started to say. But her expression told him he’d do better to outsmart her instead of arguing. “You can’t do it yourself,” he said. “I’ll take your clothes off, lower you into the tub, and stay in here with you.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. She looked at the deep, oversize tub he’d specially ordered when he was building the cabin. Then she proved him a fool. “Okay.”

He should have known better. Seth pointed that out to himself as he filled the big tub while she waited, at his insistence, back in bed. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. He’d turned on the wall heater to get it warmed up in here for her. The amount of fuel it burned was negligible, after all. As for the fuel used to heat the water—well, he’d turn the hot water heater off again once her tub was ready.

He should have realized how contrary she’d be. She reminded him of the mare he’d owned years ago, back in high school. That mare had been a sweet-natured beast, affectionate and biddable. Every once in a while, though, she zigged when she was supposed to zag. That was how his collarbone got cracked the weekend before graduation.

He scowled at the faucet as he turned it off, then took his time rolling up his sleeves before testing the temperature of the water. Was it too hot? She was so soft. Delicate. How hot was too hot? Maybe he should let some of the water out, add more cold—

“Seth?” she called from the bed. “Is the water ready?”

The water was ready, he admitted silently. He wasn’t ready, but he stood anyway. He’d better go get her before the stupid woman tried to hobble in here on her own.

She wasn’t smiling at him now. In fact, she couldn’t seem to get her gaze past the third button on his shirt when he stooped down and picked her up. “Listen,” he said, “if you’re having second thoughts—”

“No. No, I’m embarrassed, I’ll admit, but I’m dirty, Seth. I have to have a bath.” Shy as a butterfly, her glance lighted on his for a moment. “I trust you.”

Well, now, that meant they were both fools, didn’t it?

She was as perfect as he remembered. Exquisite, with her soft, white curves peeking out here and there as he unbuttoned the blue shirt. He tried not to look—tried, at least, not to get caught looking—while he helped her ease her incredibly naked body into the tub.

Her nipples weren’t hard now, as they had been the first time he saw her breasts. Which was good, he told himself as he released her to the water. He must have gotten it warm enough in here for her to be comfortable. God knows his own temperature was nothing to judge by. It had shot up with the first button he’d unfastened while she sat there, docile and patient.

The little moan of satisfaction she gave as the warm water closed around her almost had him groaning, too. He turned away quickly. “There’s soap and a washcloth on the ledge,” he said gruffly. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

She thanked him and started bathing. She made little splashing sounds, which had him picturing the way the water beaded on her bare skin. After a minute she started humming. It was a country tune. Well, he told himself, desperate for distraction, she was from Texas, judging by her accent and the way she’d recognized her location. Everyone in Texas knew some country songs, whether they—

A splash, too big and too loud, made him spin around.

She was all the way under the water.

Probably she would have been okay anyway. Probably. She hadn’t knocked herself out again or anything, and was already pushing herself up when he got his arms around her and pulled her sopping body up against his chest.

“Dammit, woman.” His heart galloped like that blasted mare had the day she refused the jump and broke his collarbone. “Dammit all. You’re getting out right now.” But he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

“No, listen—” She pushed against him in the feeblest way. He managed to relax his hold a little. The face she tipped back to look at him was as pale as milk, like it had been when she was unconscious. The smile she tried on wouldn’t stay put. “I’m all right. Really. I bent over to get my hair wet so I could wash it, and I got dizzy for a second. But it passed. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you’re fine and I’m Little Boy Blue.” He grunted as he shifted, needing to get his legs under him better before he lifted her. Kneeling like this made his thigh hurt.