One Snowbound Weekend.... Christy Lockhart
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belts and hair accessories. Nothing. Frantically, she yanked open a third drawer and started shoving aside his sweaters hoping to find something—anything—of hers.
“Stop.” Kneeling next to her, he clamped his hand around her wrist.
She looked up at the man she’d sworn she’d love forever, the man she’d given herself to, body and heart.
And she didn’t recognize him.
“Answer me, Shane. Where are my things? Why is there no trace of me in this room? Was our fight so bad that you’d kick me out of your life like this?”
“You’ve got clothes in the closet.”
Her breath rushed out. “In the closet?”
“On the shelves.”
She didn’t remember….
He slowly released his grip, but he didn’t move away.
“But that’s not all,” she said softly, momentarily squeezing her eyes shut. “You’ve changed, Shane. You’re not the man I married.”
“I’m the same as I’ve always been.”
He still had the same good looks, the same scar beneath his chin from the childhood bike accident, the same angular jaw, the same intensely green eyes, the same thick, dark hair begging to be mussed, the same cleft in his chin where she’d rested her finger earlier.
He was still the same, yet so much…more. “You’re harder.” Broader, stronger, more rigid. More man. “Less loving. I remember the way you’d smile when you saw me, the way you’d reach for me, the way you’d carry me in here.” Her voice broke as she finished, “The way you’d make love to me…”
He cursed softly. His eyes lightened a shade. If she didn’t know otherwise, she might have thought she’d glimpsed tenderness.
But then it was gone, and night returned to the pine-forest depths of his eyes. Swimming in a sea of confusion, she got to her feet.
“When did we get this furniture?” she asked.
“I ordered it from the Mountain Majesty catalog you like.”
Drawing her brows together, she whispered, “When?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.” She reached her hand to her forehead, and suddenly it became shockingly, frighteningly clear. “The accident. Our fight… I’ve forgotten, haven’t I? I’ve blocked it out.” Her heart raced. “I’ve lost part of my memory.”
“There’s time for all this later.” He stood but thankfully didn’t move toward her. “When you’re feeling better, when you’ve rested.”
“That’s what you talked to Dr. Johnson about, isn’t it? My memory loss.”
“Angie—” he warned.
Suddenly she was more afraid than she ever remembered being. “How much, Shane? How much time have I lost?”
“I don’t know.” He spoke slowly, soothingly, his reassuring cadence the only lifeline she had to hold on to. “The doctor said it could be posttraumatic amnesia.”
Her knees weakened. “What does that mean?” She sank onto the bed she didn’t remember sharing with him.
“He won’t know, exactly, unless he runs a complete neurological examination.”
Twisting her hands together, she softly said, “And because of the weather, you can’t get me to the hospital.”
He nodded.
“So you’re stuck with me.”
“We’re stuck with each other.”
Oh, how she’d wanted him to deny it, to tell her that being with her wasn’t a hardship.
“Your memory could come back all on its own.”
She twisted her hands together. “When?”
“Anytime.”
“What happens if it doesn’t? What if it never comes back at all?”
“Don’t,” he warned, the word a soft growl. Devouring the distance in a couple of quick strides, he took hold of her upper arms, but there was nothing intimate about his grip.
“We don’t have any information, so we can’t hazard a guess. Dr. Johnson wouldn’t.”
She struggled to take it all in, but she was shivering, as if the cold was devouring her from the inside out.
“The best thing you can do is follow the doctor’s orders. Rest, and change out of the wet clothes so you don’t end up with a cold, as well.”
“But—”
His grip tightened. “Do us both a favor. Quit arguing.”
He released her, and the temperature plummeted. The howling wind and driving snow only made it worse.
Shane crossed to the closet and returned with a pair of sweatpants and matching shirt. At least these were familiar.
She grabbed for the hem of her damp sweater, only to wince when her muscles protested.
A pulse ticking in his temple, he offered his help.
“Thanks,” she said.
He eased the sweater over her head, dropping it onto the floor and scooping up the sweatshirt. As he helped her into the soft fleece, his fingers skimmed her bare skin, raising awareness deep inside her.
She glanced at him, and he refused to meet her gaze. He wasn’t looking at her.
Tears stung again, and she tried to blink them back.
“What about your jeans?”
“I can manage.” Better that than having a man touch her who no longer wanted to…
When she stood and fumbled with the zipper’s small tab, he said, “I’ll do it.”
His motions were deft and sure, not that that was a surprise. He’d undressed her dozens of times.
Yet there was something different knowing he was angry, recognizing he didn’t want to be near her, realizing their marriage was no longer the happily-ever-after fairy tale she believed it to be.
He shimmied the damp, stiff denim past her hips and down her thighs. Kneeling, he held the jeans while she stepped out of them.
Breath froze in her lungs.
His gaze swept upward as he looked at her, pausing midway up her body.
He sucked in a shallow breath, his eyes narrowing. Her body quickened in response to his unspoken need.
He touched her, gently.
Then, swearing softly, he dropped his hand, pushed to his feet and grabbed the aspirin he’d carried into the room.
Uncapping the bottle, he shook out two tablets and placed them on the bedside table, alongside a glass of water. “Call me if you need anything.” The door closed behind him with a sharp click.
She needed so much from him—needed to be held, caressed, loved…the very things he wasn’t offering.
Her head thundered. She wanted things back the way they had been before… Before… Before the fight she couldn’t remember.
She’d demanded answers, and Shane had given a few. Maybe he’d been right in guessing she was better off not knowing. His honesty hadn’t solved anything, it had only made it worse.
Finally, the pain ricocheting inside her head won. Angie gave in. Telling herself that maybe her memory would return if she rested, she pulled back the bedspread and crawled beneath the blanket.
She lay down