“I remember you,” she said a little desperately, because suddenly it was very important to her to remember something.

Images of the rescue flooded her mind. Snow. Cold. Blinding pain. A vague sense of terror she couldn’t shake even now, as she lay safe and alive in this unfamiliar bed. But she clearly remembered this man with the incredible blue eyes and devil’s grin. He’d swooped down out of the sky and plucked her from the rocks and snow. As she took in his steady expression and canny gaze, she remembered vividly how safe she’d felt in his arms, the solid feel of his body against hers, the softness of his voice, the whisper of his breath against her cheek when he’d murmured gentle words and eased her terror.

“You saved my life,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Linda Castillo will cast a spell over readers, enthralling them with…A Hero To Hold.”

—Patricia Rouse, Romantic Times Magazine

Dear Reader,

There’s so much great reading in store for you this month that it’s hard to know where to begin, but I’ll start with bestselling author and reader favorite Fiona Brand. She’s back with another of her irresistible Alpha heroes in Marrying McCabe. There’s something about those Aussie men that a reader just can’t resist—and heroine Roma Lombard is in the same boat when she meets Ben McCabe. He’s got trouble—and passion—written all over him.

Our FIRSTBORN SONS continuity continues with Born To Protect, by Virginia Kantra. Follow ex-Navy SEAL Jack Dalton to Montana, where his princess (and I mean that literally) awaits. A new book by Ingrid Weaver is always a treat, so save some reading time for Fugitive Hearts, a perfect mix of suspense and romance. Round out the month with new novels by Linda Castillo, who offers A Hero To Hold (and trust me, you’ll definitely want to hold this guy!); Barbara Ankrum, who proves the truth of her title, This Perfect Stranger; and Vickie Taylor, with The Renegade Steals a Lady (and also, I promise, your heart).

And if that weren’t enough excitement for one month, don’t forget to enter our Silhouette Makes You a Star contest. Details are in every book.

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

A Hero to Hold
Linda Castillo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Ernest, my hero

LINDA CASTILLO

grew up in a small farming community in western Ohio. She knew from a very early age that she wanted to be a writer—and penned her first novel at the age of thirteen during one of those long Ohio winters. Her dream of becoming a published author came true the day Silhouette called and wanted to buy one of her books!

Romance is at the heart of all her stories. She loves the idea of two fallible people falling in love amid danger and against their better judgment—or so they think. She enjoys watching them struggle through their problems, realize their weaknesses and strengths along the way and, ultimately, fall head over heels in love.

She is the winner of numerous writing awards, including the prestigious Maggie Award for Excellence. In 1999, she was a triple Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist, and her first Silhouette release, Remember the Night, took first place in the romantic suspense division.

Linda spins her tales of love and intrigue from her home in Dallas, Texas, where she lives with her husband and three lovable dogs. You can contact her at P.O. Box 670501, Dallas, Texas 75367-0501.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Prologue

He was going to kill her this time.

The realization stunned her. Terror and disbelief and an odd sense of incredulity tangled in her chest. She couldn’t believe it had come to this, couldn’t bear to think everything she’d been through in the last two years had culminated in this single, horrifying moment.

The icy wind buffeted her as she sprinted through the darkness. Rocks and frozen earth cut her bare feet, but she hardly felt the pain. Swirling snow blinded her, but she didn’t slow down. Clutching the pistol, she picked up speed and ran blindly, barely negotiating the curve in the road through the darkness and driving snow. Her breaths puffed out in white clouds of vapor as she gave herself over to the flight instinct and pushed her body to the limit.

Headlights sliced through the darkness behind her, the sight bringing a fresh rise of terror. She heard the whine of the engine over the howl of the wind, over the wild beat of her own heart. A scream hovered in her throat, but she knew better than to waste precious energy on something that hopeless. No one would hear her up here in the middle of the night. No one would rescue her. If she was going to get out of this alive, she was going to have to rely on herself.

Too bad she just happened to be fresh out of ideas.

Another turn in the road and the headlights were upon her. A dozen feet away. Too close for escape. Fear and adrenaline twisted inside her as she stumbled to a halt at the side of the road. Cold air burned her lungs as she gasped for breath. Behind her, the vehicle’s engine dropped to idle. Vertigo gripped her when she looked down at the jagged rocks of the ravine before her. Heart drumming, she turned and faced her pursuer.

She thought she’d been prepared for this final confrontation, but the sight of him terrified her anew—and made her question whether she had the guts to call his bluff one last time.

She raised the gun, trying in vain to still the quiver in her arms. “Don’t come any closer.”

“Put the gun down, angel.”

“Stay away from me!”

“I can’t,” he said, starting toward her. “You’ve left me no choice.”

Struggling to remain calm, she stared at his dark form silhouetted against the glare of the headlights, realizing for the first time that if she died tonight no one would ever know the truth.

“Stop!” Her finger curled around the trigger. “I’ll do it!”

“You don’t have the guts.” Never taking his eyes from her, he treaded steadily closer.

She squeezed the trigger. The gun exploded, kicking hard in her hand. The sound of her own scream deafened her.

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t even flinch. She’d missed, she realized, just as he’d known she would. He knew her too well, knew she wasn’t a killer.

Just as she knew he was.

Heart raging, she gathered the broken pieces of her resolve and turned toward the ravine. There was only one way to save herself, and as surely as she heard him moving ever closer, she knew she didn’t have a choice but to do the unthinkable. Pressing her hand to her abdomen, she whispered a prayer and started down the steep incline.

His shout rose over the roar of the wind, but she couldn’t make out the words, and she didn’t stop. She’d only descended a few feet when the loose rock beneath her crumbled. Reaching out, she tried to break her fall, but there was nothing there except cold air and ice-slicked granite. An instant later the ground rushed up and punched her like a giant fist. She began to tumble, pain stunning her as rock and broken saplings battered her body.

The inevitability of death shouldn’t have shocked her; she’d known she wouldn’t get out of this mess unscathed. Still, her mind rebelled against the idea of her life ending this way. With so much left undone, so many dreams unfulfilled.

Fragments of her life, the places she’d been and the people she loved flashed in her mind’s eye in brilliant hues. But the mountain was relentless, and the steep incline sucked her down, tumbling her like a seashell battered by a frozen, turbulent sea. One by one, her senses shut down until she knew only darkness and the bitter taste of betrayal. As she plummeted deeper into the abyss, the pain slowly relinquished its grip. The darkness embraced her with murky arms and the promise of warmth and truth.

And, at last, she was free.

Chapter 1

“I’ve got a visual. Female subject. Two o’clock. She’s up and moving.”

Search-and-rescue medic John Maitland jerked the strap of his helmet tightly against his chin, stepped over to the chopper’s open door and looked down. Sure enough, a woman huddled against an outcropping of rock on the side of the mountain seventy-five feet below.

“What the hell is she doing up here?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“Waiting for you to harness up and move your butt!” came the pilot’s voice from the cockpit.

“Just get me closer, Flyboy,” John shouted over the roar of the Bell 412’s twin Pratt and Whitney engines and the rush of wind through the door. “Sometime this week, if you don’t mind.”

“Not in this wind. We’re already at forty knots. Gusts to fifty-five.” The pilot, Tony “Flyboy” Colorosa, shot him a cocky look. “Don’t tell me you can’t do an extraction from a measly seventy-five feet up in a little breeze.”

John met the other man’s expression in kind. “You just fly this sardine can—I’ll take care of the tough stuff,” he said. Then he added under his breath, “The wind might make it a little more interesting.”

“Subject is standing. No visual trauma.” Team leader Buzz Malone lowered his binoculars and scowled at John. “Skip the litter,” he said, referring to the portable stretcher. “We’re going to swoop and scoop. Harness her, and I’ll winch her up with you.”

“What about spinal movement?” John asked.

“If we don’t get her up in the next five minutes, we’re going to abort. It will take us too long to reach her on foot. She’ll die of hypothermia. Take your pick.”

As much as he hated the idea of manipulating a possible trauma patient without the benefit of spinal support, John knew with heavy weather moving in, the situation had boiled down to a quick extraction—and saving her life. There was only so much they could do during an airlift. They’d deal with possible injuries later. “Roger that,” he said.

He started toward the door, but Buzz stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “If it were anyone but you going down there, I’d abort this mission in a New York minute.”

“Good thing we’re not in New York.” Reaching the launch point at the door, John turned to face the other man, his hands moving expertly over his harness as he prepared to drop. “I’ve never missed an extraction, Buzz. I don’t plan to start now.”

“Watch those trees.” The team leader gave him a thumbs-up. “You get one attempt, then I’m bringing you in.”

Giving him a mock salute, John shoved off into space. Cold air slapped him like icy palms. The rat-tat-tat of the chopper’s rotor blades deafened him, but both were discomforts he’d come to love despite the dangers of jumping out of a helicopter with nothing more than a cable and his own skill separating him from certain death.

He wasn’t worried about missing contact on the first go-round. In the six years he’d been a search-and-rescue medic, he’d never missed an extraction. Besides, high winds or not, there wasn’t a man alive who could fly the Bell 412 better than Flyboy. As for aborting the mission, John simply knew better. Buzz Malone might be tough-talking when it came to keeping his crew safe, but John had worked with the older man long enough to know there was no way in hell the team would abort the mission and let that woman die.

Twenty feet down from the chopper, the wind began to twirl him like a yo-yo. Accustomed to the action, John rode with it, maintaining his equilibrium by keeping his eyes on the huddled form below. He wondered how she’d gotten there. Even from a distance of some fifty feet, he could tell from her lack of attire and equipment that she wasn’t a hiker who’d lost her way in the storm. She wasn’t even wearing a coat, for God’s sake. What on earth was a woman clad in little more than street clothes doing at nine thousand feet in the middle of January?

A cross-country skier had reported her stranded on the side of the steep ravine just an hour earlier. The call out to Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue had come in from the Lake County Sheriff’s Department twenty minutes ago. The team had been ready to go in less than four minutes.

John didn’t know how long she’d been there and had to assume she was hypothermic. If she’d fallen, God only knew what other injuries she’d sustained. For now, the most serious threat was the weather, so he had no choice but to lift her out, then assess her injuries once they got her onboard the chopper.

He scanned the area with a practiced eye. There was no evidence of a vehicle, so he wasn’t dealing with motorvehicle trauma. There was no sign of a wrecked snowmobile, either. No tent in sight. No sign of other people.

Something bothered him about the entire scenario.

The mystery moved to the back of his mind when the cable jerked with a sudden gust of wind, whipping him perilously close to an outcropping of rock. “You want to keep it steady, Flyboy?” John said into his helmet mike. “If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

“Just want to make sure you’re awake,” came the pilot’s voice.

Smiling, enjoying the adrenaline rush that came with the added danger of high winds, John concentrated on the swiftly approaching ground and prepared to touch down. The terrain consisted mostly of jagged rock and ice. Twenty feet away, a stand of spindly pines shivered in the wind from the chopper’s blades.

John’s feet hit the ground hard, but he was prepared and bent his knees to absorb the impact. In an instant, he jerked the patient’s harness from his flight suit and started toward the subject, praying Flyboy could keep the chopper steady enough to prevent him from getting jerked off his feet and slammed into a rock or dragged through tree branches. He could do without a broken arm—or God forbid—a broken neck.

He made eye contact with the woman as he approached her. Dark, frightened eyes, glazed with the effects of hypothermia and wide with terror, met his as she stumbled toward him. Full, colorless lips moved to speak, but she didn’t make a sound. He saw the will to live in its rawest form in the depths of her eyes, and an acute sense of urgency overwhelmed him. Hell or high water, he was going to get her out of this.

But it was the beauty of the face staring back at him that nearly stopped him in his tracks. Dark, pretty eyes and a delicate cut of jaw dominated her features. A slash of high cheekbones beneath pale flesh tinged pink from the cold. Wavy hair the color of an alpine sunset and wild as a mountain gale tangled over slender shoulders. Even as dirty and bruised as she was, he could plainly see her body was lush in all the right places. If it hadn’t been for his medical training and the fact that the chopper was hovering seventy-five feet overhead in forty-knot winds, he would have taken a moment just to appreciate the view.

John was accustomed to all sorts of rescues, from the severe trauma of a mountain motor-vehicle accident, to the tourist who’d called out the team for nothing more than a bee sting, to the Boy Scout who’d lost his way during a hike last summer. But the sight of this particular subject hit him like the business end of a shovel and went deep.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He started toward her, offering up his best relax-everything’s-going-to-be-all-right grin. “I’m a medic. My name’s John. My team and I are going to airlift you out of here and transport you to the hospital. Do you understand?”

Her eyes were glassy, her flesh as pale as the snow being kicked up by the rotor blades. But she was alive. He figured they both had cause to be thankful for that. John had lost patients before, but he damn well didn’t like it. One thing he’d learned about himself over the years was that he was a consummate sore loser when it came to the Grim Reaper coming out ahead. It was the one aspect of his job he took personally.

He reached her just in time to keep her from sinking to the frozen earth. Even through his thick gloves, he could feel her shivering. “Easy,” he said. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Please…no.” Surprising him, she twisted in his arms. “Get…away…from me…bastard.”

“Easy—”

The gun came out of nowhere. A big, ugly beast capable of killing him with a single shot and aimed right at this face. Releasing her, John lurched back, swearing richly. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’ll kill you,” she choked. “I swear. I won’t let you get away with this.”

“Whoa! I’m cool.” He raised his hands above his head, aware of the sharp stab of fear in his chest. “Look, my hands are up, Red. Now put the damn gun down before someone gets hurt.”

He knew hypothermia could cause mental confusion. One of his Coast Guard buddies had told him about a water extraction off the Alaskan Coast during which the subject had fought so hard, they hadn’t been able to get him in the cage. The subject had ended up drowning.

What in God’s name was she doing with a gun?

John knew he could handle her if it came down to a physical confrontation. She was small and fatigued and severely hypothermic. All he had to do was get the gun away from her. Considering she could barely hold the damn thing upright told him that wasn’t going to be too difficult. But he wasn’t a big enough fool not to take the situation seriously.

“Easy, Red. You’re hurt and confused. Put the gun down, and let me help you.”

She swayed. “Stay away. Just…stay—”

He rushed her. She yelped and swung at him, but was so weakened, John easily dodged the blow. He grabbed for the gun, but before he could get his fingers around it, she lost her grip. He watched it tumble down the ravine and disappear into a stand of juniper twenty feet below.

“What the hell were you doing with a gun?” he snapped, giving her a small shake.

She blinked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I thought—I thought…Richard…”

His concentration wavered as a wave of damp, cinnamon-colored hair washed over his arm. Simultaneously the sweet scent of columbine in spring titillated his senses. Turning her toward him, he got his first up-close look at her face. Her alabaster skin was as flawless as virgin snowfall. He winced at the purple bruise above her left temple and the cut on her chin. Even her nose was skinned. But the underlying beauty struck him, and John felt the impact of her all the way through his flight suit and into his bones.

He stared at her, realizing with a stark sense of dismay that she had the most incredible brown eyes he’d ever seen. “What’s your name?” he shouted above the roar of wind and engines, watching her carefully to gauge her lucidity.

“I…” Her brows furrowed, then she blinked at him. “I—I’m…”

She was pale and confused; both were symptoms of hypothermia. The condition was assumed in all cold-weather situations. Judging from her state of mind, he suspected she’d been hypothermic for quite some time. Snow-damp jeans and a sweater were no protection against subfreezing temperatures and windchills hovering around zero. Her hair was damp. He looked down at her feet and cursed. She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Frostbite would be an issue, as well, he realized, and another wave of urgency surged through him.

“Is anyone with you?” he asked.

Her body jolted, and he saw fresh terror leap into her eyes. “I…I don’t know.”

“Come on, sweetheart, stay with me.” Holding her face between his hands, he made eye contact. “Are you alone?” he pressed. “I need to know if there’s anyone else down here. I’ll need to get them in the chopper.”

“I’m…not sure.” She looked over her shoulder uneasily. “I think I’m alone.”

“Good girl.” Using his left arm to steady her, he quickly secured the patient’s harness around her, trying not to notice the way that sweater clung to curves he had no business noticing at a moment like this. “How did you get here?”

“He was…chasing me.” Her gaze snapped to his, her eyes widened with what might have been recognition. “Oh, no. Oh, God! Richard, please, don’t—”

“Calm down,” he said firmly. “Just stay calm—”

“I won’t let you—”

“Stop it!” An alarm trilled in John’s head, and he gave her a little shake. The last thing he needed was for her to go ballistic on him while they dangled seventy-five feet over terrain not fit for a mountain goat. “Look at me.”

When her gaze met his, he saw vividly the terror in her eyes and felt the hairs at his nape stand on end. Something—or someone—had this woman spooked in a major way. “My name is John. I’m not going to hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe. Do you understand?”

Her lids fluttered, her eyes rolling back. Simultaneously her knees buckled. John caught her an instant before she fell.

“Terrific,” he muttered. Easing her to arm’s length, he drew her harness tight and clipped it to his, so that her limp body was flush against him. “We’re going up, sweetheart. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

She stirred. “I can’t…feel my hands,” she whispered. “They’re numb. I can’t hold on.”

“You don’t have to hold on. I’ve got you.” He took her hands in his. Even through his thick gloves, he could feel the tremors wracking her body.

“Don’t…let me go,” she said.

Setting her palms against his chest, he put his arms around her shoulders. “I’m not going to let you go. I promise.”

Dark, shimmering eyes met his. He’d intended to give her a reassuring smile to keep her calm, like he had with a hundred other subjects during a hundred other rescues. But the power behind her gaze stopped him cold. For a split second the flying snow and the roar of the wind faded until his focus narrowed to the feel of her against him, the smell of her hair and the frightened, striking eyes staring back at him.

“Come on, Maitland, what are you doing? Picnicking down there?” Buzz’s voice crackled through his helmet communication gear with all the finesse of a chain saw. “Get it in gear!”

Shaking off his reaction to the woman, John forced himself to take a mental step back and signaled for the other man to winch them up. An instant later, the rope drew taut. She gasped as they were jerked off their feet.

“Damn winch operator has the mentality of a gorilla,” he grumbled, more to calm her than to complain because he knew there wasn’t a man alive who could operate a winch better than Buzz Malone.

In only a few seconds, John’s thoughts strayed from the operation at hand to the woman pressed against him—and how that closeness was affecting his body. He tried to keep his thoughts on IV fluids, the possibility of frostbite and the radio call he would be making to Lake County Hospital, but the fact that this beautiful, frightened woman was pressed flush against him with her head on his chest was doing a number on his concentration. Her arms were around his waist, and she clung to him as if he were her lifeline. Even through the bulk of his flight suit, he was aware of her body. Small-boned. Soft. Curvy as a mountain back road—and undoubtedly just as dangerous. Her fragrant hair was loose and blowing in his face.

He shouldn’t have acknowledged, even to himself, how good she felt wrapped around him like that—she was a trauma patient. He was an in-flight medic. She’d shoved a gun in his face just two minutes earlier, for crying out loud! God only knew what kind of a person she was.

All that aside, even under the best of circumstances, John figured he was the last man on earth who had the right to indulge in this woman’s vulnerability.

Steeling himself against his uncharacteristic reaction to her and physical sensations he knew better than to acknowledge, he forced his thoughts back to the operation and prepared to board the chopper. The ride up was swift and turbulent. The winds spun them like a top, but the woman didn’t make a sound. When a particularly strong gust sent them careening toward the chopper’s skid, he swiveled in midair and took the impact in the small of his back, determined to keep her from getting any more bruises.

“About time you showed up.” Buzz Malone’s voice reached him over the roar of the chopper’s engines and rush of wind. “What do we have?”

“Hypothermia. Possible frostbite.” Strong hands pulled them into the chopper. John looked down at the woman in his arms and felt a flutter of low-grade lust in his belly. Terrific. “You handled that like a pro,” he told her.

Her gaze met his. Despite her earlier terror and the fact that she was seriously hypothermic and shivering uncontrollably, a smile touched the corners of her mouth. The smile reached him as no words could have. For a moment he couldn’t look away. Simultaneously something shifted deep in his chest, something new and uncomfortable—and uncharacteristic as hell. He wanted to say something cocky, something to let his teammates know he wasn’t the least bit affected by all that red hair and her pretty eyes, but for the first time in his life, his wit failed him. He felt like he’d just been punched right between the eyes. All he could do was stare back at her and pray his team members weren’t aware that he’d suddenly lost his power of speech.

“Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to let me unfasten her, so we can get an IV started?”

John jerked at the tone of Buzz’s voice. Realizing belatedly that the woman was no longer supporting herself, that he was just standing there holding her, he unclipped her harness and relinquished her to the two waiting men.

“What the hell, John? Did you get struck by lightning out there, or what?” Buzz asked.

“Must have been that boulder Flyboy slammed me into,” John muttered. Not sure why he’d reacted so strongly to her, ready to write it off to his long-neglected male libido, he stepped back, determined to walk away and forget it.

But John couldn’t make himself turn away. He damn well couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just stepped out onto thin ice and was about to plunge headlong into something that promised to take a lot more than just his breath.

Her gaze never left him as Buzz and junior medic Pete Scully lifted her on the count of three and eased her onto the litter. Armed or not, she still had the most incredible eyes he’d ever seen. They were soft, expressive pools the color of expensive cognac. Rich with intelligence, they stared back at him with a moving mix of relief and gratitude—and the unmistakable realization that he’d saved her life.

So what if that fed his ego? There wasn’t a search-and-rescue professional alive that didn’t like having it stoked. So he’d reacted to her. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman. John wasn’t any Romeo—not by a long shot. He knew all too well the dangers of getting involved and he wasn’t going to go off the deep end over a pair of incredible eyes and handfuls of silky red hair.

Still, his reaction to her disturbed him—almost as much as the fact that she could very well have blown his head off.

“Buzz.”

Buzz tore the wrap from an IV needle. “What is it, Maitland?” the older man asked, never looking away from his work.

“Uh…she had a gun.”

Buzz swung an incredulous stare at him. “What?”

“I said she had a gun—”

“I heard you the first time.” Buzz looked down at the woman, his expression incredulous. “Where is it?”

“She dropped it.”

“Did she threaten you with it?”

John had debated telling him the part where she’d pointed it at him. But Buzz was an ex-cop. John trusted his judgment. “She was terrified. Confused.”

“Holy hell. She did, didn’t she?”

“She thought I was someone else,” he said, hating it that he felt as if he’d somehow betrayed her. He didn’t owe her anything. For all he knew, she could be a criminal.

“Who was she expecting, Jack the Ripper?”

“She was scared out of her mind.”

“Scared enough to pull a gun on a man trying to save her life?”

John looked down at the pale woman lying on the litter. “I don’t think she planned to use it.”

Buzz cursed, his face set and angry. “Open a line for me, Scully,” he snapped. “Let’s get some fluids into her.”

Using the shears from the med kit, Buzz began cutting away her sweater and jeans. He hesitated an instant when the purple bruises on her arms and throat came into view. “Bloody hell.”

“Criminy.” Scully’s jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping from the woman’s bruised body up to Buzz.

John stared at the dark bruises marring the flesh of her throat. Bruises that were the perfect imprint of a man’s fingers. Outrage burgeoned in his chest. Nausea seesawed in his gut as the memory of another woman taunted him. A woman with fear in her eyes and bruises on her body. The burn of shame sizzled through him followed by the sting of regret so sharp he winced.

“Looks like maybe she was trying to protect herself,” Scully offered.

The woman tried to sit up, her eyes glued to the scissors. “Please…don’t….”

John knew Buzz had seen too much in his years as a cop and then as a medic to let the sight of her bruises faze him. “Try to relax, honey,” the team leader soothed. “We’re going to treat you for hypothermia. I’ve got to get these wet clothes off you. Hold still for me, now, all right?”

Shivering uncontrollably, she lay back on the litter and squeezed her eyes shut. But John could clearly see that she wasn’t relaxed. Her hands were clenched into fists, her jaws clamped tight. Her entire body trembled violently. He wondered if it was from the cold—or the terror she’d suffered at the hands of whomever had put those bruises on her. The thought sickened him.

As the beauty of her flesh came into view, John averted his gaze. He’d seen plenty of victims prepped for the emergency room over the years. Most times, that included cutting away the impediment of clothing so the team could assess whatever trauma they’d sustained. In this case, removing her wet clothes was imperative in treating hypothermia. Male or female, in all the years he’d been a medic, the procedure had never bothered him. The fact that it did with this rescue—and this particular woman—left him feeling acutely uneasy. A hell of a reaction for a man who’d devoted his life to the art of never getting involved.

John had one staunch rule that he’d lived by since the day he walked out of the Philadelphia tenement at the age of seventeen and never looked back: Never get involved. Not with the people around him. Not with his patients. And never, ever with women. He’d broken that rule only once in the last thirteen years—and paid a terrible price. He wouldn’t do it again. So why was his heart pounding like a drum as he watched the tears well in her eyes and spill down her wind-burned cheeks?

Reaching into the med kit, John withdrew an insulated blanket and snapped it open. Stepping over to the litter, he pulled the blanket up to her chin. “What’s with the tears, gorgeous?”

Her eyes latched on to his, heavy-lidded with the effects of hypothermia. “I thought…I was…going to die.”

“I forgot to mention this to you, but that wasn’t an option,” he said easily.

She closed her eyes, but a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “You’re…bossy.”

“It’s an ego thing, actually. I’m a hopeless egomaniac.”

“I’m willing to overlook… You saved…my life.”

A quick jab of alarm stabbed through John when she slurred the words. Reaching into the cabinet overhead, he broke open a radiant heat pack, gave it a quick twist and pressed it to her abdomen. “I don’t know if you realized this, Red, but I’m damn good at what I do.”

“Modest…too. I should have…known.”

Her voice was so low, John had to lean close to hear her.

Buzz grimaced. “Her respiration is slow. She’s stopped shivering. Body temp’s at ninety-four. No pupil dilation yet, but I don’t want to risk cardial arrhythmia. Let’s go to active rewarming. Pete, get some oxygen going, will you?”

Before realizing he was going to touch her, John pressed the backs of his fingers to her cheek to find her flesh cold to the touch. “Stay with me, Red. Come on. Keep your eyes open.”

Pete peeled the wrap from another IV needle while Buzz swabbed the top of her hand with alcohol. She didn’t so much as wince when the needle slipped into her vein. Realizing both Buzz and Pete had the situation under control, John rose. He knew it was stupid, but he didn’t want to leave her.

Shaking off the sentiment, he started for the VHF console to radio the hospital, but the sound of her voice stopped him cold. He turned back to her, found her eyes open and focused on him.

“Thank you…for saving…my life,” she whispered.

Feeling the back of his neck heat, he unfastened the top button of his flight suit. “You just hold up your end of the deal, Red.”

“What’s…my end of the deal?”

“I’ll settle for you staying awake until we get to County. Think you can handle that?”

“You gonna sit there and make cow eyes at her all day, Maitland, or call County with our E.T.A.?”

John frowned at his team leader, but for the second time that day, realized he didn’t have a comeback, witty or otherwise. He was going to hear about this later, he knew. John the Untouchable, going mush-brained over a female patient with a pretty face, tons of red hair—and trouble written all over her shapely body.

Cursing under his breath, he moved over to the VHF radio, snatched up the mike and summoned Lake County Hospital. “This is RMSAR Eagle two niner. We’ve got a Jane Doe en route. Approximately twenty-seven years old. Possible closed head wound. Moderate hypothermia. Respiration slow. Body temp at ninety-four. No sign of cardial arrhythmia. Probable extremity frostbite with tissue damage. Numerous superficial injuries. We’ll need a CT.E.T.A. twelve minutes.”

As dispatch radioed their reply and cleared them for landing, John risked a look at the auburn-haired beauty lying on the litter. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so protective of her. She was going to be all right. Her confusion would ease as soon as they got her body temperature back to normal. Her fingers and toes might be frostbitten, but none of her injuries appeared to be life-threatening. Well, if you didn’t count the bruises on her throat.

He’d get over this protective male nonsense by the time they reached the hospital. He looked at his watch. Eleven minutes and counting.

Yeah, he’d be just fine in about eleven minutes.

Chapter 2

Glorious heat wrapped around her as if she’d been immersed in a warm bath. Relaxation spread through her body, rippling through muscle and tendon and radiating all the way to her bones. The lavender haze surrounding her brain cushioned the pain in her head and eased the throbbing ache in her hands and feet.

She’d never floated before, but this wasn’t at all unpleasant. She was especially enjoying the dream about the man in the orange flight suit. The man with black, short-cropped hair, electric blue eyes and that devil-be-damned grin. The man who’d swooped down out of the sky and rescued her from…

From what?

Alarm quivered through her. The warmth she’d been feeling fled. In its place, something dark and menacing gripped her. A vague sense of terror crept over her like the shadow of some huge predator about to attack. She felt threatened, pursued, but her mind couldn’t seem to pinpoint by what—or whom.

Content to return to the protective warmth of sleep—and her dream about the man with those vivid blue eyes—she sank back into the darkness and let the tide send her adrift.

“Rise and shine, honey. You’ve got a visitor.”

The jazzy female voice turned her peaceful netherworld on its ear. She opened her eyes. Light stabbed into her brain like a hot laser, bringing a wave of pain so powerful, her vision blurred. Withholding a groan, she raised her hand to shield her eyes, only to find her fingers encased in bandages. Blinking in confusion, she lowered her hand and tried to focus on the two blurred figures standing a few feet from her bed.

“Where am I?” Her throat felt as if it had been through a cheese grater. Twice.

“Lake County Hospital,” came the female voice. “You were brought in yesterday morning. How are you feeling?”

She blinked to clear the fog from her brain. A silver-haired woman with kind eyes and chocolate-colored skin came into focus and smiled down at her. “I’m Cora, your nurse. Let me get your pulse while you’re awake.”

A nurse, she thought. A look at the monitor beside her bed confirmed that she was in a hospital. A vague sense of confusion swirled in her head. She was in a hospital. A hospital?

What the hell was she doing in a hospital?

Before she could voice the question, the nurse took her hand and set her finger against her wrist. Only then did she remember her other visitor. She turned her head and squinted at the man standing just inside the door. The man she’d been dreaming about stared back at her, his gaze riveted to hers, his chiseled mouth pulled into a cocky grin.

“Hi, Red. How’s tricks this morning?”

Red? It took her befuddled mind a moment to realize he was talking to her. When she tried to answer, her voice grated like bad brakes. She cleared her throat and tried again. “The only thing doing tricks this morning is my brain.” She didn’t have the energy to mention her stomach was doing tricks, too—every time the smell of hospital bacon and eggs wafted into the room.

“Sorry to hear that. You’re looking good.”

“If how I feel is any indication as to how I look, I’d say you’re probably lying.”

Even with her head pounding and her vision blurred, she couldn’t help but notice the power behind his smile. He’d traded the jumpsuit for a pair of faded jeans that hugged lean hips and muscular thighs. A flannel shirt opened to a black T-shirt with the word Medic emblazoned in white and stretched tightly over a wide, muscled chest. Laced-up hiking boots lent him the appearance of an outdoorsman. But it was his eyes that drew her gaze and held it so that she couldn’t look away. She’d never seen bluer eyes. They were high-altitude blue with a touch of ice, a trace of winter dusk—and a lot of male attitude. His short black hair was spiked military-style, but he didn’t look clean-cut. Not with the five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw or that dangerous grin and sculpted mouth. Even in her dazed state, it took her all of two seconds to realize he was every woman’s fantasy incarnate.

Good grief, he was something to look at. Too bad the best she could hope for was to get through this without throwing up on his shoes.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Headache.” She tried to swallow, but her mouth felt as if someone had filled it with gravel while she slept. “The freight train variety.”

The nurse released her hand, then gave it a maternal pat. “A headache is normal with a concussion. I can give you some acetaminophen if you like.”

Confusion closed in on her. Concussion? Well, that certainly explained the headache and the nausea twisting her stomach into knots. But how on earth had she gotten a concussion? She raised her hands and squinted at the bandages. Why were her fingers bandaged? What was she doing in the hospital in the first place? And who in the world was the handsome outdoorsman standing over her, looking at her as if he was waiting for her to tell him the answer to questions she had absolutely no idea how to answer herself?

“What’s your name, honey?” the nurse asked.

The question threw her. Only for an instant, though. Of course she knew her name. It must be the concussion clouding her mind and making her feel so confused. Her name. Sure. It would come to her in a minute. All she had to do was close her eyes and relax a little so her brain could settle down and think.

“My name?” Fear coiled in her chest as it slowly dawned on her that she didn’t have a clue what her own name was. Her heart began to pound, keeping perfect time with the throbbing in her head. The ensuing panic sent her to a sitting position. A thunderbolt of pain behind her left temple sent her back down.

The nurse and the man moved closer simultaneously.

She tried to push herself back up, but the pain in her fingers stopped her, and for the first time she wondered how serious her injuries were. Good Lord, had she been in some kind of terrible accident?

“Easy, honey. It’s just the concussion fuzzing things up for you,” the nurse said. “Try to relax. Dr. Morgan is making rounds. She should be in shortly to talk with you.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. That wasn’t what she needed to hear. The first order of the day was for her to remember her name. How could anyone forget their own name, for Pete’s sake?

“I don’t know my name.” Her own words turned the fear lurking inside her into a reality more frightening than the vague nightmare that still lingered in the back of her mind. “My God, I don’t remember my own name.” She looked from the nurse to the man and back to the nurse. “How can that be?”

They exchanged looks comprised of equal parts sympathy and concern that did little to quell her growing sense of panic. Propping her elbows on the pillow behind her, she struggled to a sitting position. “How did I get here? What happened?” Remembering the bandages, she raised her left hand and studied it, half-afraid to ask why it was bandaged.

Her gaze swept to the man. He returned her look levelly. Even though he hadn’t answered her questions, she found herself thankful he could at least meet her gaze without looking away. If she was facing bad news, she could tell by the character in his eyes that at least he’d have the guts to give it to her straight.

“I’ll go find Dr. Morgan.” The nurse patted her knee through the blanket. “Sit tight, honey. I’ll be right back.”

She watched the woman leave, trying in vain to ignore the grip of panic that had her breaths coming shallow and fast.

“Easy, Red, your blood pressure’s up a tad this morning.”

Her gaze snapped to the man. The sensation of the automatic blood pressure cuff tightening around her left biceps slowly registered, and for the first time she realized how close she was to all-out panic. “Yeah, well, I think my blood pressure is the least of my worries at the moment,” she muttered.

“Why don’t you sit back and take a couple of deep breaths?”

“I don’t think that’s going to solve anything.”

“It won’t solve anything, but it might help you deal with it.” He winked. “On the count of three. Deep breath. Ready?”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the futility of deep breathing exercises when her entire life was nothing more than a black hole, she drew a shuddering breath. He did the same, and they exhaled simultaneously.

“Well, at least now we know my lungs work.” But even as she made the remark, she realized the panic had released its vise grip on her chest.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately it didn’t do a thing for my memory.” Another wave of panic threatened, but she forced air into her lungs and fought it back. “I don’t believe this is happening.”

“You’ve got a concussion. Disorientation isn’t unusual. Your memory will come back.”

She wasn’t so sure, but decided not to argue against something she wanted desperately to believe. “I remember you,” she said abruptly, a little desperately, because suddenly it was very important to her to remember something.

Images of the rescue flooded her mind. Snow. Cold. Blinding pain. A vague sense of terror she couldn’t shake even now as she lay safe and alive in this unfamiliar bed. But she clearly remembered this man with the incredible blue eyes and devil’s grin. He’d swooped down out of the sky and plucked her from the rocks and snow. As she took in his steady expression and canny gaze, she remembered vividly how safe she’d felt in his arms, the solid feel of his body against hers, the softness of his voice, the whisper of his breath against her cheek when he’d murmured gentle words and eased her terror.

“You saved my life,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I had a little help from the rest of the team.” He extended his hand. “Just a little. I’m John Maitland.”

She attempted to take his hand, but the bandages hindered her. Despite the anxiety clenching her chest, a helpless laugh squeezed from her throat. “I don’t think I’m going to be shaking hands anytime soon.”

Unfazed, he took her hand gently between his. “I’m a medic with Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue. You gave us quite a scare.”

His accent was distinctly northeastern—deep, clipped, with a hint of the streets etched into it. “I remember you. Of course I do. But I don’t seem to remember…anything else. Can you tell me what happened?”

“We got the call out yesterday morning and picked you up on Elk Ridge at about nine thousand feet. You were hypothermic.” He looked down at the bandages on her hands. “Frostbitten. We airlifted you here to Lake County Hospital.”

She remembered the rescue. But as the memory materialized, something dark and disturbing stirred in the back of her mind like the remnants of a nightmare. An acute feeling of unease. A sense of being pursued. The unmistakable aftertaste of terror.

“Where’s Elk Ridge?” she asked.

“Not far from Fairplay, about sixty miles west of Denver.”

She swallowed, realizing with a stark sense of dismay she hadn’t even known what state she was in. Oh, dear God, what had happened to her?

“What else can you tell me?” she asked, trying in vain to keep the desperation out of her voice.

His smile tightened into a grimace, and she got the distinct impression he was about to give her some bad news. But he didn’t. Instead he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a tattered piece of paper. “I thought this might be important. Buzz Malone, my team leader, found it in the pocket of the jeans you were wearing.”

An uncomfortable sense of vulnerability encompassed her when she remembered her clothes being cut away. She knew the men who’d saved her hadn’t had a choice; they were professionals and did that sort of thing on a daily basis. Still, the fact that she’d been so exposed left her disconcerted.

Hoping whatever was on the scrap of paper would help unscramble her memory, she reached for it, but the bandages on her hands stopped her.

“Sorry.” Unfolding the paper, John held it up for her.

Hannah, meet me at the shop at noon.

She stared at the words, waiting for a lightning bolt of memory, a flashback, anything that would tell her who she was.

“Ring a bell?” he asked.

“No.” The jab of disappointment cut her with the precision of a straight razor. Oh, how she wanted to remember. She needed to remember. She stared at the words in desperation, hoping against hope for a flare of recognition. Anything but the abyss of nothing her memory had become. “Do you think that’s my name? Hannah?”

“Could be.”

“Did I have identification when you found me?”

He shook his head. “No wallet. Not even a driver’s license. Just the clothes on your back, which were ruined—sorry—and that note in your pocket.”

Leaning forward, she pulled her knees to her chest. “This is nuts. I don’t remember…anything. How I got up on the mountain. Why I was there. Where I live. My entire life is just…blank.”

Her mind raced in circles, like a rat trapped in a maze with no destination, no way out. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she looked at John, wishing desperately he could tell her something, anything that would help her remember. “How can someone just forget their entire life?”

“It isn’t unheard of for head trauma to cause temporary memory loss.”

The word temporary took her panic down a notch. She clung to it with the desperation of a rock climber to a safety line. “How temporary?”

He shrugged. “I’m not an expert, but I’ve heard of cases where a head injury has caused amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” The sound that erupted from her throat was half laugh, half groan. “That sounds like something from a soap opera.”

“Last year we picked up a snowmobiler who’d gotten up close and personal with a blue spruce. He suffered a closed head injury. Took him two days to remember he was from Iowa. Missed his flight home and everything.”

“Two days?” she echoed hopefully.

“Look, Lake County may be a small hospital, but I did my training here. Doc Morgan is good. She’ll do what needs to be done to get you back on track, even if it means referring you to a specialist. But I’ll bet the farm your memory will return before you’re even released.”

It made sense, of course. Unfortunately not even cold, hard logic could make the situation less frightening. Sighing, she looked down at her hands. “What’s with the bandages?”

“You had some frostbite on your fingers and toes. There was some tissue damage, blisters mostly, but nothing severe. You’ve got some healing to do, but you won’t have permanent scarring.” Pulling the chair next to the bed, he straddled it and rested his chin on the back.

The scent of his aftershave drifted lazily through her brain, conjuring notions of piney forests and mountain air. Her sudden awareness of him caused a ripple of pleasure strong enough to make her stomach flutter.

“Was—was I in some sort of accident?” she managed after a moment.

“We didn’t find a vehicle. Not a car. Not a snowmobile. You weren’t dressed for skiing or hiking.”

“So what was I doing up on Elk Ridge?”

For the first time, he looked uncomfortable. She got the distinct impression there was something he wasn’t telling her. Simultaneously, something dark and frightening jumped in the back of her mind, like a predator lunging out of the shadows, claws extended, fangs bared. The ensuing flash of terror sent a violent shudder through her.

“You’re not telling me something,” she said.

“Easy, Red—”

“I see it in your face. You know something, but you don’t want to tell me.”

“Don’t go jumping to conclusions on me.”

“Keeping secrets from someone who can’t even remember their own name is cruel.”

He arched a brow. “Look, you’re getting yourself worked up over—”

“Yeah, well, I tend to get a little worked up when I can’t remember my own name.”

She flinched when he leaned forward and put his hand on her forearm. Her first instinct was to pull away, but the gentleness of his touch stopped her. She looked down where his hand rested on her forearm. His fingers were thick and dark against her pale flesh. The man had fascinating hands, a doctor’s hands made rugged by the elements. Warmth radiated from him into her and spread throughout her body like a slow-moving current.

“You’re shaking,” he said. “You okay?”

Swallowing hard, she risked a look at him. The power behind his eyes jolted her all the way down to her toes—and made her remember what it had felt like to be wrapped within his embrace in the harrowing minutes they’d dangled from the helicopter.

“I’m just…scared,” she said after a moment.

“Everything’s going to be all right.”

Looking into the startling blue of his eyes, she almost believed him. She wasn’t sure why, but this man made her feel safe. Yet even with the warmth of his touch searing her, she couldn’t shake the sense of danger pressing down on her. A feeling that told her she wasn’t safe no matter how badly she wanted to believe it.

“I think something terrible happened to me up on the mountain,” she whispered.

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t know…exactly. I mean, I don’t remember details. It’s like a dream. Or a nightmare—” An image flashed in her mind, cutting her words short. The ensuing grip of terror was so powerful, she flinched. Images played in her mind’s eye, like clips from a horror movie. She remembered snow. The silhouette of a man against the glare of headlights. The feel of cold steel in her hand. The blast of a gunshot.

Suddenly she knew why she’d been up on Elk Ridge—at least part of the reason. The realization settled over her as horribly as a handful of earth tossed over a lowered coffin.

“I remember…” Her voice was thin and breathless. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. She didn’t actually remember. But as she fought to keep her voice steady, her hands from shaking, she knew someone had been pursuing her. Someone who’d wanted to hurt her. Someone who wanted to…

John’s hand tightened on her arm. “What is it?”

Raising her gaze to his, she fought back another rise of fear and let out a shuddery breath. “I think someone was trying to kill me.”

Chapter 3

John had known better than to come to the hospital. In the six years he’d been a search-and-rescue medic, he’d never crossed the line between professional duty and personal involvement. He’d sure as hell never visited a patient. Well, except for the time he and his team transported a woman who’d gone into premature labor during a camping trip and delivered a preemie while en route to the emergency room. Even then, he hadn’t actually talked to the woman, just checked with the nursing staff to make sure the five-pound baby girl was all right.

So why hadn’t he been able to stay away this time?

He told himself he’d only stopped by to deliver the note they’d found in the pocket of her jeans. After all, someone from the team had to do it. Why not him? It wasn’t like he was going to stick around. Or get involved. Just because he didn’t like the bruises on her neck or the possibilities behind the dark mystery surrounding her rescue didn’t mean he was going to get caught up in her plight or, God forbid, fall into the soft depths of those incredible eyes.

He should just wish her luck, bid her farewell and walk away. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken the easy way out. John Maitland had walking out down to a fine art. He was good at it. Almost as good as he was at not getting involved. He’d learned a long time ago the cost of personal involvement, and it had always been a price he wasn’t willing to pay.

He just wished the nagging little voice in the back of his mind would stop telling him this time was going to be different.

Who was he trying to fool anyway? He was a lot more interested in this woman than he wanted to admit. A hell of a lot more than was wise. He understood the dynamics of high adrenaline and danger. Like so many other men like him, he lived for the high. Rescues could be simultaneously emotional and exhilarating and hair-raising. In the past he’d never felt anything more than the need to decompress afterward. A couple of beers with his teammates or a workout at the gym usually sufficed. But this time was different. He couldn’t explain it, but something had happened between him and this woman up on the mountain. Something that didn’t have anything to do with adrenaline or ego or even the fact that she appealed to him on a physical level. Somehow, and as unlikely as it seemed, he’d connected with her in a way that went against everything he’d ever believed about himself. The realization that he might be vulnerable to that curvy body and those bottomless brown eyes disturbed him almost as much as the words she’d just uttered.

As he gazed down at her, he realized he hadn’t driven all the way from Conifer to Lake County Hospital in six inches of snow just to check on her physical condition.

“Why would someone want to kill you?” In the back of his mind he thought about the pistol she’d shoved in his face and wondered if she remembered that little detail. Or if it had anything to do with what had happened to her.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I mean, I don’t really have a clear memory of it. Just sort of vague…impressions.”

“What else do you remember?”

“I remember being afraid,” she said. “I remember running. Snow and darkness and cold. I think someone was chasing me.”

“Look, Red, I’m not discounting what you’re telling me, but I’ve seen a lot of concussions, and even more cases of hypothermia over the years. Both can cause mental confusion—”

“I’m not wrong about this.”

“Even moderate hypothermia has been known to cause hallucinations,” he said.

“I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“Were you hallucinating when you shoved that pistol in my face?”

Her gaze snapped to his, her expression stricken.

“I see you remember that part just fine,” he said dryly. “You could have taken my head off.”

“Oh my God.” Raising her bandaged hand, she pressed it to her mouth. “I wouldn’t have…hurt you.”

“You sure had me fooled. That .38 you were packing looked pretty deadly.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Whose gun was it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you have it?”

“I…don’t…remember.”

John studied her, annoyed with her because he couldn’t tell if she was lying, annoyed with himself because all he seemed to be noticing about her was the way that sexless hospital gown fell over curves that were anything but sexless. Curves he had absolutely no business noticing as a medical professional, even less as a man with his history. If he had an ounce of common sense, he’d get the hell out of there. But John knew his interest in her had moved beyond logic and into an area that was as foreign to him as the phenomenon of amnesia.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked. “I mean, with the police?”

Lowering his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “If my team leader had his way, you’d be on your way to a jail cell right now.”

A shiver rippled the length of her. “Why aren’t I?”

“Hopefully it’s not because I’m a fool.” John couldn’t tell her the truth, of course. He couldn’t tell her that even after they’d dropped her off at the hospital, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. That he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way he’d responded when her body had been pressed against his and all that red hair had spread over his chest like an ocean of fragrant silk. For hours afterward, her scent had clung to him, as sweet and tantalizing as a first kiss.

Shoving the memory aside, he blew out a sigh. “Buzz filed a police report but he didn’t mention the gun.” He shot her a hard look. “I convinced him not to.”

John saw the question in her eyes. She wanted to know why they’d covered for her, but she didn’t voice it. He found himself relieved because he wasn’t sure he had an answer.

“You don’t think I’m some kind of…criminal, do you?” she asked.

“I think you’ve got some explaining to do.”

“I’m not sure how I can explain something I don’t remember.”

“That’s why we’re going to give the sheriff’s office a call.”

The color leached from her cheeks so quickly, he thought she would faint. “No police,” she whispered.

Suspicion fluttered like a big, gangly bird in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but she was obviously hiding something. Disappointed, he scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Terrific. His instincts were telling him one thing, his gut another—and the part of him that was a man didn’t necessarily give a damn about either.

“Why not?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I just…need some time to sort things out first. Please.”

John sighed again. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle this. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle her. Or what he was going to do about the way he was reacting to her.

“What else do you remember?” he pressed.

“Not much more than I’ve already told you. I remember running. Being…terrified. I remember…cold and snow. It was dark, and I couldn’t see…” Her gaze dropped to her bandaged hands. When she held them out, they trembled. “How is it that I can’t remember, yet I’m terrified? I don’t even know what I’m afraid of. I don’t even know my own name, for God’s sake. This is nuts.”

“The name thing bothers you a lot, doesn’t it?”

A humorless laugh escaped her. “I know this sounds strange, but not knowing my own name, not knowing who I am makes me feel like…I never existed.”

“What about the name on the note?”

“Hannah? What about it?”

“I like it a hell of a lot better than Jane Doe.”

“Hannah.” A tentative smile touched the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, I like it. I mean, temporarily.”

“Even if it’s not your name, chances are it was at least familiar to you.”

“Maybe if I hear it often enough, it will shake loose a memory and help me remember.”

“There you go.”

Something went liquid and warm in John’s chest at her smile. It was an unfamiliar sensation he normally would have shied away from, but didn’t this time. As long as he stayed in control of the situation, he’d be all right, he assured himself. If the balance shifted, he’d know when to walk away. John had a sixth sense when it came to knowing when to walk away. It had never failed him; it wouldn’t now.

But the knowledge gave him little solace, considering those incredible eyes of hers knocked him for a loop every time he looked at her.

“I know this must sound crazy, but I can’t shake the feeling that I was in trouble up on that mountain,” she said. “I’m not wrong about this. Someone was trying to…hurt me.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. Not about her memory loss. He sure as hell didn’t like the possibility that someone might have been trying to hurt her. But it would explain the gun. And the bruises on her arms and throat. The rest of her body had been so battered in the fall, they hadn’t been able to tell if the other bruises were suspicious or not.

John tried to stomp the outrage that rolled slowly through him at the thought of a man hurting her. Nothing gave a man the right to hurt a woman. He knew all too well the devastation that kind of violence wreaked on someone’s life. He’d walked away from it thirteen years ago, only to realize a man couldn’t ever outrun his roots.

So why the hell was he sitting here trying to help her remember when he had absolutely no intention of getting involved?

As if reading his thoughts, her gaze sharpened on his. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

John gazed back at her, telling himself it wasn’t his responsibility to tell her about the bruises—or the very real possibility that someone had, indeed, tried to hurt her.

“I’ll go see what’s keeping the doc,” he said, rising.

“Look, whatever it is you’re not telling me, I can handle it. It’s not like I’m going to fall apart or something. I deserve to know what happened to me.”

The edge in her voice stopped him. Trying not to look at the bruises on her throat, trying not to let his outrage show, he met her gaze levelly. “You’ve got some suspicious bruising.”

“What do you mean by suspicious?”

“Bruises probably not sustained in the fall. Around your neck area. Your arms.”

“You mean like someone…” Her words trailed off. What little color she had left in her cheeks fled. She stared at him, her eyes dark and frightened within the pale frame of her face.

Even through the bandages John could see that her hands were shaking. He should have known she wouldn’t let him walk out of there without asking the question he had no desire to answer. He didn’t want to be the one to tell her she may have been battered, or that she may have been the victim of a crime. He might be adept at walking away, but John had never been one to hedge the truth, no matter how ugly. Judging by the way she was looking at him—and the way he was responding—he wasn’t going to start now.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he offered. “I thought you should know.”

Shoving a lock of hair away from her face, she looked at him squarely. “It’s okay. I needed to know. I can handle it.”

She didn’t look like she could handle anything at the moment. She looked pale and troubled and so vulnerable, it took most of his discipline not to go to her just to let her know she wasn’t alone. John might be good at dangling from a cable a hundred feet above the ground, but when it came to the more delicate side of medical care, he figured there were times when he could use a little more tact. Times like now when he should have kept his mouth shut and let the doctors deal with her questions.

Turning away, she looked out the window. An alarm clanged in his head when she blinked rapidly. The alarm burgeoned to an all-out wail when he saw the first tear slip down her cheek. He’d never known how to deal with female tears; he’d spent most of his life avoiding those kinds of situations. He didn’t want to have to deal with them now. Not on top of those bottomless brown eyes and all that flowing red hair. The combination was doing funny things to his resolve to walk out the door. Hard telling what it would do to his resolve not to touch her.

John spotted the pitcher of water next to the bed and poured a glass for her. “Here.”

Wiping the tears from her cheeks with the bandages, she sipped, then relaxed back in the pillows. “Thanks.”

A spike of heat hit him low in the gut when her hair fanned out beneath her, framing her face like a pool of glossy silk. For a crazy instant, John was tempted to lean forward and take it between his fingers, just to see if it felt as soft as it looked.

“You’re good at that, you know,” she said.

“At what?”

She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “A few minutes ago my heart was pounding, and I was an inch away from losing it. Thanks for calming me down.”

The thought that it might be interesting to get her heart rate up in a different way fluttered in the back of his mind, but he quickly stomped the notion, knowing that was the one line he’d never cross no matter how sexy she was. “Well, Red, I’m not sure if I’ve told you this, but I’m pretty damn good at what I do.”

“I think you’ve mentioned that. Twice, actually.”

John’s IQ slipped another notch when she smiled. He should have known it would be dazzling. He tried not to notice the dimple in her left cheek or the way her eyes tilted at the corners; he knew better than to let himself be charmed. But he’d fought enough personal battles over the years to know he was losing this one.

“Do you flirt with all your patients?” she asked.

“Shamelessly.” He couldn’t help but grin. “For a head trauma patient you’re not doing such a bad job yourself.”

Color rushed back into her cheeks. John liked the dimple, he decided, even though he’d never been taken in by “cute” when it came to women. He figured as long as he didn’t let his interest in her go any further than harmless flirting, they’d both be just fine.

Movement at the door caught his attention, and he turned to see Dr. Anna Morgan enter the room and head directly for her patient. She was a petite woman with salt-and-pepper hair and rhinestone-studded bifocals that sat on the end of her nose like fancy little marquees. “Are you flirting with my patient, Maitland?” she asked, picking up the chart and making a notation with the sweep of her hand.

John was acquainted with most of the staff at Lake County. Over the years, he’d transported dozens of patients to the emergency room. He’d trained under the expertise of Dr. Anna Morgan when she’d headed up the E.R. Though she was old enough to be his mother, they’d developed a relationship that teetered comfortably between professional regard and personal friendship.

Rising, he approached her and extended his hand. “I just needed an excuse to see you, Doc.”

The doctor humphed good-naturedly as she shook his hand, then looked at the woman lying in the bed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t let this man charm you. It’s lethal, and I’ve yet to come up with an antidote.”

John had intended for the banter to alleviate Hannah’s anxiety, but one look at her told him all the humor in the world wasn’t going to help. He couldn’t blame her. He’d had to rebuild his life once. As many times as he’d wished he could rewrite his past, he didn’t envy the chore ahead of her.

Hannah’s gaze swept to Dr. Morgan. “I don’t remember anything that happened before the rescue,” she blurted. “I don’t remember how I got up on the mountain. Or how I fell. I don’t remember…anything.”

The doctor’s brows creased as she regarded the younger woman. “The CT scan shows you received a concussion, more than likely during a fall.” Easing the bandage away from Hannah’s temple, she assessed the stitches beneath.

John winced at the size of the cut. The sight of the injury itself didn’t bother him—he’d long ago grown accustomed to that aspect of his job—but that this particular woman had been purposefully hurt put a hot ball of outrage squarely in his gut.

“A concussion is caused by head trauma,” the doctor explained. “In your case, there was no bleeding around the brain. However, some minor swelling occurred. That’s not unusual, but it can affect short-term memory and mental clarity.”

“I wouldn’t be quite so worried if it was just a little mental clarity I was lacking, but my entire life is just…gone.”

“Actually, you remember more than you realize,” the doctor said. “I treated a young man last winter who sustained a severe head injury in a ski accident. He had to relearn how to walk, how to feed himself and even how to speak.” She replaced the bandage, then stepped back and crossed her arms. “Memory loss, or amnesia if you will, is extremely rare but certainly not unheard-of when it comes to head trauma.”

“How long will it be before I start remembering?”

Dr. Morgan shrugged. “I’m not an expert, but from what I’ve read about amnesia, most head-trauma patients begin remembering within minutes or hours after the initial injury. You could remember everything all at once. Or you might remember bits and pieces over a period of time. You could wake up tomorrow and recover your memory fully. Or it could take days or weeks or even months, I’m afraid.”

Hannah didn’t look happy about the situation. John couldn’t blame her. He didn’t like the helplessness he felt with not being able to help her. He was a rescuer by nature. He fixed things. And he liked being in control—something he’d never had while growing up. But without a single clue to go on, there wasn’t much he could do.

Dr. Morgan lifted the penlight from her smock and checked each of Hannah’s eyes. “Your pupils respond nicely.” Reaching for the chart at the foot of the bed, she made another notation. “How are you feeling physically?”

“Sort of like I fell into a ravine and didn’t miss a single rock on the way down.”

Dr. Morgan smiled. “Headache?”

“Like there’s a guy with a jackhammer behind my right eye.”

“I’ll order up some acetaminophen. You’ll need it for the next couple of days. You’re pretty bruised.” The doctor smoothed the sheet with her left hand. “Any nausea?”

“A little. Is that from the concussion, too?”

John didn’t miss the minute tightening of the doctor’s jaw. “Do you have any idea why you were up on the mountain?” she asked casually. “Or who you were with?”

“No.” He could tell by the way Hannah shifted beneath the sheets that she knew it wasn’t a casual question.

“Were you alone?” the doctor asked.

The younger woman’s gaze swept to John. He looked from Hannah to Dr. Morgan, and realized belatedly the doctor hadn’t missed the silent communication that passed between them. “Could you step out of the room for a minute, John?” she asked.

An alarm went off in the back of his head. Remembering the bruises—the undeniable marks left by a man’s fingers—he rose, trying not to think about how they might have gotten there.

Taking a mental step back, he reminded himself he didn’t have anything at stake. After all, he didn’t get involved. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten too close to his teammates at Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue. So why was he finding it so difficult to walk out that door?

“I’ve got to get back to headquarters,” he said.

“I’d like you to stay,” Hannah said abruptly. “Please. I mean…if you…don’t mind.”

Surprise rippled through him and landed with a thud in the pit of his stomach. He glanced over at the woman lying in the bed, felt the familiar tightening in his chest at the sight of all that red hair. He knew he should do the right thing and walk away. She didn’t need him. Of all the people in the world, John figured he was the last kind of man she needed.

But he didn’t have the heart to leave her, not when she’d asked him to stay—and was now looking at him like he was her only friend in the world. Even John Maitland the Untouchable had his limits.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shot her a grin, hoping it didn’t look as uneasy as it felt. “Sure thing, Red.”

Hannah hadn’t intended to ask him to stay, but she was feeling scared and alone and the words had tumbled out before she had a chance to think them through. She knew it was unreasonable for her to ask such a thing. He was a complete stranger; he may not even want to stay. But unreasonable or not, the thought of him walking out that door, the thought of never seeing him again, filled her with a loneliness so deep it brought tears to her eyes.

Her heart pounded as she watched Dr. Morgan move to the window and raise the blinds. Gray light slanted in from the overcast day beyond. Lowering her clipboard, she looked down at Hannah. “I’m sure you know those bruises on your neck and arms weren’t caused in the fall.”

Tension snapped through Hannah’s body. Even though she’d expected to hear those very same words, the meaning behind them hit her hard.

“Do you remember having an argument with someone?” the doctor asked gently. “Or someone hurting you in the past?”

She reached deep for the memories, but even with desperation clenching her like a giant talon, her past remained a blank. “I don’t remember,” she said after a moment.

“I know the chief of staff of the psychiatric department of Lutheran Hospital in Denver,” Dr. Morgan said. “Dr. Wu has done several studies on amnesia. I’ll give him a call if you like.”

Amnesia. There was that word again. It rang inside Hannah’s head like the retort of a killing shot. “I’d like to see him as soon as possible. I need to know who I am, Dr. Morgan. I need to know what happened to me.”

“I’ll brief him on your case.” The woman paused, then gazed at her over the tops of her bifocals. “There’s one more thing.”

The tone of the doctor’s voice snapped Hannah’s head up. Next to her, John went very still. One look at the other woman’s face and Hannah knew this revelation was going to be a doozy. Like she needed one more heaped on top of all the others she’d gotten in the last hour.

“I had some blood work sent down the lab when you were brought in,” Dr. Morgan said.

“Blood work?” Hannah took a deep breath and braced herself, a thousand scenarios thundering through her brain. “Go ahead, Doc. Give it to me straight. I can handle it. What do I have? Cancer? A brain tumor?”

“Nothing like that.” Dr. Morgan chuckled. “You’re pregnant.”

Chapter 4

Pregnant.

The word reverberated in her head like the echo of a thunder clap. Hannah stared at the doctor, shock and disbelief punching her, stealing what little equanimity she’d managed to scrape together in the last hours.

She was going to have a baby.

She couldn’t believe it.

How on earth could she be pregnant and not know how she got that way? Who had she loved enough to create a child? How could she be carrying a baby and not remember, for God’s sake?

“Easy does it, Red.”

Tearing her gaze from Dr. Morgan, Hannah risked a look at John. His guarded expression told her he was nearly as surprised as she. He shot her a smile, but for the first time since she’d known him, it didn’t look genuine.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said.

Swallowing the lump that had risen in her throat, she turned her attention back to the doctor. “I can’t be pregnant,” she blurted. “I’d remember something like that.”

Dr. Morgan tapped her pen against her clipboard. “There’s no room for error. I checked the results myself. You’re definitely pregnant.”

She stared at the doctor, torn between laughing herself into hysterics and crying herself dry. Stupidly she looked down at her abdomen. She didn’t feel pregnant. “Are you sure?” she asked.

“I know news like this can be a shock—”

“I wouldn’t call having a ten-ton boulder dropped on your head a shock exactly.”

John cleared his throat. “In light of the hypothermia and the concussion, is the baby okay?”

A jab of concern sent Hannah’s hand to her abdomen.

“The baby is fine,” Dr. Morgan said.

“But I fell…”

“The body is amazingly resilient. You’re a strong woman.”

Relief swirled through her, and Hannah found herself thankful she was lying down. Things were moving way too fast; she felt as if she were on an out-of-control roller coaster that was about to derail. She’d only been awake a few hours and already her life was in chaos.

A hundred questions converged on her brain simultaneously, like a swarm of bees, crawling over a honey-laden hive. “How far along am I?”

“About three months.”

“I’m healthy?”

“As a horse.”

Another shock wave rocked through her as the reality of the situation sank in a little deeper. How in the world was she going to handle having a baby in six months when she didn’t even know her own name?

“Aside from your memory loss, you’ve got a clean bill of health,” the doctor said. “That’s why I’m going to release you.”

Fear quivered in her gut at the thought of leaving the protective walls the hospital. “Release me?”

“A friend of mine runs a women’s shelter in Denver. Angela Pearl is a gem. She’ll set you up for a few days, until your memory returns. I’ll give her a call. They’ve got an old van and can pick you up out front.”

Hannah was still trying to absorb the fact that she was going to be released when the realization of where she would be going struck her. A homeless shelter. Good Lord, she was homeless and battered and pregnant. She had no money, no job skills that she knew of and not a friend in the world to call upon for help. Well, at least none that she remembered.

Setting her hand protectively over her abdomen, Hannah tried not to wonder if her situation could get any worse.

The acetaminophen wasn’t helping. Not with the headache. Or the nausea. Or with the aches that had crept steadily into her bones since she’d wakened. It certainly wasn’t helping to ease the shock of learning she was three months pregnant.

Stepping out of the shower, Hannah quickly toweled her body and tried in vain not to worry about what the coming hours would bring. Venturing out into that great big world out there scared the bejeebers out of her. For the second time in the last hour, her hand dropped protectively to her ever-so-slightly rounded tummy. The gesture surprised her—and brought an unbidden smile to her face. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she whispered. “Mommy just needs to get used to the idea of you being in there.”

As she stared down at the place where a tiny life grew inside her, a profound sense of warmth enveloped her. A sense of rightness and calm and sweet inevitability all but vanquished the anxiety plaguing her. In that moment, somehow, she knew everything would be all right.

Clinging to the thought, she slipped into the faded scrubs and fluffy blue sweatshirt that wielded the hospital’s insignia. Because of the frostbite on her feet, she couldn’t yet wear regular shoes, but the E.R. respiratory therapist had donated a pair of clunky, open-toed sandals big enough to accommodate her bandaged feet. Hannah wasn’t going to win any fashion awards anytime soon, but she was warm and comfortable and figured for a woman who’d gambled with the Grim Reaper and won just twenty-four hours earlier, she couldn’t ask for much more.

She was alive. Her injuries were minor—well, aside from her memory loss—which continued to drive her to slow insanity. But the prognosis was good, she reminded herself. Even if it took a visit to the psychiatrist Dr. Morgan had recommended, Hannah swore she wouldn’t rest until she knew her identity.

Pushing open the door, she stepped out of the bathroom. A smile curved her mouth when she saw Cora, her nurse, bent over the bed packing an overnight bag that had definitely seen better days. “I could have packed that myself,” Hannah said.

Turning, Cora held out two packages of Girl Scout cookies. “Do you like peanut butter or chocolate?”

“Chocolate…I think.”

“A woman of my own heart.” The older woman turned back to her packing and laid both boxes of cookies inside. “At least you remember what you like to eat.”

“I see you’re all packed.”

Hannah’s heart stuttered at the sound of the deep male voice. She spun to see John Maitland standing in the doorway. His short-cropped hair might have looked conservative on another man, but the day’s growth of beard and that careless grin conjured anything but conservative images. He looked good enough to make even the most cautious woman long for recklessness. And as much as Hannah wanted to believe she was immune to his blue eyes and chiseled mouth, the sudden quiver low in her belly told her she wasn’t.

His gaze swept down the front of her. “Nice duds.”

“The nurses took up a collection and donated the sweatshirt, scrubs and even a pair of jeans….” Her voice trailedas he crossed to her and stopped just short of invading her space.

“You look really good in scrubs, Red.”

The towel she’d been holding slipped from her hands and fell to the floor. “I thought you had to get back to headquarters.”

“Just doing a little follow-up care.”

“I didn’t realize medics did that sort of thing.”

“I do, but just for the pretty redheads.”

She blinked, charmed and flustered at once, and felt her cheeks heat. “You’re flirting with me again.”

“Bad habit of mine.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

Not quite sure how to react, she forced a laugh. Okay, brain, you can start working now, a desperate little voice whispered.

“How’s the head?” he asked.

Spinning, she thought dully, then gave herself a quick mental shake. She knew better than to let his presence affect her, but her heart was doing tricks in her chest, refusing to pump enough blood to her brain. The lack of oxygen was making her dizzy.

“Better,” she said, but her voice was breathless and high. His proximity wasn’t helping matters, but then neither was his size. The man was at least six-four. His shoulders were nearly as wide as the door and just as solid looking. Hannah judged her own height to be about five-six. Not short by any means, but standing next to John Maitland, she felt dwarfed.

Her cognitive powers ground to a halt the instant the piney woods scent of his aftershave curled around her brain. She couldn’t bring herself to smile or say anything even remotely intelligent. If her heart beat any faster, the damn thing was going to explode. Then she’d really be in trouble. Well, at least she was in the right place if they needed to rush her down to the emergency room.

Why did the man have to complicate matters by being so damned attractive, anyway? She shouldn’t even be noticing such a thing, considering she was carrying another man’s child.

“Any luck with your memory?” he asked.

“The biggest revelation I’ve had is that I prefer chocolate over peanut butter.”

“Ah, there’s some headway.” His grin was quick and lethal. “At least you’ve got your priorities straight.”

Okay, heart, you can slow down now. Hoping for a second in which to regain her composure, she knelt to pick up the towel she’d dropped. John must have gotten the same idea at precisely the same moment, because he stooped and reached for the towel.

“I’ve got it,” she said, but her mind fumbled the instant his gaze met hers. All she saw was blue. Electric blue that reminded her of dusk on the mountain, bracing and clear and so vivid, she wanted to step forward and free-fall into its depths—and worry about the consequences later.

His grin widened. “I’ve got it.”

She gave the towel a small tug.

He tugged back.

Not quite sure how to deal with him, she looked away, found herself staring at her sock-and-sandal-clad feet. Embarrassment washed over her. Oh, terrific. Not only did she have a brain that seemed to be working at twenty-five percent capacity, but she also had a scrape the size of Pikes Peak on her nose, a bruise on her cheek that looked like an overripe eggplant and shoes that would make even the most practical woman dive under the bed and not come out until Mr. Gorgeous left the room.

“Don’t worry about the shoes,” he said. “They look great.”

Hannah choked out a helpless laugh and relinquished the towel. “The nurses of Lake County Hospital know how to pull together when they have a tough case on their hands.”

Setting his hand gently against her biceps, he rose, easing her up with him. “I brought you something.”

“A few pounds of ginkgo biloba?” she muttered under her breath.

He smiled and held out a shopping bag. “Better.”

She looked down at the label on the bag and her heart did a weird little roll in her chest. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“Routine follow-up,” he said deadpan.

Not knowing what else to do, she reached for the bag and looked inside. Her throat tightened at the sight of the coat.

“It’s down-filled,” he offered. “With a hood to keep you warm.”

“Thank you.” Her voice broke unexpectedly as she ran her fingers over the silky material. “It’s beautiful…and practical. I mean, I hadn’t even thought about needing one.”

“It’s hovering around zero outside.” Reaching into the bag, he pulled out the coat.

Cora shuffled over and looked at it with a mother’s critical eye. “Oh, yeah, honey, this will keep you plenty warm. The blue looks good with all that red hair of yours, too.” Taking the coat from John, she held it out for Hannah to try on. “Well, John Maitland, I always wondered if your mama raised a gentleman. I reckon she did.”

He winked at the nurse. “A scoundrel in gentleman’s clothes.”

Cora rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know it.”

As Hannah slipped her arms into the sleeves, a jab of uncertainty assailed her. She didn’t have a way to pay for any of the things that had been given to her, she realized suddenly. Not her medical bill. Not the overnight bag or the clothes in it. Not even the coat.

“Perfect fit,” Cora said. “Looks nice and warm, too.”

Hannah glanced up to see John’s gaze sweep down the front of her. An uncomfortable awareness crept over her, and she resisted the urge to shiver. Not because she was cold, but because the man’s assessing gaze did funny things to her nerve endings. All two million of them.

“I don’t have any way to pay for this,” she blurted. “I mean, I don’t have any—”

“The coat is a gift,” John interjected.

Cora huffed. “I don’t want to hear any talk about pay-backs, honey. You just concentrate on getting settled into that shelter and getting your memory back.”

Hannah tried not to show how much the thought of leaving the hospital scared her. She couldn’t afford to be scared. Now was not the time to act like a frightened twelve-year-old. She wanted her life back. All of it, including her past—even if that meant remembering something unpleasant. She needed to know who she was. Where she lived. Who’d fathered the child growing inside her.

Who’d tried to kill her.

The thought brought gooseflesh to her arms.

Hannah jumped when the intercom next to the bed sounded. Cora made a rude gesture at it, then smiled. “I’ve gotta run, honey. Mr. Bowerfind down the hall needs me. You take care of yourself, you hear?”

On impulse, Hannah reached for the other woman and hugged her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

Cora hugged her back fiercely, then set her at arm’s length. “I’ll expect a call when you get settled in at Angela Pearl’s.”

“I’ll call. Thanks.”

Sniffing once, Cora patted John’s arm, then left the room.

Hannah stared after her, acutely aware of the press of silence—and the solid presence of the man standing next to her. “I’d better get going,” she said.

He looked down at the solitary bag sitting open on the bed. “Need some help with that?”

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

He didn’t move away, and the moment turned awkward. Okay, so he’d been nice enough to bring her the coat. That didn’t mean she was going to hug him the way she’d hugged Cora. The man might have saved her life, but Hannah didn’t need her memory to know he was dangerous. He was far too attractive, and she just happened to be three months pregnant. That meant there was another man in her life. A man with whom she obviously had a serious relationship. A man whose name she couldn’t even remember.

John Maitland unsettled her; she couldn’t afford to be unsettled. She might have lost her memory, but she hadn’t lost her mind.

Rattled by her awareness of him, the stark reality of her situation and an uncomfortable sense of vulnerability, she drew a breath and turned to him, a smile pasted to her face despite the fact that her eyes had warmed with unshed tears. “Cora is worse than an old mother hen. Girl Scout cookies, for goodness’ sakes.”

The tone of her voice didn’t ring true even to Hannah, and she winced with every overly cheerful word. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to prove that none of this had gotten to her. Not the amnesia. Not her injuries, or the mysterious bruises that marred her throat and arms. All she knew was that it was suddenly very important to her for this man to know she was strong and capable and in control.

Without looking at him, she eased the coat from her shoulders and turned away to drape it over the bag. “I appreciate you stopping by, but I have to check out now.”

“Hannah…”

“My discharge papers haven’t even been signed yet. I’ve got a million things to—”

“Hannah.”

She jolted when a pair of strong hands closed gently around her upper arms. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want him to see her like this. Not with a bruised face and tears in her eyes and no place in the world to go or call her own. Not with her emotions scraped raw and fear slithering like a reptile inside her. She didn’t even know this man, but she couldn’t bear the thought of him feeling sorry for her because all she had were the clothes on her back and the promise of a bed at a women’s shelter full of strangers.

Slowly he turned her to face him. “What’s with the cheerleader act?”

Hannah looked everywhere but into his discerning gaze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know this isn’t easy for you. You don’t have to—”

“I’m fine, and for the record you can stop looking at me like I’m going to cry.” It was a stupid statement, since the blasted tears had already spilled over and proceeded to run down her cheeks, betraying her bravado and taking the last of her dignity with them. Determined to keep a handle on her emotions, she raised her hand and swiped at the tears with the back of her bandaged hand. The last thing she wanted to do was let her emotions spiral out of control when this man was standing so close. If that happened, she might do something stupid like step into his embrace and let him wrap those strong arms around her one more time. In a small corner of her mind, she wondered how the father of her unborn child would feel about that.

The thought jolted her, sent her back a step to a safer distance. “Don’t you have a rescue or something to go to?”

A thick, black brow arched. “Look, I didn’t mean anything by bringing the coat. I just thought—”

“It’s not the coat. I appreciate it very much. I just want you to know I’ve got the situation under control.”

“Sure you do.”

“I don’t need…you know, rescuing or anything.”

“I’m not here to rescue you.”

“As long as you understand that. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I’m handling this just fine.”

“That’s obvious.” He pulled a handkerchief from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. “Here.”

Taking the handkerchief, Hannah scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. Okay, so she was losing it a little. Pregnant women were supposed to be overly emotional, weren’t they? She wasn’t even sure why the damn tears kept coming. Just that she was frightened and alone and so lost, she felt it all the way down to the pit of her stomach.

Putting his fingertips beneath her chin, he forced her gaze to his. “It’s all right to be scared.”

Her first impulse was to deny it. She didn’t know why, but something inside her equated fear with weakness. A sudden jolt of insight told her that her need to stand on her own two feet, to be strong and in control sprang from something that had happened in the past. Some profound event that had changed her forever and left a permanent mark deep in her psyche.

Easing away from him, she forced a smile and met his gaze. “I’m not scared,” she said. “Just a little…unsettled.”

“Unsettled?” He had the gall to look amused. “I’d be pretty damn terrified if I were in your shoes.”

Hannah looked down at her ugly shoes, and felt a helpless laugh bubble up. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I never say anything I don’t mean, Red.”

She didn’t doubt it. The man was direct, not to mention intense. At some point, he’d invaded her space again. Her heart was beating way too fast. She needed to swallow, but wasn’t sure her throat could manage it, so she didn’t. Instead, she gazed into his alpine-blue eyes, starkly aware of his size, the intensity of his gaze, and the clean, masculine scent of his aftershave.

“I have to go arrange for a van,” she whispered, stepping back. “Thanks again for the coat.”

He shot a glance toward the window. “There’s snow moving in. Knowing Angela Pearl, she probably doesn’t have tire chains on her van or any other vehicle she owns.”

“You know her?”

“I was a paramedic in Denver a couple of years before I started with Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue. Angela and I go way back. You’ll like her. She runs a decent shelter.” He contemplated her with thoughtful scrutiny. “What do you say we skip the van and I’ll drive you?”

John hadn’t always been such a sucker. He figured he would probably live to regret offering Hannah a ride. But as he’d stared into the depths of her soft eyes, taking in the mix of uncertainty and courage and another emotion he couldn’t quite put his finger on, he knew he wasn’t going to walk away—even if his instincts were screaming for him to do just that.

He’d looked the other way too many times in his life when it came to women in trouble. As a boy, he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. As a man, he knew all too well what he was capable of. He wondered how Hannah would react if she knew what had happened the last time he’d decided to get involved.

John knew what he was. Just as he knew why he felt the constant need to atone for it. And whether being a rescuer was his saving grace—or his fatal flaw—he knew himself far too well not to realize he didn’t have a choice but to help her.

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