“I appreciate you trying to make me feel better. I’m sorry I woke you.”

Laura shivered.

Sean caught that and said slowly, “Why don’t you snuggle down and get some rest? I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

Laura marveled at how easily he’d read her mind, that she dreaded being alone after a nightmare. Scooting down inside the covers, she let him arrange her pillows more comfortably. “Thank you,” she whispered, and closed her eyes.

Sean lay gazing at her in the dim glow of the night-light. She was every bit as lovely as he’d said she was. And she was going through a bad time. She needed someone to help her through it. And as he settled in with his arms around her, he thought that maybe he was that someone.

There was that protective urge again. He hadn’t felt that way in a very long time.

Maybe it was a good sign.

Dear Reader,

During the warm days of July, what better way to kick back and enjoy the best of summer reading than with six stellar stories from Special Edition as we continue to celebrate Silhouette’s 20th Anniversary all year long!

With The Pint-Sized Secret, Sherryl Woods continues to delight her readers with another winning installment of her popular miniseries AND BABY MAKES THREE: THE DELACOURTS OF TEXAS. Reader favorite Lindsay McKenna starts her new miniseries, MORGAN’S MERCENARIES: MAVERICK HEARTS, with Man of Passion, her fiftieth book. A stolen identity leads to true love in Patricia Thayer’s compelling Whose Baby Is This? And a marriage of convenience proves to be anything but in rising star Allison Leigh’s Married to a Stranger in her MEN OF THE DOUBLE-C RANCH miniseries. Rounding off the month is celebrated author Pat Warren’s Doctor and the Debutante, where the healthy dose of romance is just what the physician ordered, while for the heroine in Beth Henderson’s Maternal Instincts, a baby-sitting assignment turns into a practice run for motherhood—and marriage.

Hope you enjoy this book and the other unforgettable stories Special Edition is happy to bring you this month!

All the best,

Karen Taylor Richman,

Senior Editor

Doctor and the Debutante
Pat Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Brooks Rector, a dear friend of my husband’s for years, and now mine, too.

Happy reading!

Books by Pat Warren

Silhouette Special Edition

With This Ring #375

Final Verdict #410

Look Homeward, Love #442

Summer Shadows #458

The Evolution of Adam #480

Build Me a Dream #514

The Long Road Home #548

The Lyon and the Lamb #582

My First Love, My Last #610

Winter Wishes #632

Till I Loved You #659

An Uncommon Love #678

Under Sunny Skies #731

That Hathaway Woman #758

Simply Unforgettable #797

This I Ask of You #815

On Her Own #841

A Bride for Hunter #893

Nobody’s Child #974

*A Home for Hannah #1048

*Keeping Kate #1060

Daddy’s Home #1157

Stranded on the Ranch #1199

Daddy by Surprise #1301

Doctor and the Debutante #1337

Silhouette Romance

Season of the Heart #553

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Perfect Strangers #288

Only the Lonely #605

*Michael’s House #737

Stand-In Father #855

Silhouette Books

Montana Mavericks

Outlaw Lovers #6

PAT WARREN,

mother of four, lives in Arizona with her travel agent husband and a lazy white cat. She’s a former newspaper columnist whose lifetime dream was to become a novelist. A strong romantic streak, a sense of humor and a keen interest in developing relationships led her to try romance novels, with which she feels very much at home.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

The snow had been coming down for at least three hours, lightly at first, then more heavily. Hands in the back pockets of his corduroy slacks, Sean Reagan stood looking out the front window of his cabin in the Gray Mountains of Arizona, a frown on his face as he watched the wind hurl a mound of snow onto the porch. The temperature had undoubtedly dropped since he’d taken a walk several hours ago. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly the weather could change in winter this far north.

Then again, what difference did the weather make? Sean thought as he crossed the big open room and bent to throw another log into the fireplace. He was inside, warm and safe. And alone, at least for this second week in February, a ritual he’d begun four years ago. Fortunately Dr. Jonah Evans, his partner in their busy OB-GYN medical practice, understood Sean’s need to get away at this particular time and covered for him.

It wasn’t a vacation, not really. The thing was Sean hadn’t much use for people who constantly felt sorry for themselves or grieved in public. So each year, he set aside this one week where he could weep in private if that’s how he felt, or rail at the fates for changing his life so radically. Alone up here, he could chop wood, take long walks, read a book and hopefully heal. Then he could go back and get on with his life. Or so the theory went.

Sean had built the cabin himself and knew it was rock solid. Some would call it rustic and remote, sitting as it was in the midst of evergreens and rocks large enough to be called boulders. There was a stream that ran along the back perimeter with water so pure and clean you could count every pebble. The evenings and early mornings he’d sat on his covered porch and listened to the birds and small wildlife scurrying about in the tall grass had been some of the happiest of his life.

But that had been then and this was now.

He’d learned the hard way that not everyone shared his pleasure in seclusion and solitude, in the simple life, in hard work and patiently moving toward a goal.

Straightening, he dusted off his hands and decided to warm some soup. But a loud crashing sound from outside had him stopping in his tracks and cocking his head to listen more closely. Was it just the wind and the storm escalating? Or could a tree limb have broken loose and fallen onto his attached garage where his Mercedes was parked? Moving to the window again, he tried to see out, but the snow was coming down thick and heavy. Reluctantly, he decided he’d better go check.

He tugged on his boots, then his sheepskin jacket, zipping it up against the swirling snow as he ventured out, pulling on his leather gloves before closing the door. The wind howled past, the snow blowing every which way. Stepping off the porch, he sank into a drift almost to his knees, making walking difficult. Squinting as he looked up along the roofline, he could see no damage to the garage. Still, something had made that noise. There were trees all around—pine and cottonwood and paloverdes—but he couldn’t spot any fallen limbs.

Only late afternoon and yet it was growing dark rapidly with no sign the snow would let up anytime soon. Already he could barely make out his driveway leading to the one-lane road two miles in from the highway. Trudging out aways, trying to spot anything amiss, Sean felt a clump of cold white stuff fall beneath his collar, causing him to shiver. Suddenly he noticed some wide tracks veering off the driveway that seemed to be fresh. That was odd.

As he gazed off to the left, he saw lights glinting off something silvery coming from the hillside below. Curiosity had Sean stepping gingerly along the incline toward the light. Closer now, he could see more tracks in the snow that were definitely recent, wide tire tracks.

Through the snow-covered branches, he peered down and was able to make out a large vehicle stuck between two trees near the bottom of the gully. Smoky steam was spiraling up from beneath a crushed hood. Getting closer, he saw that it was a late model silver Bronco that had probably hit a tree, then done a complete 180, swiveling about in the slippery snow, its back end wedged in tightly, its nose pointing upward.

Hurrying over, Sean peeked in through the closest window. A woman was slumped over on her side in the front seat, her thick hair hiding her face. A fat tree limb had broken through the windshield, probably on first impact, stopping mere centimeters from her very still form. He could see no one else in the vehicle.

Medical instincts on alert, Sean knew he had to see if she was alive, to check out her injuries. He tried to open the driver’s door, but it was too close to a large fir. Moving as fast as humanly possible in the deep snow, he went around to the other side where there was a little more room between the passenger side and a tall pine. But the door was locked.

Worried about the woman trapped inside, that she might be bleeding to death while he figured out how to rescue her, he looked around for any fallen branches large enough to break the side window. He could see none.

Cursing under his breath, he retraced his steps to the cabin. He’d need some tools to break a window or pry open a door. But the overhead door of the garage was blocked by mounds of windblown snow. Rushing, he entered his house and all but ran through to the connecting door to the garage. Grabbing a hammer and crowbar, he made his painstaking way back to the Bronco.

The woman hadn’t moved.

It took two swings to break the passenger side window enough so he could reach in and unlock the door. Wedging the door open as far as the pine tree would allow and propping it in place with the crowbar, Sean leaned into the front seat and yanked off one glove. He brushed her hair aside and placed two fingers on her throat, searching for a pulse. At last, he felt her heartbeat, thready but definitely there. He let out a relieved breath.

If she’d been driving a smaller car, she probably wouldn’t be breathing. The heavy Bronco had saved her life.

Decision time. To remove her might make any internal injuries worse, yet he couldn’t leave her there with the blowing snow and the temperature well below freezing. The chances of getting an EMS unit here quickly in this storm were slim to none. He’d have to do his best to get her inside his cabin and tend to her injuries.

As if to remind him to quit stalling, the merciless wind sent a rush of snow right at him, powdering his face and hair. The storm was building in intensity. Sean knew from past experience that residents up here could be marooned for days before help could arrive to dig them out. He was the woman’s only hope. And he was a doctor, dedicated to saving lives.

There’d never really been any other choice.

Carefully, he leaned back in, reached over and unbuckled her seat belt. Slowly, he eased the woman’s upper torso away from the protruding branch and the steering wheel, maneuvering her toward himself. As her head fell back, he saw blood from a wound on her forehead, but he’d known she’d probably have some lacerations from the flying glass of the windshield, if not from the impact itself. With no small effort in the cramped space, he finally got her shoulders through the door, but he couldn’t reach back in for her legs.

Praying that he wasn’t adding to her injuries, he dragged her through the confined space until she was totally free of the vehicle. Bracing his booted feet in the slippery snow, he bent at the knees and managed to hoist her up into his arms. Thankfully, she was a small woman. Her head angled toward his shoulder, and she mumbled something he couldn’t quite make out. Something that sounded like Max or Mex.

Had he missed someone, perhaps a child? As best he could with the woman in his arms, he squinted into the back seat, searching for a tiny form, a movement, a sound. No, there was only a leather handbag on the floor next to a somewhat tattered blanket.

It seemed a mile to the cabin door as he carried his dead-weight burden in nearly knee-deep snow up the incline and across the unshoveled driveway. At six-one and a healthy thirty-one years old, Sean was in good shape, yet he still found the going rough. Boosting her up for a better hold, he climbed the porch steps and almost dropped her legs as he struggled to open the door.

At last inside, he carried her to the couch in front of the fireplace and placed her on it as gently as he was able. Letting out a deep breath, he shook the snow off his hair, then went back to close the door, remove his gloves and toe off his boots. Unzipping his coat as he hurried back to her, he saw that blood streaked her face and she was quite wet from the snow that had fallen in on her through the broken windshield and the walk to the cabin. The crash he’d heard in the cabin had undoubtedly been the Bronco which meant she hadn’t lain out there too long.

Still, hypothermia can set in quickly when an injured person’s blood pressure drops, Sean knew. Quickly, he whipped off his jacket and went to his bedroom, returning with his medical bag and a towel. Shifting her into a better position on the oversize couch, he again checked her pulse, pleased to find it even stronger than before. She looked to be somewhere in her twenties, which would definitely be in her favor.

Gently he pushed up first one eyelid, then the other. Pupils okay, a good sign. Her eyes were large and deep blue. Probably one of her best assets, Sean thought absently.

Dampening a sterile gauze pad with alcohol, he brushed back her long black hair and cleaned the wound on her forehead. Quite deep but still just a superficial cut. He put antibiotic ointment on a clean gauze pad, placed it on the wound, then taped it in place. Next he eased off her leather jacket. As he lifted her, she moaned out loud, her face contorting as if in pain. He tossed the jacket aside. Underneath, she had on a blue sweater with designer jeans and leather flats on her sockless feet.

Her clothes weren’t off the usual racks, Sean noticed. They were expensive and in good taste. She had a gold chain around her neck that was heavy and very real. On her right hand, she wore an amethyst ring in a simple gold setting that didn’t come cheap.

Moving his hands very carefully, he trailed them over her body from her head to her toes, letting her groans tell him as much as his fingers learned. He was more doctor than man now, his experienced touch trying to ascertain the extent of her injuries. Finishing, he leaned back, studying her face.

Probably a concussion if she’d hit her head hard enough to sustain that cut, hopefully not too severe. There were some bruises forming on her face, and she might wake up to a couple of black eyes, but no other cuts visible. Her right shoulder was dislocated, her arm hanging limply at her side. Her left ankle was swollen, but didn’t appear to be broken.

Nothing too serious if the concussion wasn’t bad. He’d fixed many a dislocated shoulder in his residency days and ER rotation—painful but not life threatening.

Gently, he pulled up her sweater and saw red marks on her stomach that would surely darken into some pretty nasty bruises from where the steering wheel had slammed into her. The seat belt had kept her upper body in place, yet her right shoulder had still dislocated. Without the belt, she’d have been tossed onto the floor like a rag doll, sustaining far more serious injuries. Or her head might have smashed into that jutting tree limb.

All in all, she appeared to be one lucky lady, Sean concluded.

She didn’t look comfortable, so he settled her into the soft folds of the corduroy couch, adjusting pillows around her. Again she moaned, mumbling, and this time he could make out a word. Max. There’d been no one else in the Bronco, of that he was certain. Was Max her husband? She wore no wedding ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t married. Many of the nurses he worked with chose not to wear their rings, for whatever reason.

Gazing at the woman as a man and not just a doctor, Sean saw that she was beautiful with all that lush black hair, high cheekbones and thick lashes dark against her pale skin. He couldn’t help but wonder where she’d been headed in such a storm, where she was from and who if anyone was waiting for her arrival. Maybe Max? If not a husband, was he perhaps a lover she was rushing to meet?

None of his business, he decided, frowning.

He reached for the towel and gently patted her face dry, then used it to dry her hair. As he shifted her, she shivered and began shaking, probably from shock. He set his medicine bag on the floor, then went to get an afghan his mother had made. Laying the cover over her, he tucked the ends around her feet after removing her shoes.

She should wake up soon, he thought, unless he’d missed something in his somewhat hasty exam.

Returning to tend the fire, Sean put two more logs on, then hunched down and poked at the wood, working up a strong blaze. His pant legs were almost dry, but his socks were wet from padding around the cabin in the snow tracks made by his wet boots.

With one last look at his unexpected guest, he went to his bedroom for a pair of dry socks.

Pain intruded into her consciousness and made itself known. It seemed everywhere—her head, her shoulder, her ankle, her stomach. Sharp, throbbing, intense. She tried to move, but the pain stopped her. She tried to sink back into the black oblivion of sleep, but the pain pushed her awake.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. Hazy vision. Blinking, she tried to clear it. When finally she did, she recognized nothing.

She was in a large room on a couch, covered with a blue-and-white afghan. There was an oak coffee table nearby, a braided oval rug over plank flooring, dancing flames in a huge fireplace. The heat felt good for she was cold, shivering.

Where was she?

She heard a door open, footsteps. Who? Though the pain sliced through her, she sank deeper into the couch, fear causing her heart to race. Then he came into view.

She sized him up in seconds: tall, over six feet, broad shoulders, sandy hair cut short, a lean, tan unsmiling face. He wore a black turtleneck sweater over gray cords and leather moccasins. He stopped by the couch, looking down at her with blue-gray eyes filled with questions. Unable to hide the fear in her eyes, she clutched the afghan in trembling fists and stared back at him.

“Glad you’re finally awake,” he said, pulling a footstool over to the couch and sitting down.

She withdrew deeper into the cushions surrounding her. “Who are you?” she managed, her voice raspy. Her gaze did a quick circle of the cabin. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the Gray Mountains. I’m Sean Reagan and this is my cabin on Hollow Oak Road. You had an accident. Your Bronco swerved off the road and hit a couple of trees.” He watched her take that in, digest it.

“Yes, the Gray Mountains. I remember I was on my way to my family’s place on Ridgeway Road.”

He nodded, recognizing the street. “You turned about a mile too soon. Ridgeway’s just north of me.”

“It was snowing hard and I couldn’t recognize anything familiar.” Fear hadn’t left her altogether. “You…you live here alone?” Please let there be a wife, a mother, somebody.

Sean was well aware what was bothering her. He softened his expression, trying to relieve her mind. “Actually, I live in Scottsdale. I built this cabin for times when I want to get away from the city. I’m a doctor, an obstetrician.” He pointed to his bag on the floor next to the couch. “Quite legit. My office is on Scottsdale Road.”

He watched her face as she assessed that information. “I could show you my hospital I.D.” He finally smiled. “Honest, I’m not an ax murderer.”

The smile made him look less menacing, but she didn’t return it as she glanced down at the gray bag, still wary. “I thought all doctors had little black bags.”

“Not really. They come in all colors.” He shifted closer. “I’d like to examine you again, now that you’re awake.”

The startled look was back on her face. “How do you mean? You…examined me?” She had trouble thinking of this very attractive, very masculine man as a medical person.

“Please relax. I’m a doctor. And I didn’t undress you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Without waiting for her permission, he forced her eyes wider to check her pupils then took out his stethoscope and listened to her heart and lungs. Her breathing was a bit fast as was her heartbeat, probably because she was still nervous about him.

With careful fingers, he touched her shoulder and she cried out. “This is your worst injury, a dislocated shoulder. Fixable but with some discomfort.” His hand went to her ankle, examining the tender swollen flesh. “Just a sprain but you’d best stay off it for awhile.” He indicated the gauze on her forehead. “That’s a cut I’ve already cleaned and bandaged.” He tapped lightly on her stomach through the sweater. “You’ve got some bruising here, from the steering wheel. Not serious, but painful.”

Sean watched her hand snake under her sweater as she realized he must have looked her over quite thoroughly.

He’s a doctor, she reminded herself. She raised a hand to check out the forehead bandage, then let her fingers drift into her hair. “My head really hurts.”

He nodded. “You undoubtedly have a concussion, but not a serious one. I’ll give you something for the pain.”

So many questions whirling around in her brain. “How’d I get in here? You say you found me?”

“I heard the crash and went out to check. I got you out and carried you here.” He could see concern and lingering pain in those midnight blue eyes, and wondered how they’d look when she laughed, when she was happy.

“I…thank you.” It was the least she could say.

Pausing, he studied her face. Her color was better, her complexion not so pale. “What in the world were you doing out in such a storm? Were you rushing to meet someone at the Ridgeway cabin? Because, up here, when it storms like this, the phones generally go out for days at a time. Is someone waiting for you—a parent, a husband, a boyfriend?”

She frowned. Her father was generally too busy to wonder where she was, her husband was now an ex and she hadn’t had a boyfriend in…well, a very long time.

She was honestly trying to remember, but everything was oddly hazy. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t going to meet anyone. I often go to the cabin alone. I love it there, like a secure haven. It was raining in Scottsdale when I left but I never dreamed I’d drive into a snowstorm.” She closed her eyes, willing the memory to return. “I remember I was in a hurry. That much seems clear. I had this urgency to get away, from something or someone. But I’m not sure who or why.” Her eyes opened and met his, filled with distress. “It’s really odd. I can’t seem to remember any more.”

“Not so odd. Can you think of anyone you’re afraid of?”

She just looked more confused. “I don’t know.”

No use pushing right now. She’d remember in time. Sean studied her huge blue eyes, the kind that could make a strong man weak. Then there was that cloud of jet-black hair and her lovely face without so much as a blemish, not even a freckle. To say nothing of her very feminine curves beneath the bulky sweater, her chest rising and falling with her nervous breathing.

He scooted the stool back a bit. “You haven’t told me your name,” he reminded her. Did she even remember it?

Good manners had been drilled into her from childhood. They had her setting aside her fear and responding to him. After all, he was a doctor, a caregiver. She had no reasonable reason to be afraid of him. The fear she felt was lingering from…from whatever it was she’d left behind.

“I’m sorry. Laura Marshall. I have an interior design studio in Old Scottsdale. My father’s Owen Marshall. He’s…”

“I’ve heard of him. He’s a Realtor.” Not just any Realtor, but one who owned half a dozen or so residential offices plus a large commercial division. He should have guessed from her clothes. Her family had pots of money. And yet, here she was, running from something. Or someone.

“Yes, that’s right. I decorate the company’s model homes, but I have a private clientele, as well.”

“Do you live with your father?” Sean had never met Owen Marshall, but he’d read that the man was widowed and lived in a large sprawling home on Camelback Mountain.

Something flickered in her eyes, a quick distaste, then was gone so quickly he wasn’t certain he’d seen it at all. “No, not since I left for college. I have a town house in Scottsdale in Old Town.”

“I’m not far from you. I have an older house on Mockingbird Lane that I’ve been renovating. Near Judson School in Paradise Valley.”

Finally, she believed him. “I know exactly where that is.” But a frown creased her forehead. “Why is it I can remember personal details, but not why I was in such a hurry to leave town?”

“It’s called traumatic amnesia. Someone who’s been traumatized by something fearful can’t recall the hurtful details but remembers common facts about her life. The rest will come back to you in time. Maybe gradually, or perhaps all at once. It’s the mind’s way of protecting you from an event too painful to recall. Something will trigger the memory when you’re ready to remember.”

Laura stared at his face, thinking he looked sincere and concerned. “You really are a doctor, aren’t you? I’m sorry I doubted you, but…”

“You don’t have to apologize. You had a frightful experience, then a bad accident and you woke up in a stranger’s house with injuries. Anyone would be skeptical.”

“My Bronco. Is it in bad shape?”

He shrugged. “Depends what you mean by bad. You must have veered off the road and down this incline, hit a small tree, then the Bronco spun around and wound up with its back end wedged between two trees. I think it can be repaired. If you’d have been driving a smaller car, you might not be here talking with me.”

She shuddered at the close call. “I just bought the Bronco about six months ago. I used to drive a BMW two-seater. But I have to carry around all these samples—carpeting, drapery, paint swatches, wood panels. I guess it was a good decision to switch.”

“Amen to that.”

Laura shifted on the couch, attempting to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through her shoulder. “Oh!”

“I think we’d better get your shoulder back in place,” Sean told her, getting to his feet. “I take it you’ve never had this type of injury before?”

Her face registered discomfort and reluctance. “No. How exactly do we get it back in place?” Laura had a feeling she wasn’t going to like whatever he was about to suggest.

“You’re going to have to trust me.” He bent to help her stand, moving gently, aware of her many sources of pain and that her ankle might prevent her from standing without help. “Put your good arm around my shoulder and hold on.” When she did, he lifted her into his arms.

Laura bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry out with the pain that stabbed like a knife through her shoulder. Her arm felt limp and useless. Despite that, as he carried her across the room, she couldn’t help but be aware of how strong he was, holding her as easily as if she were a child. His hands were large and powerful. She could scarcely imagine this big man delivering tiny babies. She’d always pictured obstetricians as middle-aged, comfortably solid, inviting confidence not speculation. Sort of neuter, sexless, harmless.

Sean Reagan was anything but. With his ruddy complexion, windblown sandy hair and athletic build, he looked more like a man who worked outdoors chopping down trees rather than bringing new lives into the world. Unbidden, her gaze settled on his mouth. Full lips, a small dimple in one corner, thoroughly tempting.

Lord, what was wrong with her, thinking sexy thoughts about a man she’d just met? That bonk on the head must have rattled her more than she’d thought. But there was a dormant sexuality about him that, even in her bruised and battered state, made her very keenly aware that she was a woman.

She didn’t need the reminder just now.

At the paneled wall, Sean stopped to explain. “I’m going to set you on your feet and brace you with my body up against the wall since I know your one ankle won’t hold your weight. I need you to hold very still, and I’m going to tell you now, this will hurt. But only for a few seconds.”

Eyes wide, Laura stared at him. “What are you going to do?” Laura remembered vaguely reading a story where someone had fixed a dislocated shoulder for a patient. It hadn’t been a pretty scene.

“The ball of your shoulder has slipped out of the socket. The only way to fix it is to yank really hard on your arm and allow the ball to jump back into place. Can you handle that?”

She wasn’t sure. “What if you yank and it doesn’t go in?”

He almost smiled. “It will. I’ve done this many times.”

“Ever lose anyone doing it?”

Now he did smile. “Keep that sense of humor.” Carefully, he stood her up and held on while she settled most of her weight on the uninjured foot. Only she was wobbly, perhaps even a little dizzy, and her knees kept buckling.

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” He aligned their bodies so that he was very close up against her, keeping her from sliding down by pressing himself into her as she stood with her back to the wall. The top of her head came to just under his chin. The warm womanly scent of her drifted to him as her hair nuzzled against his nose. Sean swallowed hard and dipped his head back. He’d better hurry before he embarrassed himself. “Ready?”

She felt light-headed, whether from her combined injuries, her painful arm or the reaction of being all but glued to this very male stranger, her breasts flattened against his chest, her ear pressed to his pounding heart, she couldn’t have said. “Let’s get this over with, please.” Praying she wouldn’t faint on him, Laura mentally braced herself.

Sean eased his upper body slightly away from her, placed one arm diagonally across her chest to keep her upright and took hold of her right arm with his left hand. Counting to three, he yanked hard and heard the pop as the ball slipped back into her shoulder socket. It was almost drowned out by Laura’s sharp cry.

Disliking having to hurt her any more than she was already hurting, he scooped her up into his arms and held her close, letting her absorb some of his strength. He’d always been a sucker for a woman in pain. Her face was again very pale and pinched, her eyes closed. She cradled her arm against her chest. “Are you all right?”

Just then, all the lamps went out, the furnace clicked off and the only light came from the soft glow of the fireplace clear across the room, the only sound that of their labored breathing.

Chapter Two

“Oh, no,” Laura muttered. What a time for a power outage.

“Just wait a minute,” Sean said, holding on to her. In seconds, there was a shuddering sound, then a large click. The lights blinked back on, and the furnace made a whooshing noise before resuming. “The generator kicked in,” he explained. “I have it as a backup since these winter storms often knock out our power.” He carried her back to the couch, easing her down carefully. “I’m sorry I had to hurt you.”

Laura held her injured arm close to her body, hugging it. “Had to be done.” She licked her lips, struggling with a sudden wave of nausea. Swallowing hard, she looked up at him, beginning to panic. “Where’s your bathroom? I think I’m going to be sick.”

She did look a little greenish. “Not far. Let me help you.” He slipped an arm around her and half-carried, half-supported her to a door off the kitchen. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me,” he said, directing her inside, leaving the door slightly ajar so he could hear. He didn’t want her passing out on him.

Poor kid, Sean thought, walking away, giving her some privacy. Shock often brought on nausea. The jolt of repositioning her shoulder had likely been the last straw for her battered system. He wandered over to the front window. It was still coming down just as hard as ever. At this rate, her Bronco would be all but hidden by morning.

Sean walked over to the phone, picked it up to check. Sure enough, it was out, and would be for God only knew how long. Hands in his pockets, he slowly paced the perimeter of the large room, reluctantly admitting that he was stuck with his uninvited guest for quite some time.

Lousy timing. He wasn’t an uncharitable person, and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to help someone hurt and stranded. But he’d had a purpose in coming to the cabin at this particular time, and her arrival messed up his plans. Maybe it was for the best, he thought with a shrug. His partner had repeatedly told Sean what he thought of his annual pilgrimages, that they did more harm than good, and perhaps Jonah was right. Yet each year, as the fifteenth of February approached, Sean would feel compelled to return.

Glancing toward the bathroom door, he wondered how she was doing in there. And how she’d handle being marooned in a strange place with a melancholy man.

Laura splashed cold water on her face, then grabbed a hand towel to dry off. Standing with most of her weight on one foot, she leaned into the sink and stared at her image in the wall mirror. Oh, Lord, was that a black eye? Just what she needed. Hair a mess, face pale, eyes reflecting fatigue and remnants of fear. She wasn’t a beauty to begin with, and now this.

What on earth was she doing here in the house of a sexy stranger who, although he’d been kind, looked as if he wished she’d stayed home? Laura wished she had, too, except for a lingering uneasiness about the home she’d left behind so hastily. How had her life turned into such a chaotic mess in such a short time?

She finger-combed her hair back off her face, realizing that her head hurt too much just now to try to figure things out. She checked the medicine chest and found no new toothbrushes. Mostly shaving stuff, toothpaste, a bottle of aspirin and mouthwash. And a packet of birth control pills. Now that was odd for a man living alone.

Then again, maybe he didn’t live alone some of the time.

She used the mouthwash and felt fresher, but she wished she didn’t have to go out and face Sean. How embarrassing, to get sick like that. She reminded herself he was a doctor, but the reminder didn’t help. He simply didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a doctor. She would never choose a doctor so young and handsome, let him poke and prod her with her wearing only a skimpy gown.

Grimacing, she hobbled to the door and opened it.

He was standing at the window watching the snow and probably wishing he hadn’t gone out and found her. Yet when he turned to look at her, his face registered what seemed to be genuine concern as he walked over to her.

“Are you feeling better?” Sean asked, noticing the bruised look about her huge blue eyes. The right eye was definitely turning black.

Involuntarily, her face flushed. “Yes. I’m so sorry. I never get sick like that, but…”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, slipping a supportive arm around her before she lost her balance. “Shock does that to people. How’s your shoulder?”

“Sore,” she answered, allowing him to help her back to the couch where she sat down gratefully. She’d give anything if he’d go about his business and just let her lie here. A short nap and she was sure she’d feel all right again.

“Can I get you something to eat?”

The mere mention had her stomach churning. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” She hated this feeling of helplessness, of not being able to remember, of needing assistance. Her ankle was throbbing, but she wouldn’t let on. Doctor or not, the man would soon tire of her aches and pains, her complaints, if he hadn’t already.

Sean ignored her polite refusal of food. She needed something in her stomach if he was to give her a pain pill or she might get sick again. “I’d been about to warm some soup before I heard the crash and went out. I could make a sandwich. There’s tuna salad and…”

“Tuna? Oh, heavens!” Laura’s voice was agitated.

“What is it?” he asked. How could the mention of tuna upset her?

“Max, my cat. He was in the Bronco with me.”

Sean frowned. “Are you sure? I looked into the back seat and I didn’t see anything but a large handbag and an old blanket on the floor.”

“That’s Max’s blanket. He was probably hiding under it.” Panic colored her voice. “What if he’s hurt? Or if he got out? He’ll freeze to death in this storm.”

“I’ll go look.” Reluctant resignation tinged every word. A cat. She would have a cat.

“I…I hate to ask you, but he’s ten years old. He’s not used to fending for himself and…”

“Don’t worry.” Sean was already pulling on his boots. “If he’s out there, I’ll find him.” Macho man, taking on the world. Was he nuts, making such a promise? He shouldered into his jacket. “You’re absolutely certain he was in the Bronco with you?” After all, her memory was spotty at best.

“Yes, positively.” She remembered grabbing her purse and scooping Max into her arms, then hurrying to the Bronco, her need to get away uppermost in her mind. She’d been afraid of…of what? Damn, why couldn’t she remember the rest? “You’re awfully nice to go back out there.”

That he was, a truly nice guy. Wordlessly, Sean zipped up and went out. He didn’t even like cats. Dogs were more his thing. One day, he’d get a dog, when he could be home more. He didn’t feel it was fair to coop up an animal all day, not with the hours Sean worked. Head bent against the wind and blowing snow, he made his way toward the incline.

From the couch, Laura twisted about, gazing out the window across the room. The snowflakes were so thick she could scarcely make out anything. She couldn’t blame Sean for being annoyed at going back out in that. But they couldn’t let Max die, which he surely would if he wasn’t found soon.

With no small effort, she shifted painfully until she was lying down on the couch, then pulled the afghan over herself. She ached so much she couldn’t even define where it hurt most. To distract herself, Laura gazed around the room.

It was big with large, comfortable furniture, the couch she was on and two deep chairs facing the bricked hearth and the crackling fire. For the first time, she noticed a framed drawing hanging above the fieldstone fireplace. Laura’s studio in Scottsdale was next to an art gallery, and she recognized that this drawing had been done in pastel chalks.

A young boy no more than three years old was standing alongside a gnarled tree. His hair was blond and his smile mischievous. From one small hand dangled a bedraggled brown bunny with one ear missing. An old-fashioned red wagon sat off to the side. She was no expert, but the picture was well done, seemingly drawn by someone who loved the boy. Laura wondered if the subject was Sean as a child.

Her gaze swept to the far left where a serviceable kitchen was set off by a counter with two high-backed stools and, off to the side, a maple table with four captain’s chairs. There were three closed doors off the kitchen, the middle one the bathroom she’d used, the other two probably leading to bedrooms. A nice compact cabin, the walnut-paneled walls lending a cozy warmth. It lacked a woman’s touch, though, with no curtains on the windows, no photos on the end tables, no cloth on the sturdy oak table. The half dozen pillows on the couch were the only hint of softness.

Definitely a man’s retreat, Laura decided, struggling with a yawn. Leaning back, she spotted an easel facing away from her in front of an overstuffed bookcase off to the right. Was Sean the artist or perhaps someone who visited him? None of her business, she decided, closing her eyes.

What was keeping Sean?

Darkness had settled in, but the whiteness of the snow allowed Sean to see. The drifts were thigh high, however, which made the going very slow. And treacherous, he thought as he slid down the embankment and stopped just short of the almost buried Bronco.

Cursing under his breath, he scrambled to his feet, feeling cold, impatient and annoyed. He didn’t even want to think about what he’d do if Max wasn’t in the vehicle. If the animal had gotten out, his paw prints would have been covered over by now. The thought of tramping about in this storm looking for some old cat that could be anywhere didn’t thrill him.

With gloved hands, he scraped accumulated snow from the passenger door and managed to wedge it open again. Ducking inside, he knelt on the front seat and looked around. He picked up the large leather shoulder bag thinking Laura might need it. No luggage anywhere, but then she’d said she’d left in a hurry. On the floor he noticed a box of assorted tiles. On the back seat were material remnants and three large books of wallpaper samples. Sean remembered what she’d said about the blanket and gingerly picked up one end, whipping it to the side.

He heard a hissing sound, then a paw lashed out at him, the claws digging into his leather gloves. Yellow eyes peered up at him, looking unfriendly and combative. Max was shorthaired, yellow and beige, kind of skinny and obviously frightened. “Okay, shhh. You’re okay,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. The cat hissed again, louder.

“Look, Max, I’m a friend, honest.” Feeling foolish trying to pacify a stubborn cat in a tangled wreck of a vehicle in a raging snowstorm, Sean leaned forward and grabbed Max under his front legs, maneuvering him into a body hug, sharp claws pointed away from him. Pushing back, he ignored the cat’s protests as he backed out of the Bronco and shoved the door shut with his hip. The strap of Laura’s shoulder bag dangled from one arm.

Max struggled as cold snow enveloped them both, but Sean held on. He’d have put him inside his jacket, but he knew the cat would start clawing him. So he trudged back up the incline, realizing that he now had two guests he hadn’t been prepared for. “Listen, if you stop fighting me, I’ll give you a dish of tuna for dinner. How’s that?” Max told him what he could do with his offer in no uncertain hissy terms.

“Okay, chum,” Sean said, high-stepping through the snow. “Your loss.”

By the time he stomped some of the snow from his boots and propelled his way into the cabin, Sean was soaking wet from the waist down, and the silly cat was still hissing at him. He wished he could say that seeing Laura’s relieved face was worth his effort, but Sean didn’t think so.

“Here you go,” he said, thrusting Max into her lap and laying her bag on the floor.

“Oh, thank you, thank you.” Mindful of her sore shoulder, she hugged the frightened animal and cooed to him. “Max, Max, I’m so sorry. You’ll be fine, baby.” The cat allowed her to soothe him, but he shot Sean a look that seemed to say this was all his fault.

Grumbling under his breath about the inequities of life where a mangy cat gets hugged and he, the rescuer, gets wet pants, Sean brushed snow from his hair and went to his room to change for the second time in a matter of hours. He took his time drying off, then pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and thick socks. Towel-drying his hair and face, he heard his stomach growl. The invasion of Laura and Max had caused him to miss dinner. Maybe she wasn’t hungry, but he was.

Sean came out and saw that Laura had her eyes closed, the cat cuddled up against her, purring away. In the kitchen, he paused, considering dinner. “How about that soup now?” he suggested.

“I honestly couldn’t, but thanks.”

All right, he’d let her have it her way. He filled a glass with cold water before bending to his medical bag and pulling out a vial of pills. “I think you’ll feel better if you take one of these,” he told her.

Laura opened her eyes. “I don’t like taking pills.” Especially when she didn’t know what they were.

“Look, isn’t it time you started trusting me? I’m a doctor, remember? There’s a time to be brave and a time when it’s plain silly to insist you’re not hurting when I know you are.” He held out the water and medication. “This will help you rest.”

Laura swallowed the pill, then burrowed back into the nest of pillows, closing her eyes and hoping the medicine would put her to sleep until the pain passed. “Thanks. Please, go back to whatever you were doing. I don’t want to inconvenience you any further. I’ll just lie here for a bit, if you don’t mind, and then I’ll call someone.” But who? she wondered, frowning. Her father was never around, it seemed. She couldn’t ask her friend Molly to drive up all this way when the roads were undoubtedly worse than before. She’d sure picked a rotten night to have an accident.

Sean sat down on the stool, noticing the cat’s yellow eyes watching his every move. “I’m afraid the phone’s out. Has been since before I found you. It could come back on any minute, or not for a couple days. Hard to tell.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I can make it over to our cabin on Ridgeway. The snow’s bound to stop soon and…”

“Not likely. It’s coming down heavier than before. Have you ever been up this way in the winter?”

“Not since I was a child.”

He’d thought as much. “The snow probably won’t let up until tomorrow sometime, the wind blowing drifts as high as the roofline.” He tucked the afghan around her legs. “And you’re in no condition to go anywhere. You’re bruised all over, your ankle’s probably aching like the devil and your shoulder will be sore for several days.”

His assessment was right on the money. Still, she hated to impose, to be a problem for anyone. She was used to being on her own, fending for herself. And although a doctor, he was a total stranger. “I’m so sorry I stumbled onto your property and messed up your plans. I’ll bet you could throttle me.”

She looked genuinely regretful, erasing Sean’s resentment at being inconvenienced. She should have looked bedraggled, dissipated, cranky even. Instead she look intriguing with those wounded eyes and that haunted air about her that made her seem vulnerable and very appealing. “Not a problem, really. I have a spare room with a bed that’s a lot more comfortable than this couch.”

Laura thought she’d be just fine on the couch if he’d just go off and leave her be. But she’d have more privacy in another room where she could close the door and be alone with her cat. “All right, if it’s not too much trouble.” She moved to sit up, the pain somewhat dulled by the medicine beginning to kick in.

He reached over to pick her up, but she stopped him. “I can walk, I think.”

Sighing, he shoved a hand into his pocket, searching for a coin. Already he knew she was stubborn and used to being independent. “My lucky Indian coin. I’ll flip you for it. Heads I carry you, tails you walk.”

Warily, she studied him. “A two-headed coin?”

“You really don’t trust easily, do you?” He showed her both sides, then tossed the coin up in the air, slamming it down on his hand. It came up heads. “There, now put your arms around my neck.”

Too tired to argue, Laura did as he asked. He carried her easily, heading toward the farthest door. She struggled against an urge to lay her head on his shoulder. He smelled of the outdoors, of woodsy aftershave, unmistakably male. He was so big, so solid, and it felt so good to be held, to feel safe. It had been so long since she’d given in to the very human need to just be held.

Following, Max protested loudly, but when Sean opened the door, he hopped on the bed immediately. Sean set Laura on her feet momentarily, pulled back the covers and eased her onto the bed. Her eyes felt so heavy she could scarcely keep them open as she felt him draw the comforter over her.

“There’s a connecting door right there to the bathroom, if you need it,” he explained, turning on a small night-light.

She sank into the soft warmth. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Sure.” He saw that she was halfway asleep already, her large blue eyes closing. The medicine along with all she’d been through was dragging her under. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his touch lingering a bit longer than that of an impersonal doctor.

He watched Max snuggle up against her, keeping his golden eyes on their host. Sean moved to the door. “If the phone comes alive, is there anyone you want me to call for you?”

Her eyes opened as she mentally ran through the short list of possibilities. “No, there’s no one.”

Backing out of the room and leaving the door slightly ajar, Sean felt a rush of sadness that there was no one this lovely woman wanted to notify as to her whereabouts, no one who’d be worrying about her when she didn’t call or show up.

In the kitchen, he heated soup, set out crackers, poured himself a glass of milk. He sat down at the counter and ate disinterestedly, his thoughts elsewhere. Sean had a logical mind, one that usually sorted things out in an orderly fashion, studied the possibilities then came to an informed conclusion. But, try as he would, he couldn’t seem to pigeonhole Laura Marshall.

She came from a wealthy family, that much he knew. Her father had a good reputation for fair dealing, though Sean was aware that many regarded him as cold and calculating. He seemed to remember that Owen’s wife had died some time ago and, though his picture had been in the paper in the society section escorting a variety of well-heeled, bejeweled women, Sean didn’t think Laura’s father had remarried. She said she worked for the family real estate business decorating model homes. He couldn’t help wondering how she got along with Owen.

Sean took a bite of cracker and chewed thoughtfully. She’d left her home in one hell of a hurry, taking along only her purse and grumpy cat, heading for a cabin she’d described as a safe haven. Why did she need one? She’d obviously been up to their cabin often before, yet she hadn’t thought it might be snowing in mid-February, hadn’t dressed for the weather, hadn’t even worn boots, hadn’t thrown a few clothes into a bag.

Because she was afraid of someone or something, she’d confided, yet she didn’t know who or why. How would she react when she remembered? He finished his light dinner, drained his milk glass and sat back. Traumatic amnesia was very real and pretty scary. What had frightened her enough to send her scurrying to her safe haven with no luggage, no preparation?

Despite her accident, she appeared clear-eyed, lucid, honestly trying to remember. He could see it bothered her to not know what had motivated her rush to safety. She certainly wasn’t in a dangerous line of work, nor was her father. A boyfriend stalking her, perhaps? An ex-husband or an admirer who’d become obsessive? Laura Marshall was certainly beautiful enough to inspire such behavior.

Or could she be in trouble, maybe running from the law? Stranger things had happened, yet he didn’t think that was it.

For one thing, there was all that family money. Could someone be threatening her, blackmailing her or working some sort of scam? Or had he read too many mysteries lately and let his imagination go on overdrive?

Shaking his head at his flight of fancy, Sean put his dishes in the dishwasher and yawned expansively. He hadn’t slept well last night, as he rarely did on these sojourns. Maybe tonight would be better. Laura’s unexpected arrival had called a halt to his brooding, the first time anything had distracted him from remembering, from going over every detail of that fateful day trying to discover something he might have done differently.

He walked over to the portrait above the fireplace and stood staring at the smiling face so full of mischief. “I failed you, Danny,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Bending to make sure the fire was dying out, he sighed then walked over to check the phone. Still out. He paused by the room where Laura lay. Stepping in quietly, he saw that she hadn’t moved. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, one hand softly curled by her face. Max’s suspicious yellow eyes glowed in the semidark. Perhaps the cat sensed that he preferred dogs. Or maybe he could tell that, despite his stated desire to be left alone this week, he’d like nothing better than to change places with Max and curl up with Laura Marshall under the duvet.

Sean headed for his bedroom.

The light filtering in through the unadorned windows woke her. Blinking, Laura took a moment to orient herself, then realized it was a weak morning sun reflecting on snow that was still falling outside. Her headache was gone, and she was grateful for that. She dared to move her shoulder and felt a dull ache, but not the sharp pain of yesterday.

She turned toward the nightstand and saw that it was ten after eight on the Mickey Mouse clock. The lamp she hadn’t noticed last night was a grinning Bugs Bunny chomping on a carrot, its base containing the night-light still on.

Curiosity aroused, Laura looked around and saw that she had slept in what was obviously a child’s room. The yellow striped wallpaper had flocked Disney characters parading across one wall while a little red wagon sat in the far corner holding a rabbit with one ear. Surely they had to be the ones from the picture over the fireplace.

A dozen or more stuffed animals hung in a hammock stretched beneath two shelves of children’s books. A blue-and-white hobbyhorse was next to the wagon, and a child’s maple rocker holding a huge purple dinosaur was near the door to the bathroom. Atop the tall dresser was a huge pink piggy bank and one of those glass globes that you had to turn over and snow fell on an ice skating scene. A wooden train was next to it, the cars forming letters that spelled out Danny.

So the child in the picture wasn’t Sean but rather a boy named Danny whose room this obviously was. Trying to recall their earlier conversation, Laura realized that when she’d asked Sean if he lived here alone, he had said he actually lived in Scottsdale, that he’d built this cabin for times he wanted to get away from the city. An evasive reply.

Laura stretched and shoved back the covers, then sat up. The room tilted slightly, then righted itself. Max, who’d moved to the far side of the bed, gave her a quick glance, then resumed his morning grooming. “Time we got up, lazybones,” she told him.

It was utterly quiet, and she wondered if Sean was up. There was a simple explanation here, she’d wager. Sean was probably divorced and had a son named Danny who used this room during his visits with his father. Or was Sean still married and the boy and his mother were back in Scottsdale?

She didn’t think so. She could be wrong, of course, Laura thought, but the masculine decor of the cabin, with the exception of Danny’s room, the lack of a woman’s touch, the absence of any pictures other than the boy’s portrait all pointed to a single man. But the most telling thing was the way he looked at her, lingeringly, thoughtfully, heatedly. Not the way a married man in love with his wife would look at another woman, doctor or not.

Laura ran both hands through her tangled hair. Of course, she could be reading more into those looks than was there. But she’d also seen his hand tremble when he’d held out the water and pill. And again when he’d brushed the hair from her face when he’d laid her down on the bed. Later, dozing more than soundly asleep, she thought she’d heard him come into the room and stand looking down at her. She hadn’t stirred, hadn’t moved, yet she’d felt his presence. He hadn’t stayed long and, moments later, she’d heard the other bedroom door close.

Carefully she touched the bandage on her forehead, wondering if the concussion Sean seemed certain she had had affected her mind, as well. She wasn’t one who usually read meanings into every gesture and touch. And she certainly wasn’t looking for a relationship, not after the one she’d barely extricated herself from not long ago.

The short time she’d been involved with Marc Abbott should have taught her a great deal, should have soured her on quick attractions and the consequences that followed. And it had. Sean had commented that she didn’t trust easily, something he’d picked up on after knowing her ever so briefly. An astute observation.

Max sauntered over and began purring, a signal that he wanted to be petted. Smiling, Laura obliged, as her thoughts floated free.

With time and distance, divorced nearly two years, Laura thought she knew exactly why she’d fallen so hard and fast for Marc. He was awfully handsome, utterly charming and knew how to make a woman feel as if she were the only one in the room. Laura had never been one to attract men like Marc.

While not exactly a wallflower, she knew from her teens on that she wasn’t a raving beauty like her college roommate, Tate Monroe. Nor was she smart enough to graduate with a 4.0 like her other roommate, Molly Shipman. Ah, but she had something neither of them had had. She was rich, the only heir to her father’s wealth.

Laura felt a sob build in her throat and choked it down. What a pitiful thing it was to be not the pretty one, nor the smart one, but the rich one. Her fingers drifted through Max’s soft fur as she let her emotions settle. She’d long ago gotten over all that, hadn’t she?

At least she’d thought she had when someone handsome and clever such as Marc Abbott had sought her out and simply refused to take no for an answer. Overwhelmed, believing herself madly in love and gloriously happy, she’d married him.

And lived to regret that foolishly hopeful indulgence.

He’d hurt her, badly. But she’d moved on, took on more work, opened her own studio, became her own person. And she’d vowed to never ever let herself be a victim again. It wasn’t so bad, being alone, once you got used to it. Oh, she’d been asked out plenty, but other than business lunches and dinner meetings, she’d steered clear of letting anyone get close again. She’d never gone in for one-night stands, and everything else required a commitment she was unwilling to make.

And now she was up here, in the Gray Mountains in a snowstorm, marooned in a cabin with an attractive man who, even in her pitiful state, awakened some dormant desire inside her. But, not to worry. She’d tamp it down as she had with other occasional men who’d wandered into her life. Because she couldn’t trust them, could never know if they paid attention to her for the right reasons. If it wasn’t because she was gorgeous or had a personality that everyone gravitated to the moment she stepped into a room, then it was probably…because of her father’s money.

Lowering her head, she nuzzled Max’s fur. “No more feeling sorry for ourselves, Maxie,” she whispered to the cat. “We’re fine, just the two of us.”

Something caught her eye at the foot of the bed, a pile of clothes. She reached for them, examining each piece. Clean sweatshirt and sweatpants, thick socks, white cotton underwear, a chenille robe and an old-fashioned floor-length flannel nightgown. Well, well. About her size, though a tad roomy. His wife’s clothes? Or ex-wife’s? At any rate, it was very thoughtful of him. A shower and fresh clothes would feel good.

Testing her ankle, Laura stood up. Still swollen, still painful, but bearable. She gazed out the window and saw that the snow wasn’t letting up. There had to be several feet already and with the wind blowing drifts, probably higher in places. She’d never been marooned before, never spent time at a place where no one knew where she was. Saturday morning. She’d had no weekend plans, no luncheon dates or business consultations or shopping sprees with a girlfriend.

Would anyone be looking for her? Maybe, but she doubted if someone would actually worry until possibly Monday. Her father only sought her out when he had a decorating problem that needed solving or a favor he wanted from her. Everyone else would assume she’d gone away for a few days. Which, although she never did without informing someone, was a reasonable explanation.

Holding onto the bedpost, she took a step, then another then had to let go. Only three more steps to the bathroom door. Once inside, she could cling to any number of things. Her ankle felt rubbery, though Sean had said it didn’t appear to be broken.

Hugging the clothes to her chest with one hand, the other outstretched to reach for the doorknob, Laura took a step, then another on her sprained ankle. That’s when it went out on her and she went down with a yelp, crashing into a child’s rocker. A huge purple dinosaur fell onto her, the recorded mechanism triggered by the fall.

“I love you,” Barney sang. “You love me…”

Chapter Three

At the sound of the crash, Sean dropped his sketch pad and pencils onto the table and hurried to the bedroom. He found Laura on the floor struggling to free herself from Barney, who was nearly as large as she. He grabbed the stuffed dinosaur and tossed it aside, then bent to her. “Are you all right?” he asked, helping her up and hoping she hadn’t reinjured her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Laura said, laughing. She teetered within his arms, her sprained ankle refusing to support her weight. “That’s the first time I’ve been attacked by a dinosaur. A purple one, at that.”

She couldn’t be hurt if she’s laughing, Sean realized, smiling as he steadied her. “I should have warned you. This room is booby-trapped.” He noticed Max eyeing him suspiciously from the tangle of bedcovers. Sean doubted that cat would ever trust him.

“I can see that now.” She looked up at him, thinking he should smile more. It softened the hard planes of his face.

Up close against her, Sean was suddenly conscious of her tousled hair, the just-out-of-bed warmth of her, the quick awareness that leaped into her dark blue eyes as her laughter faded. She was fully clothed, as was he, yet he could feel every nerve ending go on alert with just the touch of his hand on her arm.

Laura breathed in the just-showered freshness of his hair, noticing that his broad shoulders blocked everything else from view. She watched sudden heat jump into his gray eyes and felt the reawakening of feelings she’d thought long buried. What was happening here?

Sean was the first to recover. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” He forced his gaze down to her ankle, saw it was still swollen. “You shouldn’t be walking on that sprain.”

Laura leaned back from him, reaching a hand to brace herself on the bathroom door frame. She needed some distance, a moment to clear her head. “No harm done, really. I was just a little clumsy, that’s all.”

“I’ve got an old umbrella around here somewhere with a curved handle. It’ll help you walk. I’ll look for it.” He had to get out of there, to move away from the womanly scent of her, the sleepy-eyed look of her. Stepping back, he bent to gather up the clothes she’d dropped, then straightened and held them out to her. “These should fit you.”

“Thank you.” Needing to change the subject, she gestured to include the room. “Does this room belong to the little boy in the picture above the fireplace?”

Sean’s jaw clenched hard before he forced himself to relax. “It did.”

Past tense. She’d better leave that alone. “And these clothes. Your wife’s?”

“No!” He hadn’t intended to be so sharp. “They belong to my mother. She visits sometimes and keeps a few things here.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “There’re plenty of clean towels. Take your time. I’ll get that umbrella.” Abruptly, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

So it was Danny’s room and Danny’s picture, Laura thought as she hobbled into the bathroom. But no wife. Or at least, no clothes of the wife’s around. He’d sounded angry and bitter at the mention of her. Probably a divorce. Harsh and painful feelings often linger after a divorce. She ought to know.

Laura tested the shower, then began undressing, her mind digesting what she’d just learned.

No doubt Laura would think him quite odd when she learned that Danny was gone, yet he’d kept the boy’s room at the cabin exactly the same during the four years since the child had disappeared from his life, Sean acknowledged. Of course, she didn’t know the details. He supposed it wasn’t quite normal behavior, whatever that was. Those first few months, he’d had trouble even coming back here. Gradually, he’d managed to visit and each year, he intended to redo the room. But when he actually stepped inside to tackle the task, he couldn’t make himself pack up and put away all remnants of the laughing little boy who still owned his heart.

Sick was what Jonah told him he was, and his partner was probably right. He hadn’t many quirks, but this one he’d certainly nurtured a long while. His mother had offered to do it for him, and at first, he’d agreed, only to stop her before she could begin. A shrink would have a field day with his head, Sean thought.

So be it. It was his head and his right to keep the room any way he saw fit. Perhaps one day he’d know it was time.

He poured himself more coffee, then glanced down at the sketch he’d been working on. He’d drawn from memory Laura’s face the way it had looked to him last night. Lovely. Vulnerable. Troubled. She, too, had her secrets, as did he.

It was a hell of a complicated world, Sean decided, sitting down at the maple table and picking up his pencil.

She felt better after her shower. The clothes were slightly baggy on her, but clean. She’d managed to avoid soaking the bandage on her forehead, but it needed changing. She was pleased that her face wasn’t quite so pale, although she had one doozy of a shiner.

Sometime during the night, Sean had put a new toothbrush and even a hair dryer on one of the wide shelves next to the medicine chest. He said he’d built the cabin and apparently had thought of everything. She assumed there must be a second bath off his bedroom.

Laura finished blow-drying her hair just in time, for her ankle was hurting badly and standing was becoming uncomfortable. Hobbling, she made the bed as best she could, then found an old-fashioned umbrella with a thick curved handle by the door. All the amenities, she thought and left the room, leaning heavily on the makeshift cane.

He looked up when he heard her door open, but squelched the urge to rush to her side to help her over. He sensed she hated depending on him, or anyone. Besides, he wasn’t certain he could handle supporting her against his body, smelling his own shampoo on her hair. But he did get up to pour her coffee and carried the cup and a tall glass of orange juice over to where she’d sat down clear across the table from him.

Was she having some difficulty handling his nearness, as well?

“The clothes okay?” She was wearing his mom’s yellow sweats, their roominess emphasizing her small bone structure, making her seem more fragile.

“They’re fine, thank you.” She sipped the juice, her eyes downcast, feeling oddly ill at ease. It had been a very long time since she’d sat across the breakfast table from a man. Over two years, to be exact. And she and Marc had spent many of those early morning sessions quarreling before he’d leave in an angry huff.

Yes, those were the good old days. May they never return.

“Did you sleep well?” Sean asked, using his most professional doctor voice. If he could think of her as a patient, perhaps the air wouldn’t be so supercharged.

“Very well, thanks.” Which wasn’t exactly true. She had slept soundly until the medicine wore off, somewhere in the middle of the night. Pain hadn’t awakened her, her troubled thoughts had. She’d lain there trying to remember what had happened to bring her here, why she was afraid and who had made her so fearful. She’d come up empty-handed.

Laura raised her eyes to his face, caught the slight twitch of his mouth before shifting her gaze to the fogged-up window. Knowing he, too, was nervous helped her relax. “I see it’s still snowing.”

“Yeah. I shoveled off the porch earlier, and the steps, but they’re covered up again.”

Max chose that moment to saunter out of the bedroom, having completed his morning bathing ritual. He rubbed up against Laura’s legs, meowing softly, wanting her attention. Smiling, she reached to pet his soft head knowing just what he wanted. “About that tuna you said you had,” she reminded him, aware how hungry Max must be.

“Right.” Sean walked to the counter and found the tuna in the cupboard, opened the can and chunked the contents into a small dish. He placed the dish on the floor by the back door, then went back for a dish of water. As he set that down, Max strolled over, but waited until Sean went back to his seat before deigning to taste his breakfast.

“Thanks,” Laura said, her eyes on her cat.

Sean had been thinking about another problem involving Max. “What about a sandbox for him? Obviously, I don’t have any kitty litter.” And he didn’t want Max to get territorial and start marking his spots.

“Hmm. Maybe you could shovel off a small section near the back door. I’ll let him out and keep an eye on him. He’s not one to wander.”

“Fine.” Sean watched her wrap both hands around the coffee mug and slowly sip. Her lips were full and looked incredibly soft. He wondered what they’d feel like, what she’d taste like and…

And he was losing his mind!

Disgusted with himself, Sean rose and went to stand looking out the window. Damn, he didn’t need this right now, not this particular week. In the four years he’d been alone, he hadn’t exactly lived like a monk, but he hadn’t been with a lot of women, either. Mostly because at first, he hadn’t wanted to, and later, he hadn’t run across many who’d interested him in that way.

Besides, it wasn’t fair to a woman to get involved physically when he knew he’d never again take a chance on emotional involvement. It cost too much, in pain—in loneliness, in disappointment. The fleeting pleasure simply wasn’t worth it, though the lack of a love life often had him edgy. Especially when confronted with a beautiful woman in close quarters.

Laura Marshall was a mystery to him. Maybe that’s why she intrigued him. Perhaps if he learned more, the fascination would disappear. In a perfect world, he would help solve her problem, the snow would stop and the roads would be cleared, which would mean they could leave and get on with their respective lives. But then again, this was hardly a perfect world.

Turning, Sean went back and sat down. “Have you remembered any more about why you left home in such a hurry?”

She shook her head, her long hair curtaining her face. “I tried, but the memory is still blocked.” She narrowed her eyes, wanting badly to recall everything, for herself as well as to erase that skeptical look from his face. “I’d had a business lunch, then driven home about four. The phone was ringing as I walked in and I answered it. But I can’t remember who was on the other end, or even if they were male or female. I can recall only this overwhelming need to get away. I grabbed my purse and keys, picked up Max and literally ran out the door. I don’t even know if I locked up.” Setting down her cup, she rubbed her temples.

“Don’t try to force it. Give it time.” Noticing her bandage was damp, he went to get his medical bag.

Sean removed the bandage and discarded it, then examined the cut. “It’s coming along nicely.” He put antibiotic ointment on a clean gauze square, then taped it in place.

“Thank you, again. It seems I’m always thanking you.”

“Not necessary.” He scooted his chair back, then surprised her by reaching for her sprained ankle and moving it up onto his lap. Carefully he removed the thick sock and, with practiced fingers, he felt all over, noticing her slight wince as he pressed.

He had such strong fingers, Laura thought, yet he was so very careful not to hurt her. He took his time, feeling every which way, his touch soothing yet at the same time arousing. His hands kneading her foot sent sensual waves coursing up her leg. She felt the heat rise in her face and raised a hand to her brow so he wouldn’t notice.

“I think we’d better put an Ace bandage on this to give you some support.”

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. “Whatever you think,” she said. “You’re the doctor.”

He gave her a pleased look. “I’m glad you finally think so.” He wrapped her ankle neatly, but not too tightly, replaced her sock and released her foot. “Would you like some breakfast? There’s some cereal or I could boil a couple of eggs.”

“This is fine for now, but thanks.” Her stomach wasn’t back to normal yet. He walked to the sink to wash his hands, and she angled a couple of sketches that lay on the table around to face her. They were all of the young boy in the larger drawing. She was curious and hoped he wouldn’t mind if she asked about him.

“The boy in the fireplace drawing and in these sketches, is he the Danny whose room I’m borrowing?” she asked, hoping she hadn’t overstepped some unseen boundary.

Sean topped off their coffee mugs, a muscle in the side of his cheek flexing for several moments before he answered. “Yes.”

“Your son?” The resemblance was too striking to be a coincidence.

He sat down heavily. “Yes.” He swallowed hot coffee and didn’t even feel the heat.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask and I should have. Your wife is…”

“Gone, and so’s the boy.” The screech of the captain’s chair being shoved back on the wood floor startled Laura as Sean rose. In several long strides, he was across the room and pulling on his boots.

Laura reached for her umbrella cane and trailed after him. She’d learned part of it and she wanted to know the rest, but hesitated to ask more. Had they divorced and the mother had custody? Is that why he was so upset at the mere mention of Danny? “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

His mouth grim, Sean yanked on his sheepskin jacket, his movements jerky. “I’ve got to chop more wood before we run out.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t mention them again,” she said quietly.

Sean tugged open the door and stood gazing out for several moments. “Dead. They’re both dead,” he said in a flat, emotionless tone. He walked out and slammed shut the door.

Laura stared after him, drenched in regret. You couldn’t let it be, could you? she admonished herself. Feeling rotten, she hobbled back to the table.

Using more energy than necessary, Sean tossed a shovelful of snow off the porch, then bent to gather another. He couldn’t chop wood until he’d cleared a path to the stacked logs at the side of the house. He didn’t mind. Physical labor was what he needed just now. He needed to tire himself out so he wouldn’t have the energy to think, to remember.

Crossing to the other side of the long porch, he began clearing off the newly accumulated snow. Damn stuff was still coming down, though with not quite the intensity of yesterday. Nevertheless, his experienced eye calculated that at least three feet was on the ground now and would probably reach four before the storm blew itself away. Had it been any other week, he’d have enjoyed the weather as a huge change from the endless sunshine of southern Arizona. But not now.

He was a contradiction, Sean realized. He deliberately came here to remember, yet he was getting annoyed every time Laura’s innocent questions were forcing him to recall. Maybe it was because, after four long years, he still found it very hard to talk about his son, even to his own mother and Jonah. And Laura, being a stranger, knew none of the circumstances. He didn’t want to go into all that, yet he wanted her to know, to explain things to her.

Odd, because he’d never before wanted to confide in an outsider. It had taken him months to tell those closest to him all the details. Perhaps he felt he might be able to talk with Laura because she, too, was troubled about something in her past. Misery loves company, or so they said.

Finished with the porch, Sean paused to catch his breath. Gazing up at the sky through the nearby evergreens, it seemed as if the cloud cover wasn’t as dense today. A good sign for the snow to end soon. If only the wind would die down, he thought as he narrowed his eyes against a blast of snow-laden breeze.

His eyes were drawn to the incline leading to the gully where Laura’s car had landed. He could picture all too clearly that last morning when he and Danny had dragged his new sled up to the top. He’d turned three the month before and was a regular chatterbox. Sean had zipped him into his blue snowsuit and pulled a warm knit cap onto his blond head. His mittens had been red with tiny reindeers on them.

The hill wasn’t all that big, so Sean wasn’t worried. At the top, he’d settled Danny on the sled, put the rope handles into his gloved hands and given a big push. The sled had zigzagged down the hill, not too fast, just enough to thrill a little boy. Danny had laughed and laughed, the sound echoing through the trees. Laughing himself, Sean had followed him down where the excited child had jumped off and into his arms.

“Do it again, Daddy,” he’d begged.

And they had until both of them, tired but happy, had gone into the cabin where Kim had hot chocolate waiting. They’d all had some, even Kim’s father. Danny had gone down for his nap then, almost too excited to sleep because later that day, they were going to fly to Denver where Grandpa lived for a vacation.

By nightfall, the sweet little boy with the infectious laugh was dead, gone forever.

Sean let out a shuddering sigh that sounded more like a sob. And it was his fault, all his fault. Perhaps that was why he felt the need to come up to the cabin, the last place he’d seen Danny alive and happy. It was an atonement, a penance like wearing a hair shirt, for being blind to what had been happening in his own home. Perhaps if he’d been more aware, his son would be alive today. Not that he ever felt better afterward, but then, he had no right to feel better while Danny lay dead in a snowy grave.

It would have been best if Laura Marshall had picked another week to run away. He wasn’t fit company, and she had problems of her own.

Almost viciously, he grabbed the shovel and made his way around back so he could clear a path for Max.

Standing at the window, Laura watched Sean disappear around the side of the house. He’d been shoveling the porch like a man driven, then he’d stopped and stared off into the distance for the longest time, not moving, probably thinking dark thoughts.

She shouldn’t have brought up his son and his wife. Gone, both dead, he’d said. Dear God, how awful. When had it happened? she wondered. And how had it happened? Probably not very long ago since the mere mention of them affected him so deeply. But then again, she supposed a person never quite got over something like that.

Stepping back, she wandered back to the table and looked again at the charcoal sketches he’d left there. A couple of scenes that looked as if they might have been sketched outside around the cabin in warmer weather—the stream that ran behind the Marshall property, as well, and a woodsy area where two horses grazed. The rest were all of the same little boy—on a swing hanging from a sturdy tree limb, on a sled in a snowsuit, at the same stream bending over, his hands in the clear water. There were more, head sketches, indoor scenes, one of him asleep on a striped rug on the floor in front of the fire. Sean’s drawings were very good, and she wondered why he hadn’t sold some of them. Perhaps they were too personal.

Thoughtfully, Laura shuffled through all of them, something bothering her. Why were there no sketches of the boy’s mother?

Using her cane, she walked about the large room, thinking she’d run across one or two. Not even on the easel. Feeling as if she were invading his privacy, she hobbled down the hallway and peeked into the other bedroom, staying in the doorway. No pictures or sketches on the high six-drawer dresser or on the nightstand.

The closet door was open and, just as she’d suspected, no woman’s clothes hung alongside Sean’s. She’d assumed as much when he’d loaned her his mother’s clothes rather than his wife’s. She returned to the central room, her mind filled with questions.

Why had he removed all traces of his wife, yet kept his son’s room as it probably was when the boy had been alive? Interesting. Had they been divorced before the boy and mother died? Or had he loved his wife so much he didn’t want any reminders around?

Wandering over to the couch, Laura sat down, drawing her legs up in order to rest her ankle. Having finished eating, Max was already snuggled into several pillows at the far end.

No, the scenario about loving his wife so much didn’t compute because he obviously loved his son and kept lots of reminders around. She wondered if his home in Scottsdale also had some of the boy’s things in it, a room dedicated to Danny’s memory, but all traces of the wife erased. Probably not that unusual a thing to do, but it didn’t seem altogether healthy.

Stretching out, she decided that Sean’s problems were his own business and she was certain he wouldn’t appreciate her meddling in them. Glancing down, she saw her handbag on the floor, remembering that Sean had brought it in last night when he’d rescued Max. Maybe something inside would trigger her memory of why she’d felt compelled to leave Scottsdale in such a hurry.

Rummaging through, she found the usual things: her checkbook, her wallet, sunglasses, a small makeup case, which she really ought to make use of, a notepad with a couple of phone numbers scribbled on it. Her keys were missing, probably still in the ignition. There was a small bottle of aspirin, some tissues and two pens plus her birth control pills. Laura dry-swallowed one right away.

Still poking around, her fingers found a card, which she drew out to study. Marc Abbott, Sales Consultant, Commercial Division, Marshall Realty.

Staring at the card, Laura wondered how long it had been at the bottom of her purse. She felt a chill just looking at his card. She and Marc had divorced two years ago, so the card had to have been in there quite awhile. How peacock proud he’d been of his position at her father’s company. Leaning her head back, she wondered all over again how on earth she’d fallen for Marc’s glib charm.

Because she’d been needy. Because he’d been charming and attentive, and Laura had felt admired and desired for the first time in her life. He was a good con man, she’d give him that, and in her naiveté, she’d totally misread him. Even now, years later, she still chafed at how foolishly trusting she’d been. An easy mark for a man like Marc, a polished smoothie.

Despite the fact that she’d been graduated and out of college for two years when she met Marc, she’d been surprisingly innocent by today’s standards. He’d been handsome and funny with an engaging personality that made him fun to be with. He’d joined Marshall Realty, a very ambitious young man with big plans for his future that he kept under wraps as he started moving up the company ladder.

Laura ran into him at a company meeting, only later learning that he’d maneuvered the whole thing, that Owen Marshall’s only daughter and heir was very necessary to his plans. They started dating, and to say he overwhelmed her would be putting it mildly. She’d never had a serious relationship before, so quite naturally, she fell hard and fast. In short order, well aware that her father would disapprove, they eloped.

Eventually Owen came around, putting Marc in charge of commercial acquisitions, and he even began building a home for them in Paradise Valley not far from his own. Laura continued her work for the company, but her personal happiness was short-lived. It wasn’t long before Marc was seldom home in their small apartment, using business as an excuse. She began to wonder if she’d married a workaholic like her father.

The first night he came home quite drunk with lipstick on his collar was a harsh awakening for Laura. When he sobered up, she confronted him. Marc explained that he’d bumped into a married friend whose wife had kissed his cheek and missed. Because she desperately wanted her marriage to work, she’d forced herself to believe him.

But there was a second incident not long after, and a third truly ugly one that occurred when Laura went out to dinner with her two college roommates on a night Marc was supposedly closing a big deal. They were scarcely seated when they spotted Marc across the room sitting close to a curvaceous redhead, holding her hand, nibbling her ear. Oblivious to those around them, they sipped champagne and smiled at each other seductively. Hurt and humiliated, Laura threw him out of their apartment that same night, tossing all his belongings onto the lawn.

Marc approached her the next day, pleading and contrite. But her father had come through for her for the first and only time in her life in a way she hadn’t suspected he would. Owen informed Marc that Laura was filing for divorce and he was to clean out his desk. By the look on Marc’s handsome, crestfallen face, she came to the conclusion that losing his job at Marshall Realty hurt more than losing Laura. It wasn’t until the following week that she learned he’d cleaned out their two bank accounts.

By then, she was not even surprised, nor did she care overly much. It was worth it to get rid of Marc Abbott once and for all. She found it very difficult to go back to work where everyone knew of Marc’s betrayal, but she disliked cowardly behavior. So, holding her head up high, she’d shown up at her office, vowing never to be taken advantage of by a man again.

Trusting blindly had cost her dearly, and not just monetarily. The residual effects were still alive within her. As soon as the divorce was final, she bought a spacious condo in Old Scottsdale and took back her maiden name, wanting no reminders of her brief marriage.

Deliberately, she tore Marc’s former business card in half, then again and once more. No ashtray on the end table so she tossed the pieces into her purse and got up. A headache was beginning just above her eyes—perhaps from remembering such an unpleasant episode or maybe because she hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday.

Using the umbrella cane, she went to the kitchen and made herself a piece of toast. Nibbling on it, she looked out the window and caught a glimpse of Sean at the side of the house splitting logs. She hoped the exercise would chase away the sadness she’d seen on his face at the mention of his son. Everyone, it seemed, had problems, some worse than others.

Peeking into the refrigerator, she found an assortment of vegetables and several cuts of wrapped meat in the drawer. Sean would undoubtedly be cold when he came in and maybe hungry. Laura loved to cook, much preferred a homemade meal to eating out. Setting the makings for soup on the counter, she hobbled about the kitchen, amazed at how convenient it was with all the latest new appliances. Sean had done a remarkable job.

She found a large pot and put it on the stove, then began cleaning vegetables. So the man was a doctor with an undoubtedly busy practice, a sketch artist who probably could sell his work if he put his mind to it, and he also built this house. There seemed very little Sean Reagan couldn’t do.

Impressive, talented and handsome, as well. Gazing out the window over the kitchen sink, Laura wondered what had gone wrong in his marriage, because she had a feeling something terrible had. He seemed more angry than grief-stricken. A story there somewhere, she was certain.

On the porch, his hands inside his gloves nearly numb, Sean stomped snow off his boots before going inside. The clock on the mantel told him he’d been out well over an hour. No wonder he was cold. He tugged off his gloves, hung up his coat and pulled off his boots. After slipping his feet into the moccasins he’d left by the hearth, he brushed snow out of his hair and stood warming his hands.

Pulling in a deep breath, he became aware of a delicious smell.

Glancing toward the kitchen, he saw Laura stirring a big pot on the stove. Had to be soup or stew, he decided. How long had it been since he’d had someone besides his mother cook for him? Four years now this very week.

Kim had loved to cook when they’d first gotten married. She’d collected cookbooks and experimented with herbs and spices. They didn’t have much money at first, but she always managed to make something tasty. How many meals had she made that had been ruined, dried out because he’d been tied up at the hospital? She’d tried to be understanding, but he knew his hours bothered her more than a little. He’d promised her things would get better, but he knew she didn’t believe him. Babies came when they were ready, not when it was convenient for the doctor.

Pretty soon, Kim stopped cooking except for Danny’s meals.

Sean had modernized the kitchen in his Scottsdale home, and the one here at the cabin wasn’t bad. Yet most of the time these days, he caught a meal on the run at the hospital cafeteria, seldom cooking himself. He ate out a good deal when his schedule permitted and occasionally at friends’ homes. Jonah’s wife, Sophie, was a great cook and was always asking him over to join them. But since Kim’s death, Sean mostly turned down invitations from married couples. He felt like the fifth wheel on a wagon at those dinners.

Then there were the matchmakers, well-meaning friends who’d invite him to dinner along with a single female “to round out the table.” He couldn’t seem to convince them that he simply wasn’t interested.

Inhaling deeply, he walked to the stove. “Sure smells good,” he told Laura.

He’d seemed angry when he left and more than a little sad, but his voice sounded all right again, Laura thought with relief. “I hope you like beef-vegetable soup.”

“I like most anything I don’t have to cook myself.” He went back to throw another log or two on the fire, stirred it up a bit, then walked to the sink to wash his hands. “You’re not overdoing, are you?”

Her ankle was throbbing a bit since she’d been on it quite awhile, and her bruised stomach ached, as did her shoulder. But she didn’t want him to think she was some frail, whining woman who couldn’t hold her own. He’d rescued her without knowing the first thing about her, taken her in, tended her wounds, given her a place to sleep. That counted for a lot in her book. The least she could do was cook for him even if it cost her a little pain. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he said, drying his hands, his eyes roaming her face and catching the small, telltale signs of fatigue. The black eye looked sore. Though she’d insisted she had, he’d wager she hadn’t slept all that well, either. “Let the soup simmer. I want you to go lie down on the couch for awhile. Can’t have the cook passing out on us.” He smiled to take the sting from what had to sound like doctor’s orders.

She went, not solely because he told her to but because she was ready to rest. He followed her over, tucked the afghan around her, then glanced down at Max. “Should I let him out?” He’d rather there were no accidents.

“I did a short time ago. He’s set for awhile.” She settled into the warm folds of the pillows, feeling safe. Odd how being with this relative stranger wasn’t in the least alarming. Perhaps because he was a doctor. “Did you study medicine here in Arizona?” she asked, still curious about him.

He sat down near her feet, almost but not quite nudging Max aside on the long couch. “Yes, at the University of Arizona in Tucson. Interned at Phoenix General. How about you? Did you go to school locally?”

“I went to the U of A, too, mostly because I wanted to be on my own and away from Scottsdale. My mother died when I was twelve and my father was a stickler for rules, all kinds of rules. Still is. I wanted to get out from under and try my wings.”

“Overly protective, is he?”

No, that wasn’t what Owen Marshall was, not really. More like a control freak who wanted to run her life for her. Her only way out was to insist on going away to college, even if it was to a university just a two-hour drive from home. “My father likes having things his way,” was all she’d say.

“At least you got away somewhat. My father died when I was ten and my mother couldn’t bear the thought of me going away to college.” He shook his head, smiling. “She was nice about it, but firm. Very firm.”

She angled her head to one side, considering. “Funny, you don’t strike me as a mama’s boy.”

“I’m not, at least not anymore. But, like you, I was the only one, and my mother’s Irish. Need I say more? She can carry on with the best of them. She doesn’t usually have a brogue, because she was born in Boston, but let her get upset and you’d think she’d just stepped off a boat from Dublin. She’s a wonderful woman, but she can make me feel five years old with the raising of an eyebrow.”

Laura smiled at that. “How nice it must be to think of a parent with such acceptance, such warmth.”

Sitting back more comfortably, Sean stretched an arm across the couch back. “And you don’t?”

“I cherish my mother’s memory, but my father wasn’t around much. From the time I was very young, all I ever heard from him was, ‘Laura, you know I have to work.’ His reason for not being with us was always because he had to work. My father started Marshall Realty on a shoestring, built it into what it is today, by hard work, sacrifice, dedication. He repeated that to me like a mantra regularly.”

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