“How Long, Shane?

How Long Have I Been Gone?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Angie reached for him, curving her fingers around his shoulder. He was her only anchor. She needed him. Her voice hoarse, she whispered, “It matters to me.”

He looked at her squarely. “Five years. You left me five years ago.”

She gasped. Not months, but years. Years of her life had vanished.

Instantly he covered her hand with his. Something in her stomach, warm and deep, fluttered. No matter what happened, she still responded to his most casual touch.

“Your daddy kindly answered a few questions for me. He said when you were done playing house with a man who wasn’t your social equal, you begged him to bail you out. When your memory returns, I’ll have a few questions for you.”

“Like…?”

“For starters…why the hell are you sleeping in my bed?”

Dear Reader,

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For August’s MAN OF THE MONTH, the fabulous BJ James begins her brand-new miniseries, MEN OF BELLE TERRE. In The Return of Adams Cade, a self-made millionaire returns home to find redemption in the arms of his first love.

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So indulge yourself by purchasing all six of these summer delights from Silhouette Desire…and read them in air-conditioned comfort.

Enjoy!

One Snowbound Weekend…
Christy Lockhart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Pam, brainstorming partner who believes;

for Whitney, chief researcher,

and for Lisa, my Designated Worrier.

Also for Dad, ’tis great to have you in my life…

CHRISTY LOCKHART

married her real-life hero, Jared, who proved to her that dreams really do come true. They live in Colorado with their two children, Raymond and Whitney.

Christy remembers always wanting to be a writer. She even talked her elementary school librarian into “publishing” her books. She notes always preferring romances because they’re about that special moment when dreams are possible and the future is a gift to unfold.

You can write to Christy at P.O. Box 448, Eastlake, CO 80614.

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

Epilogue

One

Shane Masters’s ax froze in midswing.

Blinded by the wind-whipped snow, his eyes had to be playing tricks on him.

There was no way his ex-wife was fighting her way through a Colorado blizzard toward him.

Hardhat, Shane’s yellow Labrador, barked and ran circles around Shane’s legs, warning him about the approaching stranger. That meant Shane wasn’t hallucinating.

He dropped his ax on top of the woodpile and stared into the distance. Steps unsteady and her slender body beaten by ice daggers driven from the sky, she continued onward.

If he didn’t resent Angie’s intrusion into the life he’d rebuilt, he might have admired her courage.

As it was, he’d sworn he never wanted to see her again. Over five years ago, he’d toasted that determination with a whiskey bottle and never looked back.

Narrowing his green eyes and folding his arms across his chest, he waited.

When she was about five feet away, she pitched herself at him.

Instinctively he caught her, unprepared for the feel of her trembling, feminine body pressing against him and the strong, unwelcome wave of desire that walloped him.

“Thank God I made it home,” she whispered.

Home? Columbine Crossing hadn’t really ever been her home, and she hadn’t been back since their divorce.

“The thought of you, waiting for me, worrying about me, kept me going when I wasn’t sure I could take another step.”

Her words plowed reality back into focus.

She burrowed her head against his down-covered shoulder, and tendrils of her light brown hair cascaded down his coat. Then she laid one hand on his chest, near where his heart suddenly thundered.

His blood, dulled by the wind’s wicked bite, slowly warmed. And his insides tightened painfully in physical response to her innocent touch.

He didn’t welcome the reaction, nor did he want to be vulnerable to the woman who’d destroyed his trust and shattered his heart.

Hardhat barked, and Shane forced himself to go rigid. Although his gut twisted, urging him to draw her closer, he released the hand he’d unthinkingly slid around her slender waist.

Angie uncurled her fingers and glanced up at him, a question in her wide, expressive blue eyes.

It was then, when he really looked at her, that he saw the angry cut carved on her forehead, vivid red splashed against the paleness of her skin. He didn’t want to care. But anger couldn’t replace concern. “What happened to your head?”

She reached a trembling hand to the cut. Wincing, she said, “I don’t know…” Her brow furrowed as she frowned. “I must have hit it on the steering wheel of the car.”

“What car?”

“Our car. The one we bought in Durango.” The words were slowly formed, as if concentrating took huge effort. “Maybe you were right about it needing a new alternator.”

His mind raced to keep up with what she was saying.

“When I woke up, I was…was in the ditch.”

He scowled, searching her features. Her blue eyes glazed over. And it hit him.

She was in shock.

All the words he’d dreamed of hurling at her dried in his mouth. “You were in an accident?”

“I guess so.” She swayed.

He grabbed her again, this time swinging her from the ground and up into his arms.

“I’m okay,” she protested.

“Right.” With strides shortened by the foot of fresh snow, he started toward his cabin.

“I knew you’d take care of me.”

He ground his back teeth together. Until this moment, he couldn’t have said he’d have taken care of her. In fact, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Reaching up an icy hand, she traced the line of his cheek, just the way she had the night they first discovered each other, when he’d taught her about passion….

But she’d given up the right to touch him—physically or emotionally—when she’d divorced him to marry another man.

Running ahead of them, Hardhat pushed through the snow with his nose, flinging flakes everywhere.

“When did we get a dog?”

“When did we get a dog?” he echoed.

“I don’t remember…”

Something more icy than the snow shivered down his spine.

“What’s her name?”

“His name is Hardhat.”

“Why don’t I know that…?”

Shane opened the cabin door. This much, she’d surely remember. He’d rented the small house the day before their wedding so she and his sister, Sarah, would have someplace other than a rickety trailer to call home.

He’d bought the cabin after Angie left, not out of any sense of nostalgia, but as a solid, constant reminder that women shattered hearts and devastated homes.

Inside, he kicked the door closed, locking out the storm’s vicious lash.

Ignoring the fact he trampled snow across the honey-colored hardwood floor, he carried her into the living room and set her on the couch. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes,” he said, yanking off his gloves and tossing them on the throw rug.

Hardhat immediately grabbed one and ran toward his mat, placing a triumphant paw on the glove.

“Angie? You need to take off your jacket.”

“Where’s Sarah?”

His brows drew together. His sister was at college, where she had been for two years. “With friends,” he said.

Angie didn’t respond, nor did she move.

Her hands, whitened from exposure to the brutal elements, trembled as she reached for the coat’s zipper. How long had she been outside, and how far had she walked?

Shane didn’t want the answers to matter. But they did.

She shivered uncontrollably, and her light brown hair fell forward, shielding her face and thankfully blocking the gratitude and adoration emanating from her sky-blue eyes.

Moving her hand aside, he took hold of the zipper’s tab and parted the metal teeth.

A pendant glittered in the firelight.

He swallowed, hard.

Unable to help himself, he reached for the gold-dipped aspen leaf, tracing his fingertip across the raised veins in the metal, remembering…

As if it were yesterday, he recalled giving her the piece of jewelry. It had been their fourth date. He’d been young, poor, idealistic. She’d been young, rich and—he’d thought—different from other women.

She’d admired the aspen leaf, saying she’d never seen anything like it back east. He’d bought it for her.

Back then, purchasing the small trinket had been the financial equivalent of giving her the moon. Buying it had wiped out his last dollar.

She had protested his extravagance, saying he should spend his hard-earned money on Sarah and his new business. Softly Angie had added that being with him was all she needed.

Shane’s hardened heart had started to crack in that moment.

When he’d insisted she accept the gift, she’d lifted her hair, and he’d gently fastened the clasp at her nape.

And she still had the reminder of their time together. Amazing.

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” he asked, voice raw, as if it had been dragged through rusty nails.

“You’re scowling.”

“Nothing,” he said, pulling his hand back and shoving aside the past.

With a physical gentleness he didn’t feel emotionally, he shucked the jacket from her shoulders and dropped it beside his single glove. She looked at him through the fringe of her hair, and he noticed that her lower lip quivered. She was getting to him….

Her teeth chattered, the sound amplified in the quiet. He’d been so wrapped up in his memories that he was neglecting to care for her properly.

Softly cursing, he moved into action, tossing a couple of logs on the dwindling fire, stoking the embers and fanning the flame.

Returning to her, he dropped to his knees, ignoring the winking aspen leaf nestled near her breast.

She curled her small hand around his shoulder the same way she might have once upon a time. Trying to ignore the touch, he drew off her shoes, pricey leather flats that had no place in a Rocky Mountain blizzard.

Her socks were soaked, and he pulled them off, exposing the pale pink polish brushed across her toenails. She’d never painted her toenails before.

He shoved aside the thoughts and the anger that still nipped at his soul.

She no longer mattered to him.

Her denim jeans were frozen and stiff near the ankle, and he knew they needed to be removed, too. Damned if he’d do it, though.

He grabbed a throw from the back of the couch and settled it around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she murmured, tipping back her head and looking at him. Her hair fell away from her forehead, again exposing her wound.

In the dim light spilling through the large window, the cut seemed to ravage her skin.

He gritted his teeth. He’d already told himself she didn’t matter.

But her vulnerability sliced through his carefully constructed defenses.

Against his will, he moved his finger across her skin, not touching the injury but feeling the sizzle of heat against frost.

She flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“I need to call Doc Johnson.”

“Dr. Johnson?” She pressed her fingers against her temples, as if hoping to soothe away the pain. “What about Dr. Kirk?”

“He retired.” Was it possible that she’d truly forgotten the past few years? Surely it was the shock, nothing more….

Flames hissed and crackled, and his heart rate accelerated.

Pushing to his feet he said, “I’ll be right back,” before crossing to the master bedroom. He needed a lifeline to sanity, and she needed dry clothes.

Unable to reach Dr. Johnson at his office, Shane dialed the man’s home phone number and succinctly detailed the situation, including the fact that Angie was conscious and coherent and seemed fine, as long as you didn’t count the fact she was freezing cold and seemed to have no recollection of their divorce.

“That’s entirely possible, young man,” Dr. Johnson said. “With the car accident, potential trauma to the brain…your Angie could be suffering from posttraumatic amnesia.”

Amnesia. Breath rushed from Shane’s lungs. “She needs to see you immediately.”

“I completely agree, Shane, but you’d be risking further injury by trying to get her through the blizzard. I don’t have all the equipment to run a complete neurological examination. She needs to go to a hospital, but it’s doubtful we could get her there safely.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do with her?”

“Keep her calm, give her aspirin for the pain. Watch her for the possibility of a concussion. As soon as the roads are plowed, we can send an ambulance or you can bring her in. Of course, if you have an emergency, call right away.”

“That’s it?”

“Sorry, Shane.”

“What do I do about her amnesia?”

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do, except try and keep her quiet,” the doctor said.

“What about her memory? When will she get it back?”

“That’s anyone’s guess, young man. Could be twenty minutes, could be next week.”

“And it might not happen at all,” Shane said flatly.

“I can’t say. But the last thing you need is for Angie to panic. She’s been through quite enough trauma as it is. Don’t you agree?”

Shane’s grip tightened on the phone. “I should let her believe she’s my wife?”

“If that keeps her from panicking and potentially causing more damage, yes.”

Shane didn’t like it. Before he could question the doctor further, static chewed up the phone line, and the connection died.

He was stuck, his ex-wife thinking they were still starry-eyed in love. And he couldn’t tell her any different.

He dropped the phone’s handset back into its cradle.

Shell-shocked, he returned to the living room.

“Shane? What did the doctor say?”

“Take two aspirin and call him in the morning.”

Her attempted smile faded before it formed. A part of him, one he thought no longer existed, stirred.

He crossed to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She fit his cupped palms perfectly, as if they had always been two parts of the same whole.

To distract himself from the unwelcome, impossible thought, he said, “You still need to change out of those wet clothes. As soon as you’ve done that, I’ll clean and bandage the wound on your forehead.”

Snowflakes had melted into her hair, the dampness making the color appear a couple of shades darker than he remembered. And now there was an alluring hint of copper buried between the strands. He struggled to resist the urge to bury his fingers in its thickness and hold her close.

But it was her eyes that really got to him. They were wide, and focused unblinkingly on him.

In the five years since he’d seen her, he’d forgotten how very powerful her eyes were. The color, a blue as vibrant as a sun-drenched sky, was potent, making him think of lovemaking and forever in a single blink. But he didn’t dare forget they were a great shield for deceit.

“Did we have a fight?” she asked softly.

He released her. “A fight?”

“Is that why you’re angry with me?”

“I’m not angry,” he denied, the doctor’s warning to keep her calm echoing in Shane’s mind.

“You always scowl like that when you’re upset.”

He dragged his fingers through his dark hair.

“You do that, too.”

In frustration, he exhaled. Damn it. How was it possible for her to remember so much and forget even more?

As she had done earlier, she stroked the side of his unshaven cheekbone. The gentle abrasion shuddered through him.

“What did I do to upset you?” She paused at the cleft in his chin, as intimately as she had five years ago.

“Shane?”

She still said his name the same way, with a husk of sensuality that skipped across his skin like the slide of silk.

“Did I do something terrible?”

“No,” he lied, cuffing her wrist and moving her hand away.

“Then why don’t you want me touching you?”

“I need to clean that cut.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

Unconsciously he took hold of her again. He didn’t want to care for her, protect her. He’d sworn he never wanted to set eyes on her again. Yet she was injured and alone, dependent on him.

Like it or not, he had an obligation. And Shane took his obligations seriously, had since he was nine years old and his mother deserted the family for a rich man and an easier life. His father had worked two jobs and drowned his sorrows when he was home, leaving Shane to care for his younger sister after school and on weekends. When he was nineteen and his dad died, Shane had naturally taken over raising Sarah.

And now he’d do what was expected of him, even if living Angie’s lie sat on his shoulders like a load of concrete. “You’re hurt,” he said. Then, softly, he added, “And you need to rest. Since we can’t get to town, I get to play doctor.”

“I’d like that.”

Tension fragmented the atmosphere.

Her gaze searched his face, looking, he figured, for anything less than honesty.

“Shane…”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“All of it? Why you’re angry, what I did, why you don’t want me touching you?”

Keep her calm. “Yeah.”

Her eyes darkened with distrust. His promise had been insincere and she’d heard the cop-out in his tone. But hell, short of taking her in his arms and finishing what she was so innocently trying to start, Shane knew there was nothing he could do.

Now, if only he weren’t so damn tempted…

Two

Even though the heartbeat of sensual awareness pulsed between them, she realized Shane was telling her what she wanted to hear, nothing more. Angie studied the pine-green depths of his eyes and saw the shadow of deceit. “Why are you lying to me?”

He dragged a hand through his hair, scattering a lock of dark brown across his forehead. “Can we postpone this until you’re feeling better?”

Angie prided herself on her strength. Without it, she would never have walked away from her father and the marriage he’d been arranging for her.

She’d shown courage in defying expectations, and she wouldn’t stop asking questions now.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Shane said, severing the contact of their gazes. He pushed to his feet and headed into the bathroom.

Restless and confused, she tossed the colorful Navajo blanket back from her shoulders and moved to the fireplace, crouching to ruffle the dog’s fur. Hardhat was adorable, especially with the red bandanna tied around his neck. It was odd that she couldn’t remember their dog. It was even stranger that she couldn’t remember her fight with Shane, no matter how hard she tried.

But their lovemaking…that she remembered….

He returned, freezing when she saw her petting the dog. “The doctor said you need rest.”

“How did we end up getting a dog?”

“Hardhat was a stray on a construction site in town. One day he followed me home and never left.”

“When?”

Carefully, his expression neutral, he said, “Recently.”

“Stop with the half truths, Shane.”

His knuckles whitened against the bottle of peroxide.

“How recently?” she repeated.

“Angie—”

“You told me we’d talk about it,” she reminded him.

“Later. I said we’d talk about it later.”

She stood and squared her shoulders, facing him. “We made an agreement to always be open and honest with each other. Do you remember?”

He put the first aid kit and the peroxide on the coffee table. “I’m not keeping secrets.”

“Then help me understand.” She loved Shane with her whole heart and soul. If something was wrong, she’d do anything, anything to fix it.

Ignoring the thudding ache in her temples she asked, “Why don’t you want me to touch you? You usually encourage me to feel your body, massage the knots out after you’ve worked all day, wash your back when you shower and then dry you before you carry me to bed….

“Do you remember the day we moved in here? You were determined we’d have some kind of honeymoon. Sarah stayed with Kurt Majors’s family and you insisted we make love in nearly every room of our new home in the first twenty-four hours. We tried the kitchen first.”

His nostrils flared, and a corresponding awareness cascaded through her insides. “What happened between us?” she asked quietly.

“Dammit, Angie, the doctor said—”

“Forget the doctor, Shane.” She took a step toward him. His breathing changed, and she took a second step. “This is about you and me. About us.” Stopping only inches from him, she placed her hand on his chest, feeling his strength beneath the soft cotton of his flannel shirt. “I want answers.”

“I don’t think you’re up to it.”

He placed his hand on top of hers, holding her still and not letting her hand wander. That wasn’t like him. Nor was the tension sketched beside his eyes.

“Let me decide that, okay? I need to understand why the man I married is acting like a stranger. I need to know why you’re shutting me out.”

Indecision clouded across the green of his eyes, making them murky. Eventually he sighed. “You asked if we had a fight. We did.”

“We’ve had other fights.”

“Not like this.”

“Worse?”

“Yeah.”

Wind slashed against the large windows, shaking them in their wooden casings.

Why couldn’t she remember? Something so important should fill her mind, shouldn’t it?

“Leave it at that, Angie.”

“But—”

“You’re here, you’re safe. There’s time for the rest later.”

“Was it bad enough to ruin our relationship?”

“Angie—”

“Was it?” she repeated breathlessly, demandingly.

“Yeah.”

She swallowed the information, but didn’t know what to do with it. Nothing made sense, and the harder she tried to remember, the more fuzzy her brain became.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the roar in her head and the ache in her heart.

“I need to clean that cut on your forehead.”

“Shane—”

“Don’t be so stubborn, Angie. Give in.”

She didn’t want to, but she knew he was right. “Okay,” she said, nodding. “For now.”

He released his hold on her, and her hand fell to her side, her palm still warm.

“Sit on the couch.”

When she did, he crouched in front of her and poured peroxide on a cotton ball.

His touch tender, he feathered her hair back from her forehead and said, “This may sting.”

“No more than this awkwardness between us.”

“You never give up, do you?”

“You made me promise that I’d never give up on us. And I won’t.”

Their gazes locked, and the spikes of pain in his eyes stole her breath. She’d seen that kind of hurt there before, when he’d told her about his mother and the way she deserted him on his ninth birthday.

The ache in his eyes had intensified when he’d confided that he’d proposed to Delilah Clark, a girl he’d gone to high school with. Delilah said she’d marry him as long as he got rid of his sister.

Angie had held him that night, promising him she’d never walk out on him, no matter what.

Now, just like then, she wanted to cradle him. But this time, she knew he wouldn’t appreciate it. Instead, she hugged her arms around her middle so she wouldn’t do anything she’d regret.

He applied ointment and a bandage, his fingertips barely glancing off her skin.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You need to take off those wet clothes.” He stood and capped the brown bottle, sliding it on the coffee table. “I’ll get you a couple of aspirin first.”

He offered his hand and she hesitated. He might not want her touch, but she craved his.

Patiently he waited, his mouth a tight line, revealing nothing. In fact, if she hadn’t seen the thready pulse in his temple, she might have thought he felt nothing.

Finally, desperate for the connection, any connection, she slipped her hand against his palm. Maybe if she broke past the barrier of ice…

For a moment, his fingers closed around hers. Warmth and longing flooded her as he slowly pulled her up.

She swayed toward him. Her hopes of him softening died in that instant. He simply steadied her, then released her before turning on his booted heel. His steps away from her seemed to echo her loneliness off the hardwood floor.

Tears from Shane’s rejection stinging her eyes, she crossed to their bedroom only to gasp aloud at the sight of it.

“Angie!” he called. “Are you okay?”

She heard his boots thundering on the flooring, but she couldn’t answer. Instead, she frantically grabbed hold of the doorjamb.

There were no traces of her anywhere in this room.

Their mismatched set of furniture—bought at a yard sale—was gone, replaced by a set of solid oak pieces. A bedspread, colorful with a southwestern design splashed on the fabric, lay across the mattress. But where was her pastel-colored quilt with the wedding-ring pattern?

“Angie?” he asked again, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Where are my things?” Pulling away, she moved into the room, dropping to her knees and yanking open the bottom right-hand drawer where she usually kept her lingerie. She found his socks and briefs.

She slammed the drawer and reached for another, where she should find belts and hair accessories. Nothing. Frantically, she yanked open a third drawer and started shoving aside his sweaters hoping to find something—anything—of hers.

“Stop.” Kneeling next to her, he clamped his hand around her wrist.

She looked up at the man she’d sworn she’d love forever, the man she’d given herself to, body and heart.

And she didn’t recognize him.

“Answer me, Shane. Where are my things? Why is there no trace of me in this room? Was our fight so bad that you’d kick me out of your life like this?”

“You’ve got clothes in the closet.”

Her breath rushed out. “In the closet?”

“On the shelves.”

She didn’t remember….

He slowly released his grip, but he didn’t move away.

“But that’s not all,” she said softly, momentarily squeezing her eyes shut. “You’ve changed, Shane. You’re not the man I married.”

“I’m the same as I’ve always been.”

He still had the same good looks, the same scar beneath his chin from the childhood bike accident, the same angular jaw, the same intensely green eyes, the same thick, dark hair begging to be mussed, the same cleft in his chin where she’d rested her finger earlier.

He was still the same, yet so much…more. “You’re harder.” Broader, stronger, more rigid. More man. “Less loving. I remember the way you’d smile when you saw me, the way you’d reach for me, the way you’d carry me in here.” Her voice broke as she finished, “The way you’d make love to me…”

He cursed softly. His eyes lightened a shade. If she didn’t know otherwise, she might have thought she’d glimpsed tenderness.

But then it was gone, and night returned to the pine-forest depths of his eyes. Swimming in a sea of confusion, she got to her feet.

“When did we get this furniture?” she asked.

“I ordered it from the Mountain Majesty catalog you like.”

Drawing her brows together, she whispered, “When?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.” She reached her hand to her forehead, and suddenly it became shockingly, frighteningly clear. “The accident. Our fight… I’ve forgotten, haven’t I? I’ve blocked it out.” Her heart raced. “I’ve lost part of my memory.”

“There’s time for all this later.” He stood but thankfully didn’t move toward her. “When you’re feeling better, when you’ve rested.”

“That’s what you talked to Dr. Johnson about, isn’t it? My memory loss.”

“Angie—” he warned.

Suddenly she was more afraid than she ever remembered being. “How much, Shane? How much time have I lost?”

“I don’t know.” He spoke slowly, soothingly, his reassuring cadence the only lifeline she had to hold on to. “The doctor said it could be posttraumatic amnesia.”

Her knees weakened. “What does that mean?” She sank onto the bed she didn’t remember sharing with him.

“He won’t know, exactly, unless he runs a complete neurological examination.”

Twisting her hands together, she softly said, “And because of the weather, you can’t get me to the hospital.”

He nodded.

“So you’re stuck with me.”

“We’re stuck with each other.”

Oh, how she’d wanted him to deny it, to tell her that being with her wasn’t a hardship.

“Your memory could come back all on its own.”

She twisted her hands together. “When?”

“Anytime.”

“What happens if it doesn’t? What if it never comes back at all?”

“Don’t,” he warned, the word a soft growl. Devouring the distance in a couple of quick strides, he took hold of her upper arms, but there was nothing intimate about his grip.

“We don’t have any information, so we can’t hazard a guess. Dr. Johnson wouldn’t.”

She struggled to take it all in, but she was shivering, as if the cold was devouring her from the inside out.

“The best thing you can do is follow the doctor’s orders. Rest, and change out of the wet clothes so you don’t end up with a cold, as well.”

“But—”

His grip tightened. “Do us both a favor. Quit arguing.”

He released her, and the temperature plummeted. The howling wind and driving snow only made it worse.

Shane crossed to the closet and returned with a pair of sweatpants and matching shirt. At least these were familiar.

She grabbed for the hem of her damp sweater, only to wince when her muscles protested.

A pulse ticking in his temple, he offered his help.

“Thanks,” she said.

He eased the sweater over her head, dropping it onto the floor and scooping up the sweatshirt. As he helped her into the soft fleece, his fingers skimmed her bare skin, raising awareness deep inside her.

She glanced at him, and he refused to meet her gaze. He wasn’t looking at her.

Tears stung again, and she tried to blink them back.

“What about your jeans?”

“I can manage.” Better that than having a man touch her who no longer wanted to…

When she stood and fumbled with the zipper’s small tab, he said, “I’ll do it.”

His motions were deft and sure, not that that was a surprise. He’d undressed her dozens of times.

Yet there was something different knowing he was angry, recognizing he didn’t want to be near her, realizing their marriage was no longer the happily-ever-after fairy tale she believed it to be.

He shimmied the damp, stiff denim past her hips and down her thighs. Kneeling, he held the jeans while she stepped out of them.

Breath froze in her lungs.

His gaze swept upward as he looked at her, pausing midway up her body.

He sucked in a shallow breath, his eyes narrowing. Her body quickened in response to his unspoken need.

He touched her, gently.

Then, swearing softly, he dropped his hand, pushed to his feet and grabbed the aspirin he’d carried into the room.

Uncapping the bottle, he shook out two tablets and placed them on the bedside table, alongside a glass of water. “Call me if you need anything.” The door closed behind him with a sharp click.

She needed so much from him—needed to be held, caressed, loved…the very things he wasn’t offering.

Her head thundered. She wanted things back the way they had been before… Before… Before the fight she couldn’t remember.

She’d demanded answers, and Shane had given a few. Maybe he’d been right in guessing she was better off not knowing. His honesty hadn’t solved anything, it had only made it worse.

Finally, the pain ricocheting inside her head won. Angie gave in. Telling herself that maybe her memory would return if she rested, she pulled back the bedspread and crawled beneath the blanket.

She lay down and inhaled Shane’s scent, that of mountain air and citrus spice. Another small thing that was familiar in a world tipped upside down. She found comfort in it.

She gave a soft sigh of relief. He might be angry, but he hadn’t shut her out completely. When he’d taken off her jeans, sensuality had arced between them. That gave her a glimmer of hope.

She’d always been a fighter, and more than once Shane had said he admired that about her. Well, he’d never seen her fight like this before. She wanted Shane’s love back, and she’d do anything to get it.

The only problem was, she didn’t know where to start because the enemy was inside her own head….

She wasn’t the only one with memory problems.

Shane shoved the bottle of aspirin back on the shelf in the kitchen and slammed the cupboard door.

Pivoting, he strode into the living room, Hardhat on his heels.

What the hell was Shane thinking, allowing his gaze to caress her the way his hands once had, forgetting the way she’d callously turned and run from their vows and commitment?

Oh, it was easy to forget, when all he could do was remember the way they’d talk and laugh, the way he shared his darkest secrets with her, her responses, soft and sensual, daring and demanding…her scent, perfume and shampoo mingling with feminine temptation…the feel of her yielding to his desires….

Having her pressed against him transported him back five years to a time he’d believed in love, and more, had actually taken a leap and trusted her with his heart.

Of all people, he should have realized that integrity didn’t exist in the female species. His mother had proved that, and so had Delilah.

He’d decided never to get involved with a woman again. That resolve had lasted until he’d seen Angie at her aunt Emma’s coffee shop. Angie had served him more than a drink—she’d served him sunshine and warmth, all with a bright smile. And the concrete encasing his heart had started to chip away.

He’d thought she was different, and when she’d married him, he’d known she was different.

Two months later, he’d learned his lesson. No woman, not even Angie, had integrity.

Grabbing his coat, he shrugged into it. He’d left the pile of wood outside, and if instinct proved right, it would only be a matter of time before the storm prevented him from going outside at all.

He opened the door and icy wind lashed at him, viciously chewing on his earlobes.

Suited his mood fine.

Hardhat tucked his tail between his legs and slunk back to the hearth. The dog might be a traitor, but he wasn’t dumb.

Needing an outlet for the emotional energy churning in his gut, Shane battled his way to the woodpile, grabbed an armload of split pine and hauled it through the snow.

He opened his eyes wide in the driving wind, trying to vanquish the image of light brown hair and haunted blue eyes. It didn’t help. He couldn’t get rid of her, no matter how hard he tried.

Her arrival on his doorstep—a place not easy to find—brought dozens of questions to mind, mainly, why was she here? Was his home her destination? And if it was, why?

The Dear John letter she’d left behind stated she didn’t want him to seek her out, said she never wanted to see him again, swore she’d never loved him. Their marriage had been a mistake, their love a lie.

His gut twisted as he remembered the pain, the disbelief, the grief that paralyzed.

He still hadn’t wanted to believe it, so he’d traveled to Chicago to seek her out. There, her father had set him straight, saying that Angie had grown up, realized she’d made a mistake in marrying a poor boy and begged her father to come and get her, bailing her out of her mistake.

Shoving aside the intrusive thoughts, Shane struggled back through the front door. He was determined to find out what the hell she wanted with him, what havoc she intended to wreak, and get her back out of his life.

After stacking the first load of wood in the storage closet, he went back for a second, then third, ignoring the soft sounds drifting from the master bathroom.

She was supposed to be asleep. Then again, she’d never been great at following orders, especially his.

By the fourth trip, he’d exhausted himself battling the elements. With the door bolted against the raging fury, her soft sounds became more difficult to ignore.

Water ran. Obviously she was drinking from the same glass he’d used earlier this morning, an intimacy a wife would automatically take.

He swallowed.

She thought they were still married.

He dropped his outer clothes near the door and strode to the fireplace, grabbing the poker and stabbing the embers. Hardhat barked a protest as metal slammed against concrete.

Squatting, Shane reached for a log and tossed it on the grate. It promised to be a long day, even longer evening with his ex-wife tucked between his sheets.

Three

She was the same woman, yet totally different.

Toward evening, he stood in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the jamb, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept…on his side of the bed.

Firelight from the living room flickered on her light brown hair. The strands sifted across the pillow, inviting his touch. “Angie?”

She didn’t respond.

He entered the room, his bare feet silent on the oak floor.

The comforter snuggled her body, tucked around her shoulders, and only her face peeked from beneath the warmth of down. Shane reached to shake her awake, but stopped, captivated by the light playing on her face.

The cut looked obscene against the paleness of her skin, and he’d do anything to take that ache away from her. No one deserved to be hurt like that.

Without thinking, he succumbed to temptation, feathering his fingers into her hair, letting the rumpled strands wind around his knuckles like he used to.

Before he could pull his hand back, her eyes flickered open. A slow smile slipped across her lips, and they parted in silent greeting. “Shane…” Reaching up, she stroked his hand, as if they were lovers. “Are you coming to bed?”

Instinct warned of danger. “No.” He loosened his grip on the silky lock of hair. No matter how tempting she was, no matter how he suddenly wanted to forget her desertion, he wouldn’t get tangled in her web. He’d done that once and it had cost him his heart. “I made you some soup.”

“Soup?”

“Chicken noodle. Figured it’s always good when you’re not feeling well.”

She blinked, as if remembering the last few hours. The welcome in her eyes and on her mouth faded. “Oh. I’d forgotten.” Her hand dropped away from his.

He shouldn’t want her touch, not when he intended to get her back out of his life. “I’ll bring it to you.” He returned to the kitchen, hoping he’d find sanity there.

Slamming drawers and cupboards, he ladled the warmed soup into a bowl, then piled everything on a tray, grabbing a box of Saltine crackers from the counter on the way back to his room.

She wiggled into a sitting position, the comforter peeling back to reveal that she was wearing one of his T-shirts. Old and faded, the white cotton conformed to her, and her breasts pushed against the fabric.

While he’d brought in the firewood, she’d been doing more than drinking a glass of water. She’d been undressing.

An image of their past flashed in his mind. When she’d slept in anything at all, it had been one of his T-shirts and nothing else.

And she would still think it was okay.

That meant that beneath the covers, her long, shapely legs were bare. It felt like a hammer to the gut when he remembered the feel of those legs, wrapped around his naked waist as they sweetly made love.

“I hope you don’t mind me changing,” she said, as if reading his mind. “I was too hot in sweats.”

“Sure,” he lied. Forcing himself to refocus, he slid the tray onto the nightstand and saw her discarded clothes on the floor, the silk and lace of her bra on top of the pile.

His mouth dried.

“Thank you,” she said softly, the words huskily drawn across a sleep-rubbed voice. “You’re too good to me.”

Shane offered her a cup of tea, two sugars stirred in, the way she always drank it.

She wrapped her hands around the mug, sipped from it, then wrinkled her nose. “I drink it black.” She blinked. “Don’t I?”

“You tell me.” He folded his arms across his chest and waited.

Angie frowned, her brows pinched as if in pain. Her hand shook as she slid the tea back onto the tray.

She wrapped her hands across her shoulders again, in the same protective way she had earlier. She hadn’t done that when he’d known her before. Just how much, he wondered, didn’t he know about her?

He’d thought he knew every part of her, how she cried out his name when she teetered on the brink of fulfillment, the way she wiggled next to him, stealing the sheets and seeking his heat after they made love, the way her eyes darkened, like a storm on an alpine lake, when she shyly initiated intimacy.

But he hadn’t known a thing about her, not really. He hadn’t suspected she could run away from him, leaving behind her clothes, a scrawled letter and a diamond ring that winked damningly in the dull autumn light. He hadn’t known that her courage and declarations of love had all been a lie.

“Your soup’s getting cold.” He turned to leave.

“Shane.”

He paused, but he didn’t look back.

“I can’t fix our problem if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.” Her voice was a low, husky plead.

He told himself it had no effect on him. “It can’t be fixed, Angie.”

Her head roared and blood thundered against her temples, echoing Shane’s words. It can’t be fixed.

She pressed the aspen leaf against her breast, holding on to the feelings she’d had that day when she’d scooped the hair from her neck and he fastened the clasp at her nape.

Closing her eyes, she tried to fill in the blanks, only to come up empty. She remembered meeting him at Aunt Emma’s coffee shop, the way his eyes had narrowed speculatively with distrust when she smiled at him. That hadn’t stopped her, though. She’d smiled even brighter.

He’d returned the next day and asked what her name was. By the third day, he confessed he’d never drunk coffee before that week. On Thursday, their hands had accidentally touched; on Friday, he’d invited her out on a date.

Her pulse had taken flight. He was so tall, so handsome, so enigmatic, so different from any other man she’d ever met. Man and earth combined in Shane. He was everything she’d fantasized about as a young girl.

She’d said yes immediately, thrilled to know he was interested in her as a woman, not as an heiress. She’d had enough of expectations and she’d longed to live her life in her own way. Shane was part of her new life.

She recalled their fourth date. Shane had taken her to the county fair, where he’d given her the aspen leaf, a gift that meant more than all her fancy jewelry simply because he’d wanted her to have it.

She remembered his heart-stoppingly romantic proposal, their midsummer wedding beneath the sun and trees, the thrill and fear of wondering if she was pregnant, then…

Nothing.

Warm air whispered from the floor vents, but that couldn’t stop goose bumps from sliding up and down her arms. It was winter now, meaning she’d lost at least a couple of months. So what had happened that was so bad between then and now?

He said their argument couldn’t be fixed, and yet…

Was it possible her memory loss was a blessing?

She continued to hold the aspen leaf—a promise of forever—close to her heart.

Maybe, with nothing to hold back her true emotions, her honesty could find Shane’s heart.

Angie was nothing if not a strong and determined woman. And now she had a mission, getting her husband back.

After gingerly climbing from bed, she grabbed the post, waiting for the world to right itself.

She slid into her undergarments slowly, then pulled on the sweatpants and shirt, and borrowed a pair of his thick socks from a drawer before moving into the living room, toward her future.

Shane stared out the window and she moved up behind him. Hardhat, the adorable Labrador, cocked his head to one side. One ear flopped over endearingly. She smiled. At least the dog didn’t mind having her here.

Before she reached Shane, he turned, facing her with a formidable frown.

The hand she’d been reaching toward him fell to her side.

“You should be in bed.”

“Only if you’ll join me.”

The frown deepened. “Angie,” he warned.

“I want to know where I stand with you. Do you want a divorce?” Despite her best efforts, emotion ran her words together into a breathless blur. “I don’t think I could bear that.”

“It’s too late for that discussion,” he stated flatly.

“Don’t you want me?”

He dragged a hand through his hair, pulling strands back from his face and emphasizing the fine lines grooved beside dark green eyes.

Frightened of the answer but needing to know, she asked, “Is that it? You don’t find me desirable anymore?”

His gaze swept up her, holding nothing back. He lingered at the swell of her breasts, looking at her for a long, long time, long enough for her nipples to tighten with want.

“Hell, Ang, a man would have to be blind to not want you.”

“Did you kick me out of the house?”

“No.”

“Then I left you.”

Silence roared.

“Yes.”

Terror tapped a staccato in her veins. “But I’d never do that, not after what your mother did.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

She shuddered. All of a sudden, she was no longer certain of anything. “Why? Why would I do that to you? To Sarah? To us?”

“You were playing house with a poor boy and decided you didn’t like it. Your future with a social equal was more important than your sworn promise to me.”

She shook her head. “It’s not possible. I don’t believe it, Shane, I can’t.”

“I’ve got your note, Angie.”

“Note?”

“A Dear John letter. An excuse, no apology.”

From the other room, the teakettle shrilled. She seized the opportunity to escape him, fleeing into the kitchen.

Her hand shook as she turned off the burner.

Collapsing against the counter, she gulped half a dozen desperate breaths.

She’d left him?

Her heart raced and the aspen leaf lay against it, suddenly feeling cold. Tears swelled in her eyes. She was confused, vulnerable, and she hated not being in control.

Shane entered the room, curving his hands around her shoulders reassuringly. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I’m fine,” she lied. “I’ll bring you some tea in a minute.”

“Forget the tea.” Releasing one hand, he held a finger beneath her eye and transferred the moisture from her lashes to his skin, as if trying to take away her pain.

He held her gaze as captive as he held her tear. With his thumb, he stroked the dampness until it disappeared.

How was it possible that the love they shared had vanished? Nothing was more important to her than Shane.

When she’d accepted his proposal, she’d turned her back on her family and the groom her father had chosen for her. She’d known the consequences—being disinherited and cut off from her family—and was willing to pay the price because the idea of a future without Shane’s love hurt even more.

There had to be something he didn’t know, something she couldn’t remember. She was still the same woman who promised to love Shane forever. “I wouldn’t have willingly destroyed our relationship.”

She tried to pull away, only to have Shane once again tighten his grip.

“The doctor said you need to rest. I’ll see to it that you do.”

She laughed, a brittle sound. “That’s the only reason you didn’t throw me out in the snow, isn’t it? Because the doctor said I’m your responsibility.”

“Don’t.”

“You must hate me.”

“Hate? No.”

“But you don’t care.”

“I’ve had time to get over it.”

“Over me?”

His silence spoke louder than words.

“Go in the front room and curl up in front of the fire,” he said into the crackling silence.

She didn’t.

He pulled her a little closer, so close she inhaled the scent of masculine determination and saw the flash of daring in his eyes. He overwhelmed her.

“Go willingly, or I’ll carry you there myself.”

“I’ll make my own decisions—”

“You always have. No matter who you hurt.”

She flinched.

“I’m not negotiable, Angie. Don’t push me.”

Her heart was as heavy as the snow suffocating the outdoors. Needing to regroup, she conceded. For now.

She lowered her gaze, and he released her.

Crossing to the couch, she massaged her shoulders where he’d held her.

Hardhat jumped up beside her. Absently she ran her hand down his back. With a sound that was half yawn, half whine, he dropped his head in her lap.

She looked at the beautiful stone fireplace, and a cold frisson frosted her spine. Their wedding picture used to occupy the center of the mantel. Now it was bare.

Shane brought in two cups of tea and put them on coasters. “Hardhat’s not allowed on the couch.”

“Sorry.”

“He figures you’re a soft touch.”

“I don’t know him.”

“No.”

She exhaled shakily. “And the furniture?”

“I bought it after you left.”

“You’ve made other changes, too. You’ve added on, put in lots of windows. It doesn’t look like a cabin any longer. It’s more like one of those fabulous mountain retreats you’d see in a magazine. It takes a while to make those kind of changes.”

He nodded in agreement.

“How long, Shane? How long have I been gone?”

He crouched to scratch Hardhat behind one ear. “It doesn’t matter.”

Despite herself, she reached for him, curving her fingers around his shoulder. In the craziness, he was her only anchor. Damn it, she needed him. Her voice hoarse, she whispered, “It matters to me.”

He looked at her squarely. “Five years. You left me over five years ago.”

She gasped. Not months, but years. Years of her life had vanished.

Instantly he covered her hand with his.

Something in her stomach, warm and deep, fluttered. No matter what had happened, she still responded to his most casual touch. “I want to see the letter.”

He cursed beneath his breath. “I’m under strict orders from Dr. Johnson to keep you calm.”

Her laugh was frayed at the edges. “Things can’t be any worse than they already are.”

He clamped his lips together.

“Let me see the letter. I have to know…”

“Sorry.”

“It has to be real to me, Shane.” She turned her palm up. “Please understand.”

After long seconds, when she thought he’d refuse, he finally nodded curtly.

While he was gone, she wondered if she was making the right decision. Maybe it would make everything seem real, maybe her memory would flood back.

It didn’t.

She didn’t recognize the stationery. But there was no mistaking the word Shane in her handwriting.

The edges of the paper were tattered and yellowed, the creases crisp, as if he’d dragged a thumbnail across them with finality.

She paused before unfolding the page, meeting his gaze. It was as cold as the winter wind battering the cabin.

Her hand trembled as she held the letter, and the words blurred from the tears gathering in her eyes.

Shane strode away. His back to her, he tossed a log on the fire and stabbed the timber with a poker.

Shane,

I’m going home to my father. Don’t try and find me. I don’t want to see you again. Our marriage was a fling and a mistake.

I never loved you.

Angie.

The brutal coldness of the words sliced into her heart. “It’s not true,” she whispered, her voice shaking with unshed emotion.

How could she have done this to him? Why would she do this to him? It couldn’t have been that she’d fallen out of love with him, not with the emotion still swelling in her soul.

“I loved you then,” she said. “I love you now.”

Shane said nothing.

There had to be an explanation, and now, more than ever, she was desperate to know what had happened to the five years erased by an accident.

“Did we have a fight? Is that why I wrote this?” she asked softly, the words breaking on a sob.

“No.” He turned to face her. “I went to work. We’d made love….”

His gaze skimmed up and down her body, and she felt it like a caress. A blush colored her face as recognition flared into need.

“Being with you made me late for work. I didn’t mind. You’d almost convinced me to call in sick and stay in bed with you.”

“Did you wish you had?”

“At first.”

“And now?”

“If you didn’t love me, I’d rather you left. Like cauterizing a wound. Hurts like hell in the beginning. Less painful in the end.”

“Did you come after me?”

“Yeah. But not at first. About a month after the divorce was final, I was out with Slade Birmingham.” Beside Shane, the fire devoured the dried wood, hissing and crackling.

“I had a few to drink. Before that I’d refused to grab the bottle like my old man used to do.” He jammed his hands into his front pockets. His eyes, electrified by the fire, burned into hers. “That night, Angie, the pain caught up with me. It was my birthday, the anniversary of my mom walking out.”

Oh, God, oh, God, why had she asked? His pain cut through her, and her abdomen constricted.

“I drove all the way to Chicago, like a lovesick fool.”

She winced.

“Arrived just in time for your wedding reception.”

Her jaw went slack. “My…”

“Wedding reception. After your marriage to Jack Hague.” Shane’s eyes darkened like a storm in the forest.

“No,” she protested, disbelief rocketing through her. She wouldn’t have married Jack, even if it was the only thing her father had ever expected of her.

“Oh, yeah. In a long white gown, diamonds in your ears, huge vases of white flowers everywhere, a band, champagne, a sit-down meal…all the things I wanted to give you and couldn’t. The things that apparently mattered to you, even though you said they didn’t.”

A headache threatened to split her skull.

“Six months after you sneaked out of my life. The ink was barely dry on our divorce papers, Angie. It was as if we’d never happened.”

Maybe he was right; maybe she would have been better off not knowing.

“Your daddy figured out who I was and escorted me outside. He was kind enough to answer a few questions for me. He explained you really hadn’t come to live in Colorado, that spending the summer with your aunt was something to give you a taste of the real world, nothing more.”

“No. That’s not true. I came to Colorado to get away, to be an independent woman.”

“Your father said when you were done playing house with a man who wasn’t your social equal, you called him and begged him to bail you out. You were tired of being broke, tired of being a surrogate mother to my sister.”

Her head swam. “No. I loved Sarah.”

“Not only that, but in the generous spirit of the celebration, he wrote out a ten thousand dollar check to ensure I never contacted you again.” His words were short and bitter. “I tore it up and threw the pieces at his feet. Didn’t need money to stay the hell out of your life.” His tone dropped another octave. “It would have cost him more than that to make me speak to you again.”

“And now I’m back.”

“And when your memory returns, I’ll have a few questions for you.”

“Like…?”

He shoved his hands even deeper into his pockets. To keep them to himself?

“For starters, are you still married? Are you Angie Hague? Oh, wait, maybe it’d be Angela Hague.”

She pressed her hand to her temples. “Shane, please…”

“Does he still have a claim on you? And if he does, why the hell are you sleeping in my bed?”

Four

The world reeled and she couldn’t even take a breath. She was in love with Shane, only Shane. The idea of another man touching her, holding her, making love to her…

“No,” she whispered. Desperately she looked at her left hand. “I’m not wearing a ring.” And there was no indentation where one might have rested.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“No other man has any claim on me. I never wanted anyone but you.”

“Stop, Angie. I’ve had enough of your lies.”

She clutched the aspen leaf.

“It wasn’t a lie.” He stared at her, long and deep. She scrambled to her unsteady feet, reaching for the couch for support. Blinded by tears, she headed for the door.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“I’ve got to know.” She reached the entryway before he did and yanked her jacket and purse from the hook where he’d hung them.

Dropping to her knees, she jerked open her purse and dumped it upside down.

In an instant, he was kneeling in front of her, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. “Angie…”

Shrugging off his grip, she dug through the cosmetics, gum wrappers and checkbook, then snatched up her wallet, desperately searching for pieces of her past.

There were no pictures in her wallet, no snapshots of her and Jack.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled out her Illinois driver’s license.

Angela Burton.

Her name was listed as Angela Burton…her maiden name.

She let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, then studied her credit cards and checkbook.

She looked at Shane.

His eyes were narrowed, and a wary mixture of anger and concern played across green depths.

“I’m Angela Burton.”

He curved a hand around her wrist. “So it says.”

A pain ripped through her and she reached her free hand toward him, tracing her finger down his familiar, yet so different, shadowed cheek.

A thousand questions swamped her mind. Why was she in Colorado? Why was she at his house? Why did she think they were still in love? How could she have left him?

She’d never met anyone like him. Tender, protective, arrogant, maddening, passionate, they’d shared dozens of emotions, each time growing a little closer.

Grief, a sharp, stabbing pain, shot through her. She’d left him, walked out on him in the coldest, most callous way possible. She’d done what his mother and Delilah had done, after swearing she wouldn’t. Angie had betrayed their love, and she didn’t know why.

No wonder he didn’t like her, didn’t want her. “I’m sorry, Shane, so, so sorry.”

“For leaving or coming back?”

“Both.”

“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”

He released her wrist, and she dropped her license. “I’m not married to him.”

“No?”

“I’d know it if I were.”

“Would you? How? How do you know anything, Angie?”

She looked at him with wide-eyed innocence, something he no longer believed in.

Protectively, she curled her fingers around the dulled aspen leaf. “If I hadn’t loved you, why would I have kept the only gift you ever gave me?”

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