Stranded in the wilderness,

one of them could be a target

Returning to his remote mountain cabin, Jason Sheffield finds a beautiful woman with total amnesia…and wicked martial arts skills. A blizzard soon deepens their enforced closeness. Though hardened by his time in war zones, photojournalist Jason finds himself opening up to “Lucy.” But before he can help Lucy figure out her identity, a would-be assassin strikes. Is he after Lucy? Or has Jason’s latest assignment marked him for death?

KAREN WHIDDON started weaving fanciful tales for her younger brothers at the age of eleven. Amid the gorgeous Catskill Mountains, then the majestic Rocky Mountains, she fueled her imagination with the natural beauty surrounding her. Karen now lives in north Texas, writes full-time and volunteers for a boxer dog rescue. She shares her life with her hero of a husband and four to five dogs, depending on if she is fostering. You can email Karen at kwhiddon1@aol.com. Fans can also check out her website, karenwhiddon.com.

Also By Karen Whiddon

The CEO’s Secret Baby

The Cop’s Missing Child

The Millionaire Cowboy’s Secret

Texas Secrets, Lovers’ Lies

The Rancher’s Return

The Texan’s Return

Wyoming Undercover

The Texas Soldier’s Son

Texas Ranch Justice

Snowbound Targets

The Coltons of Roaring Springs

Colton’s Rescue Mission

The Coltons of Red Ridge

Colton’s Christmas Cop

The Coltons of Texas

Runaway Colton

The Coltons of Oklahoma

The Temptation of Dr. Colton

The Coltons: Return to Wyoming

A Secret Colton Baby

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Snowbound Targets

Karen Whiddon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90517-0

SNOWBOUND TARGETS

© 2020 Karen Whiddon

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

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“That was crazy as hell,” Jason said. “That guy could have killed us.”

Oddly enough, now that they were safely inside, Lucy felt calmer. “I know. Thank you for not letting that happen.”

Her comment made him laugh. “Yeah. I guess I’ll be making another report to Sheriff Jeffords.” He dumped the contents of his bag onto the kitchen table and shook his head. “There sure is a lot of stuff here. Mostly junk mail.”

“I see that,” she replied, unable to take her gaze from the manila envelope. “Aren’t you curious to find out why you were served?”

He met her gaze. “I am. But I’m also dreading opening it. I mean, how much weirdness can happen in one day? I can’t help but wonder what the hell I did to piss someone off. First the break-in, and now someone tries to kill us. None of it makes sense. This is as crazy as when I’m working the war zone over in Kabul.”

Again, she had the unshakable suspicion that all of this was because of her.

Dear Reader,

Snowbound Targets was a fun book to write. I haven’t written anyone with amnesia in a long, long time and learning the reason for Lucy’s memory loss fascinated me. And Jason Sheffield is my favorite kind of hero, a man’s man with a world-weary air. He’s seen too much darkness and is ready for some light.

Add in Colorado (one of my favorites of all the places I’ve lived) and snow (yes, I love winter) and, of course, the ever-present element of danger, and you’ve got a story. Oh, what a story! Because to me, there is nothing like love and light triumphing over darkness.

I hope you love Lucy and Jason and the fictional town of Cedar, Colorado, as much as I did.

Happy reading!

Karen Whiddon

To my family, many of whom are not related by blood. You know who you are and I love and appreciate you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Any other time, the sight of the snow-capped craggy Colorado mountain peaks would have filled Jason Sheffield with joy. Tonight, with the stains of war coloring the edges of his vision with blood, he gave a grim nod toward their majesty and continued on up the twisting road. A few miles ahead, he’d reach his sanctuary. Only then would he allow himself to let down his guard, an instinctive, protective reaction the result of spending far too long in the volatile war zones of Afghanistan and Syria.

Home now, he reminded himself, turning off the two-lane blacktop onto the narrow gravel tract that climbed through evergreens and aspens. Finally, he caught a glimpse of the red metal roof of his cabin, perched on the side of the hill looking out over the valley below and the mountain range stretching into the distance.

This was where he came when he wasn’t working, traveling around the hot spots of the globe and reporting right in the middle of the action. When he’d been younger, the danger had filled him with adrenaline. These days, he just felt weary.

After parking his four-wheel drive Jeep, he grabbed his heavy duffel bag, hefted it over his shoulder and started up the path toward his front door. His refuge. Since he hadn’t been back here in six months, one week and three days, he anticipated there’d be quite a bit of dust to deal with. At least he’d stopped in Walsenburg and picked up food along with a bag of ice and a large ice chest in which to stash the perishables. Since he didn’t plan to go anywhere for at least a week, he’d brought plenty. And with the ever-present possibility of snow, he’d made sure to grab enough to last two weeks minimum.

About to insert his key in the front door, he frowned. The door was already unlocked. Odd. He checked the fake rock on the side of the path where he always kept a spare. The key was missing.

Damn. He froze. He felt as if he’d somehow stepped back into a house in a back alley in Kabul. Dropping his duffel bag on the front porch bench, he drew his pistol. Heart pounding in his ears, he shoved open the front door and sidestepped inside, gun raised. At first, as his eyes adjusted to the interior lighting, he saw nothing that appeared amiss. Except a lamp was on. He swiveled left and right, his weapon following his movement.

There. A lump of various-colored ragged blankets on his couch. They weren’t his. And judging from the shape, someone or something hid underneath.

“Show yourself,” he barked. “Hands up. Now.”

The lump didn’t move. At all.

Mouth dry, he gave the order again. This time, the pile of blankets stirred. A sleepy pair of long-lashed, ice blue eyes peered out at him. He noted the silky shoulder-length dark hair, the heart-shaped face and swallowed. His intruder was female. A stunningly beautiful female. With a huge purple bruise on the left side of her face.

That didn’t make her any less dangerous. He’d learned that early on in the Middle East. Of course, this woman wasn’t wearing a burka. And they were in Cedar, Colorado, not war-torn Afghanistan. Still, he kept his gun trained on her as a precaution. Years of living on the edge of danger had taught him that.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my cabin?” he demanded.

Instead of answering, she simply stared at him, unblinking and solemn. Again, he noted her beauty, but discarded the thought instantly.

“Do you speak English?”

Sitting up and stretching, a graceful movement that drew his unwilling attention to the swell of her breasts under her baggy gray sweatshirt, she slowly nodded. “I think... Yes. I do.

“Why are you pointing a gun at me?” A slight frown creased her forehead as she eyed him. “And who are you?”

“I might ask you the same question,” he drawled, lowering his pistol to his side, but keeping it out just in case.

But she looked beyond him, her gaze taking in the polished oak paneling, the rustic furniture, even the high ceiling with the deer antler chandelier that hung over the dining table. “Where am I?”

Had he imagined the faint touch of horror in her silky voice?

“In my cabin,” he told her. “Which leads to another question I have for you. How’d you get in here? I assume you found the hidden key, but how’d you get up here? I didn’t see a vehicle, and I find it hard to believe you were out hiking and stumbled across my place.”

If anything, her frown deepened. “I...don’t know.” Confusion turned to fear as she pushed to her feet, shoving her hair away from her face. She turned in a circle, swallowing hard, taking in her surroundings with barely concealed panic before facing him. “I’m sorry. I have absolutely no idea who I am.”

Stunned, Jason stared at her. Whether he was being played or not, she clearly believed every word she said. He sighed and holstered his gun. “Did you hit your head?”

Her hand went up, an almost involuntary motion, sweeping under her hair. “I don’t think so. At least, it doesn’t hurt.” Again, she swallowed, drawing his gaze to the graceful lines of her throat. “I don’t understand. How is this even possible? How can I be in a place I don’t recognize, with a man I don’t know and have no idea of my own name?” Her voice rose slightly with each word and he saw how her hand shook.

“I have no idea,” he answered, fighting back his own exhaustion, which was winner over his skepticism. “But I’ve been traveling for a long time and I need to get some rest.”

“Friend or foe?” she asked, her expression serious as she caught and held his gaze.

Caught off guard, he wasn’t sure how to respond. “That depends,” he finally answered. “On which you turn out to be.” Then he pointed toward his bedroom. “I’m going to get some sleep. I will be locking my door. If you’re still here when I wake up, we’ll talk some more and try to figure this out.”

When she finally nodded, he managed a tired smile. On his way past her, he went to squeeze her shoulder, intending to offer her some sort of reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

Before he could, she yelped, as if his touch had hurt her. And then, as he gaped at her through a haze of exhaustion, she yanked him, put her shoulder under his armpit, and somehow flipped him past the couch, past her and onto the floor. Hard onto his back.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

Stunned, he managed to scramble back to his feet, first checking to make sure she hadn’t managed to grab his pistol. Nope, still in the holster.

Silent, they faced off. This time, he knew to be on guard.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Want?” Eyes huge, she stared back at him. Her mouth trembled. “I don’t know what just happened.”

“You attacked me,” he pointed out.

“No.” Slowly, she shook her head. “I defended myself. You touched me.” Her voice shook.

Fear. More than that, absolute terror. Like some of the rape victims he’d met in Kabul.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” he said, speaking slowly, his voice calm. “That was meant to be reassuring.”

“OK.” Her too-vigorous nod attested to her continuing agitation. “Just don’t touch me again, all right?”

“All right,” he agreed. “I’m going to walk past you and go to bed.”

With all of his movements deliberate, he sidled around her, taking care to keep his holster side away. She stood frozen watching him, her haunted expression achingly familiar. What the hell had happened to her that she’d ended up here alone and shaken, with absolutely no memory?

And mad self-defense skills.

He kept his gaze on her while walking backward all the way to his room. While there was nothing he enjoyed more than solving a good mystery, right now his entire body screamed for sleep. He felt hollowed out, almost as if he were sleepwalking. He needed rest. Then he’d be much better equipped to face his mystery guest.

As soon as the door closed, she heard the quiet click of the lock. Letting out a breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding, she allowed herself to sink back down into the soft warmth of the blankets on the comfortable couch.

Inhale. Exhale. Attempt to calm her racing heart. Try to contain her panic, to center herself. Even so, it took a moment or two for her entire body to stop shaking. Another for her to clear her mind enough to even attempt rational thought.

What had she gotten herself into? How had she ended up here? The big man who claimed to own this cabin, whoever he was, had seemed serious. And he’d had a gun. Did that mean her life might be in danger? Had he been hinting as to what he might do to her when he’d said if she was still here when he got up? Her face throbbed. She reached a hand up to touch it, wincing at the pain. She had no idea how she’d injured herself, but judging from how tender her cheek was, it had been recent.

If she’d been afraid before, the idea of leaving brought on a different sort of terror. Still, she forced herself to pad over to the door and open it, taking a look outside.

A blast of chilly air made her shiver. Despite her lack of a jacket, she stood in the doorway and took in the surroundings. Craggy mountains with snow-capped peaks. Lots of trees, mostly aspen, though some pine and spruce, interspersed with the occasional Poplar. How could she know this, what the trees were called, and not know her own name?

Briefly, she considered. If she left this place, this small cabin that appeared to be pretty isolated, where would she go? And how would she get there? Did she have any money, or any personal items? Would she even recognize them if she saw them? If she truly was in some sort of danger, would she even recognize her enemies if she saw them?

The answer unfortunately came back a resounding no.

Closing the door and locking it, she knew she had no choice but to stay put. The big man might be a bit intimidating, but she’d pick the devil she knew over the unknown. At least right now. For all she knew, he could be her enemy or her captor. She might not know her name, but she knew enough to watch her back. She’d be careful and keep her guard up. Hopefully soon, some of her memory would return.

Still, she looked around, hoping to see maybe a purse or something personal of hers. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, especially if she found a wallet with identifying information?

But there wasn’t anything. Apparently, she had nothing but the clothes on her back. Super soft black leggings and an oversize sweatshirt. And while she wore a pair of socks, she didn’t see any shoes. Her head ached. How was that even possible? Then again, she supposed anything might be possible since she had no idea of her own identity or how she’d gotten to this remote rustic cabin.

Memory loss. How? Why? What could have caused that? Again, she felt her skull, using her fingers to probe for any bumps or lumps. She found a few, none of them too big. A little tenderness rather than pain. Not enough to explain this.

Had she been ill? Like with a brain tumor or something? The thought didn’t ring a bell, but then what did?

Instead of taking stock of what she didn’t know, she decided to list what she did. Precious little, actually. She’d been awakened by a man she didn’t know, apparently for trespassing in his cabin in the mountains. As for what state, she knew there were several that had mountains like those. She found it odd that she could list all the mountainous states but not her own name or where she’d come from. Or what had happened to get her here.

Once more she fought a rising tide of panic. A blank slate could mean anything. She didn’t even know what kind of person she might be—good or bad. She had no idea if she was married or single or divorced. If she had any children or siblings or parents who might be worried at not hearing from her in too long.

This was not helping. Then what would? She needed to think. As tempting as crawling back under the blankets and hiding from the world might be, doing so wouldn’t solve anything.

Instead, she paced, hoping the simple act of moving would bring a glimmer of...something. After a few minutes of stalking the interior perimeter of the cabin, she realized this wasn’t helping either. Apparently, one couldn’t simply will their memory to return. Not even in bits and pieces.

Trying not to feel utterly defeated, she sat back down on the couch. She glanced at the smoldering woodstove, wondering if she should add a few logs. As dusk settled in over the mountains, she knew the temperatures would continue to drop. How she knew this, she couldn’t say.

In the end, she settled for burrowing back under the blankets.

She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew warm sunlight streamed in, warming her face. Stretching, she yawned and tentatively searched the void of her memory to see if anything had returned. No such luck.

Her long-sleeved sweatshirt fit loosely. She pushed up the sleeves, startled to see her arms were covered in bruises of various shapes and sizes. The colors ranged from plum to a deep purple, almost black. Gingerly, she touched her arm, which made her wince. She had no idea what had happened to cause these.

Glancing around her at the now brightly lit room, she noticed the bedroom door remained closed. The big man must still be asleep. Which suited her fine, since she didn’t trust him.

She padded down the hall, looking for a bathroom. Once there, she eyed the shower longingly before deciding she might as well. But first, she locked the door. Only then did she strip off her clothes and glance in the mirror.

As she’d feared, in addition to the massive one on her face, more bruises decorated her legs and hips. She even had a huge one covering part of her stomach and back. Though she hadn’t been aware of them before, now that she was, they hurt. Especially if she pressed her fingers into them. Which she immediately stopped doing.

Instead, she grabbed a couple of towels, located a new bar of soap under the sink, and stepped into the shower.

The small room had filled with steam by the time she’d finished. Clearly, she liked her showers hot. As she toweled herself dry, she realized she felt better already. Clean, at least. If only she had a change of clothes. Maybe the man would know where she might obtain these.

Thinking of the man must have made him manifest. Because when she walked back to the kitchen combing her fingers through her still-damp hair, she nearly ran into him. Only a quick jump back kept them from colliding.

As she gazed up at him, her heart rate once again going double time, she realized he appeared larger than he had last night. And more muscular. In fact, judging by the hard stare, he seemed much more intimidating.

She refused to let him see her quaking. Instead, she dipped her chin in a cool nod. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you drink coffee?”

Did she? Considering the question for a moment, she settled on a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out.”

He turned and led the way to the kitchen. She followed, feeling slightly calmer. She needed to remind herself that, as of yet, he’d given her no reason to be afraid of him. No sense looking for trouble before it started, as her grandmother always said.

My grandmother. Eager to capture a memory, she froze, waiting for her mind to supply images of a face and a name. But nothing else came and she finally sighed in defeat.

The man waited at the counter. He’d gotten down two large mugs. “Would you like to try it black or with cream and sugar?”

How she wished she could answer him.

“Just pick one,” he said, noting her hesitation. “Let’s go with cream and sugar.”

“Okay,” she allowed, watching as he put some kind of pod into the machine, placed a mug under it and pressed a button.

She realized she didn’t even know his name. Which should be okay, since she didn’t know hers, but she was getting tired of thinking of him as the man.

“I’m Jason Sheffield,” he told her, startling her. “And since we don’t know who you are, I’m thinking we’ll call you Lucy. Would that be okay?”

Lucy. Considering, she tried out the name inside her head. “I guess that’ll be as good as any,” she replied. “At least until my memory comes back.”

“Great.” He flashed a smile and handed over the mug. “Here you go, Lucy. Careful, it’s hot.”

Grateful, she accepted it and carried it over to the kitchen table, where she took a seat. Taking a tentative sip, she smiled as the rich flavors filled her mouth. “This is good. I think this is how I like it.”

“Good.” Carrying his own mug, he pulled out the chair across from her and sat. “How are you feeling?”

Again, she had to stop and reflect on a seemingly simple question. Finally, she settled for honesty. “I’m not sure. I have a few lumps and bumps, plus bruises all over my body. I have no idea how I got them.”

“Let me see,” he ordered. Then, softening his tone, he amended his request. “Please.”

Slowly, she pushed up her sleeve. First one, then the other, exposing the pattern of purple, black and blue. “My legs look the same. And my stomach and back.”

His harsh intake of breath made her tense. He swore, low enough that the curse word was almost imperceptible. “It looks like someone hit you, numerous times. By all rights, you should have a broken bone or two to go with those.”

She shivered. “Nothing is broken that I can tell. I’m a bit stiff and sore, but the hot shower helped with that.” Taking another sip of coffee, she managed a small smile. ‘And this is helping me feel better too.”

“You don’t remember what happened either?” His watchful gaze held enough compassion to make the back of her throat ache.

“No. I wish I did.”

“Any dreams that you can recall? Maybe your subconscious might try to communicate that way.”

She thought for a moment. While she sensed she’d dreamed, to her best recollection those dreams were a swirl of chaotic colors and seemingly unrelated movements. “Nothing,” she finally admitted.

At her response, he dragged his large hand through his unruly hair. Somehow, this only made him look more dangerous. Was he?

“It was worth a shot,” he said.

She took a deep breath. To trust him or not, that was the million-dollar question. However, in the end, what choice did she really have?

“I need your help,” she admitted. “I’m beginning to see that you didn’t ask for any of this, but then neither did I. I feel like I might be in some sort of danger.”

He stiffened, his gaze instantly alert. “From whom?”

“That I don’t know. Like everything else. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but I just have a gut feeling. A sense of lurking danger, if you will. There’s no logic or reasoning behind it. I could be wrong.” She sighed. “Honestly, there’s no way to tell without my memory.”

She watched him while he considered her words. His sheer size could have made him seem intimidating, though for her she found it made her feel safe. He’d been nothing but kind to her, even though he would have been within his rights to toss her out the door.

“I think I’ll go into town and do some investigating,” he finally said. “Will you be okay here alone?”

Would she? “I suppose so. But are you sure you trust me enough to leave me alone in your home?”

He laughed at that, a warm masculine sound that managed to coax a smile from her. “You were alone here before I got home. I don’t see the difference.”

As Jason drove slowly down his steep drive, he couldn’t help but glance back at the cabin. This place had long been his refuge, a place known to only a few select friends. How, then, had the mysterious woman he’d try to call Lucy gotten there?

Of course, everyone in the small mountain community of Cedar knew about his place. His family had been coming here for decades before he’d purchased it from his parents. Maybe the mystery would turn out to be as simple as that. It was entirely possible Lucy might turn out to be a local who’d known the cabin sat empty most of the year and decided to use it as her refuge.

Though Jason hadn’t planned on being around people for at least a week or two, he needed to check with the sheriff and see if any missing-person reports had been filed. That would be a good place to start in his quest to determine her identity.

Main Street in Cedar, Colorado, could have been a Christmas-card photo. The storefronts were meticulously maintained, even though they experienced far less tourism than other parts of the state due to their distance from any ski resort. With buildings constructed of red brick and wood, the aspen-lined street gave off a homey, welcoming feel.

He parked in front of Joe’s Hardware, grinning at the thought of saying hello to Joe after his many months’ long absence. Too long, he thought.

A bell over the door jingled as he went inside.

“Be right with you,” Joe called out without looking up from a box full of tools he had on the counter. Due to the time of the year, snow shovels and a snowmobile were on display, along with Christmas lights.

Jason prowled the aisles, enjoying the sense that he’d returned home. Unlike many of the locals, he hadn’t grown up in Cedar, though his family had owned the cabin high on the mountainside for decades. They’d routinely made the trip from Colorado Springs, spending a few weeks in the cabin every summer.

After his father died, his mother had decided to sell the place. Jason had promptly bought it. He’d done some extensive renovations, updating the roof and plumbing and heating system. Though he spent much of his life traveling due to his career, he enjoyed having a place to return to where he could find a modicum of peace.

Joe finally looked up. When he caught sight of Jason, he let out a loud whoop. “Well, look at you,” he exclaimed. “About time you decided to pay us a visit.”

After some back clapping and a one-armed guy hug, Joe asked Jason what he could help him find. “They’re predicting a snowstorm,” Joe supplied. “You got enough firewood up there?”

“Nope. How soon can I get a cord delivered?”

“For you, I’ll try to get it done this afternoon.”

Since Jason already had all the other winter essentials, he paid for the wood. “Anything new in town?” he asked casually. While he knew hoping Joe would tell him about a missing woman was a long shot, he figured it didn’t hurt to try.

“Not really.” Joe shrugged. “We’ve had a few more tourists this summer than usual, but after August, things settled back down to the same old, same old. But it’s good to see you again, Jason. How long are you here for this time?”

“I’m not sure. I’m thinking at least a month.” Truthfully, he’d been toying with the idea of longer, maybe even giving up war reporting for good. His soul ached with weariness from all the bloodshed and savagery.

“Through Christmas then.” Joe grinned. “You know me and the missus do our annual misfits’ dinner for Christmas. Everyone and anyone is invited to come eat with us. The only thing you have to do is bring something. Food, wine, beer, whatever.”

Jason nodded. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.” He barely remembered the last time he’d celebrated Christmas. Most times he’d either been traveling or stuck in some foreign hotel. The best holiday he’d had in recent memory had been when he’d found himself at a military base and had celebrated with the service members.

Once he’d left the hardware store, he strolled up and down Main Street, carefully checking all the storefront windows for missing-person flyers. He saw nothing save one for a lost cat.

Though ever mindful of the frightened woman waiting at home, he stopped in at Gertie’s, a coffee shop known for amazing pies. He was well aware of how much trouble he’d be in once word got out that he’d been to town if he didn’t stop and see everyone who knew him.

The little coffee house was packed. He took a seat at the bar, ordered a cup of coffee and Gertie’s famous peach pie. While he ate, he spoke with several other locals, all of who seemed happy to see him. No one mentioned a missing woman.

Extricating himself from the group of people wanting to discuss his last big story, he finally headed down to the sheriff’s office. Though Sheriff Ray Jeffords had been at the job since Jason had been a kid, he’d shown no inclination of retiring. Since there’d been virtually no crime in Cedar ever, he didn’t have much to do anyway.

“Jason Sheffield!” Springing from his chair, the sheriff rushed over and shook his hand. Once-gray hair had turned white, and his lined face bore a few more wrinkles, but the older man still had a firm grip and appeared healthy. If anything, he’d lost weight. His once-beefy frame seemed much trimmer.

They talked about the weather and the predicted snowstorm. Ray complained about the lack of tourists, and the out-of-towners who occasionally built vacation homes on newly cleared land. When Ray made no mention of a missing woman, Jason cleared his throat and asked.

“No, I haven’t heard anything about that.” The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

Though Jason briefly considered filling him in on the truth, he decided against it. Until he knew exactly what Lucy might be up against, he didn’t plan on letting anyone know about her.

He gave a casual shrug. “I’m working on a story,” he said. “I really can’t share the details.”

As usual, that answer worked. Everyone knew he was a reporter.

“Let me check really quickly,” Sheriff Jeffords said. He spent a moment or two typing on his computer, clearly searching some database. “Nope. We’ve got an Amber Alert, but unless the missing female is fourteen years old, I’ve got nothing.”

Jason hadn’t actually thought it would be that easy. He nodded. “Thank you for your time.”

“No problem.”

They shook hands again and Jason left. Instead of wandering the other side of Main Street, he decided to pick up a few more provisions and head back home. The food he’d bought earlier would be enough to last him a week or two, but he hadn’t been factoring in feeding another person. His experience with snowstorms in the mountains had taught him it was better to be prepared.

As he shopped the small grocery-general store, this time doing some hasty meal planning inside his head, he couldn’t help but wonder if Lucy would still be there when he returned home. Just in case, he purchased some generic clothing items, staying away from things like bras and shoes, where he’d need to know an actual size. Luckily, the bored teenager working the cash register didn’t know him and couldn’t have cared less about his purchases.

Satisfied, he found himself whistling as he drove home. He did enjoy a good mystery, especially one in as pretty of a package as Lucy.

Chapter 2

Watching as the man—Jason—drove off, she understood he’d left her with a choice. She could stay or she could go. Not really much of a decision, as far as she was concerned. She had no idea where she would go or what she would do once she got there. And how far would she get walking barefoot in the cold?

Add that to the ever-present feeling of some sort of danger lurking just around the corner, right beyond the range of her vision, and she’d take her chances with the big man and the small cabin. For now.

Lucy. Trying out the name, she decided it would work as well as anything else. Even though it didn’t feel right. But then, what did?

How had this happened to her? And why? She’d actually thought things like this only happened in books or movies. Really, how awful was it to not have any sense of self, or past or present? She not only felt adrift, with nothing to anchor her, but afraid of what she might learn when her memories returned. Had she done something awful, so terrible the act had caused her mind to melt down? Or had someone done this to her? Did amnesia spontaneously occur without some sort of trigger? She didn’t think so. Odd how she could know some weird, random fact, but not her own name.

Not giving in to self-pity would be a challenge. One of many, though. She didn’t know much about amnesia, and if she had access to the internet, she’d do some research. Damn, she missed her phone.

Her phone. Startled, she realized if she closed her eyes, she could picture it clearly. Rose gold, the latest iPhone. Plus-size.

Excited, she jumped to her feet. Her first true memory. If she could recollect something this small, it shouldn’t be too much longer before the rest came back to her.

Pacing the confines of the small cabin, she tried to clear her mind, hoping a blank slate might bring back something else. But apparently her sudden flash of insight wasn’t something she could conjure up at will. No matter how hard she tried.

Trying to focus on the positive—she’d actually remembered something—she refused to let herself feel discouraged. For now, she had to believe she was safe. At least she had a roof over her head, food to eat, and someone who seemed sympathetic and kind.

She knew enough to understand that her circumstances could have been so much worse. Though she hesitated to call herself lucky, in this particular area she had been.

The sound of tires on gravel alerted her to Jason’s return. At least, she hoped it was Jason. She hoped it wasn’t someone else coming to visit him.

Heart pounding, she ran to the front window, lifted up one wooden blind and peered out. Yep. She exhaled in relief as she watched him climb out of a black Jeep, wearing a cowboy hat and looking larger than ever and handsome as hell. She felt a twinge of attraction, which she instantly quelled. Ridiculous, since for all she knew she could be married. Eying him again, she realized he appeared to be carrying several shopping bags.

Opening the front door, she waited, feeling oddly breathless. “I’d come out and help you, but I don’t appear to have any shoes.”

“We need to fix that,” he said, smiling as he approached her. “I should have thought of that before I went to town. I did pick you up a couple more sweatshirts and sweatpants, though they might be too large since I don’t know your size.”

Grateful and touched, she thanked him. “That was kind.”

“Well, you can’t walk around wearing the same thing day after day. I bought a package of women’s underwear too, size small, and a package of socks. I hope that will work.”

“It will.” For no reason, her face heated.

“I’ll need to get your sizes for shoes and er, other things.”

Like bras. She got it. “Thank you.”

“I got some more food and stuff,” he continued. “Just in case that snowstorm they’re predicting turns out to be as nasty as they say.”

“I didn’t know about that.”

“It’s supposed to be a doozy.”

“Oh, I hope so. I love snow.”

“You do?” His gaze sharpened. “Sounds like you remembered something.”

“I did. It’s my second actual memory. Earlier, I remembered I have an iPhone. I could actually picture it.” She shrugged. “I’m disappointed that these seem insignificant, but hopeful more and more will come in time.”

“I think I remember reading that’s how it works. Bits and pieces, flashes of insight. It won’t be like you’ll wake up one day with everything restored to you.”

Which, of course, was what she impatiently wanted to happen. She decided to change the subject. “Do you get a lot of snow here?”

The glint in his eye told her he knew what she was doing. “Yeah, we get some brutal blizzards here because of our location,” he said, clearly deciding to go along with her topic change. “That’s why I bought all this.”

As he moved past her carrying his bags, he brushed up against her, making her catch her breath. Inhaling sharply, she breathed in his scent. Man and pine and outdoors. Damn. She swallowed hard, nearly overwhelmed with desire.

Not like her at all. Or was it? She had no idea. Maybe she was the kind of woman who made love with carefree abandon. Her stomach turned, making her doubt that.

She wore no wedding ring. Nor did her ring finger show the signs of having worn one. Eying Jason’s broad back, again she felt a punch of desire low in her body.

What did this sudden attraction mean? Was he her type, or were the strange feelings she’d started to experience due to the fact that they were in a sort of enforced isolation together?

Did it really matter? She had enough to worry about with her memory loss. Straightening her shoulders, she followed him into the kitchen, watching silently as he unpacked his purchases. Despite her stern internal talk to herself, she found herself aching to touch him.

“Here you go.” Completely unaware of her thoughts, he tossed her a generic plastic bag of women’s panties. She caught them easily. “And socks,” he said, this time sliding that package across the counter. “And here, the rest of this is yours also. This bag here has the sweatshirts and stuff like that.”

Still feeling overly warm, she took the bag and smiled.

“Thank you again,” she told him, dropping the socks and underwear into the bag with the other clothing. “Please save the receipt. Once I have access to money, assuming I have some, I’ll repay you.”

“No need.” Turning, he began unloading the next bag, putting things like cheese and lunch meat and eggs into the refrigerator. He left a box of quick-cooking rice and several cans of soup and various vegetables on the counter. “Those go in the cabinet right above, if you don’t mind putting them up.”

Of course she didn’t mind. Working so close, back-to-back, it was inevitable that they’d bump into each other. Each time she did, she bit back the urge to apologize and hoped he had no idea how badly she wanted to touch him.

Frustrated, she shook her head. How was it possible that she, a blank slate, could even feel this way about a man she barely knew?

“Are you okay?” he asked, rousing her from her reverie.

“I am.” Maybe if she said it firmly and often enough, she might actually believe it.

“Good.” He went back to emptying the last bag of provisions.

Once everything had been neatly stowed away, he smiled at her. She felt the impact of his smile all the way to her toes, which made her grit her teeth. “Don’t worry.” He reached to squeeze her shoulder, and then pulled back at the last moment. “We’ll get this all figured out. I did some checking in town, and there are no reports of a missing woman.”

“At all?” Focusing on this rather than the urge to lean in and accept his touch, she let her dismay show.

“Nothing. I stopped in and spoke with the sheriff. He checked.”

Feeling defeated, she moved away from him. Distance would help. “I’m disappointed. I really was hoping for a quick resolution to all this. As in, we’d find a report, and once I saw my face and knew my name, I’d remember everything, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I guess not.”

This made him laugh, a deep and masculine sound. “One thing I’ve learned over the years in my career as a journalist is to be patient. Don’t stress about it so much. Your situation is complicated—and intriguing. I’m thinking it won’t be a quick fix.”

Complicated and intriguing. Interesting. “I’m grateful you don’t seem to mind. I don’t know what I’d do without your help.”

“No problem,” he replied. “I remember reading something about amnesia once. I think you can’t try to force things—you just have to let the memory return naturally. Even if it’s in bits and pieces.”

She nodded, though she once again had to struggle to hide her disappointment. She eyed him, trying to be dispassionate but failing miserably. “Still, you seem familiar to me somehow. Are you sure we didn’t know each other, before?”

“I’m positive.” He chuckled. “Quite honestly, I’d never have forgotten meeting you.”

This made her smile.

“You probably saw me on the news, doing one of my reports from the Middle East. That’s why I seem familiar.”

“Maybe.” Once again, she took to prowling around the cabin, more as a way to distract herself from the strength of her need to touch him. “This is very nice,” she mused, running her hand over the granite kitchen countertops, enjoying the cool smoothness. “The colors are beautiful. I’m guessing either it came like this or you have mad decorating skills. I like it.”

“Thanks. I did some updates after I bought the place.”

Movement outside caught her eye. A small herd of deer crossed the backyard. Immediately, she went to the window and pressed her nose against the glass, watching them, enthralled.

“Deer or bear?” he asked.

“Deer.” The thought of encountering a bear made her shiver. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Do you get a lot of bears here?”

“We have all kinds of wildlife, but yes. As long as you’re careful, they won’t bother you.”

She wanted to ask what constituted careful, but since she figured she wouldn’t be out roaming the woods or the roads alone, she’d be fine.

Finally, the deer disappeared into the trees. Slowly, she turned around, to find Jason watching her.

Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze. “I know you checked with the sheriff and in town. But what if I’m not local? Not only do I have this ever-present sense of dread, but I almost feel as if there’s something important I’m supposed to be doing.”

“That’s a possibility. You say you’re worried. Any idea about what?”

“No. I still can’t access enough memory to figure it out. It’s like when you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye, but then you turn and you weren’t quick enough to see it.” She sighed. “It’s honestly frustrating as hell.” Her eyes widened at her choice of words. Another clue, maybe.

“I can only imagine. I’ll tell you what. I’ll scour the internet tonight, and you can look over my shoulder. We’ll see what we can find.”

“Thank you.” She wanted to hug him. She didn’t.

“You’re welcome. But for now, if my satellite is still working, let’s catch the news,” he suggested. “I’m kind of a news junkie.”

“Before we search the internet?” She struggled to hide her disappointment.

“Yes.” He reached for her, stopped, and cocked his head. “Is it okay if I touch you now? I know you were frightened before, but I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Watching him, she slowly nodded.

“Okay.” He put his hand under her chin, raising her face so that she looked at him. “But don’t worry. We’ll look after, OK? I don’t have a DVR here, so if I miss it, it’s gone. Because I’m a journalist, I like to try and keep on top of what’s going on in the world.”

“That makes sense.” Though she didn’t want to jerk herself away from him, if he kept on touching her, she just knew she would kiss him. Odd, how she could go from one extreme to the other.

Luckily, he dropped his hand. Aching, she told herself to be glad.

“What kind of journalist are you, exactly?” Changing the subject yet again. “I know you said you’re on the news. What news? I’m assuming one of the national ones, right?”

“You assume correctly. I work as an overseas correspondent in the Middle East.”

“I think you mentioned something about that.”

“Yeah. I probably did.” He busied himself with the remote. “I report mostly from war zones.”

War zones. She got a quick flash of something—danger and noise, blood and despair. It came and went too quickly for her to be able to analyze it.

The TV came on, a commercial about some local plumber.

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It can be.” He grinned, appearing triumphant. “I’m relieved that the television came on instantly, with a clear picture. That’s not always the case. When it rains or snows, the satellite can’t get a signal. That’s when I read.”

She looked around for books. He caught her looking and shook his head. “No room. I have an e-reader.”

While she pondered that, the evening news began. They led off with a story about a coordinated suicide bombing attack in Kabul. Over seventy-five Afghans were dead, with many more wounded.

Jason swore. “That’s exactly where I was reporting, a little over a week ago.” He swore, again. “I’m not sure whether to feel relieved or envious that I wasn’t right there in the thick of the action.”

“Are you an adrenaline junkie?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly. She suddenly felt uncomfortable in her own skin. The sounds on the screen unnerved her, so much so that she wanted to ask him to turn the television off.

Too enthralled in watching and listening to the report, Jason didn’t respond. Feeling as if she might throw up, Lucy jumped to her feet and fled. She wasn’t sure where she was going—the cabin was small after all—but she had to get away from the news story.

Jason felt the reporter did a good job, sticking to the facts and avoiding overly opinionated commentary. He thought he might have met the guy once, a few years back, but couldn’t be positive.

Finally, after a good sixty-second segment, which was long for a single story, the focus shifted to the incoming snowstorm. It was barreling through Montana and Wyoming, slated to reached northern Colorado in a matter of hours. The weatherman predicted snow would fall heavily in the entire state, with higher elevations getting the most, as usual. The ski resorts would be overjoyed, especially since they hadn’t had much snow so far.

He glanced back toward Lucy, intending to comment on the weather, but she wasn’t there. He found her in the bathroom with the door open and water running, though she stood motionless in front of the sink with a bowed head.

“Lucy?”

She didn’t respond.

He took a step into the room and lightly touched her shoulder, about to ask her if she was all right.

She cringed, flinching away from him before he could get a single word out. Back up against the wall, she put her arms up in a defensive posture. At first, her gaze seemed wild and unfocused.

“Hey.” He kept his voice quiet and soothing. “Are you OK?”

At first, she didn’t respond. But awareness slowly returned. She blinked and finally lowered her arms. “Jason?” She sounded bewildered, as if she had no idea how he’d gotten there.

“You look really pale,” he said carefully. “Why don’t you sit down before you faint?”

“OK.”

To his relief, she allowed him to lead her down the hall to the kitchen. He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. She sat, though she moved robotically, like she’d mentally checked out.

In the den, he could hear the television playing a commercial. Lucy wiped at her eyes, even though she wasn’t crying.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, giving in to the urge to gently move a strand of her silky hair away from her face. To his relief, she didn’t flinch away from his touch. “Do you feel sick?”

“The news...” She trailed off, clearly unable to articulate. “I’m not sure why. The clip they showed...”

“Of the bombing in Kabul?” He watched her closely, struck by the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her.

“Yes.” She swallowed, hard. “It seemed...familiar. Too familiar.” She shuddered.

“Familiar how? Do you think you’ve ever been there?”

“I don’t know.” Her hands shook as she twined them together. “It’s possible, I guess.”

Somehow, he doubted that, though he kept the thought to himself. He knew all the reporters who covered the Middle East, and Lucy wasn’t one of them. And there was no other reason for an American nonmilitary woman to be in a war zone. Unless she’d been with one of the medical-aid groups. That brought about an entirely new set of possibilities that he would have to consider later. Right now, he needed to focus on her.

“Did you have some sort of memory flash?” He knew he shouldn’t push, but the strength of her reaction to a sixty-second news story made him feel as if pushing was warranted.

“I don’t know,” she said again. And then she started to cry.

Jason Sheffield could deal with being shot at, running from explosions and he always maintained his cool in the midst of chaos. He considered himself tough, well trained and smart. But a crying woman turned him to putty.

Though he’d cautioned himself against touching her again, he knew she needed the healing power of touch more than anything else right now. Still, he’d be careful to make no sudden moves. Slowly, he knelt down beside her and took both her hands in his. “Hey, now. It can’t be that bad.”

She shook her head, attempting a watery smile at him through her tears. “Can’t it?” she asked, sniffling. “I’m guessing you have no idea how terrifying it is to not have the slightest idea who you are, where you came from or what happened to you.”

Grabbing a paper napkin from the holder on the table, she wiped at her eyes. “I don’t know why that news segment bothered me. I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“We’ll find out,” he assured her. “I’m a reporter. Getting answers is what I do. Let me start doing some digging. It might take a bit, but I’ll do what I can, I promise.”

This appeared to reassure her. She lifted her chin, still blotting at her streaming eyes. “I’m wondering if maybe I should see a doctor. Do you think it’s possible there might be a medical reason why I can’t remember?”

“It couldn’t hurt.” Squeezing her hand, he released her. “Would you feel comfortable enough to go into town with me?”

She looked down, her silky dark hair falling over her face. “I don’t know.”

“Once you have an appointment, we could go straight there and back.” He thought for a moment, imagining the gossip if he was spotted with a mystery woman in town. “I have a better idea. One of the guys I went to high school with is a family practice doctor in Colorado Springs. It’s a bit of a drive, but at least that way if you’re seen and recognized, no one will know you’re staying here in Cedar.”

“Okay.” At least she’d stopped crying. She even looked a little bit hopeful.

And beautiful, even with her swollen eyes and red nose.

“Would you like something to eat?” He’d learned while working in the Middle East that, when not in immediate danger but even if still in the center of crisis, feeding people always calmed them down. “I make a mean spaghetti with meat sauce.”

“I don’t eat meat,” she replied, her eyes going huge as she realized what she’d said. “I’m a vegetarian.” Voice full of wonder, she repeated the sentences.

He watched her closely. “So that makes three memories, right?”

“Yes. I’m positive about them too, even though they’re not related. I love snow. I don’t eat meat. And I wish I had my iPhone.”

“I do too. Did you remember anything else?”

Her smile faded, replaced by a frown. “I don’t think so. No.” Her stomach growled just then, making them both smile. “And I am hungry. I’d like some of that spaghetti, if I can have mine without meat in the sauce.”

“That I can do. I’ll make meatballs instead, for me. And I have some frozen spinach that I can microwave if you’d like.”

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

Pushing to his feet, he shook his head. “Nothing. Just keep me company while I cook. Do you like wine? I have a nice bottle of Merlot I can open.”

“Wine.” She considered. “Why not?”

After opening the bottle, he poured them both a glass. Carrying his over to the stove, he got busy preparing their meal.

She sipped her wine and watched him, the hunger in her gaze bringing an answering spark to life inside him. He opened his mouth to speak, but then turned around and went back to cooking. He figured she most likely hoped for another flash of memory, nothing more.

The small kitchen filled with the scent of spaghetti sauce as he brought everything to the table. He also brought them plates and silverware. He topped off their wineglasses while she filled her plate with pasta and spinach, avoiding the meatballs.

She ate with a single-minded determination. He watched her, noting her dainty manners, at odds with her complete and utter focus on her food.

Finally, she finished and pushed away her clean plate. “That was wonderful,” she said. “Thank you.”

He’d also eaten his fill. “You’re welcome. Now I wish I’d bought something for dessert.”

“Like tiramisu?” she asked, then gasped. “Another flash of memory. Tiramisu is my favorite dessert.”

“See?” Leaning back in his chair, he took another drink of wine. “It’s coming back, bit by bit. I bet it won’t be long at all before you remember everything.”

“I hope so.” She twined a strand of her shoulder-length hair around her finger. “I just wish I could remember why that news story bothered me so much. You seemed so familiar with it. Tell me, did you only cover Afghanistan?” she asked, her polite and slightly shaky tone telling him she was attempting to work through her fear.

“No.” Instead of listing every war-torn country and city he’d covered, he thought of his return flight home, with a layover in London. “By happenstance, I was in London last week when the terrorists attacked the Tube. I covered that story since I was right there at the time.”

She shuddered. “Even though I don’t remember that, I can’t even imagine so much bloodshed. How do you live with it, having seen so much evil?”

“I don’t know. When I first started, I drank too much. After a while, I just got used to it, I guess.” He glanced over at the desk he had tucked in one corner. “I’ve started trying to compile some of my best photographs into a book. I have enough for more than one.”

“Photographs?” She frowned. “I thought you were a reporter.”

“Photojournalist.”

“Are you any good?” She looked from him to his messy desk covered in books and papers.

“I’ve won several awards,” he told her. “Plus, I sell a lot of my photos to magazines like National Geographic.”

“Wow. That’s impressive.”

“Thanks. I enjoy it. It’s what keeps me sane.” As he spoke, he realized he meant every word. If he didn’t have the ability to create beauty out of chaotic darkness, he would have given up in despair a long time ago.

She eyed his desk again, her expression doubtful. “How do you find anything?”

This made him grin. “Believe it or not, I have a system. I know exactly what’s in each pile.” He got up and walked over to the desk. “This pile here is typed ideas for magazine articles. And this—” He stopped, catching sight of an army-green bag in his desk chair.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, getting to her feet and joining him.

“That?” He pointed, loathe to touch it for some reason. “Is that yours?”

“Mine?” She went closer, eying the bag. “How would I know? I’m assuming it’s not yours, so anything is possible.”

He lifted it up by the handle. “A small duffel,” he commented. “Would you like me to open it and see what’s inside?”

She nodded. “Please.”

He carried the bag over to the kitchen then placed it on the floor. After unzipping it, he waited for her to join him.

“Clothes!” she exclaimed, reaching inside and pulling out a pair of jeans. As she rummaged through the bag’s contents, she found more jeans, some black leggings, sweaters, T-shirts and even a dress. And two coats, a down parka with a hood and a jean jacket. There were several bras, pajamas, socks and panties. “Best of all,” she pointed out. “In the very bottom are shoes. I see a pair of sneakers, some boots and a pair of black high heels.”

Tucked into a zippered pocket she found a cosmetics bag, filled with makeup. “I guess I wear makeup,” she said. “And what’s this?”

She held up a plastic bag, filled with what appeared to be a long blond wig.

“I wonder that this is for?”

“A disguise maybe?” he replied. “Looks like you have everything you could possibly need,” he drawled. “Did you pack that yourself or did someone pack it for you?”

She opened her mouth to answer but closed it. “I don’t know.”

For the first time since he’d discovered her, he found himself wondering if she was telling the truth.

Chapter 3

Focusing on the duffel instead of Jason, Lucy closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. She wasn’t sure what to make of the way he looked at her. As if he truly believed she might be intentionally keeping secrets. Maybe she was, but she had no way of knowing that. She couldn’t even explain. If he didn’t understand that her mind was a blank slate, nothing she could say or do would change that.

Finding this bag was the first thing that had happened since she’d awakened in his cabin with him staring down at her that gave her real hope. The kind that made her catch her breath. Where had it come from? She fingered the rough and sturdy material. Some sort of canvas, most likely. Its existence made her feel a lot less adrift. She couldn’t even begin to express her joy at having something of her own, not just the bag, but her own belongings. Makeup and clothes that she’d worn before. Proof that she actually had a past. Though she knew thinking so had to be foolish, she’d begun to wonder.

Wistfully holding up a pair of well-worn jeans, she couldn’t help but wish whoever had packed the bag had taken the time to write her a note, explaining who she was and what exactly had happened to her. But of course, they hadn’t. For all she knew, she might have packed it herself.

After dropping her clothes back into the duffel, she left the bag on the desk chair since she had no place to store it. She felt inexplicably depressed and crossed back into the kitchen to begin clearing the table.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked, eying her curiously. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Why not?” Aware she needed to keep busy so she didn’t drown in her emotions, she carried the plates over to the sink. “You cooked, so I should clean up. That’s only fair.”

He watched her for a moment and then finally shrugged. “OK. But I’m going to help. I don’t have a dishwasher here, so we have to do them by hand. Would you rather wash or dry?”

“I’ll wash,” she said.

“Let me put up the leftovers first. Day-old spaghetti is always better than the original.”

Since she had no way to know if this was true, she simply nodded. Odd how memory worked. She knew exactly how to hand wash dishes but had no idea if spaghetti tasted better the day after it had been made.

Side by side working together, she allowed herself to relax. The entire routine, washing and rinsing a plate and then handing it to Jason to dry, felt comfortable and comforting. Maybe even familiar. She could actually feel the tension leaving her.

They’d just finished up when a huge gust of wind rattled the cabin, startling her.

Drying off the last plate, Jason swore. “Sounds like the storm got here earlier than they predicted. I need to carry in some more firewood. I keep the stack covered so it will stay dry, but it can be difficult to get to once the snow comes.”

“Let me help,” she said immediately. “Now that I have my own parka and boots, I’ll be able to dress warm enough to go outside.”

“Thanks. I could use your help.” He snagged his jacket off the coatrack and shrugged into it, just as another blast of wind made the cabin walls shudder. “Judging from that, the storm is coming on fast and strong. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

Having pulled her boots and parka from the duffel, she stepped into the boots, pleased at how well they fit. Though why shouldn’t they, since they were hers?

“Do you have gloves and any kind of wool cap?” he asked, even as he put his own on. “Check your pockets.”

She did. To her relief, she had both. Jamming the knit cap on her head, she zipped up her jacket before slipping on the gloves. Once she was ready, she followed him to the door. “I’m good to go.”

He yanked the door open. The second they stepped outside, a blast of icy air hit her like a slap to the face. Snow swirled around them, caught by the gusty wind. Already an inch or two covered the ground. She couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of them due to all the blowing snow.

“This way,” he shouted, leading the way. Doubled over against the force of the wind, she followed him.

Around the side of the cabin, he’d built a three-sided overhang, inside of which he told her he stored his firewood. A heavy tarp, already dusted with snow, covered everything.

“Just a sec,” he cautioned, holding up one gloved hand. “I’ve secured it with bungee cords to keep it from blowing off.”

Once he’d released one side of the tarp, sending it flapping in the wind, he began grabbing pieces of wood. She held out her arms and he placed three there. “Can you carry that?”

“Yes.” Actually, she wanted to ask for more. But with the wind howling around them, she thought she’d play it safe, at least on her first trip back. If she didn’t have trouble, she’d take more logs the second go-around.

She started for the door ahead of him, wondering at the fierceness of the sudden storm. She realized that she only thought of snow as something picturesque and peaceful, not destructive and fierce. Pretty, like a holiday card.

Another memory. Too busy to dwell on it right now, she concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other and moving forward, against the wind. The short stack of firewood felt heavier than it should have, with her having to double over to keep from getting buffeted by stinging snow and ice pellets.

When she finally reached the front of the cabin and opened the door, a gust caught it and ripped it from her hand, sending it slamming into the interior wall. Still, she made it inside, struggling to keep from dropping her load.

Jason came in right behind her, stamping off snow before kicking the door shut. He carried his stack of wood over to a metal bin and dumped it there. “Here.” Taking hers from her, he placed it on top of his.

“Not enough,” he said. “We’ve got to keep that woodstove going 24/7.”

They made two more trips. By the third one, Lucy could no longer feel her hands or feet. The storm had definitely gotten worse. The blowing snow made it impossible to see even her hand held out in front of her. They hugged the external cabin wall to keep them on track.

“Wait,” he shouted. After he gave her the usual three pieces of wood, he took his own from the pile and dropped them on the ground. He struggled to reattach the tarp and motioned to her to go on and get inside. “I’ll be there in a minute. I’m going to go put the plow on the front of my Jeep. I backed it into the garage for that reason. Go get warm.”

Numb with cold, she turned to do exactly that. But she caught her foot on a patch of ice and her leg twisted. She let out a startled cry, which the storm ripped from her lips, and she went crashing down. Her chin hit the top log in her stack, making her see stars.

“Are you OK?” Jason hauled her up and dusted her off.

Though her eyes stung with frozen tears, she managed a nod. Ignoring her throbbing chin, she stepped away, determined to retrieve the wood she’d dropped. Somehow, she managed to pick up her logs and carry them back toward the front door.

Once they were safely back inside the warm cabin, wood stowed, she stripped off her gloves and gingerly tried to feel along her painful chin. Her first touch hurt, so she abandoned the effort for now.

“Are you all right?” he asked again, removing his coat and hanging it up. “You can put your coat up here too and let it dry.”

“Thanks.” She took her coat off and turned to carry it to the coatrack.

Catching sight of her face, he cursed softly. “You’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” She stood still while he gently lifted her chin.

“Just a little.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “We need to get that cleaned up.”

She allowed him to lead her into the bathroom. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she gasped. The impact of hitting the wood had gashed her chin. There was so much blood. And of course, now that she saw exactly how bad the cut was, it began to throb even worse.

Though it was a tight fit due to the small space, he grabbed a washcloth and gently rinsed off the blood. She kept still, willing herself not to react to the pain.

After he got her all cleaned up, he retrieved some antibiotic salve from the medicine cabinet and applied that. The touch of his finger was gentle, and she knew he was trying very hard not to hurt her. Despite this, her eyes filled and her throat ached.

“We probably need to bandage it,” he said. “Though I’m not sure how we’d get a bandage to stay on. Here.” He handed her a piece of tissue. “Keep this pressed against it. I’m going to look for a butterfly bandage.”

“That’s OK,” she managed. “It’ll be fine. I just need to make it stop bleeding.”

He turned and bumped into her. Suddenly, the situation felt way too intimate. She might not know her own name, but she still could recognize a hot man. This one was sexy as hell. Heart in her throat, she stared. He stared back.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Let me go get some ice.”

Bemused, she followed him into the kitchen. He wet a dishcloth, wrung it out and then got ice from the ice maker in the refrigerator door. He then put all of that into a large Ziplock baggie.

“Here you go.” He handed it to her. “Why don’t you sit down and hold this to your chin for a few minutes. I’m going to go put another log in the woodstove.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, taking a seat at the table and holding the ice to her chin. Hopefully, the ice would help numb some of the pain. Feeling slightly foolish, she wondered if she’d always been clumsy or if this mishap had just been a simple accident.

Outside, the wind continued to intensify, though she didn’t see how such a thing could be possible. The small cabin shook as the howling wind battered its sturdy frame. She glanced at Jason, wondering if she should be alarmed. If he wasn’t worried, then she wouldn’t be either.

After attending to the woodstove, Jason flashed her one of those devastating smiles and tried pointing the remote at the flat-screen TV hanging on the wall. “Nothing. Of course, with a storm like this, the satellite would be down. I’m going to hazard a guess that there’s no cell phone reception either. It’s never all that good up here to begin with, so that’s a safe bet.” He crossed to a small table and pulled out some sort of black box. “Which is why I always keep a satellite phone around. Of course, storm equals no satellite, so that’s also probably a no go.”

With the ice still pressed against her chin, musing over how strongly his smile affected her, she managed a nod. The movement made her wince. “Is there someone you need to get in touch with?”

“What?” Again that flash of sexy smile. “Oh, this?” He put down the black box. “No. I just like to keep up with the weather reports. This thing can access the weather radio. I’m really curious what the snowfall prediction might be now. And how long the storm will last. I get cabin fever really bad if I’m trapped in the cabin too long.”

Trapped in the cabin. She froze, her breath catching. The phrase brought a flash of some memory. Explosions and darkness and gunfire. The awful choking, claustrophobic feeling of being trapped... Horrified, she struggled to catch her breath, beginning to hyperventilate.

“Lucy.” Jason’s sharp voice, calling a name. Even though she knew it wasn’t really hers, it was enough to snap her out of her reverie. “Lucy. Are you all right?”

“I...” Realizing she’d dropped her ice pack on the table, she picked it back up. Her hands were shaking. She couldn’t seem to find the right words, any words actually. How could she hope to explain she’d gotten lost in a mysterious scenario because of a chance remark? Even worse, that she had no idea what it meant or where it had happened, or even if it actually had.

Aware of him watching her with his steady gaze, she took a deep breath. And then she tried her best to explain, aware she probably sounded like an irrational person but also knowing she hadn’t chosen this. None of it. Hopefully, he would understand that.

She watched his expression as she talked, relieved to find it unchanged. Still calm, still strong and supportive.

At first, he didn’t react, his gaze remaining steady as he considered her words.

“Then it was something I said?” he teased, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

This made her smile. “Yes. As a matter of fact, it was. Even though you didn’t mean to.” The ice had started to sting, so she lowered it, giving her chin a break.

“Here, let me have that.” He took the ice pack from her and carried it over to the sink. “It’s going to be OK, I promise,” he said. “All of it. Your memory will eventually come back.”

“How do you know?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“I just do.” Which as explanations went, wasn’t really one at all. Despite that, she believed him.

Outside the storm continued to rage. She imagined the snow piling up and shivered.

He noticed. “This cabin has been in my family for decades and has withstood all kinds of weather. This is just our first blizzard of the season.”

“I understand,” she replied, though she wasn’t sure if she really did. While she couldn’t be positive, she had a sneaking feeling she wasn’t used to cold weather. “So if you don’t have television or internet, what do you do to pass the time?”

“You can read,” he answered promptly, pointing to a bookcase full of hardback books. “I also have a deck of cards, so we could play poker or something, if you’d like.”

“Poker?” She frowned. “I’m not sure I know how.”

“I can teach you.” He crossed to his desk and moved her duffel to the floor then got a deck of playing cards out of the center drawer. “It can be a lot of fun.”

“Sure. Why not?” While she still felt a bit hesitant, this sounded like a harmless way to pass an hour or two.

Sitting down across from a handsome, capable man in his warm and comfortable cabin while a blizzard raged outside should have made her feel secure and cozy. And part of her did. But the other part, the side of her that knew things her subconscious mind didn’t know, felt uneasy and unsettled, aware that unseen danger lurked right around the corner.

At least the blizzard provided a momentary deterrent. No one would be foolish enough to trek up here in weather like this. She told herself to relax.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” he asked, making her realize he’d been watching her while she grappled with her nameless fear.

She lifted her chin. “I will be. Let’s play cards.”

Once he shuffled the cards, Jason laid them out, explaining the different combinations and which ones ranked the highest. She watched him intently, nodding at all the right places. At least she appeared to be present, grounded by her attempt to learn to play a game she probably once had known.

He’d never seen someone as lost as the woman he’d dubbed Lucy, at least here in the States. There were many like her in Kabul, hollow-eyed empty women struggling to stay alive—or hoping to die. Most of them had already lost everything and, unlike Lucy, they had no hope of every getting any of it back.

Lucy’s flashes of memory appeared to be coming more often. He supposed that was a good thing. Logically, it had to mean her memory would soon be rapidly returning. Her struggles to remember tugged at his heart.

The more time he spent with her, the more he liked her. In fact, he already knew he liked her a little too much. Sexy and sensual and beautiful and plucky—all combined to make her nearly irresistible. Even though he considered her off-limits, he couldn’t help but appreciate her charms.

And the way she watched him sometimes... Almost as if she was as hungry for him as he’d begun to be for her. But then again, he would continue to keep his distance. She had to be feeling pretty mixed-up right now.

As appealing as he might find her, he’d never been the type to take advantage of a woman and wouldn’t start now. But knowing that didn’t make him desire her any less. He could imagine the forced proximity during the blizzard would only make it worse.

“And what is the connection? I just can’t figure it out.” He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud until she answered.

“The connection to what?” she asked.

“You and me.” He laid down the cards and waved his hand. “Why my cabin? Clearly, you didn’t simply find your way here. Someone brought you and left you.”

“Do you think so? I hadn’t really thought about that. I guess I’ve been so consumed with trying to figure out who I am that I haven’t even considered how I ended up here.”

He got up and grabbed his satellite phone, then remembered.

“Once this storm lets up, I’m going to call a buddy of mine in military intelligence. He’ll have access to a lot more information than the local sheriff did. Maybe he could get a lead on a missing woman who matches your description.”

Though she nodded, he could tell by her frown that this bothered her. She set her hand facedown and grimaced.

“What’s wrong?”

“If I’m in danger, I don’t want anyone to know where to find me. Not before I regain my memory and know exactly what’s going on.”

Normally, as a reporter, he tended to discount conspiracy theories without proof. But over the last several years, he’d gotten inadvertently caught up in more than one covert operation. This had made him realize anything was possible.

In other words, she could be right to worry. He decided to keep his thoughts to himself. “I’ll be discreet,” he promised. “He’s used to me working on stories, so that’s what I’ll tell him I’m asking for.”

She still appeared doubtful, but she finally nodded. “If you think it will help.”

“Couldn’t hurt. But since I can’t call out and we have nothing else to do, how about we go ahead and play poker?”

To his surprise, she was a natural. Either she caught on quickly, or she’d accessed some prior knowledge of how to play the game. She won the first three hands. “Beginner’s luck,” he told her, grinning.

“Are you letting me win?” She wrinkled her nose at him in suspicion.

Desire struck him low in the gut, rendering him momentarily speechless. Gathering his thoughts furiously—now he found her cute too—he spoke. “Of course not. Beginner’s luck is a common phenomenon. Trust me, it won’t last.”

She tossed her head at that. “We’ll see. Deal another hand.”

He did.

They played for several hours. When he noticed her yawning, her shoulders drooping, he pronounced her the winner and called it a night. “You need to get some rest,” he told her. “You’re welcome to have my bed if you give me a moment to change the sheets.”

“No.” Her immediate and vehement response startled him. Something must have shown in his expression, as she softened her tone. “The couch will be fine. You’ve done enough, letting me stay here, feeding me, keeping me safe. I won’t put you out of your bed.”

“I really don’t mind,” he said, meaning it.

“I know you don’t. But I’ll be fine on the couch. It’s comfortable and close to the woodstove. I like it.”

Because she seemed so exhausted, he decided not to press the point. “Your choice,” he told her. “Do you need an extra blanket, or is what you have there enough?”

“I’m good.” She gestured at the mound of blankets she’d been using. “These are more than enough, thanks.”

“Well, good night then.”

She stared at him, her eyes glittering huge in her pale tired face. “Good night.”

Hating the way she watched him, as if afraid he would take advantage of her, he checked to make sure the front door was locked and dead-bolted before he got a glass of water and carried it to his room. He debated for a moment before deciding to close his bedroom door. Figuring she’d probably feel safer with it closed, he made a quick pit stop in the bathroom. After brushing his teeth, he returned to his room and shut the door.

Lucy had already turned out all the lights. A quick glance revealed a lump under the covers on the couch. Good.

After climbing into his own bed, he clicked off the lamp and let himself drift into sleep.

A loud scream awakened him. Instantly alert, he rushed to his door, yanked it open and headed to the couch, using the soft glow of the woodstove to guide him.

She screamed again before he reached her, a shrill yet guttural sound of true terror. He reached for her, calling her name.

The instant his hand connected with her shoulder, she exploded into action. Grabbed his arm, jerked him toward her. She brought up one knee and twisted her body and threw him to the floor.

Stunned, he lay there, trying to catch his breath. At least she’d stopped screaming.

A second later, wide-eyed and shaking, she crouched down next to him. “Jason! Are you hurt? I’m so sorry. I thought...”

Still dazed, though no longer half-asleep, he rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. “What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice flat. “You started screaming like you were under attack. I rushed out here to check on you, and you take me down?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it. Her beautiful eyes shone with tears. “I had a nightmare,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know it was you. When you touched me, I thought you were attacking me. I’m so sorry.”

Of course, then he felt like a total ass. Moving toward her to take her in his arms and offer comfort, he froze when she flinched away from him.

He cursed low, under his breath. “I wish I could get ahold of whatever son of a bitch hurt you,” he said. “Please know I will never hurt you. Ever.”

Slowly, she nodded. Then she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.

Touched, stunned and slightly alarmed, he held her, gently stroking her silky-soft hair and desperately trying not to notice the fullness of her breasts pressing into his naked chest through her T-shirt.

Finally, she moved away. Both relieved and disappointed, he swallowed. She clicked on the light and climbed back onto the couch, sitting cross-legged and pulling the blankets up to her chin. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he asked, even though he didn’t expect an answer.

“Self-defense classes,” she responded, and then looked as surprised as he felt. Blinking, she mulled over what she’d just said. “I can picture the class. There were about fifteen people, all women. We took turns learning the moves.”

“Can you remember where it was?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s gone.”

“It’s okay.” Damn, he wanted to hold her again. But she’d let him know quite plainly, without saying a word, that she’d come to him if she needed comfort. “Will you be all right now?” he asked. “Going back to sleep, I mean.”

“Sure.” She waved him away. “You can go back to bed. I’m sorry I woke you. I’m probably going to sit here for a bit, until I feel more comfortable.”

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he finally nodded. “If you need to sleep with the light on, feel free.”

Back in his room, he relived the way she’d taken him down. So easily, and he probably had close to a hundred pounds on her. She’d had a great instructor, that’s for sure. He’d need to be careful not to make any unexpected moves around her. He fell asleep thinking of how good it had felt to hold her.

He woke in the morning to the kind of perfect utter silence one only experiences after a fresh snowfall. The brilliant white light streaming in his bedroom window made him squint, though he knew exactly what he’d see if he looked out. He’d always loved the way the entire world felt remade and clean, as if the blanket of snow promised a fresh start.

Corny, maybe. But after spending months in blowing sand, he truly loved the cool mountains and the winter’s snow.

Checking the clock on the nightstand, he saw it was a little after seven. He stretched and felt a twinge in his arm and back. Then he remembered what had happened last night. He wondered if she’d actually gotten any sleep.

He moved quietly down the short hall to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he brushed his teeth and got dressed. Then padded into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

A quick glance at the couch revealed that Lucy still slept. With the light on. Gazing at her sleeping so peacefully, he felt an unfamiliar and unwanted tightness in his chest. They’d just met, but he already felt close to her. And responsible for her, as if she’d somehow become more than an acquaintance, more than a friend even. As if she’d become family.

Shaking his head at his crazy thoughts, he brewed his coffee, glad that he’d get a chance to drink it in peace and quiet. He needed some time alone to try and figure out what to do about the woman he’d named Lucy.

First up, he’d need to do some research on amnesia. He jotted some quick notes in the notebook he kept on the table. He wanted to know what could cause someone to lose their memory. He also needed to learn how to help them regain it, and to find out a time frame so he’d have an idea how long such a thing might take.

Second, he’d need to put out some discreet feelers with some of his contacts. Surely, when a woman went missing, people would notice. Somewhere, she had to have friends and family who were worried about her and missing her. He would try to find those people.

And if, as she suspected, she was in some sort of danger, he’d find out why and from whom. He hadn’t spent years working as a journalist without developing some intense investigating skills. He would learn her identity, and soon.

He’d just finished his first cup of coffee and was contemplating getting a second, when his satellite phone rang. Answering quickly, hoping the sound hadn’t awakened Lucy, he heard nothing but static at first.

Then an unfamiliar voice spoke his name. “Is this Jason Sheffield?”

Cautiously, he answered in the affirmative. “How did you get my number?”

“This is NCIS special agent Paul Groesel. We’re investigating the disappearance of one of our officers, Rick Engles. I understand you spoke with him right before he went missing.”

“Rick’s missing?” Floored, he shook his head. “We talked right before I flew back to the States. What happened?”

“We don’t know. I was hoping you might have some insight.”

He thought back to the conversation with Rick. “He didn’t say anything. I’d just finished a story when a suicide bomber hit the hotel I was staying at. I grabbed my camera and got some pics, and then pitched in as best as I could helping. Rick was on his way in and we’d hoped to grab breakfast or something the next day, but with everything that happened, we couldn’t.”

“I see. You’re saying that you didn’t see him at all?”

“Exactly.” A horrible thought struck him. “Was he injured in the attack?”

“Again, we’re not sure,” the NCIS agent said. “His body hasn’t been recovered. Thanks for your help. If I have any further questions, I’ll give you a call.”

Stunned, Jason thanked him and said goodbye. He thought back to that night, so much chaos and bloodshed. Most of the victims had been locals instead of the foreign dignitaries and reporters the suicide bomber had wanted to kill. He’d held more than one Afghan while they died. Many had suffered horribly. Most had been women and children.

That night had been the main reason he’d decided to take some time off. He’d come to the cabin to lick his wounds and try and heal. He hadn’t been able to even look at the photos he’d taken and wasn’t sure when he would. Even the thought of touching his camera made him nauseous. He’d carry the scars from that night a long, long time.

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