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© 1999
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Alone in the waiting room of the only medical office in Sugar Falls, Colorado, Sarah stared in dry-mouthed dismay at the New Patient Form. She should have expected this, she supposed. She should have prepared herself for the medical history questions.
The very first one stumped her. "Name."
She felt fairly certain that her first name was Sarah. It had come to her shortly after she'd opened her eyes in the Denver hospital six weeks ago. When her terror at finding her memory a blank had lessened and she'd had time to think, she'd invented a last name. Inspired by a bouquet on her bedside table, she'd become "Sarah Flowers." The emergency-room doctors had believed her when she swore her memory had returned.
Only a single memory had returned, though—a vague, shadowy one that had frightened and confused her.
She knew she should tell this new doctor the truth about her amnesia. But what if word leaked out into this small, close-knit community? Apprehension chilled her. The risk was simply too great to confide in any stranger.
With a heavy heart, she printed "Sarah Flowers."
From there, the questions only got worse. Odd, how she could agonize over questions all night, every night, but feel so devastated just because they were now asked in print. "Age." How could she possibly know? She guessed around twenty-four or -five.
"Birth Date." She chose a month, counted back the appropriate number of years, and wrote down a date.
"Marital Status." She assumed single. She didn't feel married, and she hadn't been wearing a wedding band when she'd been struck by the car. Then again, she couldn't be sure of anything about herself. Did she have a husband waiting for her somewhere? If so, why hadn't he reported her disappearance?
Every new question on the medical form prompted dozens of her own. When she reached the part about pregnancy, her hand trembled so badly she had to set the pen down. Had she ever been pregnant? Had she ever given birth?
Absurd that she didn't know these things about herself! She had to face the fact that she could actually be a mother, with children waiting for her somewhere. The idea of little ones longing for their mother tore at her heart.
The time had come to find answers to all these questions. For six weeks, she'd been stymied by her injuries, her lack of money and her fear inspired by the one dark memory that haunted her. But her injuries were nearly healed now, her new job would provide her with a little money, and her fear no longer had the power to immobilize her.
The only thing stopping her from actively searching for clues to her past was the dizziness she'd been experiencing lately. She'd come to the doctor to put an end to those vexing dizzy spells. They were sapping her strength and interfering with her work.
Hurriedly she scribbled in fictitious answers on the form and handed it to the receptionist.
"Miss Flowers?" A gray-haired nurse with a kind smile beckoned her into a back room, ushered her onto a scale and introduced herself as Gladys. "The doctor will be a while. He's putting a cast on Danny Harrison's arm." Taking a clipboard from a counter, Gladys recorded her weight. "Now let's see." She peered at the form. "What have you come in for?"
"I was in an accident about six weeks ago. I wanted to make sure my injuries are healing okay." The nurse nodded, wrote something down and stuck a thermometer in her mouth. When she removed it, Sarah added, "I've also had a couple dizzy spells, and I've been feeling more fatigued than usual."
"Sounds like you need a physical." She clamped a blood-pressure cuff on her arm. "We like to start our new patients off with a complete workup, anyway. Any chance you're pregnant?"
Pregnant? Now? She certainly hoped not! She'd been having dizzy spells, yes, and feeling unusually fatigued … and hadn't had a period for at least six weeks—since the accident or possibly longer. But many women missed periods because of physical trauma … didn't they?
"I don't think I'm pregnant," Sarah replied, stunned by the possibility, "but I'm not really sure."
"We can get that out of the way before the doctor comes in." Gladys removed the blood-pressure cuff and recorded the results. "It doesn't take but a minute to run the test."
Sarah gave the nurse a specimen, then waited in an examination room for the results, gripping her hands in her lap as anxiety knotted her stomach and emotions warred in her chest. She might be carrying a baby! How could she afford to raise it? She worked as a housemaid for little more than her room and board, with only one newfound friend as an ally.
Yet, as panic pressed in around her, the idea of motherhood glimmered with irrational appeal. She might be carrying a baby of her very own! A baby to fill her arms, her heart, her life.
How selfish it was of her, hoping for a baby to relieve her own loneliness. She had nothing to offer a child—not even an authentic last name.
An eternity passed before the nurse returned to the spacious, immaculate examination room. "I don't know if you'll be glad of this news or not, dear," she said in the gentlest of tones, "but the results were negative. You're not pregnant."
Relief swept through Sarah; and yet, a stubborn wistfulness turned her smile bittersweet. Someday, she told herself. Someday, when she'd figured out where she belonged, she'd have the luxury of rejoicing in a positive result. For now, she'd have to be grateful for a negative one. "Thank you."
It occurred to her then that the answer to other important questions might be obtained here just as easily. How much information could be gleaned from a physical examination?
"When a doctor performs a physical," she inquired, "can he determine whether a woman has ever had a baby?"
"Usually," Gladys answered rather absently as she prepared equipment on a tray. "There'd be signs."
Sarah pressed a hand to her thumping heart. She could know the answer to that important question, and maybe others, in a matter of minutes! "I'd like the doctor to tell me everything he finds out about me," she instructed. "Everything."
Gladys glanced at her, looking dumbfounded. "Like what?"
"Well, like whether I've ever had a baby, or—" Sarah halted, realizing how absurd the request must seem. No wonder the nurse was studying her as if she'd lost her mind. She'd have to explain about the amnesia now, or think of a reason she wouldn't know this very basic fact.
While Sarah struggled with her fear of confiding too much information, Gladys scribbled something on her chart. "You've left the pregnancy section blank," she observed.
A knock at the door saved Sarah from having to reply. A feminine voice called out, "Gladys, you have a call on line two."
Gladys opened the door and conferred with a pretty blonde whom Sarah instantly recognized—a frequent guest at her employer's home. She apparently worked in this office, which meant she'd have access to the files. The entire town, including her employer, could know Sarah's private business by lunchtime!
She ducked her head and let her long, dark hair sweep down to shadow her face, hoping the woman wouldn't notice her. She'd been crazy to even consider mentioning her amnesia.
"Take off all your clothes, hon, and change into one of those gowns over there," Gladys called over her shoulder before leaving to take her phone call. "The doctor will be right in."
Sarah thanked her lucky stars that she hadn't told Gladys more. Obediently she removed her clothes, draped the paper gown over herself and sat on the examination table, trying to figure out a way to ask her questions without having to admit to the amnesia. Maybe she could casually pry information out of the doctor during the exam with a friendly challenge. "Hey, Doc, let's see if you can guess how many babies I've had…"
The door o
pened and a man walked in.
Sarah's heart paused in surprise. This wasn't the sweet, old grandfatherly doctor her friend Annie had described.
This tall, broad-shouldered man with an athletic build had to be in his early thirties. His dark, vibrant tan contrasted sharply with his white lab coat. Thick, close-cropped hair gleamed maple-golden around his rugged face. He moved with a masculine grace that brought to mind cowboys or gunslingers. Certainly not doctors. Beneath his lab coat, he wore faded jeans and soft leather boots.
He paused a short distance from Sarah and his keen, hazel-eyed gaze locked with hers. For a moment, he said nothing at all, as if the sight of her somehow surprised him.
Why, she wondered, did he seem surprised? She was the one flabbergasted. The room grew several degrees hotter—maybe from the potent virility that radiated from him like the sun's rays.
"I'm Dr. Connor Wade." His deep, brandy-smooth voice with its sensual afterburn sent heat spiraling down to her very core. Though he didn't smile, he sauntered closer and extended a large, bronzed hand. "You must be Sarah."
She nodded mutely and shook his hand. It felt warm, callused and unquestionably strong. Though she couldn't remember a single person from her past, she knew she'd never met a sexier, more handsome man in her life.
He released her hand, and she immediately felt bereft, and shaken, and highly conscious of the fact that she sat here on his examination table clad in only a thin paper gown, with not a stitch of clothing underneath.
"Where's Dr. Brenkowski?" she managed to ask, instinctively folding her arms around herself, her fingers splaying across her upper arms. Annie had promised her old Doc Brenkowski!
"In Europe. I'm seeing both his patients and mine. You're not a regular patient of his, though, are you?"
"No."
He cocked a brow. She offered no explanation for her question. He glanced at the clipboard he was carrying. Her medical form, she realized. A slight frown drew his tawny eyebrows together, but when he looked back up, the frown was gone.
He leveled her a professional, courteous smile that in no way should have affected her pulse rate.
It did, though. And the air between them seemed electrically charged.
"Gladys wrote that you were in an accident. A bad one?"
"Not too bad," she replied cautiously, watching as he chose a scope from a rack on the wall. She hoped he wouldn't request charts from her previous doctor. She'd written in a false name and address in that section of the form.
He slipped a few medical implements into his lab coat pocket and approached her. "What injuries did you sustain?"
"Broken ribs, bruises, a slight fracture in my right hip—" she faltered as he neared, his gaze sweeping across her in a thoroughly impersonal way "—and a mild concussion."
"Did you lose consciousness?" He stood directly beside her now, which somehow interfered with her breathing.
"Briefly."
"Any memory loss?"
Her muscles clenched. "No."
He glanced at her in mild surprise. "None at all? You mean, you remember the accident itself?"
"For the most part."
"Good." He clicked on the light of a small scope, swept her hair behind her left ear and bent closer. "Did it happen here in Sugar Falls?"
The warmth of the light in her ear and the feel of his fingers in her hair sent a tingling reaction through her. "Pardon me?"
"The accident." He let her hair swing back over her ear and moved to her other side. "Did it take place here in Sugar Falls?"
"Oh. No. No, it didn't."
He examined her right ear, his breath momentarily warming it, then with an easy touch to her jaw, turned her face from side to side. "I didn't think so. Hadn't heard of any accidents here with injuries in a while. Look straight ahead."
She obeyed, and he trained the light first on one eye, then the other. His ruggedly masculine face was very near, and the scent of a summer forest emanated from his clean-shaven jaw.
Ridiculous, how his nearness sped up her heart!
He clicked off the scope light, slipped the instrument into the pocket of his lab coat, then reached to gently probe with his fingertips the valley beneath her ears and the tender underside of her jaw. Though his manner was impeccably professional, her reaction was much too personal. His scent, his nearness, his touch, all infused her with a keen sensual awareness.
"Are they giving you problems?"
Her startled gaze locked with his. "Th-they?"
"Your injuries." His voice had taken on a husky quality, it seemed, and his fingers stilled at either side of her face.
"Some."
Amusement warmed his hazel eyes to an almost-golden hue. "Do you always talk this much?"
"Never," she breathed.
Their gazes held for a long, dizzying moment. His gentle amusement faded, and the connection between them flared to an odd intensity. His eyes slowly lowered to her mouth. Her heart drummed.
He grazed her chin with his thumb, and in a near whisper, ordered, "Say 'Ahhh.'"
She merely stared at him. The sensuality coursing through her had distracted her beyond bearing and depleted her voice. She felt a flush rise up her neck into her face.
"It's easier to check your throat," he explained gruffly, "with your mouth open."
She glanced away from him to get a grip on her composure. What was wrong with her? He was behaving exactly as he should, but every move he made stimulated sensual responses in her. Worse yet, she couldn't forget that she was naked beneath this paper gown, and that soon, the exam would become more intimate.
Her arms tightened in a protective self-hug.
"Maybe I should take a look at your injuries," he suggested, "before we continue with the exam." She nodded, and he asked, "Which ones are still bothering you?"
It took an effort to speak, and her voice emerged with a throaty resonance. "My ribs ache at times, and my right hip … well…" Avoiding his gaze, she laid her fingers alongside the curve of her hip as she hesitantly explained, "The place where I injured it isn't bothering me, actually, but there's a strip of numbness running down from it and along my thigh. From about here—" she traced the path with her hand "—to about here."
When he didn't immediately reply, she stole a glance at him. He was staring at her in an intense but unreadable way. Without a word to her, he leaned toward the wall and pushed an intercom button. "Gladys, I need you in room B. Now." After an awkward moment, he uttered by way of explanation, "Routine procedure. She helps with all exams."
Sarah suspected it had more to do with the sexually charged tension she couldn't quite hide. Oddly enough, the idea of having a nurse with them in no way lessened that tension.
The doctor seemed somewhat tense himself, his color high beneath his tan and his lips a firm, straight line. Quietly he ordered, "Tell me about your dizzy spells."
She did, and he asked about her medications and diet.
"The dizziness may be from the altitude change," he said. "You've recently moved here from Denver, right?"
Tensing at the question, she nodded. She'd written Denver on her form because she'd known a few street names there.
"We're at a lot higher altitude here. Most people need some time to adjust … some more than others." He went on to talk about how dehydration sets in quicker and how more fluids are necessary.
While he talked, she noticed that his tawny hair lay in thick, neat layers that would probably feel like plush velvet beneath her fingers. The impulse to touch his hair, run her hands against its nap, made her mouth go dry.
Why did he affect her so strongly? Everything about him struck her as hypnotically attractive, from his golden-green eyes to the raspy feel of his hands on her skin.
She realized he'd stopped talking and was simply watching her. Before she could stop herself, words slipped from her mouth without any forethought at all. "Your hands," she mused. "They're callused. I wouldn't expect that in a doctor."
He glanced down
at his palms as if he'd never noticed the calluses before. "Must be from rock climbing. Fishing. Horseback riding." He lifted one broad shoulder in a negligent shrug. "Yard work." A slight smile curved one side of his mouth and deepened a vertical crease beside it. She swore her heart contracted. He tilted his head and studied her with even closer attention than before. "Do they bother you—" he asked "—the calluses?"
"Oh … no." Her reply sounded almost dreamy, and she wanted to kick herself. She shouldn't be noticing things like the hardness of his hands, or the silkiness of his hair, or the muscled breadth of his shoulders.
He'd fallen silent, she realized, and so had she. They were again staring at one another with that disconcerting tension growing all the stronger.
"About the exam," he finally said, his voice low and gravelly. "What did you mean when you told Gladys you wanted to know everything I found?"
Sarah swallowed hard against a throat that had gone bone-dry. She'd almost forgotten about the request she'd made to his nurse. Not a single explanation came to mind.
"I believe you asked if I could tell whether or not you've given birth. Care to explain that question?"
Nervously she tossed her heavy hair over one shoulder and fixed her gaze on the far wall. "I was asking in a general way, just out of curiosity, whether it was scientifically possible for a doctor to tell if a woman had given birth. I didn't mean me, specifically."
"Ah. I see." After a reflective pause, he went on, "Then, for the sake of your medical chart, maybe you can fill in the blanks." He loomed nearer, into her line of peripheral vision, his gaze blatantly probing now. "Have you ever given birth?"
Her gaze whipped back to his as she realized her mistake. She couldn't possibly answer him. He'd know soon enough whether or not she was lying. He'd know from the exam more about her physical history than she would, unless he told her. And she wanted so badly to know whatever information could be gleaned.
The gray-haired nurse bustled in, murmuring apologies for being late. Dr. Wade didn't so much as glance at her. His attention was focused entirely on Sarah as he awaited her reply.
SAY AHHH... Page 1