Good grief, he was something to look at. Too bad the best she could hope for was to get through this without throwing up on his shoes.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Headache.” She tried to swallow, but her mouth felt as if someone had filled it with gravel while she slept. “The freight train variety.”
The nurse released her hand, then gave it a maternal pat. “A headache is normal with a concussion. I can give you some acetaminophen if you like.”
Confusion closed in on her. Concussion? Well, that certainly explained the headache and the nausea twisting her stomach into knots. But how on earth had she gotten a concussion? She raised her hands and squinted at the bandages. Why were her fingers bandaged? What was she doing in the hospital in the first place? And who in the world was the handsome outdoorsman standing over her, looking at her as if he was waiting for her to tell him the answer to questions she had absolutely no idea how to answer herself?
“What’s your name, honey?” the nurse asked.
The question threw her. Only for an instant, though. Of course she knew her name. It must be the concussion clouding her mind and making her feel so confused. Her name. Sure. It would come to her in a minute. All she had to do was close her eyes and relax a little so her brain could settle down and think.
“My name?” Fear coiled in her chest as it slowly dawned on her that she didn’t have a clue what her own name was. Her heart began to pound, keeping perfect time with the throbbing in her head. The ensuing panic sent her to a sitting position. A thunderbolt of pain behind her left temple sent her back down.
The nurse and the man moved closer simultaneously.
She tried to push herself back up, but the pain in her fingers stopped her, and for the first time she wondered how serious her injuries were. Good Lord, had she been in some kind of terrible accident?
“Easy, honey. It’s just the concussion fuzzing things up for you,” the nurse said. “Try to relax. Dr. Morgan is making rounds. She should be in shortly to talk with you.”
That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. That wasn’t what she needed to hear. The first order of the day was for her to remember her name. How could anyone forget their own name, for Pete’s sake?
“I don’t know my name.” Her own words turned the fear lurking inside her into a reality more frightening than the vague nightmare that still lingered in the back of her mind. “My God, I don’t remember my own name.” She looked from the nurse to the man and back to the nurse. “How can that be?”
They exchanged looks comprised of equal parts sympathy and concern that did little to quell her growing sense of panic. Propping her elbows on the pillow behind her, she struggled to a sitting position. “How did I get here? What happened?” Remembering the bandages, she raised her left hand and studied it, half-afraid to ask why it was bandaged.
Her gaze swept to the man. He returned her look levelly. Even though he hadn’t answered her questions, she found herself thankful he could at least meet her gaze without looking away. If she was facing bad news, she could tell by the character in his eyes that at least he’d have the guts to give it to her straight.
“I’ll go find Dr. Morgan.” The nurse patted her knee through the blanket. “Sit tight, honey. I’ll be right back.”
She watched the woman leave, trying in vain to ignore the grip of panic that had her breaths coming shallow and fast.
“Easy, Red, your blood pressure’s up a tad this morning.”
Her gaze snapped to the man. The sensation of the automatic blood pressure cuff tightening around her left biceps slowly registered, and for the first time she realized how close she was to all-out panic. “Yeah, well, I think my blood pressure is the least of my worries at the moment,” she muttered.
“Why don’t you sit back and take a couple of deep breaths?”
“I don’t think that’s going to solve anything.”
“It won’t solve anything, but it might help you deal with it.” He winked. “On the count of three. Deep breath. Ready?”
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the futility of deep breathing exercises when her entire life was nothing more than a black hole, she drew a shuddering breath. He did the same, and they exhaled simultaneously.
“Well, at least now we know my lungs work.” But even as she made the remark, she realized the panic had released its vise grip on her chest.
“Better?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately it didn’t do a thing for my memory.” Another wave of panic threatened, but she forced air into her lungs and fought it back. “I don’t believe this is happening.”
“You’ve got a concussion. Disorientation isn’t unusual. Your memory will come back.”
She wasn’t so sure, but decided not to argue against something she wanted desperately to believe. “I remember you,” she said abruptly, a little desperately, because suddenly it was very important to her to remember something.
Images of the rescue flooded her mind. Snow. Cold. Blinding pain. A vague sense of terror she couldn’t shake even now as she lay safe and alive in this unfamiliar bed. But she clearly remembered this man with the incredible blue eyes and devil’s grin. He’d swooped down out of the sky and plucked her from the rocks and snow. As she took in his steady expression and canny gaze, she remembered vividly how safe she’d felt in his arms, the solid feel of his body against hers, the softness of his voice, the whisper of his breath against her cheek when he’d murmured gentle words and eased her terror.
“You saved my life,” she said. “Thank you.”
“I had a little help from the rest of the team.” He extended his hand. “Just a little. I’m John Maitland.”
She attempted to take his hand, but the bandages hindered her. Despite the anxiety clenching her chest, a helpless laugh squeezed from her throat. “I don’t think I’m going to be shaking hands anytime soon.”
Unfazed, he took her hand gently between his. “I’m a medic with Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue. You gave us quite a scare.”
His accent was distinctly northeastern—deep, clipped, with a hint of the streets etched into it. “I remember you. Of course I do. But I don’t seem to remember…anything else. Can you tell me what happened?”
“We got the call out yesterday morning and picked you up on Elk Ridge at about nine thousand feet. You were hypothermic.” He looked down at the bandages on her hands. “Frostbitten. We airlifted you here to Lake County Hospital.”
She remembered the rescue. But as the memory materialized, something dark and disturbing stirred in the back of her mind like the remnants of a nightmare. An acute feeling of unease. A sense of being pursued. The unmistakable aftertaste of terror.
“Where’s Elk Ridge?” she asked.
“Not far from Fairplay, about sixty miles west of Denver.”
She swallowed, realizing with a stark sense of dismay she hadn’t even known what state she was in. Oh, dear God, what had happened to her?
“What else can you tell me?” she asked, trying in vain to keep the desperation out of her voice.
His smile tightened into a grimace, and she got the distinct impression he was about to give her some bad news. But he didn’t. Instead he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a tattered piece of paper. “I thought this might be important. Buzz Malone, my team leader, found it in the pocket of the jeans you were wearing.”
An uncomfortable sense of vulnerability encompassed her when she remembered her clothes being cut away. She knew the men who’d saved her hadn’t had a choice; they were professionals and did that sort of thing on a daily basis. Still, the fact that she’d been so exposed left her disconcerted.
Hoping whatever was on the scrap of paper would help unscramble her memory, she reached for it, but the bandages on her hands stopped her.
“Sorry.” Unfolding the paper, John held it up for her.
Hannah, meet me at the shop at noon.
She stared at the words, waiting for a lightning bol
t of memory, a flashback, anything that would tell her who she was.
“Ring a bell?” he asked.
“No.” The jab of disappointment cut her with the precision of a straight razor. Oh, how she wanted to remember. She needed to remember. She stared at the words in desperation, hoping against hope for a flare of recognition. Anything but the abyss of nothing her memory had become. “Do you think that’s my name? Hannah?”
“Could be.”
“Did I have identification when you found me?”
He shook his head. “No wallet. Not even a driver’s license. Just the clothes on your back, which were ruined—sorry—and that note in your pocket.”
Leaning forward, she pulled her knees to her chest. “This is nuts. I don’t remember…anything. How I got up on the mountain. Why I was there. Where I live. My entire life is just…blank.”
Her mind raced in circles, like a rat trapped in a maze with no destination, no way out. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she looked at John, wishing desperately he could tell her something, anything that would help her remember. “How can someone just forget their entire life?”
“It isn’t unheard of for head trauma to cause temporary memory loss.”
The word temporary took her panic down a notch. She clung to it with the desperation of a rock climber to a safety line. “How temporary?”
He shrugged. “I’m not an expert, but I’ve heard of cases where a head injury has caused amnesia.”
“Amnesia?” The sound that erupted from her throat was half laugh, half groan. “That sounds like something from a soap opera.”
“Last year we picked up a snowmobiler who’d gotten up close and personal with a blue spruce. He suffered a closed head injury. Took him two days to remember he was from Iowa. Missed his flight home and everything.”
“Two days?” she echoed hopefully.
“Look, Lake County may be a small hospital, but I did my training here. Doc Morgan is good. She’ll do what needs to be done to get you back on track, even if it means referring you to a specialist. But I’ll bet the farm your memory will return before you’re even released.”
It made sense, of course. Unfortunately not even cold, hard logic could make the situation less frightening. Sighing, she looked down at her hands. “What’s with the bandages?”
“You had some frostbite on your fingers and toes. There was some tissue damage, blisters mostly, but nothing severe. You’ve got some healing to do, but you won’t have permanent scarring.” Pulling the chair next to the bed, he straddled it and rested his chin on the back.
The scent of his aftershave drifted lazily through her brain, conjuring notions of piney forests and mountain air. Her sudden awareness of him caused a ripple of pleasure strong enough to make her stomach flutter.
“Was—was I in some sort of accident?” she managed after a moment.
“We didn’t find a vehicle. Not a car. Not a snowmobile. You weren’t dressed for skiing or hiking.”
“So what was I doing up on Elk Ridge?”
For the first time, he looked uncomfortable. She got the distinct impression there was something he wasn’t telling her. Simultaneously, something dark and frightening jumped in the back of her mind, like a predator lunging out of the shadows, claws extended, fangs bared. The ensuing flash of terror sent a violent shudder through her.
“You’re not telling me something,” she said.
“Easy, Red—”
“I see it in your face. You know something, but you don’t want to tell me.”
“Don’t go jumping to conclusions on me.”
“Keeping secrets from someone who can’t even remember their own name is cruel.”
He arched a brow. “Look, you’re getting yourself worked up over—”
“Yeah, well, I tend to get a little worked up when I can’t remember my own name.”
She flinched when he leaned forward and put his hand on her forearm. Her first instinct was to pull away, but the gentleness of his touch stopped her. She looked down where his hand rested on her forearm. His fingers were thick and dark against her pale flesh. The man had fascinating hands, a doctor’s hands made rugged by the elements. Warmth radiated from him into her and spread throughout her body like a slow-moving current.
“You’re shaking,” he said. “You okay?”
Swallowing hard, she risked a look at him. The power behind his eyes jolted her all the way down to her toes—and made her remember what it had felt like to be wrapped within his embrace in the harrowing minutes they’d dangled from the helicopter.
“I’m just…scared,” she said after a moment.
“Everything’s going to be all right.”
Looking into the startling blue of his eyes, she almost believed him. She wasn’t sure why, but this man made her feel safe. Yet even with the warmth of his touch searing her, she couldn’t shake the sense of danger pressing down on her. A feeling that told her she wasn’t safe no matter how badly she wanted to believe it.
“I think something terrible happened to me up on the mountain,” she whispered.
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t know…exactly. I mean, I don’t remember details. It’s like a dream. Or a nightmare—” An image flashed in her mind, cutting her words short. The ensuing grip of terror was so powerful, she flinched. Images played in her mind’s eye, like clips from a horror movie. She remembered snow. The silhouette of a man against the glare of headlights. The feel of cold steel in her hand. The blast of a gunshot.
Suddenly she knew why she’d been up on Elk Ridge—at least part of the reason. The realization settled over her as horribly as a handful of earth tossed over a lowered coffin.
“I remember…” Her voice was thin and breathless. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. She didn’t actually remember. But as she fought to keep her voice steady, her hands from shaking, she knew someone had been pursuing her. Someone who’d wanted to hurt her. Someone who wanted to…
John’s hand tightened on her arm. “What is it?”
Raising her gaze to his, she fought back another rise of fear and let out a shuddery breath. “I think someone was trying to kill me.”
CHAPTER 3
John had known better than to come to the hospital. In the six years he’d been a search-and-rescue medic, he’d never crossed the line between professional duty and personal involvement. He’d sure as hell never visited a patient. Well, except for the time he and his team transported a woman who’d gone into premature labor during a camping trip and delivered a preemie while en route to the emergency room. Even then, he hadn’t actually talked to the woman, just checked with the nursing staff to make sure the five-pound baby girl was all right.
So why hadn’t he been able to stay away this time?
He told himself he’d only stopped by to deliver the note they’d found in the pocket of her jeans. After all, someone from the team had to do it. Why not him? It wasn’t like he was going to stick around. Or get involved. Just because he didn’t like the bruises on her neck or the possibilities behind the dark mystery surrounding her rescue didn’t mean he was going to get caught up in her plight or, God forbid, fall into the soft depths of those incredible eyes.
He should just wish her luck, bid her farewell and walk away. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken the easy way out. John Maitland had walking out down to a fine art. He was good at it. Almost as good as he was at not getting involved. He’d learned a long time ago the cost of personal involvement, and it had always been a price he wasn’t willing to pay.
He just wished the nagging little voice in the back of his mind would stop telling him this time was going to be different.
Who was he trying to fool anyway? He was a lot more interested in this woman than he wanted to admit. A hell of a lot more than was wise. He understood the dynamics of high adrenaline and danger. Like so many other men like him, he lived for the high. Rescues could be simultaneously emotional and exhilarating and hair-r
aising. In the past he’d never felt anything more than the need to decompress afterward. A couple of beers with his teammates or a workout at the gym usually sufficed. But this time was different. He couldn’t explain it, but something had happened between him and this woman up on the mountain. Something that didn’t have anything to do with adrenaline or ego or even the fact that she appealed to him on a physical level. Somehow, and as unlikely as it seemed, he’d connected with her in a way that went against everything he’d ever believed about himself. The realization that he might be vulnerable to that curvy body and those bottomless brown eyes disturbed him almost as much as the words she’d just uttered.
As he gazed down at her, he realized he hadn’t driven all the way from Conifer to Lake County Hospital in six inches of snow just to check on her physical condition.
“Why would someone want to kill you?” In the back of his mind he thought about the pistol she’d shoved in his face and wondered if she remembered that little detail. Or if it had anything to do with what had happened to her.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I mean, I don’t really have a clear memory of it. Just sort of vague…impressions.”
“What else do you remember?”
“I remember being afraid,” she said. “I remember running. Snow and darkness and cold. I think someone was chasing me.”
“Look, Red, I’m not discounting what you’re telling me, but I’ve seen a lot of concussions, and even more cases of hypothermia over the years. Both can cause mental confusion—”
“I’m not wrong about this.”
“Even moderate hypothermia has been known to cause hallucinations,” he said.
“I wasn’t hallucinating.”
“Were you hallucinating when you shoved that pistol in my face?”
Her gaze snapped to his, her expression stricken.
“I see you remember that part just fine,” he said dryly. “You could have taken my head off.”
“Oh my God.” Raising her bandaged hand, she pressed it to her mouth. “I wouldn’t have…hurt you.”
“You sure had me fooled. That .38 you were packing looked pretty deadly.”
A Hero to Hold Page 3