LITMIR.BIZ

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was adorable, especially with the red bandanna tied around his neck. It was odd that she couldn’t remember their dog. It was even stranger that she couldn’t remember her fight with Shane, no matter how hard she tried.

      But their lovemaking…that she remembered….

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

      “How did we end up getting a dog?”

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

      “When?”

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

      “Stop with the half truths, Shane.”

      His knuckles whitened against the bottle of peroxide.

      “How recently?” she repeated.

      “Angie—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Dammit, Angie, the doctor said—”

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

      “I don’t think you’re up to it.”

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

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

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

      “We’ve had other fights.”

      “Not like this.”

      “Worse?”

      “Yeah.”

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

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

      “Leave it at that, Angie.”

      “But—”

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

      “Was it bad enough to ruin our relationship?”

      “Angie—”

      “Was it?” she repeated breathlessly, demandingly.

      “Yeah.”

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

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

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

      “Shane—”

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

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

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

      “Sit on the couch.”

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

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

      “No more than this awkwardness between us.”

      “You never give up, do you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Thank you,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “Angie!” he called. “Are you okay?”

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

      There were no traces of her anywhere in this room.

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

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

      “Where

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