LITMIR.BIZ

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rocked through her as the reality of the situation sank in a little deeper. How in the world was she going to handle having a baby in six months when she didn’t even know her own name?

      “Aside from your memory loss, you’ve got a clean bill of health,” the doctor said. “That’s why I’m going to release you.”

      Fear quivered in her gut at the thought of leaving the protective walls the hospital. “Release me?”

      “A friend of mine runs a women’s shelter in Denver. Angela Pearl is a gem. She’ll set you up for a few days, until your memory returns. I’ll give her a call. They’ve got an old van and can pick you up out front.”

      Hannah was still trying to absorb the fact that she was going to be released when the realization of where she would be going struck her. A homeless shelter. Good Lord, she was homeless and battered and pregnant. She had no money, no job skills that she knew of and not a friend in the world to call upon for help. Well, at least none that she remembered.

      Setting her hand protectively over her abdomen, Hannah tried not to wonder if her situation could get any worse.

      The acetaminophen wasn’t helping. Not with the headache. Or the nausea. Or with the aches that had crept steadily into her bones since she’d wakened. It certainly wasn’t helping to ease the shock of learning she was three months pregnant.

      Stepping out of the shower, Hannah quickly toweled her body and tried in vain not to worry about what the coming hours would bring. Venturing out into that great big world out there scared the bejeebers out of her. For the second time in the last hour, her hand dropped protectively to her ever-so-slightly rounded tummy. The gesture surprised her—and brought an unbidden smile to her face. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she whispered. “Mommy just needs to get used to the idea of you being in there.”

      As she stared down at the place where a tiny life grew inside her, a profound sense of warmth enveloped her. A sense of rightness and calm and sweet inevitability all but vanquished the anxiety plaguing her. In that moment, somehow, she knew everything would be all right.

      Clinging to the thought, she slipped into the faded scrubs and fluffy blue sweatshirt that wielded the hospital’s insignia. Because of the frostbite on her feet, she couldn’t yet wear regular shoes, but the E.R. respiratory therapist had donated a pair of clunky, open-toed sandals big enough to accommodate her bandaged feet. Hannah wasn’t going to win any fashion awards anytime soon, but she was warm and comfortable and figured for a woman who’d gambled with the Grim Reaper and won just twenty-four hours earlier, she couldn’t ask for much more.

      She was alive. Her injuries were minor—well, aside from her memory loss—which continued to drive her to slow insanity. But the prognosis was good, she reminded herself. Even if it took a visit to the psychiatrist Dr. Morgan had recommended, Hannah swore she wouldn’t rest until she knew her identity.

      Pushing open the door, she stepped out of the bathroom. A smile curved her mouth when she saw Cora, her nurse, bent over the bed packing an overnight bag that had definitely seen better days. “I could have packed that myself,” Hannah said.

      Turning, Cora held out two packages of Girl Scout cookies. “Do you like peanut butter or chocolate?”

      “Chocolate…I think.”

      “A woman of my own heart.” The older woman turned back to her packing and laid both boxes of cookies inside. “At least you remember what you like to eat.”

      “I see you’re all packed.”

      Hannah’s heart stuttered at the sound of the deep male voice. She spun to see John Maitland standing in the doorway. His short-cropped hair might have looked conservative on another man, but the day’s growth of beard and that careless grin conjured anything but conservative images. He looked good enough to make even the most cautious woman long for recklessness. And as much as Hannah wanted to believe she was immune to his blue eyes and chiseled mouth, the sudden quiver low in her belly told her she wasn’t.

      His gaze swept down the front of her. “Nice duds.”

      “The nurses took up a collection and donated the sweatshirt, scrubs and even a pair of jeans….” Her voice trailedas he crossed to her and stopped just short of invading her space.

      “You look really good in scrubs, Red.”

      The towel she’d been holding slipped from her hands and fell to the floor. “I thought you had to get back to headquarters.”

      “Just doing a little follow-up care.”

      “I didn’t realize medics did that sort of thing.”

      “I do, but just for the pretty redheads.”

      She blinked, charmed and flustered at once, and felt her cheeks heat. “You’re flirting with me again.”

      “Bad habit of mine.” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

      Not quite sure how to react, she forced a laugh. Okay, brain, you can start working now, a desperate little voice whispered.

      “How’s the head?” he asked.

      Spinning, she thought dully, then gave herself a quick mental shake. She knew better than to let his presence affect her, but her heart was doing tricks in her chest, refusing to pump enough blood to her brain. The lack of oxygen was making her dizzy.

      “Better,” she said, but her voice was breathless and high. His proximity wasn’t helping matters, but then neither was his size. The man was at least six-four. His shoulders were nearly as wide as the door and just as solid looking. Hannah judged her own height to be about five-six. Not short by any means, but standing next to John Maitland, she felt dwarfed.

      Her cognitive powers ground to a halt the instant the piney woods scent of his aftershave curled around her brain. She couldn’t bring herself to smile or say anything even remotely intelligent. If her heart beat any faster, the damn thing was going to explode. Then she’d really be in trouble. Well, at least she was in the right place if they needed to rush her down to the emergency room.

      Why did the man have to complicate matters by being so damned attractive, anyway? She shouldn’t even be noticing such a thing, considering she was carrying another man’s child.

      “Any luck with your memory?” he asked.

      “The biggest revelation I’ve had is that I prefer chocolate over peanut butter.”

      “Ah, there’s some headway.” His grin was quick and lethal. “At least you’ve got your priorities straight.”

      Okay, heart, you can slow down now. Hoping for a second in which to regain her composure, she knelt to pick up the towel she’d dropped. John must have gotten the same idea at precisely the same moment, because he stooped and reached for the towel.

      “I’ve got it,” she said, but her mind fumbled the instant his gaze met hers. All she saw was blue. Electric blue that reminded her of dusk on the mountain, bracing and clear and so vivid, she wanted to step forward and free-fall into its depths—and worry about the consequences later.

      His grin widened. “I’ve got it.”

      She gave the towel a small tug.

      He tugged back.

      Not quite sure how to deal with him, she looked away, found herself staring at her sock-and-sandal-clad feet. Embarrassment washed over her. Oh, terrific. Not only did she have a brain that seemed to be working at twenty-five percent capacity, but she also had a scrape the size of Pikes Peak on her nose, a bruise on her cheek that looked like an overripe eggplant and shoes that would make even the most practical woman dive under the bed and not come out until Mr. Gorgeous left the room.

      “Don’t worry about the shoes,” he said. “They look great.”

      Hannah choked out a helpless laugh and relinquished the towel. “The nurses of Lake County Hospital know how to pull together when they have a tough

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