LITMIR.BIZ

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smiled and held out a shopping bag. “Better.”

      She looked down at the label on the bag and her heart did a weird little roll in her chest. “That wasn’t necessary.”

      “Routine follow-up,” he said deadpan.

      Not knowing what else to do, she reached for the bag and looked inside. Her throat tightened at the sight of the coat.

      “It’s down-filled,” he offered. “With a hood to keep you warm.”

      “Thank you.” Her voice broke unexpectedly as she ran her fingers over the silky material. “It’s beautiful…and practical. I mean, I hadn’t even thought about needing one.”

      “It’s hovering around zero outside.” Reaching into the bag, he pulled out the coat.

      Cora shuffled over and looked at it with a mother’s critical eye. “Oh, yeah, honey, this will keep you plenty warm. The blue looks good with all that red hair of yours, too.” Taking the coat from John, she held it out for Hannah to try on. “Well, John Maitland, I always wondered if your mama raised a gentleman. I reckon she did.”

      He winked at the nurse. “A scoundrel in gentleman’s clothes.”

      Cora rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know it.”

      As Hannah slipped her arms into the sleeves, a jab of uncertainty assailed her. She didn’t have a way to pay for any of the things that had been given to her, she realized suddenly. Not her medical bill. Not the overnight bag or the clothes in it. Not even the coat.

      “Perfect fit,” Cora said. “Looks nice and warm, too.”

      Hannah glanced up to see John’s gaze sweep down the front of her. An uncomfortable awareness crept over her, and she resisted the urge to shiver. Not because she was cold, but because the man’s assessing gaze did funny things to her nerve endings. All two million of them.

      “I don’t have any way to pay for this,” she blurted. “I mean, I don’t have any—”

      “The coat is a gift,” John interjected.

      Cora huffed. “I don’t want to hear any talk about pay-backs, honey. You just concentrate on getting settled into that shelter and getting your memory back.”

      Hannah tried not to show how much the thought of leaving the hospital scared her. She couldn’t afford to be scared. Now was not the time to act like a frightened twelve-year-old. She wanted her life back. All of it, including her past—even if that meant remembering something unpleasant. She needed to know who she was. Where she lived. Who’d fathered the child growing inside her.

      Who’d tried to kill her.

      The thought brought gooseflesh to her arms.

      Hannah jumped when the intercom next to the bed sounded. Cora made a rude gesture at it, then smiled. “I’ve gotta run, honey. Mr. Bowerfind down the hall needs me. You take care of yourself, you hear?”

      On impulse, Hannah reached for the other woman and hugged her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

      Cora hugged her back fiercely, then set her at arm’s length. “I’ll expect a call when you get settled in at Angela Pearl’s.”

      “I’ll call. Thanks.”

      Sniffing once, Cora patted John’s arm, then left the room.

      Hannah stared after her, acutely aware of the press of silence—and the solid presence of the man standing next to her. “I’d better get going,” she said.

      He looked down at the solitary bag sitting open on the bed. “Need some help with that?”

      “No, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

      He didn’t move away, and the moment turned awkward. Okay, so he’d been nice enough to bring her the coat. That didn’t mean she was going to hug him the way she’d hugged Cora. The man might have saved her life, but Hannah didn’t need her memory to know he was dangerous. He was far too attractive, and she just happened to be three months pregnant. That meant there was another man in her life. A man with whom she obviously had a serious relationship. A man whose name she couldn’t even remember.

      John Maitland unsettled her; she couldn’t afford to be unsettled. She might have lost her memory, but she hadn’t lost her mind.

      Rattled by her awareness of him, the stark reality of her situation and an uncomfortable sense of vulnerability, she drew a breath and turned to him, a smile pasted to her face despite the fact that her eyes had warmed with unshed tears. “Cora is worse than an old mother hen. Girl Scout cookies, for goodness’ sakes.”

      The tone of her voice didn’t ring true even to Hannah, and she winced with every overly cheerful word. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to prove that none of this had gotten to her. Not the amnesia. Not her injuries, or the mysterious bruises that marred her throat and arms. All she knew was that it was suddenly very important to her for this man to know she was strong and capable and in control.

      Without looking at him, she eased the coat from her shoulders and turned away to drape it over the bag. “I appreciate you stopping by, but I have to check out now.”

      “Hannah…”

      “My discharge papers haven’t even been signed yet. I’ve got a million things to—”

      “Hannah.”

      She jolted when a pair of strong hands closed gently around her upper arms. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want him to see her like this. Not with a bruised face and tears in her eyes and no place in the world to go or call her own. Not with her emotions scraped raw and fear slithering like a reptile inside her. She didn’t even know this man, but she couldn’t bear the thought of him feeling sorry for her because all she had were the clothes on her back and the promise of a bed at a women’s shelter full of strangers.

      Slowly he turned her to face him. “What’s with the cheerleader act?”

      Hannah looked everywhere but into his discerning gaze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “I know this isn’t easy for you. You don’t have to—”

      “I’m fine, and for the record you can stop looking at me like I’m going to cry.” It was a stupid statement, since the blasted tears had already spilled over and proceeded to run down her cheeks, betraying her bravado and taking the last of her dignity with them. Determined to keep a handle on her emotions, she raised her hand and swiped at the tears with the back of her bandaged hand. The last thing she wanted to do was let her emotions spiral out of control when this man was standing so close. If that happened, she might do something stupid like step into his embrace and let him wrap those strong arms around her one more time. In a small corner of her mind, she wondered how the father of her unborn child would feel about that.

      The thought jolted her, sent her back a step to a safer distance. “Don’t you have a rescue or something to go to?”

      A thick, black brow arched. “Look, I didn’t mean anything by bringing the coat. I just thought—”

      “It’s not the coat. I appreciate it very much. I just want you to know I’ve got the situation under control.”

      “Sure you do.”

      “I don’t need…you know, rescuing or anything.”

      “I’m not here to rescue you.”

      “As long as you understand that. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.”

      “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

      “I’m handling this just fine.”

      “That’s obvious.” He pulled a handkerchief from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. “Here.”

      Taking the handkerchief, Hannah scrubbed

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