LITMIR.BIZ

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have to ask Chef Boyardee.”

      “You have a chef?”

      Dan paused, rewound. Then a chuckle—an honest to goodness chuckle—escaped his dusty lungs. Leaning back against the sink, he shook his head. “Man, you really have lost your memory. The pasta’s from a can.”

      “And so is the chef?”

      He nodded.

      Her face broke out into a wide grin.

      His, too.

      He reached for her plates and placed them in the sink, this time with only a mild clatter. She disarmed him with that smile and easy way of hers. Extraordinary.

      Yet worrisome. If she could make him smile a dozen times—and laugh—all in one day, she was a bigger batch of trouble than he’d even imagined.

      “You should probably head in to bed,” he suggested. “I have an injured horse who needs tending.”

      She nodded. “Are you sure I can’t help?”

      “I’m sure.”

      “Well, thanks again for dinner.”

      “No problem.”

      “And I really hope my memory returns in the morning.”

      “So do I.” Truer words were never spoken. “Make sure to keep the door open a crack.”

      “Okay. Good night.” After one of those irresistible smiles, she turned and left the room.

      “Good night, Angel.”

      Dan grabbed a beer from the fridge and went to the couch, his bed for the night. In the fireplace, the flames crackled and sputtered, fighting to stay alive. He knew their fierceness, their hunger.

      For four years, he’d been crawling around on his belly, unwilling to stand up. He’d never thought he’d have the pluck.

      From the bedroom, he heard the woman pull back the comforter, heard the bed dip with the weight of her body.

      Around her, he had the pluck. Around her, he had the urge to stand.

      He drained his beer, then headed for the front door.

      Around her, he had a new hunger, dangerous and demanding.

      Four

      Eyes closed, body relaxed, she floated in a shallow sea of warm light, soft sand. No cares, no worries, just peace.

      Dropping down beside her, he grinned, then took her hand and kissed the palm. He had that look in his eye, the one that made her weak and wanting. Waves curved, lapped against them both, between them. The man slipped a plum under her nose, then a silver plate of biscuits, still warm.

      She inhaled deeply, smiled. “Tea and fruit…and biscuits.”

      “I don’t make tea, Angel.”

      A gasp shot forth from deep in her throat as she forced her eyes open, forced her dreams back where they belonged. The first thing she saw was morning sunlight, yellow and brilliant.

      Then she saw him.

      Freshly showered and looking far more handsome than any man had a right to in jeans and a black T-shirt, Dan towered above her, a touch of amusement glinting in those deep-brown orbs of his.

      Her mind reeled. Yesterday was all that she recalled; the accident, memory gone, shower, hands touching, dinner, sleep—sleep in this man’s bed, the scent of him in the sheets that tangled between her legs. Her skin warmed at the thought.

      “I don’t make biscuits either,” he said.

      “What was I saying?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

      An eyebrow shot up. “You were giving me your breakfast order.”

      “I wasn’t.”

      A devilish grin tugged at his mouth. “I’m afraid you were.”

      If she’d given him a breakfast order, what else had she said? How long had he been standing there? “I was obviously dreaming.”

      He shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe you were remembering.”

      “I don’t think so—”

      “Maybe you were remembering that you had a maid or something.”

      “That’s ridiculous.” But his suggestion didn’t feel strange or wrong. She stared up at the log ceiling with its smooth waves of wood, and willed herself to remember anything; a favorite food, her parents’ names…a boyfriend.

      Dan shrugged pensively. “A maid, an accent, swanky manners. But pretty open and honest—I’m thinking you don’t live in the U.S.”

      “I don’t know.” Frustration stacked up like bricks in her mind.

      “Traveling alone, though, in the mountains. Why would you do something like that?”

      Though her headache was gone now, the bruise above her eyebrow was still tender. The niggling ache intermingled with the aggravation she felt. “Do you mind if we take a break from the questions? At least until after breakfast?”

      “All right. But we don’t have tea or biscuits.”

      She pulled the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed. “No problem. I’ll make something for myself. And for you if you haven’t—”

      “No, actually I haven’t.”

      “Perfect.”

      His eyes narrowed skeptically. “You can cook?”

      She stood, gave him a proud look. “Of course I can.” Could she cook? She felt no answer to this, no instinctual pull toward the kitchen, and sadly no recollection of what any kitchen tools were called and used for.

      Oh, well. She would know soon enough if she possessed any culinary talents.

      “What do you have in the kitchen?” she asked, stretching. “We’ve already covered biscuits and tea. How about eggs, bacon—”

      “Before you turn into Julia Child, tell me how you’re feeling this morning.”

      She touched her bruise gingerly. “Hurts a little, but other than that I’m right as rain.”

      “Right as rain, huh?”

      “Yes. Don’t you think I look better?”

      In response, his gaze slid down the length of her. She still wore his baggy sweats, but at that moment it felt as though she wore nothing at all. Strangely, the feeling didn’t fill her with apprehension. Instead, pleasure flowed in her veins, unfamiliar yet wonderful.

      She asked him, “Are we going to town today?”

      “I don’t think so. Last night I was looking through an old first-aid manual. Said you should be relatively inactive for forty-eight hours. It’s a long way on foot. Too long for you.”

      “I could ride,” she suggested.

      He shook his head. “I only have the one horse and he’s injured.”

      “Tomorrow then?”

      “Yeah, tomorrow.”

      Dan was a good five feet away, leaning against the wall, tall, fiercely handsome, with a history of pain and suspicion and need behind his eyes. In that moment, all she wanted to do was run to him, fall into his arms, hold him as he held her. Such a strong pull for a man she hardly knew. But it was the truth. Despite his edgy manner of speaking, she liked him, felt a kinship with him. They had both forgotten their pasts—one out of choice, one not.

      The air seemed to warm between them, cracking with an alarming jolt of electricity. A muscle jumped in Dan’s jaw. “I’m gonna head outside, chop some more wood. I think it’ll get pretty chilly

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