One Snowbound Weekend...

“How Long, Shane?

How Long Have I Been Gone?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Angie reached for him, curving her fingers around his shoulder. He was her only anchor. She needed him. Her voice hoarse, she whispered, “It matters to me.”

He looked at her squarely. “Five years. You left me five years ago.”

She gasped. Not months, but years. Years of her life had vanished.

Instantly he covered her hand with his. Something in her stomach, warm and deep, fluttered. No matter what happened, she still responded to his most casual touch.

“Your daddy kindly answered a few questions for me. He said when you were done playing house with a man who wasn’t your social equal, you begged him to bail you out. When your memory returns, I’ll have a few questions for you.”

“Like…?”

“For starters…why the hell are you sleeping in my bed?”

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One Snowbound Weekend…
Christy Lockhart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Pam, brainstorming partner who believes;

for Whitney, chief researcher,

and for Lisa, my Designated Worrier.

Also for Dad, ’tis great to have you in my life…

CHRISTY LOCKHART

married her real-life hero, Jared, who proved to her that dreams really do come true. They live in Colorado with their two children, Raymond and Whitney.

Christy remembers always wanting to be a writer. She even talked her elementary school librarian into “publishing” her books. She notes always preferring romances because they’re about that special moment when dreams are possible and the future is a gift to unfold.

You can write to Christy at P.O. Box 448, Eastlake, CO 80614.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

One

Shane Masters’s ax froze in midswing.

Blinded by the wind-whipped snow, his eyes had to be playing tricks on him.

There was no way his ex-wife was fighting her way through a Colorado blizzard toward him.

Hardhat, Shane’s yellow Labrador, barked and ran circles around Shane’s legs, warning him about the approaching stranger. That meant Shane wasn’t hallucinating.

He dropped his ax on top of the woodpile and stared into the distance. Steps unsteady and her slender body beaten by ice daggers driven from the sky, she continued onward.

If he didn’t resent Angie’s intrusion into the life he’d rebuilt, he might have admired her courage.

As it was, he’d sworn he never wanted to see her again. Over five years ago, he’d toasted that determination with a whiskey bottle and never looked back.

Narrowing his green eyes and folding his arms across his chest, he waited.

When she was about five feet away, she pitched herself at him.

Instinctively he caught her, unprepared for the feel of her trembling, feminine body pressing against him and the strong, unwelcome wave of desire that walloped him.

“Thank God I made it home,” she whispered.

Home? Columbine Crossing hadn’t really ever been her home, and she hadn’t been back since their divorce.

“The thought of you, waiting for me, worrying about me, kept me going when I wasn’t sure I could take another step.”

Her words plowed reality back into focus.

She burrowed her head against his down-covered shoulder, and tendrils of her light brown hair cascaded down his coat. Then she laid one hand on his chest, near where his heart suddenly thundered.

His blood, dulled by the wind’s wicked bite, slowly warmed. And his insides tightened painfully in physical response to her innocent touch.

He didn’t welcome the reaction, nor did he want to be vulnerable to the woman who’d destroyed his trust and shattered his heart.

Hardhat barked, and Shane forced himself to go rigid. Although his gut twisted, urging him to draw her closer, he released the hand he’d unthinkingly slid around her slender waist.

Angie uncurled her fingers and glanced up at him, a question in her wide, expressive blue eyes.

It was then, when he really looked at her, that he saw the angry cut carved on her forehead, vivid red splashed against the paleness of her skin. He didn’t want to care. But anger couldn’t replace concern. “What happened to your head?”

She reached a trembling hand to the cut. Wincing, she said, “I don’t know…” Her brow furrowed as she frowned. “I must have hit it on the steering wheel of the car.”

“What car?”

“Our car. The one we bought in Durango.” The words were slowly formed, as if concentrating took huge effort. “Maybe you were right about it needing a new alternator.”

His mind raced to keep up with what she was saying.

“When I woke up, I was…was in the ditch.”

He scowled, searching her features. Her blue eyes glazed over. And it hit him.

She was in shock.

All the words he’d dreamed of hurling at her dried in his mouth. “You were in an accident?”

“I guess so.” She swayed.

He grabbed her again, this time swinging her from the ground and up into his arms.

“I’m okay,” she protested.

“Right.” With strides shortened by the foot of fresh snow, he started toward his cabin.

“I knew you’d take care of me.”

He ground his back teeth together. Until this moment, he couldn’t have said he’d have taken care of her. In fact, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Reaching up an icy hand, she traced the line of his cheek, just the way she had the night they first discovered each other, when he’d taught her about passion….

But she’d given up the right to touch him—physically or emotionally—when she’d divorced him to marry another man.

Running ahead of them, Hardhat pushed through the snow with his nose, flinging flakes everywhere.

“When did we get a dog?”

“When did we get a dog?” he echoed.

“I don’t remember…”

Something more icy than the snow shivered down his spine.

“What’s her name?”

“His name is Hardhat.”

“Why don’t I know that…?”

Shane opened the cabin door. This much, she’d surely remember. He’d rented the small house the day before their wedding so she and his sister, Sarah, would have someplace other than a rickety trailer to call home.

He’d bought the cabin after Angie left, not out of any sense of nostalgia, but as a solid, constant reminder that women shattered hearts and devastated homes.

Inside, he kicked the door closed, locking out the storm’s vicious lash.

Ignoring the fact he trampled snow across the honey-colored hardwood floor, he carried her into the living room and set her on the couch. “We need to get you out of those wet clothes,” he said, yanking off his gloves and tossing them on the throw rug.

Hardhat immediately grabbed one and ran toward his mat, placing a triumphant paw on the glove.

“Angie? You need to take off your jacket.”

“Where’s Sarah?”

His brows drew together. His sister was at college, where she had been for two years. “With friends,” he said.

Angie didn’t respond, nor did she move.

Her hands, whitened from exposure to the brutal elements, trembled as she reached for the coat’s zipper. How long had she been outside, and how far had she walked?

Shane didn’t want the answers to matter. But they did.

She shivered uncontrollably, and her light brown hair fell forward, shielding her face and thankfully blocking the gratitude and adoration emanating from her sky-blue eyes.

Moving her hand aside, he took hold of the zipper’s tab and parted the metal teeth.

A pendant glittered in the firelight.

He swallowed, hard.

Unable to help himself, he reached for the gold-dipped aspen leaf, tracing his fingertip across the raised veins in the metal, remembering…

As if it were yesterday, he recalled giving her the piece of jewelry. It had been their fourth date. He’d been young, poor, idealistic. She’d been young, rich and—he’d thought—different from other women.

She’d admired the aspen leaf, saying she’d never seen anything like it back east. He’d bought it for her.

Back then, purchasing the small trinket had been the financial equivalent of giving her the moon. Buying it had wiped out his last dollar.

She had protested his extravagance, saying he should spend his hard-earned money on Sarah and his new business. Softly Angie had added that being with him was all she needed.

Shane’s hardened heart had started to crack in that moment.

When he’d insisted she accept the gift, she’d lifted her hair, and he’d gently fastened the clasp at her nape.

And she still had the reminder of their time together. Amazing.

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” he asked, voice raw, as if it had been dragged through rusty nails.

“You’re scowling.”

“Nothing,” he said, pulling his hand back and shoving aside the past.

With a physical gentleness he didn’t feel emotionally, he shucked the jacket from her shoulders and dropped it beside his single glove. She looked at him through the fringe of her hair, and he noticed that her lower lip quivered. She was getting to him….

Her teeth chattered, the sound amplified in the quiet. He’d been so wrapped up in his memories that he was neglecting to care for her properly.

Softly cursing, he moved into action, tossing a couple of logs on the dwindling fire, stoking the embers and fanning the flame.

Returning to her, he dropped to his knees, ignoring the winking aspen leaf nestled near her breast.

She curled her small hand around his shoulder the same way she might have once upon a time. Trying to ignore the touch, he drew off her shoes, pricey leather flats that had no place in a Rocky Mountain blizzard.

Her socks were soaked, and he pulled them off, exposing the pale pink polish brushed across her toenails. She’d never painted her toenails before.

He shoved aside the thoughts and the anger that still nipped at his soul.

She no longer mattered to him.

Her denim jeans were frozen and stiff near the ankle, and he knew they needed to be removed, too. Damned if he’d do it, though.

He grabbed a throw from the back of the couch and settled it around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she murmured, tipping back her head and looking at him. Her hair fell away from her forehead, again exposing her wound.

In the dim light spilling through the large window, the cut seemed to ravage her skin.

He gritted his teeth. He’d already told himself she didn’t matter.

But her vulnerability sliced through his carefully constructed defenses.

Against his will, he moved his finger across her skin, not touching the injury but feeling the sizzle of heat against frost.

She flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“I need to call Doc Johnson.”

“Dr. Johnson?” She pressed her fingers against her temples, as if hoping to soothe away the pain. “What about Dr. Kirk?”

“He retired.” Was it possible that she’d truly forgotten the past few years? Surely it was the shock, nothing more….

Flames hissed and crackled, and his heart rate accelerated.

Pushing to his feet he said, “I’ll be right back,” before crossing to the master bedroom. He needed a lifeline to sanity, and she needed dry clothes.

Unable to reach Dr. Johnson at his office, Shane dialed the man’s home phone number and succinctly detailed the situation, including the fact that Angie was conscious and coherent and seemed fine, as long as you didn’t count the fact she was freezing cold and seemed to have no recollection of their divorce.

“That’s entirely possible, young man,” Dr. Johnson said. “With the car accident, potential trauma to the brain…your Angie could be suffering from posttraumatic amnesia.”

Amnesia. Breath rushed from Shane’s lungs. “She needs to see you immediately.”

“I completely agree, Shane, but you’d be risking further injury by trying to get her through the blizzard. I don’t have all the equipment to run a complete neurological examination. She needs to go to a hospital, but it’s doubtful we could get her there safely.”

“So what the hell am I supposed to do with her?”

“Keep her calm, give her aspirin for the pain. Watch her for the possibility of a concussion. As soon as the roads are plowed, we can send an ambulance or you can bring her in. Of course, if you have an emergency, call right away.”

“That’s it?”

“Sorry, Shane.”

“What do I do about her amnesia?”

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do, except try and keep her quiet,” the doctor said.

“What about her memory? When will she get it back?”

“That’s anyone’s guess, young man. Could be twenty minutes, could be next week.”

“And it might not happen at all,” Shane said flatly.

“I can’t say. But the last thing you need is for Angie to panic. She’s been through quite enough trauma as it is. Don’t you agree?”

Shane’s grip tightened on the phone. “I should let her believe she’s my wife?”

“If that keeps her from panicking and potentially causing more damage, yes.”

Shane didn’t like it. Before he could question the doctor further, static chewed up the phone line, and the connection died.

He was stuck, his ex-wife thinking they were still starry-eyed in love. And he couldn’t tell her any different.

He dropped the phone’s handset back into its cradle.

Shell-shocked, he returned to the living room.

“Shane? What did the doctor say?”

“Take two aspirin and call him in the morning.”

Her attempted smile faded before it formed. A part of him, one he thought no longer existed, stirred.

He crossed to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She fit his cupped palms perfectly, as if they had always been two parts of the same whole.

To distract himself from the unwelcome, impossible thought, he said, “You still need to change out of those wet clothes. As soon as you’ve done that, I’ll clean and bandage the wound on your forehead.”

Snowflakes had melted into her hair, the dampness making the color appear a couple of shades darker than he remembered. And now there was an alluring hint of copper buried between the strands. He struggled to resist the urge to bury his fingers in its thickness and hold her close.

But it was her eyes that really got to him. They were wide, and focused unblinkingly on him.

In the five years since he’d seen her, he’d forgotten how very powerful her eyes were. The color, a blue as vibrant as a sun-drenched sky, was potent, making him think of lovemaking and forever in a single blink. But he didn’t dare forget they were a great shield for deceit.

“Did we have a fight?” she asked softly.

He released her. “A fight?”

“Is that why you’re angry with me?”

“I’m not angry,” he denied, the doctor’s warning to keep her calm echoing in Shane’s mind.

“You always scowl like that when you’re upset.”

He dragged his fingers through his dark hair.

“You do that, too.”

In frustration, he exhaled. Damn it. How was it possible for her to remember so much and forget even more?

As she had done earlier, she stroked the side of his unshaven cheekbone. The gentle abrasion shuddered through him.

“What did I do to upset you?” She paused at the cleft in his chin, as intimately as she had five years ago.

“Shane?”

She still said his name the same way, with a husk of sensuality that skipped across his skin like the slide of silk.

“Did I do something terrible?”

“No,” he lied, cuffing her wrist and moving her hand away.

“Then why don’t you want me touching you?”

“I need to clean that cut.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

Unconsciously he took hold of her again. He didn’t want to care for her, protect her. He’d sworn he never wanted to set eyes on her again. Yet she was injured and alone, dependent on him.

Like it or not, he had an obligation. And Shane took his obligations seriously, had since he was nine years old and his mother deserted the family for a rich man and an easier life. His father had worked two jobs and drowned his sorrows when he was home, leaving Shane to care for his younger sister after school and on weekends. When he was nineteen and his dad died, Shane had naturally taken over raising Sarah.

And now he’d do what was expected of him, even if living Angie’s lie sat on his shoulders like a load of concrete. “You’re hurt,” he said. Then, softly, he added, “And you need to rest. Since we can’t get to town, I get to play doctor.”

“I’d like that.”

Tension fragmented the atmosphere.

Her gaze searched his face, looking, he figured, for anything less than honesty.

“Shane…”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“All of it? Why you’re angry, what I did, why you don’t want me touching you?”

Keep her calm. “Yeah.”

Her eyes darkened with distrust. His promise had been insincere and she’d heard the cop-out in his tone. But hell, short of taking her in his arms and finishing what she was so innocently trying to start, Shane knew there was nothing he could do.

Now, if only he weren’t so damn tempted…

Two

Even though the heartbeat of sensual awareness pulsed between them, she realized Shane was telling her what she wanted to hear, nothing more. Angie studied the pine-green depths of his eyes and saw the shadow of deceit. “Why are you lying to me?”

He dragged a hand through his hair, scattering a lock of dark brown across his forehead. “Can we postpone this until you’re feeling better?”

Angie prided herself on her strength. Without it, she would never have walked away from her father and the marriage he’d been arranging for her.

She’d shown courage in defying expectations, and she wouldn’t stop asking questions now.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Shane said, severing the contact of their gazes. He pushed to his feet and headed into the bathroom.

Restless and confused, she tossed the colorful Navajo blanket back from her shoulders and moved to the fireplace, crouching to ruffle the dog’s fur. Hardhat 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 are my things?” Pulling away, she moved into the room, dropping to her knees and yanking open the bottom right-hand drawer where she usually kept her lingerie. She found his socks and briefs.

She slammed the drawer and reached for another, where she should find belts and hair accessories. Nothing. Frantically, she yanked open a third drawer and started shoving aside his sweaters hoping to find something—anything—of hers.

“Stop.” Kneeling next to her, he clamped his hand around her wrist.

She looked up at the man she’d sworn she’d love forever, the man she’d given herself to, body and heart.

And she didn’t recognize him.

“Answer me, Shane. Where are my things? Why is there no trace of me in this room? Was our fight so bad that you’d kick me out of your life like this?”

“You’ve got clothes in the closet.”

Her breath rushed out. “In the closet?”

“On the shelves.”

She didn’t remember….

He slowly released his grip, but he didn’t move away.

“But that’s not all,” she said softly, momentarily squeezing her eyes shut. “You’ve changed, Shane. You’re not the man I married.”

“I’m the same as I’ve always been.”

He still had the same good looks, the same scar beneath his chin from the childhood bike accident, the same angular jaw, the same intensely green eyes, the same thick, dark hair begging to be mussed, the same cleft in his chin where she’d rested her finger earlier.

He was still the same, yet so much…more. “You’re harder.” Broader, stronger, more rigid. More man. “Less loving. I remember the way you’d smile when you saw me, the way you’d reach for me, the way you’d carry me in here.” Her voice broke as she finished, “The way you’d make love to me…”

He cursed softly. His eyes lightened a shade. If she didn’t know otherwise, she might have thought she’d glimpsed tenderness.

But then it was gone, and night returned to the pine-forest depths of his eyes. Swimming in a sea of confusion, she got to her feet.

“When did we get this furniture?” she asked.

“I ordered it from the Mountain Majesty catalog you like.”

Drawing her brows together, she whispered, “When?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.” She reached her hand to her forehead, and suddenly it became shockingly, frighteningly clear. “The accident. Our fight… I’ve forgotten, haven’t I? I’ve blocked it out.” Her heart raced. “I’ve lost part of my memory.”

“There’s time for all this later.” He stood but thankfully didn’t move toward her. “When you’re feeling better, when you’ve rested.”

“That’s what you talked to Dr. Johnson about, isn’t it? My memory loss.”

“Angie—” he warned.

Suddenly she was more afraid than she ever remembered being. “How much, Shane? How much time have I lost?”

“I don’t know.” He spoke slowly, soothingly, his reassuring cadence the only lifeline she had to hold on to. “The doctor said it could be posttraumatic amnesia.”

Her knees weakened. “What does that mean?” She sank onto the bed she didn’t remember sharing with him.

“He won’t know, exactly, unless he runs a complete neurological examination.”

Twisting her hands together, she softly said, “And because of the weather, you can’t get me to the hospital.”

He nodded.

“So you’re stuck with me.”

“We’re stuck with each other.”

Oh, how she’d wanted him to deny it, to tell her that being with her wasn’t a hardship.

“Your memory could come back all on its own.”

She twisted her hands together. “When?”

“Anytime.”

“What happens if it doesn’t? What if it never comes back at all?”

“Don’t,” he warned, the word a soft growl. Devouring the distance in a couple of quick strides, he took hold of her upper arms, but there was nothing intimate about his grip.

“We don’t have any information, so we can’t hazard a guess. Dr. Johnson wouldn’t.”