Chapter Two

His pulse pounded behind his eyes, nearly blinding him as he squinted at the woman leaning over him. She was pretty—disheveled, but pretty. He thought he knew her but didn’t know why. He’d called her Lucinda, but who was Lucinda?

“Mr. Bancroft?” The woman seemed to be talking to him.

“Are you Nicholas Bancroft?” she repeated.

Was he? It sounded familiar. “Maybe.”

The question made his head hurt. Everything seemed indistinct, as if his brain were wrapped in cotton wool. His eyelids drifted down.

“Sir.” The sharp edge of her voice jolted him back to consciousness. “Please try to stay awake.”

“Mmmm,” he mumbled. “I’m trying.”

His mouth was dust-dry and had a sharp, metallic taste. And his head... He raised his hand to the sharp, throbbing pain.

“No, you mustn’t!” She grabbed his wrist. “You’ll tear open the stitches.”

Stitches? A sense of panic seized him. “What the hell have you done to me? Where am I?” He struggled to rise, but she pushed him back with firm pressure on his shoulders.

“If you promise not to move, I’ll answer what questions I can, although I’m afraid I don’t know much.”

“You’re bound to know more than I do. You can start by telling me who you are.”

She clasped her hands in her lap like a parson’s daughter in church. “My name is Caroline Hubbard.”

Caroline. That didn’t sound right. He studied her through narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you’re not Lucinda?”

“I’m sure.” A fleeting expression crossed her face before he could decipher it.

Her name alone told him nothing. “Where am I?”

She pursed her lips. “You are in my cabin near Como Bluff, Wyoming.”

Wyoming. A wisp of a memory teased him then vanished, leaving him more frustrated. “How did I get here?”

“I brought you. And with considerable difficulty, I might add.” She looked pleased with herself.

“Why? Where was I before?”

She blew out a breath, and the pale blond hair hanging over her forehead fluttered. “We’ll never get anywhere at this rate. I’ll tell you everything I know, and you can fill in the rest.”

It sounded like a good place to start, but the conversation might be short since he had no idea what “the rest” was. If only the pounding in his temples would stop, maybe he’d be able to think straight.

“I found you at the bottom of a steep hill in a clump of brush, unconscious, with a big bump on your head.”

That explained the pain. He lifted his hand again, but she slapped it away lightly. “Don’t touch it! I worked hard on those stitches.”

He dropped his hand. “All right, so you found me. Then...?”

“Jasper and I dragged you back to the cabin.”

He grimaced, and the pain in his head flared. Dragged? No wonder every inch of his body felt like it had been kicked by an angry gnome wearing hobnailed boots.

Caroline rolled her big, blue eyes as if she’d read his thoughts. “We didn’t drag you on the ground; we used a travois.”

“A travois?”

“It’s a kind of litter devised by the Indians. I use it for carrying bones.”

He stared at her in confusion. Despite her dusty skirt and bedraggled hair, she bore little resemblance to a buffalo hunter, so what was she doing dragging bones around?

His expression must have given him away again. A dimple appeared beside her soft, full lips, and she looked as though she were struggling not to laugh. “I’m a paleontologist,” she said. “A scientist who studies dinosaurs. I dig their bones out of the cliff.”

Understanding dawned. Dinosaurs. Ancient lizards. “I’ve read about them.”

She nodded with enthusiasm. “I send the bones back east to the Peabody Museum at Yale University.”

For the past several years, the papers had been full of stories about discoveries of dinosaur bones, including pictures. Some of the skeletons were huge. The enormous bones must be heavy, but he hadn’t seen or heard anyone else around the cabin. “Do you live out here alone?”

“Not entirely; I have Jasper.”

“Your husband?”

“My mule.” This time she smiled without hesitation, and his insides did a funny little dance.

“Aren’t you concerned about safety?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’m safe enough. I carry a pistol to the dig site in case I run into a rattlesnake or other predator.”

She might be armed, but he doubted Miss Caroline Hubbard was as tough as she made out. However, he was in no condition to argue. His head still hurt like the devil, but the fog in his brain was dissipating, and he still had questions. “What happened to me?”

“It appeared your horse might have been spooked by a rattler and run off after dumping you on your head.”

“I don’t have a horse?”

She shook her head. “Not that I saw.”

For the first time, he glanced down at his chest and arms. “I don’t seem to have any clothes, either.”

“Oh, I took those off.” At his raised brow, she continued in a defensive tone, “I had to examine you for injuries.”

The thought of this prim little scientist removing his clothes and examining his body almost brought a smile in spite of the pain in his head. “Did you find anything interesting?”

Caroline straightened her spine. “You do not appear to have any other injuries.”

“Good. Now, if you’ll help me sit up, I need a drink.”

Her brows drew together in a stern frown. “I do not keep strong spirits.”

“At the moment, I’ll take water.” Although a shot of something stronger didn’t sound half bad.

“I have water, of course.” A rosy flush suffused her cheeks. “Lie still and I’ll get you some.”

His gaze followed her across the room to a tall barrel by the open doorway. She returned with a tin cup and knelt beside him. Sliding her arm behind his head, she brought the cup to his lips. The tepid water tasted better than the finest whiskey on his parched tongue. When he finished, he collapsed back against the flour sack with a sigh and closed his eyes.

“How do you feel?” Caroline asked.

“Better, I think.”

She set the cup aside. “Good. The cut on your head doesn’t look too bad, but you should rest until we’re sure there’s been no damage from the blow itself.”

“I can’t lie on your floor for hours.”

“I agree. A few hours will tell us nothing. It may take several days before you’re able to travel.”

Her assessment stopped him cold. When he could travel, where would he go? And how would he get there without a horse? If only he could remember what he was doing in Como Bluff. Caroline Hubbard obviously didn’t know him, and he felt certain Wyoming wasn’t home.

“Do you remember anything?”

He closed his eyes, but all he saw was a swirl of images—a big white house by the sea, a tall ship with many masts, a beautiful blonde woman. He felt a tug of recognition. Was she Lucinda?

He opened his eyes and peered at Caroline. She looked so much like the mysterious woman in his memory. “Are you certain you’re not Lucinda?”

She smiled and her dimple reappeared. “Absolutely positive.”

“Let’s make sure,” he murmured.

He reached up, slid a hand into her hair, and pulled her head down until their lips met.