Pregnant.
The word reverberated in her head like the echo of a thunder clap. Hannah stared at the doctor, shock and disbelief punching her, stealing what little equanimity she’d managed to scrape together in the last hours.
She was going to have a baby.
She couldn’t believe it.
How on earth could she be pregnant and not know how she got that way? Who had she loved enough to create a child? How could she be carrying a baby and not remember, for God’s sake?
“Easy does it, Red.”
Tearing her gaze from Dr. Morgan, Hannah risked a look at John. His guarded expression told her he was nearly as surprised as she. He shot her a smile, but for the first time since she’d known him, it didn’t look genuine.
“It’s going to be all right,” he said.
Swallowing the lump that had risen in her throat, she turned her attention back to the doctor. “I can’t be pregnant,” she blurted. “I’d remember something like that.”
Dr. Morgan tapped her pen against her clipboard. “There’s no room for error. I checked the results myself. You’re definitely pregnant.”
She stared at the doctor, torn between laughing herself into hysterics and crying herself dry. Stupidly she looked down at her abdomen. She didn’t feel pregnant. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“I know news like this can be a shock—”
“I wouldn’t call having a ten-ton boulder dropped on your head a shock exactly.”
John cleared his throat. “In light of the hypothermia and the concussion, is the baby okay?”
A jab of concern sent Hannah’s hand to her abdomen.
“The baby is fine,” Dr. Morgan said.
“But I fell…”
“The body is amazingly resilient. You’re a strong woman.”
Relief swirled through her, and Hannah found herself thankful she was lying down. Things were moving way too fast; she felt as if she were on an out-of-control roller coaster that was about to derail. She’d only been awake a few hours and already her life was in chaos.
A hundred questions converged on her brain simultaneously, like a swarm of bees, crawling over a honey-laden hive. “How far along am I?”
“About three months.”
“I’m healthy?”
“As a horse.”
Another shock wave 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 case on their hands.”
Setting his hand gently against her biceps, he rose, easing her up with him. “I brought you something.”
“A few pounds of ginkgo biloba?” she muttered under her breath.
He 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 the tears from her cheeks. Okay, so she was losing it a little. Pregnant women were supposed to be overly emotional, weren’t they? She wasn’t even sure why the damn tears kept coming. Just that she was frightened and alone and so lost, she felt it all the way down to the pit of her stomach.
Putting his fingertips beneath her chin, he forced her gaze to his. “It’s all right to be scared.”
Her first impulse was to deny it. She didn’t know why, but something inside her equated fear with weakness. A sudden jolt of insight told her that her need to stand on her own two feet, to be strong and in control sprang from something that had happened in the past. Some profound event that had changed her forever and left a permanent mark deep in her psyche.
Easing away from him, she forced a smile and met his gaze. “I’m not scared,” she said. “Just a little…unsettled.”
“Unsettled?” He had the gall to look amused. “I’d be pretty damn terrified if I were in your shoes.”
Hannah looked down at her ugly shoes, and felt a helpless laugh bubble up. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“I never say anything I don’t mean, Red.”
She didn’t doubt it. The man was direct, not to mention intense. At some point, he’d invaded her space again. Her heart was beating way too fast. She needed to swallow, but wasn’t sure her throat could manage it, so she didn’t. Instead, she gazed into his alpine-blue eyes, starkly aware of his size, the intensity of his gaze, and the clean, masculine scent of his aftershave.
“I have to go arrange for a van,” she whispered, stepping back. “Thanks again for the coat.”
He shot a glance toward the window. “There’s snow moving in. Knowing Angela Pearl, she probably doesn’t have tire chains on her van or any other vehicle she owns.”
“You know her?”
“I was a paramedic in Denver a couple of years before I started with Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue. Angela and I go way back. You’ll like her. She runs a decent shelter.” He contemplated her with thoughtful scrutiny. “What do you say we skip the van and I’ll drive you?”
* * *
John hadn’t always been such a sucker. He figured he would probably live to regret offering Hannah a ride. But as he’d stared into the depths of her soft eyes, taking in the mix of uncertainty and courage and another emotion he couldn’t quite put his finger on, he knew he wasn’t going to walk away—even if his instincts were screaming for him to do just that.
He’d looked the other way too many times in his life when it came to women in trouble. As a boy, he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. As a man, he knew all too well what he was capable of. He wondered how Hannah would react if she knew what had happened the last time he’d decided to get involved.
John knew what he was. Just as he knew why he felt the constant need to atone for it. And whether being a rescuer was his saving grace—or his fatal flaw—he knew himself far too well not to realize he didn’t have a choice but to help her.
His mission should have been clear: take her to the shelter and forget about her. But he was quickly realizing that nothing was clear when it came to the feelings this woman evoked. Her plight touched a sore spot on his heart. Her vulnerability made it impossible for him to turn the other cheek. Ever since he’d dropped down out of the chopper he hadn’t been able to get her off his mind. Not a good situation for a man who prided himself on his ability to walk away. He told himself once he got her safely to Angela Pearl’s shelter, the savvy ex-hooker would make sure whomever had put those bruises on Hannah didn’t come back to finish the job. But John knew there were no guarantees. And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t so sure walking away was going to be the easy way out.
Logic told him he didn’t have to get involved to help her. He could walk away from the situation any time he felt the need. He was in control, after all. John Maitland was always in control. He’d learned the importance of control the day he’d walked away from that Philadelphia tenement thirteen years ago. An education that had cost him a piece of his humanity—and taken a chunk out of his soul that could never be replaced. But he’d walked away wiser nonetheless—particularly when it came to matters of the heart.
The brutal wind slapped at his face as they crossed the hospital parking lot toward his Jeep. Intermittent snow whipped down from a brooding afternoon sky. Beside him, Hannah huddled in her new coat, her hair tangling in the wind like strands of fine Oriental silk. Even from two feet away, he could smell her. A titillating mix of wildflowers infused with the mysterious essence of woman. A scent that had simmered in the backwaters of his brain since the moment he’d clipped his harness to hers and taken her into his arms to save her life. It was a scent that had been with him every waking hour since, haunting his dreams in the dark hours of night, disturbing his intellect by the light of day.
He wasn’t exactly sure how it had happened—he sure as hell didn’t want to define what “it” was—but with nothing more than a look and a silent communiqué, this woman had somehow broken through a wall he’d spent years fortifying. The realization that he might be vulnerable to her disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t help but wonder where this breach of his personal code would lead—or if he’d be sorry for it in the end.
They reached his four-wheel-drive Jeep a moment later. John opened the door for Hannah, making sure—without touching her—that she could make the climb into the cab with her injured hands and feet. After stowing her bag in the rear, he slid behind the wheel and started the engine.
Hannah broke the silence the instant his door was closed. “I appreciate the ride.”
“No problem.”
“I was wondering…um, why you’re doing this for me.”
John had spent a good bit of the morning pondering the very same question himself. He couldn’t deny that initially his sudden sense of goodwill had been based on nothing more than good old-fashioned attraction. Faded scrubs or not, the woman could definitely turn a man’s head—even his. But John could handle his needs. He’d proven it to himself a hundred times over since he’d been in Colorado. He’d lived by the code of control for a long time, and not even a sexy, vulnerable female in trouble up to her eyebrows was going to make him break it. That she was three months pregnant would undoubtedly help. The last thing he needed in his life was to get tangled up with a pregnant woman who just happened to belong to another man.
So what the hell was he doing driving her to the shelter, for God’s sake?
“You mean aside from the fact that I’m a great guy?” he asked after a moment.
She cut him a look. “I mean in light of the fact that I…you know…pointed that gun at you.”
“Oh, that.”
“I probably would have taken that personally.”
He shrugged. “I’ll admit that’s not the reception I’m used to getting when I pick up a hypothermic patient clinging to the side of a mountain.”
“I’m sorry I did that to you. I can’t stop thinking about what might have happened—”
“Nothing happened. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m worried because I don’t know what kind of person I am.”
“I consider myself a pretty good judge of character, Red. Unless that amnesia has turned you into a Jekyll and Hyde, you’re good as gold.”
A smile touched the corners of her mouth, and John’s heart stuttered. Man, if she could do that to him with a little half smile, just imagine what would happen if she laughed. Not wanting to ponder the possibility too deeply, he put the Jeep in gear.
“What was I doing with a gun?” she asked. “Why did I point it at you?”
“Maybe you thought I was someone else, and you were trying to protect yourself.” John’s gaze dropped to her abdomen. “Or your unborn child.”
Pressing her hand to her stomach, she shivered.
“Cold?” he asked.
“No, just…worried.”
“Who’s Richard?”
Her body gave a minute jerk. “I’m not…exactly sure. The name… It’s…familiar.”
“You called me Richard right after you pulled the gun.”
“Maybe that means I know the man who…did this to me.”
“It’s a scenario we should probably consider.”
Leaning forward, she put her face in her hands. “This just keeps getting worse.”
John glanced over from his driving, hating that she’d gone pale again. “You need to get the police involved, Hannah.”
Taking a deep breath, she relaxed back into the seat and sighed. “I know.”
“We can’t ignore those bruises.”
Worry crept into her gaze like a storm cloud darkening the ground beneath it. He hated to be the one to put it there, but when it came to the kind of trouble he was referring to, he knew firsthand that ignorance was never bliss.
“You need to talk to the police and make sure they have a description of you and know the circumstances of how you were found. If a missing-persons report is out and you fit the description, they’ll be able to make the match.”
“What if they run my prints and it turns out I’m an escaped convict or something?”
She was serious, he realized, and had to stifle a smile. “Take my word for it, Red, you’re not an escaped convict.”
“I could have killed you, John.”
“You didn’t.”
“That’s not the point.”
Even though he was pretty sure she wouldn’t have used that gun, the possibilities of why she’d had it in the first place left a rank taste at the back of his throat. “Buzz Malone is an ex-cop. I’ll check with him and see if he has any ideas as far as getting you identified. He might be able to cut through some of the red tape and speed up the process.”
“I appreciate that.” She fiddled with the bandages on her fingers. “I probably have…family looking for me, anyway.”
John looked down at her naked ring finger and felt an odd sensation he refused to identify sweep through him. “Probably.”
“It’s been twenty-four hours. There’s probably a missing-persons report out this very minute,” she reasserted.
John nodded, realizing belatedly how alone she must feel, and that she was putting up a valiant front. He wondered if she realized her hands were shaking. “I’ll call the Rocky Mountain News. I know a reporter there. I’ll fill him in on your story, and see if I can get him interested. If the newspaper runs an article, someone might recognize you.”
“Good idea.” She brightened. “Maybe we could even get one of the local TV stations to run my picture.”
John risked a look at her. Huddling deeper into her coat, she leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. He tried not to notice the fullness of her mouth or the way her hair curled wildly around her shoulders. He’d never been drawn by a woman’s hair before. He wasn’t even unduly attracted to redheads, though now he couldn’t imagine why. What was it about her that had him bucking his better judgment every time he looked at her?
He was so caught up in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the sport utility vehicle until it was alongside his Jeep. Damn impatient drivers annoyed the hell out of him. He couldn’t count the number of accidents caused by Mr. Type-A personality trying to pass a slower-moving Mr. Type-B.
“Come on, Speed Racer,” he muttered.
Abruptly the SUV veered toward the Jeep. Adrenaline punched through him when the vehicle crossed the yellow line into his lane. He jerked the wheel to the right, but the SUV kept coming.
“What the hell?” He barely had time to shout a warning before the SUV slammed into the side of his Jeep. “Hang on!”
The Jeep fishtailed on impact. John fought the wheel, looked up in time to see the SUV loom large and menacing inches from his window. He hit the brakes only to realize the tires had already relinquished their grip.
The screech of rubber against asphalt filled the air. Hannah’s scream rang out over the roar of the engine. Fighting the wheel for control, he steered into the skid. A curse flitted through his brain when the Jeep began a slow, sickening spin. As if in slow motion, he saw the guardrail approach at a stunning speed. As the Jeep careened toward it, he tried not to think about the woman and her unborn child whose lives now rested in his hands—or the two-hundred-foot drop on the other side of the rail.