Читать книгу A Hero To Hold - Linda Castillo - Страница 10

Glorious heat wrapped around her as if she’d been immersed in a warm bath. Relaxation spread through her body, rippling through muscle and tendon and radiating all the way to her bones. The lavender haze surrounding her brain cushioned the pain in her head and eased the throbbing ache in her hands and feet.

She’d never floated before, but this wasn’t at all unpleasant. She was especially enjoying the dream about the man in the orange flight suit. The man with black, short-cropped hair, electric blue eyes and that devil-be-damned grin. The man who’d swooped down out of the sky and rescued her from…

From what?

Alarm quivered through her. The warmth she’d been feeling fled. In its place, something dark and menacing gripped her. A vague sense of terror crept over her like the shadow of some huge predator about to attack. She felt threatened, pursued, but her mind couldn’t seem to pinpoint by what—or whom.

Content to return to the protective warmth of sleep—and her dream about the man with those vivid blue eyes—she sank back into the darkness and let the tide send her adrift.

“Rise and shine, honey. You’ve got a visitor.”

The jazzy female voice turned her peaceful netherworld on its ear. She opened her eyes. Light stabbed into her brain like a hot laser, bringing a wave of pain so powerful, her vision blurred. Withholding a groan, she raised her hand to shield her eyes, only to find her fingers encased in bandages. Blinking in confusion, she lowered her hand and tried to focus on the two blurred figures standing a few feet from her bed.

“Where am I?” Her throat felt as if it had been through a cheese grater. Twice.

“Lake County Hospital,” came the female voice. “You were brought in yesterday morning. How are you feeling?”

She blinked to clear the fog from her brain. A silver-haired woman with kind eyes and chocolate-colored skin came into focus and smiled down at her. “I’m Cora, your nurse. Let me get your pulse while you’re awake.”

A nurse, she thought. A look at the monitor beside her bed confirmed that she was in a hospital. A vague sense of confusion swirled in her head. She was in a hospital. A hospital?

What the hell was she doing in a hospital?

Before she could voice the question, the nurse took her hand and set her finger against her wrist. Only then did she remember her other visitor. She turned her head and squinted at the man standing just inside the door. The man she’d been dreaming about stared back at her, his gaze riveted to hers, his chiseled mouth pulled into a cocky grin.

“Hi, Red. How’s tricks this morning?”

Red? It took her befuddled mind a moment to realize he was talking to her. When she tried to answer, her voice grated like bad brakes. She cleared her throat and tried again. “The only thing doing tricks this morning is my brain.” She didn’t have the energy to mention her stomach was doing tricks, too—every time the smell of hospital bacon and eggs wafted into the room.

“Sorry to hear that. You’re looking good.”

“If how I feel is any indication as to how I look, I’d say you’re probably lying.”

Even with her head pounding and her vision blurred, she couldn’t help but notice the power behind his smile. He’d traded the jumpsuit for a pair of faded jeans that hugged lean hips and muscular thighs. A flannel shirt opened to a black T-shirt with the word Medic emblazoned in white and stretched tightly over a wide, muscled chest. Laced-up hiking boots lent him the appearance of an outdoorsman. But it was his eyes that drew her gaze and held it so that she couldn’t look away. She’d never seen bluer eyes. They were high-altitude blue with a touch of ice, a trace of winter dusk—and a lot of male attitude. His short black hair was spiked military-style, but he didn’t look clean-cut. Not with the five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw or that dangerous grin and sculpted mouth. Even in her dazed state, it took her all of two seconds to realize he was every woman’s fantasy incarnate.

Good grief, he was something to look at. Too bad the best she could hope for was to get through this without throwing up on his shoes.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Headache.” She tried to swallow, but her mouth felt as if someone had filled it with gravel while she slept. “The freight train variety.”

The nurse released her hand, then gave it a maternal pat. “A headache is normal with a concussion. I can give you some acetaminophen if you like.”

Confusion closed in on her. Concussion? Well, that certainly explained the headache and the nausea twisting her stomach into knots. But how on earth had she gotten a concussion? She raised her hands and squinted at the bandages. Why were her fingers bandaged? What was she doing in the hospital in the first place? And who in the world was the handsome outdoorsman standing over her, looking at her as if he was waiting for her to tell him the answer to questions she had absolutely no idea how to answer herself?

“What’s your name, honey?” the nurse asked.

The question threw her. Only for an instant, though. Of course she knew her name. It must be the concussion clouding her mind and making her feel so confused. Her name. Sure. It would come to her in a minute. All she had to do was close her eyes and relax a little so her brain could settle down and think.

“My name?” Fear coiled in her chest as it slowly dawned on her that she didn’t have a clue what her own name was. Her heart began to pound, keeping perfect time with the throbbing in her head. The ensuing panic sent her to a sitting position. A thunderbolt of pain behind her left temple sent her back down.

The nurse and the man moved closer simultaneously.

She tried to push herself back up, but the pain in her fingers stopped her, and for the first time she wondered how serious her injuries were. Good Lord, had she been in some kind of terrible accident?

“Easy, honey. It’s just the concussion fuzzing things up for you,” the nurse said. “Try to relax. Dr. Morgan is making rounds. She should be in shortly to talk with you.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. That wasn’t what she needed to hear. The first order of the day was for her to remember her name. How could anyone forget their own name, for Pete’s sake?

“I don’t know my name.” Her own words turned the fear lurking inside her into a reality more frightening than the vague nightmare that still lingered in the back of her mind. “My God, I don’t remember my own name.” She looked from the nurse to the man and back to the nurse. “How can that be?”

They exchanged looks comprised of equal parts sympathy and concern that did little to quell her growing sense of panic. Propping her elbows on the pillow behind her, she struggled to a sitting position. “How did I get here? What happened?” Remembering the bandages, she raised her left hand and studied it, half-afraid to ask why it was bandaged.

Her gaze swept to the man. He returned her look levelly. Even though he hadn’t answered her questions, she found herself thankful he could at least meet her gaze without looking away. If she was facing bad news, she could tell by the character in his eyes that at least he’d have the guts to give it to her straight.

“I’ll go find Dr. Morgan.” The nurse patted her knee through the blanket. “Sit tight, honey. I’ll be right back.”

She watched the woman leave, trying in vain to ignore the grip of panic that had her breaths coming shallow and fast.

“Easy, Red, your blood pressure’s up a tad this morning.”

Her gaze snapped to the man. The sensation of the automatic blood pressure cuff tightening around her left biceps slowly registered, and for the first time she realized how close she was to all-out panic. “Yeah, well, I think my blood pressure is the least of my worries at the moment,” she muttered.

“Why don’t you sit back and take a couple of deep breaths?”

“I don’t think that’s going to solve anything.”

“It won’t solve anything, but it might help you deal with it.” He winked. “On the count of three. Deep breath. Ready?”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the futility of deep breathing exercises when her entire life was nothing more than a black hole, she drew a shuddering breath. He did the same, and they exhaled simultaneously.

“Well, at least now we know my lungs work.” But even as she made the remark, she realized the panic had released its vise grip on her chest.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately it didn’t do a thing for my memory.” Another wave of panic threatened, but she forced air into her lungs and fought it back. “I don’t believe this is happening.”

“You’ve got a concussion. Disorientation isn’t unusual. Your memory will come back.”

She wasn’t so sure, but decided not to argue against something she wanted desperately to believe. “I remember you,” she said abruptly, a little desperately, because suddenly it was very important to her to remember something.

Images of the rescue flooded her mind. Snow. Cold. Blinding pain. A vague sense of terror she couldn’t shake even now as she lay safe and alive in this unfamiliar bed. But she clearly remembered this man with the incredible blue eyes and devil’s grin. He’d swooped down out of the sky and plucked her from the rocks and snow. As she took in his steady expression and canny gaze, she remembered vividly how safe she’d felt in his arms, the solid feel of his body against hers, the softness of his voice, the whisper of his breath against her cheek when he’d murmured gentle words and eased her terror.

“You saved my life,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I had a little help from the rest of the team.” He extended his hand. “Just a little. I’m John Maitland.”

She attempted to take his hand, but the bandages hindered her. Despite the anxiety clenching her chest, a helpless laugh squeezed from her throat. “I don’t think I’m going to be shaking hands anytime soon.”

Unfazed, he took her hand gently between his. “I’m a medic with Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue. You gave us quite a scare.”

His accent was distinctly northeastern—deep, clipped, with a hint of the streets etched into it. “I remember you. Of course I do. But I don’t seem to remember…anything else. Can you tell me what happened?”

“We got the call out yesterday morning and picked you up on Elk Ridge at about nine thousand feet. You were hypothermic.” He looked down at the bandages on her hands. “Frostbitten. We airlifted you here to Lake County Hospital.”

She remembered the rescue. But as the memory materialized, something dark and disturbing stirred in the back of her mind like the remnants of a nightmare. An acute feeling of unease. A sense of being pursued. The unmistakable aftertaste of terror.

“Where’s Elk Ridge?” she asked.

“Not far from Fairplay, about sixty miles west of Denver.”

She swallowed, realizing with a stark sense of dismay she hadn’t even known what state she was in. Oh, dear God, what had happened to her?

“What else can you tell me?” she asked, trying in vain to keep the desperation out of her voice.

His smile tightened into a grimace, and she got the distinct impression he was about to give her some bad news. But he didn’t. Instead he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a tattered piece of paper. “I thought this might be important. Buzz Malone, my team leader, found it in the pocket of the jeans you were wearing.”

An uncomfortable sense of vulnerability encompassed her when she remembered her clothes being cut away. She knew the men who’d saved her hadn’t had a choice; they were professionals and did that sort of thing on a daily basis. Still, the fact that she’d been so exposed left her disconcerted.

Hoping whatever was on the scrap of paper would help unscramble her memory, she reached for it, but the bandages on her hands stopped her.

“Sorry.” Unfolding the paper, John held it up for her.

Hannah, meet me at the shop at noon.

She stared at the words, waiting for a lightning bolt of memory, a flashback, anything that would tell her who she was.

“Ring a bell?” he asked.

“No.” The jab of disappointment cut her with the precision of a straight razor. Oh, how she wanted to remember. She needed to remember. She stared at the words in desperation, hoping against hope for a flare of recognition. Anything but the abyss of nothing her memory had become. “Do you think that’s my name? Hannah?”

“Could be.”

“Did I have identification when you found me?”

He shook his head. “No wallet. Not even a driver’s license. Just the clothes on your back, which were ruined—sorry—and that note in your pocket.”

Leaning forward, she pulled her knees to her chest. “This is nuts. I don’t remember…anything. How I got up on the mountain. Why I was there. Where I live. My entire life is just…blank.”

Her mind raced in circles, like a rat trapped in a maze with no destination, no way out. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she looked at John, wishing desperately he could tell her something, anything that would help her remember. “How can someone just forget their entire life?”

“It isn’t unheard of for head trauma to cause temporary memory loss.”

The word temporary took her panic down a notch. She clung to it with the desperation of a rock climber to a safety line. “How temporary?”

He shrugged. “I’m not an expert, but I’ve heard of cases where a head injury has caused amnesia.”

“Amnesia?” The sound that erupted from her throat was half laugh, half groan. “That sounds like something from a soap opera.”

“Last year we picked up a snowmobiler who’d gotten up close and personal with a blue spruce. He suffered a closed head injury. Took him two days to remember he was from Iowa. Missed his flight home and everything.”

“Two days?” she echoed hopefully.

“Look, Lake County may be a small hospital, but I did my training here. Doc Morgan is good. She’ll do what needs to be done to get you back on track, even if it means referring you to a specialist. But I’ll bet the farm your memory will return before you’re even released.”

It made sense, of course. Unfortunately not even cold, hard logic could make the situation less frightening. Sighing, she looked down at her hands. “What’s with the bandages?”

“You had some frostbite on your fingers and toes. There was some tissue damage, blisters mostly, but nothing severe. You’ve got some healing to do, but you won’t have permanent scarring.” Pulling the chair next to the bed, he straddled it and rested his chin on the back.

The scent of his aftershave drifted lazily through her brain, conjuring notions of piney forests and mountain air. Her sudden awareness of him caused a ripple of pleasure strong enough to make her stomach flutter.

“Was—was I in some sort of accident?” she managed after a moment.

“We didn’t find a vehicle. Not a car. Not a snowmobile. You weren’t dressed for skiing or hiking.”

“So what was I doing up on Elk Ridge?”

For the first time, he looked uncomfortable. She got the distinct impression there was something he wasn’t telling her. Simultaneously, something dark and frightening jumped in the back of her mind, like a predator lunging out of the shadows, claws extended, fangs bared. The ensuing flash of terror sent a violent shudder through her.

“You’re not telling me something,” she said.

“Easy, Red—”

“I see it in your face. You know something, but you don’t want to tell me.”

“Don’t go jumping to conclusions on me.”

“Keeping secrets from someone who can’t even remember their own name is cruel.”

He arched a brow. “Look, you’re getting yourself worked up over—”

“Yeah, well, I tend to get a little worked up when I can’t remember my own name.”

She flinched when he leaned forward and put his hand on her forearm. Her first instinct was to pull away, but the gentleness of his touch stopped her. She looked down where his hand rested on her forearm. His fingers were thick and dark against her pale flesh. The man had fascinating hands, a doctor’s hands made rugged by the elements. Warmth radiated from him into her and spread throughout her body like a slow-moving current.

“You’re shaking,” he said. “You okay?”

Swallowing hard, she risked a look at him. The power behind his eyes jolted her all the way down to her toes—and made her remember what it had felt like to be wrapped within his embrace in the harrowing minutes they’d dangled from the helicopter.

“I’m just…scared,” she said after a moment.

“Everything’s going to be all right.”

Looking into the startling blue of his eyes, she almost believed him. She wasn’t sure why, but this man made her feel safe. Yet even with the warmth of his touch searing her, she couldn’t shake the sense of danger pressing down on her. A feeling that told her she wasn’t safe no matter how badly she wanted to believe it.

“I think something terrible happened to me up on the mountain,” she whispered.

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t know…exactly. I mean, I don’t remember details. It’s like a dream. Or a nightmare—” An image flashed in her mind, cutting her words short. The ensuing grip of terror was so powerful, she flinched. Images played in her mind’s eye, like clips from a horror movie. She remembered snow. The silhouette of a man against the glare of headlights. The feel of cold steel in her hand. The blast of a gunshot.

Suddenly she knew why she’d been up on Elk Ridge—at least part of the reason. The realization settled over her as horribly as a handful of earth tossed over a lowered coffin.

“I remember…” Her voice was thin and breathless. She wasn’t sure what she was trying to say. She didn’t actually remember. But as she fought to keep her voice steady, her hands from shaking, she knew someone had been pursuing her. Someone who’d wanted to hurt her. Someone who wanted to…

John’s hand tightened on her arm. “What is it?”

Raising her gaze to his, she fought back another rise of fear and let out a shuddery breath. “I think someone was trying to kill me.”