SAY AHHH...

by Donna Sterling

  She obligingly wore her hiking boots and a riding cap he kept on hand for his guests. She'd tucked her mauve, wide-necked T-shirt into the narrow waistband of her jeans—dark, slim-fitting jeans that hugged the curves of her long legs and nicely rounded bottom in a way that made him want to touch.

  Forcing his attention away from that particular temptation, he asked distractedly, "Do you ride?"

  "Well, I … really don't know."

  He could have kicked himself at the look of mild distress in the glance she tossed him. Of course she wouldn't know. She'd told him she didn't remember anything about her past, and even if she had once ridden, the amnesia could have erased whatever knowledge she'd had. A tricky thing, amnesia. There was no accounting for what was forgotten and what was retained.

  "You can ride with me," he told her as they approached his stable. "Or if you'd prefer, we can explore the lake and river by boat. Which sounds better? Horse or boat?"

  "They're both new to me."

  He swung open the stable door and ushered her inside. The smell of horse and hay greeted them, and her first reaction wasn't all that promising. She halted just inside the stable door and peered wordlessly at his two horses in their stalls.

  "This is Wind Dancer," he told her, patting his roan colored mare affectionately on the neck. "And the stallion is Viking, the one we'll ride today."

  She didn't reply or make any move whatsoever, and he wondered if she was afraid.

  "You can have a seat on that stool over there while I get him ready." He strolled toward the stallion's stall. "Since we'll be riding double, the most comfortable way would be bareback."

  She murmured something he didn't quite catch, and when he glanced back at her, he did a double take.

  She stood beside Wind Dancer, rubbing the mare's neck and gently scratching between her eyes. "You're a sweet girl, Wind Dancer," she murmured. "And you like to be scratched, don't you?"

  Surprise and gladness kept him speechless. She wasn't afraid of horses, and judging from the look of sheer contentment in Wind Dancer's eyes, Sarah knew how to win their hearts.

  His next surprise came after he'd led Viking out of the stable, bridled but without a saddle. "You ready to give this a try?" he asked Sarah.

  Her eyes sparkled with pleasurable anticipation. "Okay."

  Before he had the chance to help her mount, she took hold of Viking's mane, swung her right leg over his rump and settled lightly onto his back.

  Connor stared at her in dazed admiration. That wasn't a mount that any novice would have tried, and she'd accomplished it with a graceful ease that many experienced riders would envy.

  "Are you getting on, or not?" she asked, gathering the reins in her hands.

  "Yes, ma'am." With a smile on his lips and a song in his heart, he swung up behind her.

  His denim-clad thighs molded to hers, and the nicely rounded backside he'd been noticing all morning fit snugly against his groin. Heaven, he thought, couldn't be much finer than this.

  Their bodies leaned and shifted in synchrony as they rode over mountain trails and across grassy fields, reveled in the mild sunshine, springtime breeze and heady fragrance of wildflowers. She laughed aloud in pleasure, turning to share an exuberant smile with him every now and then, or to exclaim over a particularly beautiful view.

  He had a hard time concentrating on the view, though. He was too distracted by the vivid, heart-stopping beauty of the woman in his arms and the feel of her against him. She warmed his heart with a rare magic, yet provoked a need in him that grew into a physical ache.

  The natural movement of her body as she guided the horse intensified Connor's awareness of their intimate physical position. Just as he wondered if she could feel his arousal against her backside, he felt her body stiffen, and she cried out, "Stop, stop. Whoa, Viking! Whoa!"

  The horse came to a halt beneath a huge oak tree near the river and Connor quickly dismounted, anticipating problems ranging from physical ailments to recriminations against his lusting after her.

  But as he turned to help her down from the horse, she slid into his arms with a joyous smile. "I remember, Connor! I remember!"

  He didn't get a word out, she hugged him so tightly.

  "I had a horse of my own!" She let him go and danced away, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

  "Her name was Hurricane. A white quarter horse."

  "That's wonderful, Sarah."

  "I remember riding her across fields, and jumping, and … and… Oh, Connor, I used to ride along a beach."

  "A beach? Do you remember where?"

  "Where?" She looked surprised at the question, then stared off over the river. "I don't know. There were palm trees, though, mixed in with pines and oaks."

  "Palm trees. That could be California, or Florida, or … hell … almost anywhere along the gulf coast."

  "And I remember a man."

  "A man?" He stiffened. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear this. She'd been a virgin, but she could have been in love…

  "An old stable hand. Tom, I think I called him. He used to help groom Hurricane. I can remember him so clearly, Connor, but not his last name."

  Slowly he released the breath he'd been holding. "Do you remember anything else?"

  She frowned in concentration, but soon shook her head. "No."

  He pulled her to him. He needed to hug her, to hold her. For a terrible moment, he'd feared the worst—that she'd remember a man she'd been in love with. He couldn't take much more of the uncertainty, and he didn't believe she could, either. "Sarah, we've got to do all we can to find out about your past."

  "I know." She smiled up at him. "At least the memories have started to come back." She eased away from his embrace and sat down on a boulder.

  "It's funny how I can remember emotions and reactions to people and events, but not objective details. Like this morning, when I was thinking about my…" A faint blush rose in her cheeks. "My virginity."

  "Yeah?" he prodded when she paused, anxious to hear her feelings about the subject.

  "I couldn't remember specific times, places or people, but I remember that the older I got, the more conscious I became of the fact that I was a virgin, and the more hesitant I became to make The Big Change. It seemed to take on so much importance." She met his eyes in a search for understanding. "I didn't want the first time to be with just anybody."

  A taut stillness came over him. "And … was it?"

  "Oh, no." Unmistakable tenderness lit her gaze and softened her mouth. "Far from it."

  His love for her swelled almost painfully within his chest. He couldn't allow himself to read too much into that tender gaze. He couldn't confuse fondness, physical attraction, or maybe even gratitude for love. She'd told him, after all, that she wouldn't make love to him again, and that he couldn't even kiss her.

  He'd try his damnedest to change her mind. Settling his hand at her delicate nape, he savored the silkiness of her skin and her dark, shining hair. "You know, making love will be better for you next time. You won't feel the pain."

  "The pain was worth it," she whispered, "and I don't see how the lovemaking could get much better."

  His blood heated and he leaned in for a kiss, craving a taste of her. She angled her head and parted her lips, but before his mouth touched hers, her lashes fluttered and she pulled back.

  He clenched his teeth, wanting her.

  "You said you wouldn't," she reminded him.

  "I said I wouldn't kiss you like I did this morning." He managed a small smile. "But I can think of all kinds of ways to kiss you, Sarah."

  Her gaze had settled on his mouth and he sensed desire simmering just beneath her resistance. But the moment she realized he was drawing close again, she looked away.

  "Connor," she said, sounding a little flustered, "I don't know much about you."

  "Like what?"

  "Do you have family?"

  "Aunts, uncles and cousins, but they live out of state."

  "What about parents, or
siblings?"

  As always, the question put him on edge. He supposed the reaction was a throwback to his young adulthood, when he'd tried so hard to separate himself from his family in the eyes of the townspeople. It had taken a medical degree from an Ivy League school and a sizable financial gain to really fix his place among them. "My father died while I was in med school, and my mother shortly after. I didn't have any real brothers or sisters."

  "Real?" she repeated, puzzled.

  "I grew up with other kids who were called my brothers and sisters. But … they weren't."

  "Was that in the community where people believed in free love and multiple partners?"

  He winced, remembering his angry outburst.

  She was too perceptive for him to make slipups like that. "I shouldn't have said that, Sarah. I guess I was trying to shock you."

  "But, was it true?"

  "To an extent." He didn't want to talk about the free-spirited community where he had grown up; where family lines were often blurred in favor of communal living. Some kids hadn't known who their real parents were and gravitated toward whichever adult was available as a caregiver.

  His mother had been different. She'd allowed no blurred lines in her marriage or her motherhood—the one concession his father had made to her.

  But Connor didn't want to think about his parents, or their way of life. "Some of our neighbors professed to believe in 'free love,'" he admitted, "but I think they were more talk than action."

  "Was that here, in Sugar Falls?"

  "No."

  "I thought you were raised here."

  "Nearby."

  "You went to school here, though, didn't you?"

  "High school. Before that, I was homeschooled." Determined to put an end to the conversation, he stood and paced toward Viking, who was grazing peacefully beside a tree. "But my past isn't the important thing. Yours is." He untied the horse from the tree and glanced at Sarah. "I think it's time we drive into Denver and see if you remember anything at the scene of the accident."

  "Now?"

  "It's only a couple hours." He glanced at his watch. "We can be there by three." Uneasiness had crept into her gaze, and he added quietly, "I'll be there with you, Sarah, every step of the way."

  Oddly enough, at his assurance her uneasiness seemed to deepen into fear. She looked as if she might refuse. But after a long hesitation, she asked, "Can I stop and buy a hat and sunglasses?"

  "So you won't be recognized?"

  "Whoever was chasing me when I ran out into the street might still be around there … looking for me…"

  "We'll do it any way you want." He wanted to rid her of that fear he saw in her eyes. "But I think we need to do it now."

  Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, she nodded.

  They returned shortly before midnight. The trip had been neither a total waste nor a total success. Although they'd walked the streets of Denver near the accident site and driven down countless others, Sarah hadn't remembered anything new. During their long drive, though, they'd talked. Questions he'd posed to her had brought back a few more details.

  She'd told him about a party where people had been lifting glasses of wine and toasting her. She couldn't recall the occasion or the faces, but as Connor asked her about the place, she remembered she had been in her apartment. Slowly details came back to her about the furniture, wall hangings and the view of a neat, quiet city street from the balcony. Nothing gave them a clue to its whereabouts.

  He'd plied her with questions about her horse, and she remembered that she'd had to sell her because she was moving out of state—to Denver—but she couldn't remember where she'd been moving from, or how long ago the move had taken place.

  He'd asked about her virginity, and how she had managed to preserve it for so long. "You must have driven a lot of guys crazy."

  "I was too shy in high school to meet many boys," she recalled. "I rarely dated. And then when I started college, I spent most of my time studying and working in a veterinarian's office to pay my way."

  Her eyes had widened with excitement. "College! I went to college! And I worked part-time for a vet!" But she couldn't remember which college she'd attended, the subject she'd majored in, or the name of the veterinarian she'd worked for.

  She'd remembered faces of friends, a few first names and some funny anecdotes that made her laugh.

  As happy as all these memories had made her, she'd grown silent and pensive during their long, dark drive home. He'd pulled her close to him and tried to ignore the anxiety clawing at him.

  She would, eventually, remember her life, or piece it together from clues. He had no doubt about that. Would she then leave him to return to that life?

  He unlocked the door to his log cabin and switched on a light. It was late on a Sunday night; he'd have to get up early for work in the morning. Tension, which had been building in him all day, now slowed his steps as he headed for his room.

  He wanted badly to sleep with her. To take her to his bed and hold her in his arms, if that was all she'd allow.

  She, too, had paused outside the door of the guest bedroom. "Connor, thank you for taking me all the way to Denver. I know it was a long drive, and we're home late, and you have work tomorrow."

  "Thank you for letting me take you." He lodged a shoulder against the wall near her. His gaze took in the beauty of her eyes, the softness of her skin, the smoothness of her lips. "I wouldn't have wanted you to go without me."

  She tilted her face to his. "I'm sorry that we ended up wasting so much time."

  He caressed the curve of her jaw, his insides burning with his need to kiss her. "No time spent with you is wasted."

  The warmth in her gaze changed into something deeper; something solemn and heated and searching.

  "Sarah," he whispered urgently, "sleep with me. We'll just sleep together, nothing more."

  She slid her arm around his neck, her fingers delving into his hair. And though he'd said he wouldn't, he kissed her.

  The need, the heat, the mutual longing, combusted into instant fire. Their kisses grew ravenous. By the time they'd stumbled to his bed, they'd stripped off most of each other's clothes. They were naked, hot and clenched together when they hit the mattress.

  They made love late into the night—hard and needful at first, and then slow and exquisitely tender. Sarah learned that he'd been right. The lovemaking was even better this time; her responses more intense, her pleasure beyond her experience.

  By morning, she knew her fear had come true. She'd fallen in love with him.

  And when she'd wakened to find herself cozy and naked in his arms, another memory from her past returned to her with startling clarity. She remembered a man slipping a ring onto her finger.

  A wedding ring.

  * * *

  8

  « ^ »

  "You're not married. You were a virgin. How the hell could you have been married?"

  Perched at the edge of his bed wearing only her peach silk robe, Sarah anxiously chewed her lip as she watched Connor dress for work. "I know it's not too likely, but—"

  "It's damn near impossible. The wedding ring was probably just a dream."

  "It seemed very real, Connor. More like a memory. A man was slipping a ring onto my finger."

  "I still say it was a dream. But if it wasn't, maybe the man was a salesman trying to sell you the ring." With curt precision, he buttoned the blue collarless shirt until it stretched neatly across the broad expanse of his chest.

  "A wedding band? Why would I buy my own wedding band?"

  He frowned, zipped up his khaki trousers and tightened the belt at his trim waist with a violent tug. "Maybe a friend was showing you a ring he bought for someone else."

  "I suppose that's possible."

  He shot her an emphatic glance. "You're not married." He seemed to realize how surly he sounded, and gentled his tone as he clasped his gold watch around his wrist. "You're bound to be confused as fragments of memories come back to you. S
ince you're not getting the whole story at once, things will be taken out of context."

  She wished she could be as sure as he was. "I remember exactly what the ring looked like and felt like on my hand."

  "What about the man who put the ring on you?" He'd finished dressing and now turned to stare at her, looking freshly groomed, handsome and annoyed. "Do you remember anything about him?"

  "Only his hands. Big, pale hands that pushed the ring onto the third finger of my left hand."

  A pulse throbbed at Connor's temple. He looked as if he were debating with himself whether or not to broach a subject. "Could his name have been… Jack?"

  Distress whispered through her. "I don't know. I haven't said the name again in my sleep, have I?" she asked doubtfully.

  "Not that I'm aware of."

  They regarded each other in pregnant silence.

  With a harsh breath, Connor pulled her up from the bed by the shoulders and conveyed his frustration with a deep, possessive kiss. "You're not married," he declared conclusively. "You were a virgin. Case closed." Gently, then, he brushed back a wayward curl from her face. "If you belong to any man, Sarah, you belong to me."

  Warmth skittered through her veins. She wanted to belong to him; to belong in his life as his only woman. Nothing could please her more. And yet, after the words had been said, they tugged at some buried memory. You belong to me. A shiver of unease displaced the warmth.

  "I said, 'If you belong to any man,'" Connor reminded her. "I know that you don't. You're your own woman, Sarah. I just wish I could convince you of that."

  The sincerity and concern in his green-brown eyes made her love him all the more. She slipped her arms around his lean waist and hugged him, treasuring the strength of his arms as they wrapped around her, the masculine scent of his skin and aftershave, the forceful beating of his heart.

  "Don't worry about me," she said. "I'm sure I'll make sense of it all before very long."

  "I'm going to hire a private investigator. Today."

  She drew back with a troubled frown. "That's sure to cost a lot of money. I already owe you so much."