“What grade do you teach?” he asked, circling back to something more current.
“Fourth and fifth,” she said automatically, “but I—” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “I answered! I am a teacher. But why did I say before that I wasn’t?”
“You just received your credential in June.”
She nodded slowly, as if some pieces had fallen into place. “I was here interviewing for a job.” She sighed. “But I don’t know if I really remembered that, or if I figured it out. I mean, it makes sense.”
“Getting tired?” he asked as he noticed the faint drooping of her eyelids. “I can let you get some rest and come back in a few hours.”
“That would be great.”
He rose to his feet. “There’s a policeman outside. He’s there to protect you, so don’t be startled if you catch sight of him.”
“Okay, but the part you aren’t telling me is that he’s also there to make sure I don’t get away, right? You think there’s something else going on.”
“How’d you figure that out?”
This time her smile was weary. “While I’m sure the sheriff’s department is concerned about the fact that someone attacked me, I find it hard to believe you would put in this much time just so I could remember the details. It makes more sense to wait until I remember on my own. Which means one of two things. There’s a serial attacker out there, or something else is going on. If the city was being terrorized by somebody, I would have been warned and on my guard. So it has to be that I’m a potential suspect in a bad thing.”
They stared at each other for a long time. “There’s nothing wrong with your brain,” he said at last.
“I hope I didn’t do it,” she said earnestly. “I feel like I’m a good person and I would hate to be wrong about that.”
He hoped she was right. For reasons he wasn’t willing to explore, he wanted her to be a good person, too. He turned to go.
“Shane?” she called.
He paused by the door.
“Tell me about my husband. Why isn’t he here?”
“You don’t remember anything?”
She shook her head. “Worse, I don’t feel anything. No sense of missing someone, nothing.”
“His name was Tom.”
She tested the word on her tongue, saying it a few times, then shrugging. “It doesn’t bring anything back.” Her eyebrows drew together. “You said ‘was.’ Is he…”
Shane nodded. “I’m sorry, Angela. Your husband was killed in a car accident four months ago. You’re a widow.”
He waited for a response, but she only thanked him.
“You’re registered at a local hotel,” he told her. “Do you want me to swing by and pick up some clothes?”
“That would be great. Oh, and while you’re going through my personal belongings, why don’t you see if there are any photographs. That might help.”
“Will do.” He gave her a quick wave and was gone.
He was a cop—he knew better than to get involved with a potential suspect. He knew about keeping his brain clear of distractions, not to mention needing his judgment in working order. The last thing any man in his line of work wanted was to have his brain ruled by a different part of his body. So he would ignore the fact that for the first time since Mary had left four years before, he was attracted to another woman.
Angela was fourteen different kinds of trouble. A widow and pregnant. Did he want that in his life? Of course he’d been assigned to her, so there was no way to avoid her. Instead he was going to have to ignore his attraction. When the case was over, he would force himself to start dating. Maybe he would go on-line to one of those Internet dating services. He’d heard that people were having good luck with them.
Yes. That’s what he would do. Because there was no way in hell he could get involved with Angela Sheppard.
Two
Shane kept his gaze firmly on the empty bed in the center of the room as Angela bent to search the oversize suitcase he’d picked up at her motel and brought to the hospital. “We’ve been looking into your past,” he said through gritted teeth. “You got a speeding ticket when you were nineteen, but that’s it. No arrests, no record of any kind.”
Angela sat back on her haunches and grinned at him over her shoulder. “So I’m a good person, but probably a little boring?”
“I wouldn’t say boring.”
When she bent over once more, Shane nearly groaned. He appreciated the fact that she wanted to find out as much about herself as possible. What he didn’t appreciate was her fanny poking up in the air.
Apparently Angela didn’t remember that she was wearing a hospital gown that opened all the way down the back, with nothing underneath except a scrap of silk that barely covered her backside. He told himself not to dwell on the exposed female curves or the fact that they looked as if they would fit perfectly against his hands. He cursed silently and reminded himself she was not only a recent widow, but four months pregnant. He shouldn’t think she was pretty or sexy or anything but a citizen in need. Unfortunately, the heated pulsing of his blood reminded him that he had some needs of his own.
“Pictures,” she said, and plopped down on the floor. She sat cross-legged, her mussed hair sticking out around her face. Between the bruises, the messy hair, the unattractive hospital gown and her bare feet, she should have looked like a disaster. Instead, all he could think about was the fact that he found her completely adorable.
She studied the two framed photographs. One showed her standing with four teenagers. She held that one out to him. “Matt, John, Rachel and Sara. My mom was raised as part of the church,” she added. “She picked all our names out of the Bible. Wow. So I have a big family.” She tapped the picture with her finger. “I sort of remember them, but not clearly. It’s like the movie in my brain is fuzzy.”
“How’d you end up with the name Angela?” he asked. “I don’t remember that one.”
She smiled at him. “Mom named me for the angels. The ones whose wings I talked off.” She traced the photo. “What I do remember is…we’re not close anymore—my brothers and sisters, I mean. I haven’t talked to any of them in years. I tried to hold everyone together, but they weren’t interested. Too many bad memories.” She scrunched her nose as she squeezed her eyes tightly closed. “I don’t know why, though…except…I think we were all unhappy. I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
“You’re right.” She opened her eyes and set the picture on the floor. “But it would be nice to know who I am. Then maybe we can figure out why those men attacked me.” She glanced up at him. “But you’re reasonably certain I’m not an ax murderer, right?”
“You’re not big enough to kill with an ax. One swing and you’d land on your butt.”
She looked at her slim arm and laughed. “I guess you’re right. And it’s not like I’m going to do damage with a butter knife.” She pointed to the chair he’d used earlier. “Is it okay for you to sit or are you just going to loom above me all night? You’re very tall.”
“I’m six feet.”
“Like I said. Tall. I’m only five three. I can’t even reach the top shelves at the grocery store, and let me tell you I hate that.”
He pointed at the second picture she still held. “You’re avoiding that one. Why?”
“I think it’s my husband. You said he was dead. What if I really missed him? That would be a lot of pain and suffering. Right now I don’t remember it and I’m not sure I want to. Maybe that’s the reason I lost my memory.”
He didn’t want to hear about her mourning the man, although it was a reasonable assumption on her part. He reminded himself not to get involved. She was someone he had to get information from, but not someone he would want to get close to. “You can’t avoid the past forever.”
He was right, Angela thought, but she didn’t mind trying. Still, Shane had been so nice to her, first being patient while he questioned her and then picking
up her suitcase at the motel. So the least she could do was remember who she was so they could talk about the attack.
Involuntarily, she touched the bandage by her scalp. The painkillers the nurse had brought after dinner had taken the edge off her headache. If she could just remember her past, she would be back to normal. Whatever that was.
Shane crossed the floor and settled in the lone visitor’s chair. He looked bigger than six feet, she thought, but that was probably because he had incredibly broad shoulders. He was nice-looking in his clean, pressed, khaki uniform, but that wasn’t what appealed to her. Instead, she liked his short brown hair and regular features. He looked strong and dependable—two of the best qualities a man could have.
Her fingers slipped against the photo. Angela knew she was going to have to be a grown-up about this so she sucked in a deep breath and glanced down.
She recognized herself in a long-sleeved cotton dress, standing next to a slight man with thin blond hair. He had his arm around her. They were standing in front of a pen of livestock.
She stared at the picture, but nothing happened. There was no swell of music, no explosion. She didn’t remember anything. She turned to Shane to tell him when she suddenly smelled the cattle and heard the sounds of conversation all around them, as if she were back in the past—living the exact moment the photo had been taken. Then she knew. The picture had been snapped nearly five years ago. She and Tom had gone to the Houston Rodeo for the evening. It had been unseasonably warm for early March. The daytime temperatures had been over eighty. She remembered laughing that night. She remembered being happy. There hadn’t been enough happy times, she thought sadly.
The room around her shifted suddenly. She found herself swaying and toppling and then something warm and very wonderful caught her.
“Angela? Are you okay? Should I call the nurse?”
She blinked and looked up into Shane’s lovely brown eyes. She realized that he was crouched next to her, holding her in his arms. His chest was broad and firm, his body warm. She wanted to nestle close like a cat and purr. She doubted he would appreciate the gesture.
“I didn’t faint, did I?” she asked, more for an excuse to linger in his embrace than because she wanted the information.
“Your eyes rolled back in your head and you were definitely listing toward the floor.”
She grimaced. Could he have made her sound less attractive? “Thanks for catching me,” she said, trying to free herself. “It was nice, but not necessary. I was already sitting on the floor. I doubt I would have hurt myself much.”
“You’ve had enough excitement for one day,” he told her. “You don’t need any more.”
He seemed to be ignoring her struggle to sit up and push away from him. If anything, her efforts made his arms tighten around her.
“Are you sure you’ll all right?” he asked again.
His gaze was warm and direct. She could see the faint shadow of stubble on his face and she inhaled the masculine scent of him. Being this close made her insides go all squishy, although she told herself it was probably just a reaction to the trauma of her day, or the painkillers. But when he touched the side of her face, gently stroking the skin below her bruises, she felt a definite tingling low in her belly. Right above where her baby grew.
Baby! Angela bit back a groan. What was she thinking? She was four months pregnant with another man’s child. She’d hit her head, lost her memory, needed a shower and was wearing a hospital gown. What man in his right mind would find her anything but pathetic? She’d never been a glamour queen and now she was far from looking her best. So what if she thought Shane was handsome and tempting? If he even suspected what was going on in her obviously damaged mind, he would feel even more sorry for her—assuming he didn’t just run for his life.
“I’m fine,” she said, this time pushing hard enough that he had to let her go. She scrambled to her feet, then headed for the hospital bed. At least there she could pull the covers up to her chin and be nothing more than an undistinguished lump.
As she crossed the floor, her gaze fell on the picture of Tom. With each step that she took, more and more of her past returned until her throat tightened with sad memories and lost dreams. Exhaustion tugged at her, weakening her defenses and making her eyes burn.
Shane had returned to the chair, where he perched uneasily, as if waiting for her to faint again.
“There’s nothing wrong with me that a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” she told him. “I’m sorry I scared you. When I looked at the picture of Tom, a lot of things came crashing in on me and I had a little reaction to that. Nothing more.”
“So you remember everything?”
She searched her memory. “There are still some gray bits, but I remember enough. I’ll tell you what I know, but I can’t promise I won’t cry. Can you handle that?”
He surprised her by smiling. “The typical male fear of a woman’s tears?”
She nodded.
“It’s part of our training in law enforcement. I’m a rock when women cry.”
She doubted that was true, but if he was trying to make her feel better, his ploy had the desired effect. She found herself chuckling instead of weeping. Then she remembered what she had to tell him and her good humor faded.
“I don’t know why those men attacked me,” she told him, “but it had something to do with Tom.”
Shane pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Tom Sheppard, your late husband?”
She nodded. “I’d been to an interview at the elementary school.” She drew the covers up to her chin and fingered the edge of the blanket. “You probably know that. I guess everyone around there was questioned after the attack.”
“They were, but I still want you to tell me everything you remember.”
“All right.” She closed her eyes to make the fuzzy images clearer. “The interview went well and the principal offered me the job.” She opened her eyes and glanced at Shane. “I’m going to be filling in for another teacher who’s even more pregnant than me. Must be something in the water.”
He flashed her a quick smile. She was grateful he didn’t point out that she hadn’t been in Whitehorn more than a few days and that her pregnancy had nothing to do with what she’d been drinking.
“I walked back to my car, but before I could get there, two men grabbed me.” She shivered slightly. “I couldn’t see their faces, because they were wearing ski masks—the kind that pull down and cover everything.”
“That’s all right,” Shane told her, his voice calm. “Just tell me what you do remember. Take a deep breath and think about the clothes they were wearing. Dark colors?”
She did as he told her, breathing in and out slowly. The past came into focus. “Dark clothes. Black slacks or jeans and leather jackets.”
“Tall, short? What about weight?”
He led her through a series of questions about her attackers. When he had pulled every last detail from her memory, he switched to what they’d wanted.
“What did they say to you?”
This was the part she didn’t want to tell him. While she knew in her head that Tom’s actions weren’t her fault, she couldn’t help being ashamed of him. No doubt Shane would think she was a fool for marrying him. Maybe she had been, but she’d done the best she could at the time.
“They wanted to know what Tom had done with the money,” she said, avoiding his steady gaze.
“What money?”
“I don’t know. He and I have been…” Her voice trailed off. The blank spots in her memory frustrated her. “I don’t think he’s been living with me for a long time, but I can’t remember. You told me before that he was dead, and I didn’t feel anything. Even now when I can recall some bits from our past, I feel sad, but not devastated. It’s as if we said goodbye a long time ago.”
“Do you think you were divorced?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Tell me the name of your lawyer in Houston.”
“L
awyer? I don’t have one. Why on earth—” She pressed her lips together as a name appeared in her brain. “Robertson. Jim Robertson. I don’t know the number.”
“That’s all right. I can get it.”
“But why would I have a lawyer? I’m a school-teacher, at least, I want to be one. Was I divorcing Tom?”
“We’ll find out.”
Divorce? She turned the word over in her mind. It didn’t feel exactly right, but it didn’t feel wrong, either.
“We’re going to have to investigate your bank records,” Shane told her. “Along with Tom’s.”
“I figured as much. Do you need me to sign anything to give you permission.”
“No.”
The single word hit her like a blow. She slumped down in the bed. “So I might not be innocent, after all,” she whispered. “I might still be a bad person.”
The burning behind her eyes returned. She fought against the tears. Shane made a helpless gesture with his hand, but didn’t say anything. Probably because he didn’t know any better than she what was going on.
“Do you think Tom stole money from someone?” she asked.
“Did he have any money of his own that someone would want?”
“Never. Tom was a dreamer. He always expected to make it big, but he never did.” Her head started to ache. She rubbed her uninjured temple. “At least, I don’t think he did. I can’t remember that, either. All I know is those two men wanted the money and they thought I knew where it was. They threatened to kill me if I didn’t tell them where it was. When I still didn’t answer, the taller of the two started hitting me.”
She looked at him. “What made them stop? I fell, I think, and hit my head. The next thing I remember was waking up here in the hospital.”
“They were interrupted,” Shane said. “Otherwise I’m sure they would have taken you with them.”
A Montana Mavericks Christmas Page 2
