You Must Remember This

by Clara Wimberly

He’d removed the bandage from his head and he looked rather pale, but his eyes when they saw the shotgun, were as flinty and challenging as before.

  His gaze moved from the gun up to Sarah’s face. He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest, although the effort brought a grimace of pain to his face.

  “You going to shoot me?”

  “I…I…no, of course not. I don’t even know how to use a gun.”

  “Anyone can use a shotgun. Is it loaded?”

  Her eyes darted away from the intensity of his gaze and she bit her lower lip before answering him.

  “Why…yes.”

  A slow smile moved over his face. A rather lopsided grin that changed him into a mischievous little boy.

  “You’re lying,” he murmured, his voice soft.

  Sarah lifted her chin and looked across the hallway di- rectly into his eyes.

  “You couldn’t meet my eyes when you said it. And bit- ing your lip was a definite giveaway.”

  With a small huff of impatience, Sarah straightened and moved away from the shotgun.

  “Perhaps you’re a psychologist,” she said with a hint of sarcasm. “Since you seem to know so much about human nature.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said. He didn’t move, and his expression as he looked at her was more serious.

  “How do I know that?” she asked. “How can you know it?”

  “I know myself. I might not know my name or any- thing else about my life right now. But I do know one thing—I could never hurt a woman…certainly not one as beautiful as you.”

  Sarah frowned suddenly and shook her head as if to brush away his words and the ache they brought so inex- plicably to her heart.

  “Here,” she said, her voice gruff. “You need to get back to bed. You’re obviously delirious.”

  She heard his quiet, appreciative grunt of laughter and she smiled, too. She went to him, still careful to shield her scar from him. When she put her arm around him, she felt him flinch as the pain of moving struck him.

  “The reason you’re so weak is that you lost a lot of blood,” she murmured. “Another reason why you should let me call a doctor. I should have brought you a bed- pan…” she murmured. But hearing his quiet curses, she stopped, sighing with exasperation at his male pride.

  “I know…I know,” she said. “You don’t need any help.”

  In the bedroom, she stopped at the rocking chair and motioned for him to sit down.

  “Can you sit here a moment while I change the sheets?”

  He nodded and she quickly stripped off the blood- stained sheets and replaced them with crisp, clean white ones.

  When she got him back into bed, he lay against the pil- lows and closed his eyes, obviously exhausted. He was still wearing her grandfather’s ratty-looking old bathrobe and it gaped open in front, revealing his chest down to his waist.

  Sarah couldn’t help noticing again how sculpted and toned his muscles were. Or how the dark mat of hair on his chest caught her attention immediately and made her fingers curl unexpectedly into a fist as she wondered at the texture of it.

  She made a quiet noise of protest and shook her head. She didn’t know what on earth was wrong with her. Maybe Lacy was right—maybe she’d been hidden out here in the country for too long. Away from the real world much too long.

  It didn’t help that the stranger had opened his eyes and lay watching her with open curiosity and a little quirk of amusement on his lips. For a seriously wounded man who had lost his past, he seemed still to have a rather vigorous sense of humor.

  His gaze moved down to his chest, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. But for once he didn’t mock her.

  “When I came here,” he said, “was there a wal- let…anything?”

  Sarah turned and picked up the clothes she had looked through earlier.

  “These are the clothes you were wearing,” she said.

  He lifted his brows, nodding his approval.

  “Nice,” he said with that self-deprecating sense of hu- mor.

  “There was nothing to identify you. No wallet or ID. Not even a matchbook or change. Someone obviously searched you before…before…” She stopped, not knowing how he might react to her mention of what had happened to him.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I don’t remember much about that night, so you don’t have to tiptoe around the sub- ject.”

  “The…the labels in the shirt and jacket are obviously designer…obviously very expensive,” she said, holding the clothes toward him.

  Hagan frowned and reached up to rub his temples.

  “Are you in pain?” she asked.

  “No…no,” he said. “It’s just something…” He shrugged and shook his head. “Somehow I don’t feel like a man who can afford expensive designer clothes.”

  He didn’t bother telling her about the flashes he saw in the back of his mind because he didn’t understand them himself. The dark littered streets, garbage cans overflow- ing. The scent of cooking and filthy alley smells that min- gled together. There was a kid…a little boy running. Afraid and running. Was it him?

  “You’ve remembered something,” she said, her voice hushed.

  “No…” he said, waving his hand. “It’s noth- ing…nothing.”

  Sarah wasn’t sure she believed him, but something about the look on his face kept her from pursuing it any further.

  “There was one thing,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You said a name…while you were unconscious. Cord…you said ‘Find Cord.” She watched him care- fully, trying to read his expression.

  “Cord?” He frowned and shook his head. She watched as he tried to remember, gritting his teeth with frustra- tion. His fists against the bed clenched and unclenched.

  “Does it mean anything?” she asked.

  He shrugged and sighed heavily.

  “No.”

  “It’ll come to you,” she murmured. “Just relax…give it time.”

  “I have a feeling I don’t have a lot of time,” he said.

  He looked up at her and his eyes narrowed.

  “Why are you standing so far away? Afraid I’ll bite?”

  “I think this is close enough,” Sarah said.

  “Would you feel safer if you tied me up again? You’ll have to come closer for that.” Hagan lifted his arm as an offering to be tied. His eyes glittered with mischief and just a hint of cynicism. He shifted his weight in bed and groaned from the pain in his ribs.

  “Oh, I think you’re much too weak to be much of a threat to me,” she said pointedly. She felt a little safer with him. Still, she didn’t intend to let him know that, or to let him see how disconcerted he made her.

  “Oh, honey, I wouldn’t count on that,” he drawled.

  Sarah stared into his eyes for a moment. Then she turned to leave the room.

  “I’ll bring you some juice and cereal and then I’ll give you something for your pain. It’s best to take it with food.”

  Hagan lay very quietly after Sarah left the room. What an unusual woman she was. She’d taken him in, with con- siderable trouble if she were telling the truth about getting him into the house alone. She’d tended his wounds with concern and efficiency. He’d even seen a glint of under- standing in her eyes when he asked her not to call the sheriff.

  Later, when Sarah returned with a breakfast tray, she placed it on the table beside his bed.

  “Sorry it has to be something cold. But since there’s no electricity…”

  For one unguarded moment as she bent near the bed, she forgot why she had hidden away here at the farm. She forgot to hide the scar she’d received the night her hus- band died.

  Sarah heard him gasp and then curse quietly, and she looked down into his eyes. She had thought they would be hazel or blue, but she could see now that they were black…the deep glittering color of onyx. And there was such a look of horror in their depths that she felt momen- tarily stunned.

&nb
sp; Then she remembered her scar and realized why he was looking at her so strangely.

  “Oh,” she murmured.

  Immediately her hand came up to cover the scar and she backed away from the bed.

  “Wait,” he said, reaching his hand out toward her.

  “I…I have to go,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “If there’s anything else you need, just call. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  All she wanted was to run. To get away from the look of horror she saw in those black eyes.

  Chapter 3

  Sarah practically ran out of the house. Despite what she’d told him, she didn’t stay in the kitchen where she could hear if he called.

  She went outside to the front porch and stood clinging to a post as she tried to catch her breath.

  The rain had passed and the morning sun was just breaking through the remaining clouds. Light filtered through the dripping leaves of huge old trees that sur- rounded the small farmhouse and a light layer of fog wafted in misty streaks across the nearby meadows.

  Sarah rubbed her fingers across her eyes. She was tired and confused. And she was stunned at how deeply this stranger’s reaction to the scarring on her face had af- fected her.

  She usually wore a scarf or a large hat when she went into town. The man inside was the first totally objective person who’d seen her this way besides her friend Lacy and the people at the hospital.

  And he’d been horrified by the ugliness of it.

  Well, what did she expect? She could see for herself that she looked like a monstrous freak, with the red puckered scar pulling at the corner of her mouth and giving her face a permanent, one-sided smile.

  But it wasn’t anything new to her. So why did she sud- denly feel like crying? And why had she felt such regret, looking into those intelligent expressive eyes? Such long- ing. And for what?

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I just don’t know.”

  Inside the house, Hagan cursed quietly because he was too weak to go after the woman who had taken him in.

  She had completely mistaken his reaction to her scarred face and he felt a wrenching sense of regret. The last thing he ever intended was to put more sadness than there al- ready was in those beautiful eyes.

  His cursing had been toward whatever fate had left her scarred and sad. But he realized immediately that she hadn’t taken it that way. Didn’t she know that even with the scar she was still an incredible-looking woman?

  At least now he knew why she was here. Or partly. Hid- ing away in some lonely old farmhouse. And as he lay there staring at the door, wishing her back, he couldn’t help wondering what else she was hiding.

  Despite the pain and grief Sarah had suffered the past year, she was still a practical woman. When she came back inside the house, she had reconciled herself to the fact that the man had seen the scar. At least now he knew and there was no longer a need to turn her head away from him. Oddly she found that a profound relief.

  She walked straight into the bedroom without hesita- tion and stood at the foot, of the bed.

  “God, I’m glad you came back,” he said, gazing at her with regret in his eyes. “Look, Sarah…”

  “It’s all right,” she said, her voice cool. “You don’t have to say anything. I know how awful it looks.”

  “I was surprised, that’s all.”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Sarah, I think it looks worse to you than it does to anyone else.”

  She noticed that the electric lamp was burning beside the bed. Wanting to change the subject, she said, “At least the electricity has come back on. If you’d rather have some- thing hot to eat I can—”

  “Sit down,” he said, nodding toward the chair.

  “Really, I have things to do. I—”

  “What things?” he asked impatiently. “Don’t tell me you’re going to plow the north forty this morning. Not that I’d be surprised. You’re quite a little bundle of energy, aren’t you?” His eyes moved slowly over. “Or is that busy stuff just to avoid me?”

  With an impatient shrug she sat in the rocker, leaning forward as if she might dart from the room at any mo- ment. But she didn’t bother trying to hide her face from him.

  “What happened?” he asked, his eyes moving to the scar.

  “A car accident.”

  “Recently?”

  She sighed heavily. This was not a conversation she re- ally wanted to have.

  “A year ago,” she said.

  “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said quietly. “I’m surprised the doctors haven’t suggested plastic surgery.”

  “They have,” she said in a dry, monotone voice.

  “Then why—?”

  “Maybe because I don’t much give a damn how I look anymore…all right?” She stood up suddenly. Her lips were clamped together as she stared defensively at him.

  Somehow she hadn’t expected him to be so openly in quisitive about her scar. Most people would just pretend it wasn’t there.

  Hagan’s eyes narrowed as he studied her expression and the way her hands clenched into tight little fists at her sides.

  “And why is it that you don’t…give a damn?” he asked, his voice soft and patient.

  “That’s really none of your business.”

  “You’re right…it isn’t,” he said.

  Sarah noted a difference in the tone of his voice. The earlier cockiness and teasing were gone and she felt a little twinge of guilt for being so hateful.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “There’s no reason to be sorry,” she said. “I’m doing just fine. Now, let’s talk about something else, shall we? You, for instance, and what I’m going to do about you.”

  Hagan was surprised by her attitude. What an unusual woman she was. He had seen the sadness in her eyes ear- lier when she ran from the room, so her declaration that she didn’t give a damn just didn’t ring true. She obviously did care. Yet now she was acting as if nothing had hap- pened. As if the terrible scar meant nothing to her.

  She’d shielded her face from him all last night, but now that he’d seen it, she stood proudly before him. Openly defiant, even. As if she dared him to say anything.

  He bit his lip as he studied her beautiful, haughty face.

  “What?” she asked sharply.

  “Nothing,” he said with a shake of his head. “This is obviously a subject you don’t want to discuss, so we won’t…until you’re ready. You were trying to decide what to do about me?”

  Sarah opened her mouth to say something. She was frowning at him. He could be so damn unpredictable.

  “I wanted to ask you about a doctor, one last time. I know several personally at the hospital who would be willing to come out here. You could trust any one of them—”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sure you can trust these doctors, but right now I can’t afford to take such a chance.”

  “But you can’t tell me why you feel this way. You don’t even know why yourself.”

  “That’s right-I don’t.”

  He watched Sarah’s expression, saw the struggle going on inside her. And somehow instinctively he knew he’d always been able to convince women when he needed to. So, why didn’t that reassure him about this woman?

  “Look,” he said. “I just need a little time. Maybe this is only temporary…maybe I’ll just wake up in the morn- ing and everything will have come back to me.”

  “That’s possible,” she mused. “Although I don’t think—”

  “Will you give me a little time?” he asked. “A few hours…a day? I can’t give you a good solid reason for doing that. But some gut instinct tells me that I shouldn’t contact the sheriff. And to be honest, that might be be- cause I’m the biggest crook in the nation.”

  Sarah frowned at him. She had her own reasons not to trust the sheriff. She resented the fact that he had never followed up on the accident or tried to find the truck that sideswiped them. He’d never ev
en really seemed to take her story seriously, insisting it was a drunk driver who hit them.

  He had brushed aside her belief that the truck had rammed them deliberately. And her fear that it had something to do with the undercover story Joe was working on had simply been ignored.

  But nothing the sheriff said would ever convince her that she was wrong. And perhaps if she had lost her memory she’d still retain that strong feeling of distrust. The same way this man felt a deep-seated, intuitive distrust.

  “I’d know,” he said, watching her and seeing her inner turmoil. “If I had done something wrong or dishonest, memory or not, I’d know it, wouldn’t I?”

  Sarah nodded. “Maybe. A person’s character doesn’t change just because he has amnesia.”

  If she believed in anything anymore, it was that in- stincts were real and viable. And she knew that the ear- nestness she saw in his eyes could not be faked. Other than that, she couldn’t explain why she was inclined to agree to his request for more time.

  “All right,” she said finally. “On one condition.”

  “And that is?”

  “That you rest and take the medicine I give you. And that you tell me immediately if you have any unusual symptoms such as excruciating headaches or shortness of breath.”

  “I’m not even going to ask what those symptoms would indicate,” he said dryly. “But I agree.”

  “Good. In the meantime, I’ll listen to the news and perhaps later I can drive into town and get a newspaper. Someone is bound to be missing you by now. Do you have any feelings about that? Any instincts about a family…a wife?” she added quietly.

  Hagan hadn’t thought about the possibility that he could have a wife or a family.

  His gaze moved over her face, coming to rest on her full lips.

  “My instincts tell me very clearly…” his black eyes moved up to meet her startled gaze “…that I love women. But as to a wife…no…I think probably I’m a loner.”

  “You could be wrong.”

  “I’m never wrong.” His eyes, steady and intense, stared straight into hers.

  She was caught for long, heart-stopping moments by those eyes. And by the deep resonance of his voice.

  “I should bring you some pain medication.”