You Must Remember This

by Clara Wimberly

  She sat watching him quietly, remembering how he had waited for her in the shadows and grabbed her when she came inside.

  There was a fierceness in this man. Suspicion and cun- ning, and a fierceness that he probably kept masked by his outward charm.

  Lawman or criminal…devil or angel. She couldn’t de- cide.

  She went into the kitchen and stood against the cabinet as she ate a piece of cheese and a slice of bread she had baked a couple of days ago. It tasted good to her. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was or how tired.

  Sarah knew she had to do something about the truck. If their suspicions about the sheriff were true, then it was only a matter of time until he learned the truck was here in her garage. And when he learned that Sarah had lied to him about it being repaired, he’d wonder why.

  Sarah took the last bite of cheese and as she brushed the bread crumbs from her hands, she was already heading for the door.

  It was late afternoon, but the sun still glistened brightly against the house and the tall grass out in the meadow. She probably should wait until dark, just in case someone was watching. But she really was afraid that might be too late.

  The old garage was unique—her grandfather had built it with doors on both ends, so he could drive to or from the barn if he needed to. Sarah glanced toward the highway. If she drove the truck out the back of the garage, she thought she could manage to get it to the barn without anyone see- ing her.

  Hurriedly she went inside the garage, closing the front door and then going around the truck and her grand- mother’s old Buick to open the back doors. Her hands were trembling when she started the engine of the truck and drove it out the sandy road toward the barn.

  She went around to the back of the barn, pulling into the wide opening that ran through the length of the building. Then twisting the steering wheel hard, she pulled the truck into one of the old stalls. It was one that hadn’t been used in years, even when her grandfather still had livestock. It was filled with old harnesses and farm utensils, empty nail kegs and a half-empty barrel of tar that had been used to patch the barn roof.

  Normally Sarah would take a moment to enjoy the fa- miliar smells—even look around to see what treasure had been abandoned there—but today there was no time and she had too much to do. Looking at her watch, she knew she’d have to work quickly.

  It took almost an hour and when she finished, Sarah was grimy and exhausted. She stood back and surveyed the stall. Now there was no trace of the truck, just a mound of hay filling the entire stall. She placed a couple of pitch- forks and a shovel against the front of the stack just to make it look authentic.

  For a moment, as she stood looking at what she’d done, she wondered if she’d become completely paranoid. It seemed crazy. What if she’d done all this work for noth- ing? But, what if their suspicions were right? Then this would buy them a little time. Just until this man, whoever he was, was well and could leave her house.

  She wished he had a name. She wanted to call him by his own name.

  Sarah sneezed several times. The scent of hay was in her nostrils and her skin was covered with fine dust and de- bris from the dried grass.

  Going back to the house, she went out the back of the barn. She used a piece of brush to rake back and forth across the road to obliterate any tire tracks she’d made in the dirt. Luckily it was sandy and the rain hadn’t made it muddy.

  She hurried into the garage and locked the back door. She glanced at the old Buick—she’d drive it if she needed to…if it still worked. She got into the dust-covered car, found the key over the sun visor and put it into the igni- tion.

  She held her breath, breathing a sigh of relief when the engine cranked on the second try.

  “Thank you…thank you,” she whispered.

  Then she ran back to the house. She’d have time to shower and change clothes, make a quick dinner.

  First she tiptoed into the bedroom and placed her hand against her patient’s forehead. He was still very hot, but she thought she detected just a hint of moistness on his skin.

  She hoped his fever was about to break. He seemed to have no concept of how sick he was. And he kept his worries about the amnesia hidden. As for herself, she couldn’t explain why she was going to all this trouble for a man she hardly knew. Or why she felt such an overwhelming need to protect him.

  Chapter 6

  After Sarah showered and changed into a pair of soft cotton shorts and shirt, she went to the kitchen to check on the soup she’d left simmering on the stove. She sliced more of the homemade bread and placed it with the soup and a glass of cool milk on a tray.

  In the bedroom, she set the tray on the table beside the bed and stood for a moment, watching the stranger sleep- ing. She thought his breathing was still a little fast and shallow.

  It was getting dark and the room was dim and shad- owy. But she could see well enough to look at the bruises on his body. When she bathed him she had noticed other small scars and nicks on his skin and now she studied the telltale marks. Older scars. Garnered in the same violent way as the gunshot wound?

  Sarah found herself longing to know more about him. She wanted to know all his secrets, all the hidden details that he couldn’t or wouldn’t remember.

  She reached out and touched him. He was still hot and he needed nourishment. He had eaten very little these past few hours and she knew from experience that he would be susceptible to problems such as pneumonia for the next couple of days.

  Her touch seemed to rouse him somewhat, although he didn’t open his eyes. He kicked at the quilt and moved his head restlessly on the pillow.

  “Are you awake?” she asked softly.

  He opened his eyes and sighed heavily, then closed them again. She picked up his hand and it fell back onto the bed. His lethargic response sent a flicker of anxiety through Sarah and she knelt beside the bed and touched his face with the back of her hand.

  “Can you hear me?” she said, more urgently. “You’re scaring me. Don’t you fade out on me now, you hear?” Sarah’s breath came fast and hard as she ran her hands over his face and down his chest.

  He muttered something unintelligible and continued moving his head back and forth.

  “Come on,” Sarah said again. She slapped his face lightly, sighing with pleasure when he opened his eyes and stared at her.

  For once she was even delighted to see the anger snap- ping in those black depths.

  “God,” he murmured, scooting up in bed. “What kind of nurse are you, anyway? First you tie me up and now you hit me.”

  “I didn’t hit you,” she said, smiling despite herself. “I was afraid, that’s all.”

  “Don’t worry—I’m not about to die on you.” He was staring at her oddly, and though his eyes were weak and tired, she thought there was a little flicker of humor there, too.

  “Be quiet and let me take your temperature again.” She pushed the thermometer between his lips.

  “Sadistic,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.

  She took the thermometer and nodded before putting it back in its case.

  “Down a little. But not enough. I’ve brought some- thing for you to eat. Can you manage?”

  Sarah put her arm around his back, careful not to hurt his bruised ribs. Then as he braced himself and pushed upward, she slid the pillows behind him.

  When he closed his eyes, she stood for a moment look- ing helplessly at him. He was very sick. Sicker than be- fore? God, what if he died? What if he’d lost more blood than she thought, or developed a blood clot somewhere. It was improbable, but still, she found herself worrying about every remote dangerous possibility.

  “Are you—?”

  “I’m all right,” he said with a touch of irritability. “Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”

  “It’s no wonder,” she murmured.

  He lifted his gaze toward her, staring at her with those fever-lit black eyes.

  “You worry too much.”

  “I have
a right to be worried about you,” she said. She sat on the bed beside him, not caring what he thought. Not caring if he protested about her hovering. “I should go into town and try to get some antibiotics, but I can’t leave you alone while you’re so sick. Please…” She reached forward and placed her hand on his arm. “Please recon- sider about the doctor—”

  “Dammit, you just don’t listen, do you?” He was breathing heavily and it seemed an effort for him to speak at all. “I don’t want a doctor. I’ll be fine. I’ve been in scrapes before and—” He stopped suddenly, realizing what he’d said.

  “Do you remember something?” she asked breath- lessly.

  Hagan gritted his teeth as he tried to remember. Frown- ing, he lifted his hand and massaged his throbbing tem- ple.

  Sarah lifted her hand toward him, then thinking better of it, she stopped. She felt so helpless, so inadequate in the field of amnesia.

  “It’s as if there’s something right on the tip of my tongue,” he said. “You know? Like a dream you can’t quite remember. And still, I can’t make myself say it.” He cursed quietly beneath his breath, his fists clenched against the bed. “Why can’t I just say it, dammit?”

  “Because you’re sick and weak.” She leaned forward to help with his dinner.

  “No,” he said, motioning her away. “Not until I re- member…not until something…”

  Sarah rolled her eyes with frustration. God, but he was stubborn.

  “If pure obstinacy can make anyone well, I’m con- vinced you’ll be healed in a matter of days.”

  “I don’t have days,” he snapped. “I have to get out of here. I need to know who this Cord guy is you said I men- tioned. Right now it’s all I have to go on.” He glanced up at her intently, moving his legs as if he meant to get out of bed.

  “Dear God.” Sarah jumped up from the bed and crossed her arms as she stood staring at him. “You’re un- believable, do you know that? You have to be this missing agent. Your stubborn macho code certainly seems to fit the pattern.”

  “Yeah…right,” he said, flashing her a look of deter- mination. “Look,” he said, his eyes cajoling a bit. “I’m fine. I’m just a little weak, that’s all.”

  “Weak,” she muttered, shaking her head. She turned and picked up the tray of food. “I’ll believe you’re fine when you’ve eaten all of your supper.” She saw him grim- ace and she smiled. “Well, most of it, anyway.”

  As she bent and placed the food on his lap, she glanced down into his eyes. He was studying her intensely, letting his gaze wander over her scar, then linger on her mouth.

  For a moment she couldn’t breathe…or move. She was simply frozen by that look and by the electricity that tin- gled in the air between them.

  When he reached up and touched her face, she flinched only the slightest bit, then stood stiffly as his finger traced the scar. His touch on the sensitive skin made her nerves tingle wildly. She jerked away from him and stood back from the bed.

  As she looked into his eyes and saw his understanding, she felt stunned. No one had ever touched the scar. And it was the last thing she had expected from him.

  He seemed so cool, so sophisticated and yet the look in his eyes was warm and filled with an unusual tenderness.

  “You…you need to eat,” she whispered.

  She stood beside the bed, fists clenched. Her insides churned with emotion and made her wonder at her own sanity. How could she be feeling this way about a man she barely knew? A man who could be anything or anyone.

  Then he smiled and turned his attention to the soup.

  Sarah picked up the tray and hurriedly left the room.

  In the kitchen, she wrapped her arms around her body, trying to still the heavy beating of her heart. God, she hoped he left soon. She didn’t seem capable of controlling her emotions where he was concerned and she couldn’t deny that she was attracted to him.

  She liked touching him and she had to admit that her professional response often turned to something else once her hands touched his warm skin. His voice and the way he looked at her with those intense eyes made her tremble in- side. And when he touched her

  “My…Lord…” she whispered, her breath coming in soft gasps.

  “This is crazy,” she said, turning to busy herself in the kitchen. She reminded herself again that she hardly knew this man. But it didn’t seem to sink in.

  There was an undeniable connection between them. Something she couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it had something to do with her rescuing him, saving his life. Perhaps it was the compassion she saw in his eyes when he looked at her and touched her scarred face without flinch- ing or seeming to find her unattractive.

  Or maybe it was that they both had been hurt in the past. And shared something as simple as pain and distrust of one’s emotions.

  She couldn’t imagine what had made him wary and sus- picious. At first glance he seemed to be a man who had it all. How ironic that neither of them knew for sure. What she did know was that he was tough and well conditioned. Proud. And she knew he was a survivor. And that a sense of humor sparkled in his eyes when he made light of him- self and his injuries.

  And there was an intense determination deep in those eyes. A dauntlessness that made her think she probably shouldn’t be so worried about him after all. She even thought he might be one of those people who could will themselves to get well.

  Still, there were so many questions remaining to be an- swered about him.

  Just then she heard a noise in the bedroom. Feeling guilty she hurried into the hall and was met at the door by her patient who nodded curtly toward the bathroom.

  She knew better than to try to help him, although he was so pale and weak he certainly seemed to need someone’s help.

  It was hard for Sarah as a nurse to stand by helplessly, without offering her assistance. But she sensed that this was his way of showing her that he was better and in- tended to get well without the aid of a doctor or anyone else.

  She stood back and let him pass, watching him walk slowly, holding his arm tightly against his bruised side as he moved. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but Sarah wasn’t sure if that was because his fever had broken, or because he was struggling so hard to walk.

  Later when he came out of the bathroom he looked so ill that she couldn’t keep from stepping forward.

  “You look awful,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he grunted. He walked with his right arm outstretched as he reached for the door frame and rested for a moment, breathing heavily. “God, I’m as weak as a baby.”

  “I don’t know why you take that fact so personal,” she said. “Anyone would be weak after what you’ve been through.”

  Sarah disregarded his murmur of protest and put her arm around him. She smiled to herself when this time he leaned heavily on her as they slowly made their way back to the bed.

  As he sank back onto the bed, he closed his eyes briefly, then seemed to struggle to make himself alert.

  “I have to get well…get away from here,” he said. “For your own safety I have to get out of here. Your truck—”

  “Don’t worry about the truck,” she said quietly. She touched his forehead and she thought he did feel a bit cooler. “I’ve taken care of it.”

  Hagan frowned at her. He had to fight the pain in his head and the effects of the sedative she’d given him ear- lier. He had to concentrate.

  “I hid it in the barn and covered it with hay while you were sleeping this afternoon.”

  Hagan grunted humorously and shook his head.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Sarah James,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Sure,” she said, grinning. “Lots of times.”

  “Awhile ago…when you came inside from talking with the sheriff. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Yes…I did. I could hear it in your voice…you were beginning to have real doubts about me and I didn’t make it any better.”

&
nbsp; “It’s not that I don’t trust you…”

  He lifted his hand to stop her. “It’s all right. I under- stand. I’d be worried if you weren’t suspicious. Hell, I even thought you were one of them at first…one of my assas- sins, whoever the hell they are.”

  Sarah laughed at the thought.

  “Do I look like an assassin?” she asked, spreading her arms and smiling wryly at him.

  “No, ma’am,” he said, his look amused. His eyes moved slowly from her face down past her breasts, to her hips and all the way down her bare legs. “Hardly that,” he murmured, his voice warm with appreciation. When his gaze lifted again, he met her eyes and there was a burning curiosity behind his look. “You look like a very sweet, very caring and beautiful woman.”

  “You’re delirious,” she said, feigning lightheartedness. To be honest, his words and his soft, languid voice sent delicious shivers all the way down to her toes.

  “I think your fever is down,” she said. “But I’ll wait awhile and take your temp again. I started my grand- mother’s old car earlier and it runs. So at least we have a vehicle now…in case we need it.”

  “That’s good,” Hagan said, pulling his gaze away from her.

  He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. He should be concentrating on getting himself out of this mess. Instead he found himself bantering flirtatiously with Sarah James, as if he had all the time in the world. He wanted to tease a smile to her sensuous lips. Wanted to see those beautiful eyes light just once with pleasure and joy. He knew he had made her uncomfortable just now when he looked at her. But it wasn’t because she didn’t welcome his attention. He remembered that much about women at least.

  She was afraid to respond to him, he thought. And against his better judgment, he found that intriguing.

  “I could use some clothes,” he said. “I’ve been in this bed long enough.”

  Sarah didn’t bother to disagree. Half a night and one day in bed was hardly enough for someone with so serious an injury. But she knew it was futile to tell him that. He was going to do what he wanted to do.