“I should hope not,” Katie said. “But the female populace of Prescott is swooning en masse.” She pressed one fingertip to her chin. “Now, let’s see. The new sheriff is from Nevada. He’s single, bless his heart, thirty-six and gorgeous. I saw him in the grocery store and, oh, mercy, I nearly died. He’s over six feet tall, has hair as dark as yours and green knock-’em-dead eyes. And he’s built. Wide shoulders, narrow hips, long legs—”
“Katie?” Ben said, waving one hand in front of her face. “Hello? Where’s the patient I’m springing from this place?”
“Who? Oh, and the new sheriff even has a name that sounds like a sheriff, you know what I mean? Cable Montana. Oh, my stars.”
“Oh, your job, if you don’t tell me where my patient is,” Ben said, frowning.
“Oops,” Katie said, laughing. “I was going on a tad there, wasn’t I? Your pretty lady is in exam room one. I gave her a scrub top to wear because her blouse was dirty and torn. She’s very pleasant, especially considering her circumstances.”
Katie shook her head. “If it was me, I’d be scared spitless. Imagine not knowing who you are, poor thing. Well, hopefully her amnesia won’t last long. ’Bye, Dr. Rizzoli.”
“’Bye,” Ben said absently as Katie hurried away.
Right, he thought, narrowing his eyes. Let’s hope she remembers everything real quickly. Everyone should have the pleasure of reliving in their mind the abuse inflicted on them by some lowlife.
He pulled one hand over the back of his neck, counted to ten slowly, then headed for the designated room. At the doorway to the small enclosure he stopped, mesmerized by the woman who sat on the end of the examining table. She was staring into space, unaware of his presence.
Ben’s heart began to beat in a wild tattoo and heat shot through his body.
She was even more lovely than he’d thought. Her face was washed and the leaves and twigs had been removed from her silky, dark curls. There was a bandage on the side of her forehead, covering an injury that probably accounted for the smears of blood that had mingled with the dirt on her face.
Her features were so perfect, so delicate, and there were those lips, those kissable lips that he’d sampled and wanted to kiss again...right now.
She sighed and wrapped her hands around her elbows, jerking Ben from his thoughts. He strode into the room to stand in front of her, forcing himself to smile.
“Well, you look much better,” he said. “How’s the head?”
“It hurts,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze. “I still don’t remember anything, Ben. Nothing.”
She was so pale, he thought, and there were purple smudges beneath her eyes that said it had been a while since she’d slept well. He wanted to scoop her into his arms, hold her so damn close, tell her that no one—no one—would ever hurt her again.
“Don’t push yourself to remember,” he said. “You’ll only stress and increase the pain in your head. Just allow your memory to return naturally. Give it time.”
“Why don’t I have any identification with me?” she said. “How did I get here? And from where? Was I driving a car? Where is that vehicle?” She lifted her left hand into the air. “Look at this. What kind of ring did I remove? And why?”
“Hey,” Ben said, stroking one of her pale cheeks with his thumb. “Take it easy. You’ll have the answers to all those questions. In the meantime, you’re coming home with me.”
Her eyes widened and she dropped her hands into her lap. “I’m what?”
“Mike—Dr. Hunt, who examined you, was the one who suggested it. You need rest, peace and quiet, and that concussion has to be monitored for the next twenty-four hours. You’ll be more comfortable at my house than here in the hospital.”
“But...” She sighed again. “I don’t have the energy to argue the point.”
“Good. That will save a lot of time, because I would have won the argument anyway. Let’s see how steady you are on your feet.” Ben grinned at her. “Hey, I carried you in here, I can sure carry you out again. I’ve had enough practice at it to be real good at my job.”
“Mmm,” she said, slipping carefully off the table to stand by his side. And Dr. Ben Rizzoli had had a lot of practice at kissing, too. That kiss they’d shared in the woods had been—no, forget it. It never should have taken place and was not going to be repeated. “I’m fine. I can walk.”
“I’ve heard that one before.”
“No, really, I feel very steady on my feet.” She smoothed the scrub top she wore. “I’m even high-fashion personified.”
“Lookin’ good. Except I’m not sure pea-soup green is your color,” Ben said, chuckling as they left the room. “We’re outta here, ma’am, and heading for home.”
Home, she thought. It was suddenly just a word that didn’t apply to her, didn’t evoke any mental images. Home. Where was hers? Who was there? Was anyone worried about her, wondering where she was? Did anyone care?
Stop it, she admonished herself. She’d work herself up to another about-to-erupt crying jag if she didn’t watch out. The last time she did that, she’d babbled like an idiot, then...
She slid a glance at Ben as the automatic doors to the hospital swished open and they stepped out into the crisp, early evening air.
Then, Ben had kissed her, she thought as they started across the parking lot. Oh, gracious, what a kiss it had been. She’d responded to him completely and passionately.
Surely she wasn’t the kind of woman who went around kissing every handsome man who crossed her path. No, that wasn’t acceptable, didn’t fit, like shoes that were the wrong size.
Then why had she behaved so...so wantonly in the woods with Ben?
No, now wait a minute. She was being much too hard on herself. She’d sustained a concussion, a physical trauma. And she had been—still was—terribly frightened to discover that she had no memory. It was perfectly understandable that she might act out of character under those circumstances.
There. That settled that.
Except...
Ben opened the passenger door of his large sports vehicle. “Up you go.”
“Thank you.”
She watched him walk around the front of the vehicle, then open the driver’s side door and slide behind the wheel. The powerful engine rumbled to life when he turned the key in the ignition, then they drove out of the parking lot.
Except... why did the remembrance of that kiss still cause heat to thrum low in her body? Why did she want Ben to kiss her again...and again...and again?
Shame on her. She was calm now, had had her injuries tended to, had been assured that her memory would return. There was no excuse for this burning want, this fiery need, centered on Ben Rizzoli.
“Ben?”
“Hmm?” He glanced over at her quickly, then redirected his attention to the road.
“Do people with amnesia behave as they normally would, or might they take on a new personality?”
“I’m not an expert on the subject. I suppose if a person had amnesia for a very long time, they might reconstruct themselves and change in the process. In your case? I doubt it. Your amnesia is pretty text-book—it’s connected to your concussion. I’d guess you’re behaving as you usually would.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling a warm flush stain her cheeks. “That’s... interesting. I feel as though I’m standing outside of myself, watching a stranger who happens to be me.”
“That’s an excellent way to put it,” he said, nodding. “Try not to dwell on your memory loss. You might remember everything all at once, or get it back in bits and pieces. Just allow it to come to you on its own.”
“I’ll try, but it’s difficult not to continually search my mind for something—anything—that is familiar to me.” She paused and looked at her fingertips. “I certainly scraped up my hands, didn’t I? It appears as though I’ve had a professional manicure at some point. I wonder if I could afford to do that, or if I decided to splurge with the grocery money?”
“Hey, don�
��t push it.”
She sighed. “Yes, all right.”
Don’t push it, Ben repeated in his mind, because the return of her memory would bring the horror of knowing she’d been physically abused. Lord, he wished he could spare her that, just allow her to exist in a world that began when he found her in the woods. Yeah, that was the ticket. She’d be a woman with no past.
And he, Ben thought suddenly, was a man with no future.
Well, weren’t they a pair? Two people living in the moment, nothing more. Strange. They were a matched set, in a way. No past, no future...just now.
Ben’s house was an A-frame structure of glass and redwood, nestled among tall pine trees. The entire front was gleaming windows that afforded him a spectacular view.
When they entered through the front door, she smiled in delight at the lovely home.
The hardwood floors were dotted with Native American rugs; the furniture was massive but appeared soft.
The downstairs was open and airy. The spacious kitchen was hidden behind a half-wall; there was a small washroom, an eating area, and a huge, flagstone fireplace on one wall of the great room. And there was a loft where there were two bedrooms with a connecting bathroom, Ben explained.
“This is beautiful,” she said.
“Thanks. I designed it and had it built,” Ben said, glancing around. “I grew up in Prescott, practiced medicine in Los Angeles, and now I’m back home.”
“Is your family still here?”
“No. My parents are deceased, and my older brothers and sisters are scattered from here to Sunday.”
“But you returned to your roots anyway,” she said, looking at him.
“Yes. This is where I needed to be at this point in my life.”
“What do you mean?” she said, frowning slightly. “You look and sound so serious all of a sudden.”
“Nothing,” he said, forcing a smile. “Prescott is a terrific place to live, that’s all.” He paused. “Are you hungry?”
“No, but I’m very tired.”
“With just cause. Come on, I’ll show you to your room and you can take a nap. I’m afraid I’ll have to wake you up in a couple of hours, though, and ask you how many fingers I’m holding up. We’ll be doing that through the night.”
“I’m sorry to be such a nuisance, Ben. You won’t get a solid night’s sleep.”
“Hey, I’m a doctor. I’m used to having my sleep interrupted. I can conk right back out by just closing my eyes. We medical types learn how to do that. I—oh, man, there’s the mooch scratching at the back door.”
“The what?”
“It’s a cat that belongs to my neighbor. This animal calls on everyone in this area and gets handouts. The ridiculous part is, we all feed her. I actually keep her favorite food in the cupboard for when it’s my turn to play host.”
She smiled. “I want to meet this clever cat.”
“Okay, but then you’re definitely going to take a nap. It’s important that you get your rest.”
They crossed the large room and Ben opened the rear door. A fluffy, gray-and-white cat strolled in, her head and tail held high.
“Greetings, Nutmeg,” Ben said. “I’m to have the honors today, huh?”
“What... what did you say?” she whispered, grasping Ben’s upper arm with one hand.
He whirled around to look at her. “Hey, what’s wrong? You’re pale as a ghost again.”
“The cat. Her name,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Nutmeg,” Ben said, obviously confused. “The lady who owns her spilled some on the floor when the cat was a kitten and she lapped it up, loved the stuff. So, she was named Nutmeg.”
“Meg,” she said, her grip on Ben’s arm tighten ing. “Meg. No, no, that’s not quite right. No. It’s...it’s Megan. Ben, my name is Megan.”
“Megan,” he repeated quietly, covering her hand on his arm with his own hand. “That’s very pretty. It suits you, it really does. And, see, you’re already starting to remember.”
Their eyes met as they stood in the silent room, close, so close, sharing the discovery of her name, testing the sound of it in their minds.
“I’m real,” Megan whispered. “I have a name. I exist. I’m a person, a woman.”
“You always were a woman, a beautiful, very special woman.” Ben heard the gritty quality of his voice, felt the coil of heat low in his body, inhaled Megan’s aroma of soap and the lingering scent of a light, flowery cologne. “Welcome to my home... Megan.”
She tore her gaze from Ben’s as heated desire began to thrum within her, then pulled her hand free from beneath his, shifting her gaze to the cat that was circling around their feet.
“Thank you, Nutmeg,” she said, forcing a lightness to her voice. “I’m so glad you dropped by. You deserve an extra treat with the dinner you’re about to mooch from Dr. Rizzoli.”
Nutmeg meowed her apparent approval of Megan’s statement, and Ben went to a cupboard to retrieve a bag of cat food. He filled a bowl with mix, then a matching one with water, and set them on the floor.
“Anything else filtering through the fog in your mind?” he said as he replaced the bag in the cupboard.
Not yet, Megan. Not yet. Please. She had a name now, which was obviously making her feel a great deal better. He didn’t want her entire memory to return, though. Not yet.
Why? For her sake? So she wouldn’t have to face the grim reality of her life? Or was he being selfish, wishing to have her there, with him, in the now, with no past, no future, a while longer?
It was some of both, he supposed. Was that wrong of him? Hell, he didn’t know.
“No,” she said, bringing Ben from his tangled thoughts. “Do you have any other animals that visit that might supply my last name?”
Ben chuckled as he turned to face her. “Nope. Nutmeg has cornered the mooch market in this part of town.”
“Well, darn.” Megan paused. “Isn’t it strange how much this means to me? Finding out what my name is? It’s something we never think about, something we take for granted every day of our lives.
“A name. Who we are. Our identity that validates us. But when it’s gone, wiped clean like a chalkboard? It’s terrifying. I don’t think I’ll ever take the sound of my name for granted again.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” Ben said, nodding. “We move through our days assuming a great many things will always be there, never really dwelling on them at all. Things like the ability to walk, talk, breathe, see.”
“I guess as a doctor you’ve witnessed a great many people losing things like that.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I have.”
“Well, I’m off to take my nap.”
“Good idea. Your bedroom is upstairs, the one on the left. You’ll be able to recognize it because I never make my bed.”
Megan smiled. “Do you pick up your dirty socks?”
“Sure. On the day the housekeeper is due to arrive, I get the laundry basket, and shovel all my socks off the bedroom floor. It’s very efficient, if you think about it. I know exactly where they are when my dresser drawer refuses to produce another clean pair.”
“Oh, my,” she said, laughing.
Megan turned and headed for the stairs, waggling the fingers of one hand in the air as a farewell.
Ben leaned back against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles and his arms over his chest as he watched her disappear from view.
“Rest well,” he said, “lovely Megan.”
Nutmeg meowed at the door and Ben snapped back to attention to let the cat out.
“See you next time,” he said. “Thanks for supplying the lady with her name.” He paused. “I think.”
Ben wandered aimlessly around the house, feeling restless, edgy, his gaze drawn time and again to the loft area. As darkness fell, he made a fire in the hearth, then sank onto the sofa facing it, staring into the leaping flames.
His own words spoken to Megan hammered in his mind.
We move through our days assuming a great many things will always be there, never really dwelling on them at all. Things like the ability to walk, talk, breathe, see.
See...see...see...
He jerked forward, resting his elbows on his knees and dragging his hands down his face.
“Ah, damn.”
Before it was time to wake Megan, she reappeared, stating she felt much better and the pain in her head wasn’t as intense as it had been.
Ben held up two fingers. “How many?”
“Fourteen,” she said, smiling.
“Bingo. How about something to eat? I’m not what you’d call a great cook, but I make a decent omelet.”
“That sounds delicious.” She frowned. “I wonder if I know how to cook?”
“Well, you’re not practicing on my world-famous omelets, because that’s the only thing I can prepare that’s reasonably eatable. Well, unless you want to count peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
In the kitchen, Ben pointed to a chair at the table and instructed Megan to sit, informing her that master chefs didn’t like people underfoot when they did the deed. Megan sat and watched Ben move around the kitchen as he prepared their dinner.
“Ben,” she said finally. “I need to buy some clothes, a toothbrush, a comb. If I could borrow some money, I’ll pay you back just as soon as I regain my memory and have access to my belongings.” She paused. “Heavens, don’t loan me too much. Maybe I’m as poor as a church mouse.”
“We’ll get you what you need in the morning,” he said. “There’s a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet upstairs that you can have.”
“In the morning,” Megan repeated. “Do you suppose someone will have missed my by then, filed a report of some kind?”
“We’ll call on Sheriff Montana and find out.”
“Sheriff Montana? That’s really his name?”
“Yep,” Ben said. “Sheriff Cable Montana. He’s new in town, and has the women all in a flutter because he’s so handsome, or some such thing. Poor devil. He’s in for the matchmaking mania that’s going to break loose around here.”
The Most Eligible M.D. (The Bachelor Bet #3) Page 3
