Denim and Lace

by Rice, Patricia

  "I've got to keep you awake, Sam. I'm sorry. Can you tell me what year it is?"

  She kept her eyes closed, and her frown deepened as she seemed to struggle for this detail. Sloan's mouth went dry in fright until she finally answered, "1868." This was only March of the new year. Technically, she was only a few months off.

  He tried again. "Tell me your name."

  She opened her eyes sufficiently to glare at him for this stupidity. "Samantha Susan Neely."

  He smiled at this return of the Sam he knew. "Susan. I like that. I'll never understand why your father could name three beautiful girls by men's names."

  She closed her eyes again. "Because he wanted boys. Because family tradition called for him to name his offspring after his relations, and all his relations were men."

  Sloan allowed himself a modicum of relief. Her first words after waking had terrified him, but she was slowly returning to normal. She was obviously in pain, and he hated keeping her awake, but he refused to lose her to that black unconsciousness again. The niggling of doubt at the back of his mind made him ask, "All right, Samantha Susan, tell me my name."

  He saw a brief flutter of fear when she looked at him, then she threw up that stony wall of defensiveness she could do so well. "How should I know? I don't know you from Adam."

  Sloan bent with the blow, but didn't break. She was alive. She seemed in control of most of her faculties. This was just a temporary aberration that would correct itself shortly. Carefully, calmly, he asked, "What is the last thing you remember, Sam?"

  She lay still, as if gathering her thoughts. Then she tilted her head in his direction, and in a very soft, slightly fearful voice, she answered, "The wagon train. I remember the wagon train. It's sort of fuzzy though. I can't remember exactly . . ." She stared at him through the growing darkness. "What happened? Where is my family? Are they all right?"

  He squeezed her hand to reassure her against growing panic. "It's all right, Sam. I told you everything is all right. They're fine and happy and waiting for us to get back to town. You got hit on the head after we found your valley, and you seem to have lost a few months. I'm sure it will all come back in a little while, after you've rested."

  She clung to his hand and watched his every move as if he were all the world she knew. "My valley? We found my valley? Is that where we are now?"

  Sloan nodded and grinned. The real Sam was still with him. "Right smack dab in the middle of it, sugar. You've got some cottonwoods and this tumbledown shack and a stream that probably won't dry up until August. I don't know a blamed thing about dirt, but you seemed happy with it when we got here."

  She pushed up on her elbows, wincing slightly, but trying to look through the open door of the cabin. "I want to see it. How big is it? Will it hold horses as well as grain?" She looked at him worriedly, "If there are only cottonwoods, am I going to be able to get timber in here?"

  "Whoa, sugar, one thing at a time. I don't want you moving at all just yet. It's too dark to see anything. Let me bring you a bite to eat. You haven't had anything all day."

  With no small amount of trepidation, Sam watched the stranger go outside. She felt as if she had fallen through a hole and come out on the other side without any idea of where she was or how she got there. She could be in China for all she knew. The stranger was the only concrete thing between her and reality. He seemed so calm and reassuring that he made her feel better just by his presence.

  That he claimed to be her husband didn't terrify her as it ought to. Maybe that meant her mind accepted the truth even if she didn't recognize it. That made some sort of weird sense. She leaned back against her makeshift pillow and watched as he returned with their saddlebags and a bowl of something he'd apparently been brewing over the fire.

  "Can you sit up?" he asked with concern as he threw the bags down in a corner and settled on the floor beside her.

  If she had managed to catch a husband like this one, she must be the luckiest woman in the world. Aside from the fact that he was ruggedly handsome, he seemed to genuinely care for her. His eyes reflected his concern, his touch was gentle, and he spoke to her with all the sympathy and respect of someone who truly had affection for her. It seemed incredible that a man like this could have an interest in the Samantha Neely she knew, but maybe she had changed over these missing months.

  She managed to sit up with his help. Her head hurt terribly, making it difficult to swallow the scrambled sawdust that passed for food, but she chewed on the hunk of bread he gave her and sipped at her water. His nod of approval stirred an interesting warmth in her middle.

  "You're going to have to tell me your name," she finally said in embarrassment. "I don't remember you on the wagon train, so we must have just recently met."

  He seemed to retreat slightly into the shadows as he sipped his coffee. "We met the day after you arrived in town. We've known each other six months now. You saved my life that day. We were married three months later."

  She'd been married for three months. She knew this man intimately. And she couldn't remember his name. He must be horrified. How could her wayward mind play such a terrible trick on her?

  "Are we happy together?" she asked as a way to break the silence that threatened to separate them. "I should imagine I must make a horrible wife. I'm not very domestic."

  She could sense more than see the stranger's half- smile.

  "That's all right. I'm not very domestic either. We've been known to yell at each other upon occasion. We have our differences of opinion. But somehow, we manage to get along. My men are even beginning to think you might tame me."

  That was good to know. Sam set her bowl aside and curled against the wall. She smiled sleepily. "I've been known to train a wild animal or two. Do you fit in that category?"

  "Probably. How's your head?"

  "It's still there," she said wryly.

  "I think I've kept you awake long enough. You'll probably want to go outside before you go back to sleep, though."

  Before Sam knew what he meant to do, he was lifting her from the pallet and carrying her out the door. She couldn't imagine any man lifting her, but it felt right. She wrapped her arms around his neck and released him only when he lowered her to the ground on the far side of the cottonwoods.

  "I'll be right over there. Call me when you're done, and I'll carry you back." He walked off into the darkness of the trees.

  She hadn't forgotten what it was to use the ground as her privy. The fact that this stranger knew what she needed should have embarrassed her, but his straightforward practicality made the intimacy seem natural. When she was done, she washed her hands in the stream, but she didn't seem to be strong enough to dare broaching the stand of trees. Still, she didn't know what to call the stranger and had to settle for saying, "I'm ready."

  He was there in an instant, his strong arms swinging her safely against his chest. Samantha rested her head on his shoulder and thought she could lie here for the rest of her days. She ought to be terrified. Instead, she felt safe and protected. It was a rewarding change after months and years of being the protector.

  When he returned her to her pallet and began to arrange a blanket on the other side of the room for himself, she frowned slightly. "Are we in the habit of sleeping apart?"

  He hesitated before turning to look at her. She could see little of his stark features, but sensed the caution in his reply.

  "You don't even remember who I am, Sam," he said. "I don't know what the etiquette books say, but I think you'd be a trifle uncomfortable sleeping with a stranger. I'd best wait until you recover."

  "What if I don't recover?" she murmured sleepily into her pillow. It was a question that ought to make her fearful, but she was too tired to confront it in its entirety.

  She heard the amusement lacing his reply. "Then I'll just have to court you and marry you all over again. Everybody in town got such a kick out of it last time, I'm sure they'd be delighted if we repeated the performance."

  She laughed softl
y because it sounded as if the memory pleased him. She'd chosen the right man, and it seemed as if he had chosen her, too. It made her feel good knowing someone outside her immediate family could want her. She fell asleep instantly.

  Sloan wasn't so fortunate. He lay awake far into the wee hours of the night, contemplating the implications of what was happening.

  It was almost as if he'd been given a second chance to do what was right. He didn't want to muff it, but he had a terrible aching dread that was just what he was going to do.

  ***

  Sam woke up before the stranger. Her husband, she had to remember. It seemed odd to have a husband she didn't remember, but then, it seemed odd to be in this shack with nothing familiar anywhere around her.

  The ache in her head had faded to a dull throb. She managed to get up without falling flat on her face, but her stomach roiled at the motion. She reached the stream before she heaved up last night's supper.

  Feeling slightly better at ridding herself of that burden, she answered nature's call, washed, and went in search of coffee. Men liked coffee in the mornings. She remembered that much, even if she didn't remember her husband's preferences.

  He was already up and starting the fire when she returned to the cabin. Sam felt him studying her as she approached, and she wished she could look beautiful and alluring for his benefit, but she felt more like something the cat had left.

  She shoved her hair out of her face and realized how much longer it was than she remembered it. She'd chopped the blamed stuff off before they crossed the Missouri. It was down to her shoulders now. That thought made her stomach roil again.

  "Is there a coffeepot? I can start breakfast."

  The stranger relaxed, but wariness still lingered about his eyes as he handed her the pot. "We've got cornmeal and bacon. Once the men figure out how to get supplies over the wall, we'll have a better selection."

  She had been so wrapped up in the worries of her relationship to this man, that she had forgotten another world existed. She looked around her with interest. The cottonwoods formed a shelter around the cabin, but beyond them, she could see acres of fallow land. Acres. Hers.

  Her mind finally focused on what he was saying, and she tried to comprehend it. "What wall? Didn't we bring enough supplies to stay?"

  "Fill the pot, please, Sam. It may take all day to answer your questions, and I'm a starving man."

  Of course. Feeling foolish, Sam went to the stream and filled the pot and returned to set it over the fire. She wasn't used to having a husband. She wasn't used to doing her own cooking. Her mother and the twins had always handled that task more than adequately. Surely she must have learned to change her ways these last months.

  While she cooked their breakfast, her husband explained the rock slide cutting them off from his men. While he talked and sipped his coffee, she noticed that he moved with some degree of pain. Evidently he hadn't come through the disaster without injury either.

  "You'd better take your shirt off and let me look at those bruises," she said as casually as she dared when she handed him his breakfast. "You might have broken a rib or two."

  He shrugged. "I've checked. Far as I can tell, they're just bruises. They'll go away after a while."

  She sat back on her heels and frowned at him. "How can you tell? You're barely able to move. I'm not much of a nurse, but I know how to wrap ribs and bandage holes in your carcass."

  He gave a sudden, fleeting smile. "I know. Your healing touch took care of me that first day we met. Sit back and eat, Sam. I'm a doctor. I'd know if I'd broken a rib or tore a ligament. And I know your head aches like hell right now. You shouldn't be doing anything but resting." An uncertain frown replaced the smile. "Do you hurt anywhere else? Are there any other pains bothering you? No bleeding?"

  Sam shrugged and sat cross-legged on the ground, taking her plate in her lap. "I'm not much used to having my head hurt, and I think I bruised my tailbone, but that's about it." She gave him a quick, darting look. "Seems to me you took the worst of it."

  "I've got a strong back and a thick head. Maybe I'd better examine you again when you're done. You took a pretty nasty fall."

  Sam squirmed uncomfortably. She'd married a physician. That was hard to imagine. He was looking at her with questions in his eyes, and that same grave concern she had noticed the night before. But the idea of undressing and letting him examine her gave her butterflies in her stomach. She didn't think that was the way a patient felt toward a doctor.

  She shook her head. "I'm fine," she said nervously.

  He gave her another tentative smile. "Not something a courting couple would do, is it?"

  She felt her cheeks redden. "Probably not." She forced herself to meet his eyes again. Just looking at him made her insides all fluttery. She tried to imagine a man like that touching her as a husband would, and she had nervous palpitations. "I still don't know your name."

  He gave her an odd look, stretched out his legs, and stood up. "I go by Sloan Talbott out here."

  Sloan Talbott. The man who had driven her father out of town. The man she thought she might have to kill.

  Lord Almighty, what had she done to herself?

  Chapter Forty

  “Don't look at me that way, Samantha," he warned. "You and I have covered a lot of territory these last months. Whatever you're remembering is only half the story. Don't make us relive it all over again."

  She took a deep breath and nodded. She desperately wanted to believe him. Right now, he looked like a hero to her, a man she could trust, a man who cared for her. She didn't want to give all that up, not now, when she felt like a part of her was missing, and the whole world looked vaguely out of kilter.

  "All right, but what if my memory never returns? What do I do then? It's all gone—everything that brought us together." She gave him a look of hope. "Is my father back? Was everything between the two of you settled?"

  She didn't like the brief flash of guilt in his eyes. He was hiding something. But his answer—while worrisome—seemed honest enough.

  "We'll settle it when he comes back. I have men out looking for him. They think he may be in Mexico. They should be back from there any day now."

  "All right. I suppose if I'm your wife, I have to trust you. I don't think I'm much good at trusting anybody. Has that been one of the things we've argued about?"

  "Not particularly. Upon occasion, you've been too damned trusting. I'm the ornery one. But that's going to change. You gave me one hell of a scare yesterday. I'm not going to risk losing you again." He held out his hand to her. "Come on. I think you'd better lie down and rest a while. I'd rather not have to explain these last six months if it can be avoided. I'd rather you just woke up and remembered it all so I could promise to mend my ways. So let's see if we can get you feeling better."

  She took his hand, liking the solid grip and strength of it as he hauled her to her feet. Her head only came to his chin, and she liked that, too. Daringly, she touched the bristling whiskers on his chin. "Forget our shaving gear, did we?"

  Sloan froze for just half a second, then grinned a wicked grin. Bending slightly, he rubbed his whiskers against her cheek, then caught her mouth with his in a movement so swift she couldn't have stopped him if she wanted to. She didn't want to.

  The kiss was intoxicating. She swore she'd never been kissed like this before. His lips were hot and hard, and his tongue traced her lips until she dared to part them. She tasted the coffee on his breath, felt the rough brush of his tongue, smelled the masculine aroma of his skin as he wrapped his arms around her and held her tighter. She flung her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, surrendering totally into his embrace.

  "Damn, Sam, you haven't forgotten how to do that," he muttered against her cheek when he came up for breath. "If we don't stop this now, I'm going to have you in there on that bed so fast we'll have both our heads spinning."

  Her breasts were pushed so close against him that she feared he would feel the wild beat o
f her heart. But she didn't want to stop. She knew there was more, that he had been the man to show her what followed a kiss like that. Her breasts tingled in anticipation already. She rubbed them temptingly against his chest, easing some of their ache.

  "Is that so wrong?" she asked innocently. "If we're married, we can do what we want, can't we?"

  His expression was that of pure male frustration. His hand roved to cup her breast through the thin gingham, and she arched eagerly into it. He groaned and returned his hand to her buttocks, where he pressed her more tightly against him.

  "You don't even know who I am, Sam! I told you, you're too damned trusting. I don't want to make love to you just to relieve a simple itch. I want you to know who you're making love to. Do you understand?"

  She pressed gently into his arousal, knowing what that hard ridge against her abdomen was. She felt the desire spiraling through her, the desire no other man had ever stirred. She didn't need her memory to know he told the truth. She'd made love to this man before and enjoyed every minute of it. Her body could tell her that without need of her mind.

  "I don't want to understand," she pouted. She held up her left hand with the band on the ring finger. "That says I'm married. The rest of me feels married. Even if I can't remember what it's like to make love, I know you're the man who taught me."

  He laughed. "Maybe I ought to take you up on the offer. A man seldom has the chance to take the innocence of the same woman twice. I could teach you all over again, without the pain of that first time."

  She heard the rough hunger in his voice, and it stirred strong desires deep inside her. Some primitive claim had been made between them that branded her forever as his. She accepted this feeling more readily than any ring or words. She was his as surely as this land was hers.

  "I'm ready to be taught whenever you're ready to teach me," she murmured near his ear, clinging to his broad shoulders.